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sparklingpax · 2 years

Text

In Relativity

A/n:

-I could not, for the life of me, figure out a better title. You get that. Not even sure if that's what I mean and I'm so sorry. But I am also not taking suggestions

-being absolutely serious, a good 90% of this was written during my health class and/or lunch periods in which I wasn't hungry.

-i am so sorry for typos and grammar stuff I probably fucked up, please please try ignore it if you see it, I'll fix it eventually 😳

-this is so incredibly long, I'm realizing. It's like 30+ pages...sorry--

-a few specific details I'd like to point out:

no, this is not 110% accurate to Masterforce canon, tho I tried my darndest. Part of the reason is lack of clear answers about certain questions I have or limited access to sources that would help me figure out details of their pasts more accurately. The other reason is that I'm also actively choosing not to adhere to some details because I was ultimately writing for fun and experimenting with tone and how I perceive these characters so...do not lecture me about something I screwed up, I am literally just vibing ok

This is still set in Masterforce canon, however. This has nothing (I repeat, nothing) to do with any of the marvel stuff/American comic stuff that involved these characters. It's my understanding that the versions of these characters in Masterforce are their own separate entity to the comic stuff, I am trying to stick only to the anime and stuff connected to that. so....yea

It is my headcanon that I will absolutely keep that the Pretenders have in their files/any technical stuff their "full names" (e.g: "Cloudburst"), but refer to each other with their nicknames (going back to that example, "Phoenix"). It's like, they use both names whenever and don't mind either way. Hence......that.

I wanted to write something about Landmine, literally that was it. I guess overall I'd call it semi-Landmine-centric....Idk but I enjoyed it, he's a cool dude 👀

this is in fact, where i finally reveal myself as a person who also Lowkey ships Lander/Diver and also the idea that they have this...very complicated relationship with each other, which is why they've never really gotten together....I hc that they actually do finally get together at some point during the events of Masterforce (which I also, really want to write). Yes, this is very similar to them in my AU except it's not as complicated as the one in canon. If that makes sense 😳 Also, before you come for my head, it is a healthy relationship in the sense that there has never been any malice between them, and no instances of causing the other serious pain in any way. They like each other a lot, but both don't really know...how to go about it. Idk y'all but ykw I know what I mean.

I tried so hard with terminology here but my dumb ass doesn't know anything about tech or aircrafts or whatever so...deal with it but don't point it out I'll evaporate--

Upon much consideration, I decided to end it somewhere like, before events of masterforce. I'd say a couple years maybe?? Like 15?? (So tha puts us at 2005, which as I'm writing this omg that's my birth year oop--) So just. assume stuff happened and...following will be the other canon stuff....i guess o//o

So...yea, that should be everything I wanted to mention!

Enjoy (? Or don't? ;w;)....I wrote this for fun & I kinda liked it I guess, so here I am sharing it...lmk what you think if you want, please keep it positive, I get so extremely nervous sharing my writing sdjdsjsdj 😳

...um...so...t-thanks 🥰

That’s what Landmine had been told the first day of Cybertronian Military Academy.

///

Above all else, a good spark stands for justice, protects all life, and does what’s right.

It was a phrase taught and repeated every day without fail, quickly memorized well before the end of first semester in that first year.

And when he’d entered Autobot ranks within mere weeks of his graduation amidst the start of the war, it was a phrase shouted to his unit by their commanding officer, only slightly altered this time.

“Above all else, a good Autobot stands for justice, protects all life, and does what’s right.”

Yes, that was it. Just a slight change.

But he always wondered if it meant to subconsciously induce very particular thoughts.

‘And if we Autobots do good, then the ones who aren’t us must be doing evil.’

To name a few of the supposed many, that was the Decepticons, the rogues, and the subspecies of the planet who didn’t feel inclined to participate in such a “selfish conflict,” as one commentator had put it during a newscast. They were the evil ones, preached the drill sergeants and captains.

The logical conclusion, as it could be surmised. No one said anything about moral.

As for Landmine himself, he had no problem with “standing for justice,” however vague that was. Considering the lack of any attention, it seemed he was in line with that value, not standing out from the rest and all.

The case was the same with “protecting all life.” After all, that was a clearer command, and obviously, the noble thing to do. Landmine liked his friends, nature, animals. Of course he’d stand to protect them.

But for the last one, in the in-betweens to his drills and assignments, throughout all the years of his schooling and the time spent in the trenches of battles, he often wondered what it meant. To “do what’s right.”

What was a…‘good Autobot’ anyway?

He could recall the answers he’d received.

“It means you follow orders,” one older bot spat, laughing. He had then put the ratty cigar back in his mouth and turned away. Clearly, the conversation was over.

“A good Autobot?” Echoed a solemn youth, shining his shotgun. “Well its in the words you’ve just said! A good Autobot stands for justice, and they protect all–”

…you get the idea.

“There are none,” was all a small-framed purple bot croaked, taking another sip from his oil can. He’d died on the field, screaming in agony, about one week later.

And there were more answers, and Landmine still couldn’t figure out his own. But there were more pressing matters in his mind. Firstly, the matter of leaving this dull, doomed unit.

See, he was a bot who enjoyed adventure, thought himself particularly good in battle. He was known for good one-liners, for his looks, and his sharp shots. This wasn’t the place for him. At the risk of being prideful and conceited, he often thought to himself, that this was no place for him to die.

It was ugly, style-less, depressing, cold, damp…boring.

For years, he hoped for more, and finally one day, he got it.

“Hey!”

…

“Oh yeah? Well you can take your attitude, and shove it up your tailpipe, Xy.”

“‘Hey’ yourself, you're not part of this, so butt out you aft–”

“Aft? Excuse me? I’ve a good mind to report you for that kind of slander and harassment!”

“What?! I didn’t slander you!! I'm not even harassing you, I just insulted you, but--but that's subjective, a-and I didn’t say –”

“Shut up, you two! There’s someone knocking.”

Landmine lifted his gaze from the book he was reading when he heard Klint shout for everyone to quiet down.

As usual, it was another night in his section base–of the hot-head rookie Cinderflame being aggressive towards “two-word” Xy, and then somehow, getting into an argument with the self-important, self-declared “rulebook” of their subunit, Max.

But the knocking at their door continued, louder this time. Cinderflame started to protest, and was quickly silenced a quick cuff to the back of his head by Max.

Landmine closed his book very slowly and sat up in his bunk, watching as Klint quietly got up and headed to the door, activating his gun. Meanwhile, everyone else began to tense up, including Landmine.

It wasn’t unheard of for mutinies to happen, for somebot to snap and go on a killing rampage, or for the enemy to have infiltrated and quietly taken command of a base. Any number of things could be behind the door, as it wasn’t normal to get a knock on the door at this hour of the night.

But to their relief, the entity behind the door identified itself.

“14-E, I order you–open up! Right now!”

Klint lowered his gun and sighed, more an annoyed sigh than a relieved one. They all knew who’s voice that was, and Landmine wanted–and was sure he had–no part in whatever was happening.

‘Racker,’ mouthed Cinderflame in Xy’s direction, who rolled his optics and went back to organizing bullet shells.

The other “rulebook” bot, except Racker was official, not self-declared.

“I’ll mark you all for infractions!” He shouted in an attempt at an assertive tone, pounding unceasingly at the door.

“I’ll mark you with my fist,” muttered Klint, trudging over. As he did so, Cinderflame snickered, then looked to Max, who was trying his best to keep a serious expression. Even he had no respect for the elected section head, but didn’t want to admit that.

Well, I’m out, thought Landmine as he fell against his berth and opened his book again, hoping to get back to the story, detaching from the group.

He had no such luck, of course.

The door opened at last with a high-pitched squeal of old metal, and the section head marched in, shouting for them to stand at attention. Below, Cinderflame gave the beginning of a groan, but it was cut short with the sound of someone elbowing him.

See, there was no such procedure in the rulebook, Landmine had discovered a while ago. But, there was also no point in raising that argument now. Begrudgingly, the group all followed the order and lined up at the door.

Marching in stiffly, the grey-plated bot looked them up and down, a sharp look in his eyes. Then, he stated his business.

Landmine was wanted in the unit Commander’s quarters.

For a moment, he considered it was some sort of elaborate prank, but that thought was quite fleeting. Jokes of that kind weren’t common around this sector, if at all.

And if Racker was involved, well…

Doubt he knows what a joke is.

“Well don’t stand there, move your metal hide!”

“Yes, sir!”

He felt side-eyed gazes of pity on him as he left the line. He felt them follow him as he walked out the door closely behind Racker, and into the barren, darkened clearing. But he was far more curious than worried. He could have easily run ahead to those quarters himself.

Leaving Racker in the dust was quite easy, anyway.

…

Racker, expression solemn and blank as ever, stopped at the white door and jerked his helm in the direction of the entrance, then folded his arms and turned forward, as if Landmine was no longer there.

Go in. Alright.

Landmine smirked to himself, then reached over and pushed the door open.

Well. If I’m court-martialed or something, at least I’ll finally be put out of my misery.

“Good evening, sir,” Landmine said, striding into the room. “You asked for me?”

He’d never been in a commander’s quarters, and just taking one look at the state of it, he could infer why.

Something to do with the cleanliness of it, the quality of the tools in it…lower-ranking officers certainly had no place here, he could guess.

We belong in our cramped spaces, eating stale oil in our shared, low-rank misery.

And finally, his optics had fallen on the commander himself, Swipecatch.

Come to think of it, Landmine was sure he’d only seen the bot once. Or maybe he had a new paintjob?

I’d like a new paintjob.

He saluted and straightened his posture before the silver-blue-plated bot finally looked up from a manila-colored folder with messy scrawling and red stamps. It looked like it was important.

It also looked like a processor-ache to decipher.

“I did. You’re Landmine, right?” The commander spoke a medium tone, reaching for another paper on the side of the desk and picking up a slim, red pen.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a Pretender, are you not?”

"Alright," he murmured, beginning to write something, before glancing back up at the younger bot. “At ease,” he finally added, and Landmine was glad for it.

His gaze was immediately back on the paper as he started to write something into the blank lines. Some more silence followed, broken only by the sound of the pen against the paper, and Landmine watched as he swiftly filled out every blank space, signed his name, then looked back up again.

“I am told I have such capabilities, sir.”

“And have you been to training for it?”

“Only at a minimum level, as per my curriculum at the academy, sir.”

“Have you yet attained your third form?”

“I have not been provided any such opportunity up to this point, sir.”

“Uh-huh…”

Swipecatch nodded, seeming to come to some kind of internal conclusion and writing something in the corner of the paper, before stamping the paper and folding it in half. Landmine began to wonder if he was being disciplined.

“Soldier, you have been requested to join a special dispatch team made only of three other Pretenders like yourself.”

Or…this.

“Now, I can’t imagine you love this place enough to do this, but you do have the option to decline and remain at your post here, as it will be a very dangerous, long-term assignment, far from Cybertron and even this very sector.

“You four will only be provided one ship and instructions to report to us when asked, as we are not able to provide further resources. You will be sent into space to track Decepticon ships anywhere deemed fit to assign your team.”

He eyed Landmine up and down, who stood motionless, staring unwaveringly at his commander as he waited for him to continue. So he did.

“Your...commander will be a recent academy graduate, Metalhawk. I am not at liberty to share anything more about him than this.”

He shifted back in his chair, tapping his pen against the table.

“Since I take your…silence…to be an acceptance of this offer…” he said slowly, holding out the folded paper and letting Landmine take it. “I am giving you this now, so that you may board the next transport ship that comes in tomorrow, at first light.”

Landmine unfolded the paper a bit, catching sight of the orders written in fine print above the uneven writing of his commander.

Previous commander, actually.

“This is not a promotion, merely a new assignment that my higher-ups feel you are equipped for. There will also be a training period with your peers starting the moment you are all gathered at your launch site. Do you understand?”

“Fully, sir!”

“Alright, then. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He vaguely wondered if the sound the commander made after that was a laugh or a scoff.

Landmine saluted again, and left the room, clutching the paper in his digits, which had begun to vibrate with excitement.

Suddenly, all the years of stale oil and bleak death around him, putting up with various groupings that never seemed to work out–with this doomed unit–seemed worth it. They’d been part of some plan, something Landmine had to go through for a while before this, before…

Destiny. It has finally called my name.

…

“Mighty lucky, aren’t you?” Klint remarked, leaning against the wall and watching Landmine stacking a couple books.

Landmine simply looked up and grinned.

“Stay alive,” Xy mumbled from his bunk, not even shifting position to look at the team as they gathered in the center of the space.

His inspirational capacities truly sway the spark.

“Thank you, Xy. I’ll do my best.”

The mech raised a thumbs-up, making no further comment.

“This is favoritism!”

“It is not. It’s the will of our higher command.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s unfair?”

“Shut your trap!” Max made a fist and took a step towards Cinderflame. “Questioning high command could be treason!”

“Oh shove off, you annoying glitch.”

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Yeah, I said it!"

Klint groaned, facepalming slowly. Xy, in his bunk, put on some headphones and inched closer to the wall.

As usual, not even an hour after wakeup calls, and the two were at it again. But while Landmine conceded he wouldn't miss the unwarranted noise, he knew he would miss being able to laugh internally at their stupidity.

Cinderflame kicked at the ground and glared at Landmine, who was closing his bag and picking it up.

“We have to stay in the scrap," he muttered, "but he gets to be special! He gets to–”

Knocking at the door quieted the room.

In the brief silence, Landmine wondered how pompous he'd sound telling Cinderflame that he was, in fact, a special bot.

He decided it wasn't worth the breath.

"It's time to go!" Came the voice from behind the steel.

Landmine stood tall, strapping the bag to his back and heading outside, without a second look to his scrappy unit, who no doubt would forget his existence quite soon.

“Landmine?” The gruff, unfamiliar mech asked, looking at the Pretender.

“That’s me.” Landmine then noticed the markings on the sides of his Autobot insignia, certifying him as a higher-ranking officer. “That’s me, sir,” he revised evenly.

The officer narrowed his yellow-green optics, almost skeptically. Then he spoke again. “We’re driving a while, two hours at longest. You fueled yet?”

Landmine nodded, feeling his excitement start to build.

Naturally, the place where any transports or supply ships landed would be miles and miles from any camp, for security reasons. Only superior officers would know supply drop-off locations. One could imagine such things were carefully coordinated long before a ship's arrival.

It was then that Landmine recalled he’d never once been on a supply run.

And, he guessed, he'd never find out what it was like. But he was cool with that.

“Right. Let’s move out, then. And stay close to me.”

That won’t be a problem, sir, Landmine thought, excited for the opportunity to spin his wheels.

He also thought himself quite proficient in the art of speeding in style.

They both transformed, then sped to the entrance of the barracks. The drive took about an hour, quickly clearing miles of dry, uneven land, until at last, coming upon a ridge, the tip of a large, grey mass could be seen.

He could feel the vibrations of anticipation–of excitement!–growing as the mass became more and more like the shape of a transport ship–his ticket out of this forsaken place.

Briefly, he began to wonder what the new team was like, what the ship and its resources provided would be, where they'd be assigned first…

Will I see my new commander’s face more than once or twice, whoever it is?

And at last, they rolled down the sandy-brown rocks and onto the clearing, below the massive overhang of the ship. Landmine could hardly contain himself, and transformed as soon as his wheels came to a smooth halt.

His superior officer also transformed, drawing up next to him, folding his arms again.

"Well. Off you go."

He offered a brisk pat on the shoulder pad before trudging off to the left and calling out to one of the smaller mechs in the distance. Landmine reached into the bag strapped to him and fished out the paper before marching up the boarding plate.

Landmine made it through the security check easily, papers identified, baggage approved, and he found the area in the cargo hold where he was to remain for the duration of the ride.

“You will not leave this area until we have reached the designated location. We will use force if you cause any trouble. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A cargo hold…

Well…it was a free ship ride during a war.

Landmine waited for the guard to leave, then walked over and sat down against the wall, well within the space he’d been told to occupy. He held his bag close to his chestplates, wondered if a full power-off would be a good idea, or if the ride would be too short for that.

It seemed they weren’t going to allow him that information, either.

Ah, well, they’ll just have to wake me, then. Who knows if I’ll get a moment’s rest where we’re going anyway?

And with a quiet whirring, his systems slowed and he leaned his helm against the wall, slipping into a peaceful powerdown.

…

It seemed the guard wouldn’t have to come and wake Landmine after all, as the ship came to a halt at its destination with a large thump that shook the ship down to the nails in the wallplates.

Landmine was instantly ripped from his powerdown, jolted awake as he was thrown forward and then smacked back against the wall again when the vehicle finally halted. Rubbing his helm rather drowsily, he gave a small pout.

Whoever’s driving should have their piloting license revoked.

But he immediately recalled where he was and what he was doing, and the excitement returned, grasping his entire body in its hold. Quickly, he grabbed his bag and scrambled to his feet, waiting for someone to come and let him out.

Be cool, be calm, you’re acting like a giddy sparkling.

Right. Steady motions, smooth words. Just as usual.

And finally, someone did come. Actually, Landmine realized upon listening closer, there were…two sets of footfalls. He wondered if they were maintenance bots, or maybe a pair of workers come to unload the cargo hold, not permit Landmine to leave yet.

But he remained still, listening to the footsteps, coming closer and closer until–

“He’s in here. You’re…assuming responsibility before he reaches the camp, sir?”

It was the same guard from before. But then, the other bot with him spoke.

“Of course. You know higher-ups don’t give information about assignments, leading to accidents and the like.”

Odd. Was it one of his new teammates?

He must be higher-ranking than me to have that guard call him “sir.” Or maybe I’m being moved up a few–no, wait. Swipecatch said this isn’t a promotion. But then, why–

Suddenly, the door opened with a weighty hissing noise, and the yellow light from the halls fell upon Landmine, who’d been getting used to the blue shadows of this cargo area. He immediately turned and saluted, watching as the guard walked in first, looked around, then stepped aside.

In walked a yellow-plated bot, who took one look around, then put a servo on the shoulder pad of the guard.

“You can go if you like. I gather you’ve more important things to get to, and I know the way off the ship.”

With a small smile and a salute, the guard turned and headed out the door.

Landmine watched, somewhat amused, as the yellow mech leaned his head out the doorway, calling a thanks to the guard before turning back to Landmine with an awkward kind of smile.

He actually thanked that guard. How interesting.

Landmine returned the smile, a little more confidently.

“Right. Um,” the bot took a deep breath and walked up to Landmine, offering his servo for a handshake.

“My name is Metalhawk. I will be your new commander. Your other teammates are already aboard the ship.”

Optics flitting from the outstretched servo to the earnest, blue optics staring back at him, Landmine was beginning to realize something.

“I understand any previous commanders you’ve served under might have made a point on formalities, but I’m more interested in forming a good team than being addressed as ‘sir’ and the like. So, if you don’t mind, I hope we’ll get to know one another better with time.”

And that realization, was that this had been the right decision indeed, accepting this mission.

To be fair, anything would have been better than staying to fight in the scrapheap of a place he’d previously been.

With that…team of characters to live or die beside.

But Metalhawk seemed to be normal, perhaps even kind.

Plus, if his intuition wasn’t off, most captains, generals, and commanders were on the older side, but this bot…

He must be good to be a commander this young.

Landmine took his servo and shook it firmly.

“Glad to be serving with you, Hawk. I’m Landmine.”

At the nickname, Metalhawk gave a little grin, seeming to like it.

“Alright then, follow me.”

With a friendly chuckle, he headed for the door and immediately started to describe the other two bots Landmine was soon to meet. As they headed down the halls and out of the ship, he quickly learned that an he'd be in the company of two fliers–including his commander–and one sea-faring bot.

An interesting and even balance of alt-modes.

“...and this is our ship.”

They stopped, and Landmine found himself before a huge mass of shining, silver and white metal. The daylight bounced off it gorgeously, edging the ship in glittery light. The green-blue windows looked as jewels, without a weathering mark or scratch in sight.

The softer-toned blue highlights on the side plating of the vessel led his eye to the elegantly-painted Autobot symbol on the front hood.

They might have been given the one ship only, but by Primus, was it a beauty.

Perhaps those old generals weren't all so selfish.

It could have been some old prison ship with extra canons strapped to it, after all.

This guy's lucky to be commander and score a ship like this. Something tells me Swipecatch wouldn't know what this is like, and he's been in the game longer.

He almost chuckled aloud before remembering where he was.

A platform began to lower from the ship’s underside, which hung a little higher than their helms. Standing on it was a familiar face, and Landmine couldn’t help but perk up and exclaim–

“Diver!”

“Lander!!”

He felt a warmth surge through him. At last, he was seeing a familiar face again.

Someone he'd really thought, he'd never see again.

“‘Lander’?” Metalhawk echoed, taking a step up to the platform.

The machinery gave a smooth whirring noise and the platform began to rise off the ground and back into the ship. Landmine could only laugh, letting Waverider answer for him.

“We were arguing once,” the dark-plated mech said, leaning closer to Landmine. He spoke as if telling a weighty secret. “So I started calling him ‘Lander,’ like for his land-based vehicle mode. He retaliated, calling me ‘Diver.’”

“Because you have a water-based alt.”

“Exactly!”

“‘Diver’ is infinitely more creative, you have to give me that,” Landmine cut in.

“But ‘Lander’ is more direct!” Waverider protested.

“It’s the most obvious kind of name!”

The three of them shared a laugh.

That was most of the story, anyway.

As the three headed down the dimly-lit hallway, Waverider kept talking. He started to tell their commander about their shared academy days, about the classes they took, the things they trained for.

After a point, he couldn’t quite hear what the mech was talking about, as his mind began to wander.

Landmine recalled in flashes of memory, the moments he'd left out of the story...the days following that ‘argument,’ when they’d made up, and both their ‘insult names’ became somewhat like…pet names.

Calling in the hallways, covertly shifting places during inspections or exercises to stand with one another, sneaking into each other’s dorms, speaking in hushed tones as heat rushed through their systems, as if finally realizing all these feelings which had been for so long already there…

His spark skipped a beat as he gazed at the back of Waverider’s helm.

You never apologized for the way you left.

He tried to push those thoughts away. This wasn’t the time to stir that up.

But it never matters what the mind wants, the heart will always have its way. Guilt, too. Such a persistent thing, guilt–bent on collection of time spent contemplating the past.

Sharp like a knife, hidden in shadows of daily happenings, its steely glint appearing every now and then, its blade cutting deep into a wound time has slowly tried to mend.

Tried to mend.

But I tried…

Landmine began to wonder again about the truest meaning of “do what’s right” was. If it meant for the other bot or for oneself. If being a “good autobot” carried over into matters of the mind and spark, hidden from the public eye, intimate and…

This is not the time.

Right. Not the time.

Rounding the bend, Landmine was surprised to find how quickly they’d made their way to the command center. Considering the direction they’d been going, he guessed it was somewhere near the center of the ship.

Landmine watched as Metalhawk stepped in front of Waverider and reached out to a smooth, blue panel next to the door.

“In addition to the defaults being set up–which I need to fix–I’m the only one scanned for access right now,” Hawk said with a little smile. The door hissed and started to open. “But by tonight you’ll be scanned to the system as well.”

“And the door will open in seconds, not hours!”

“Yes, Waverider, it will,” Hawk said, rolling his optics.

Landmine watched as the door finally slid to the side, revealing a polished room with pristine, white floors and walls. Along the sides were blocks of machinery he could only guess was what higher-ups meant when they referred to something as ‘state-of-the-art.’

Except this stuff is state-of-the-art.

The front of the room had grooves that shaped a large window, wrapping around about half the side walls. Landmine guessed they were retractable for direct visibility during flight.

We don’t even need the windows open to fly the ship. Magnificent.

“During your pre-mission training together, you’ll be introduced on a basic level to all the machinery aboard this ship, and I will designate you to certain roles when the need arises.”

Everything sparkled in its modern, symmetrical beauty. It was all new, untouched, and would ideally provide the team with advantages in conflicts to come. At least, far greater than the shabby resources given to camps like the one from which Landmine had just departed.

Far less could die…

“Yo!”

Three helms turned as a red-plated mech rose from behind one of the monitor stations near the back of the room. He clapped his servos together to dust them off and stepped out from the station, waving.

“That was quick,” Metalhawk commented, looking the walls up and down. It was hard to tell what was manually modified and what had been unchanged, but Landmine decided it was best to simply trust that all the devices in the room would preform well when they were needed.

“Well...this is Cloudburst,” he said, gesturing at the mech.

Cloudburst gave a big grin.

“He’s just fixed our door problem, and most of the settings on the ship’s machinery,” the commander continued, looking somewhat pleased.

"He did!!" Waverider called from the open door. He'd immediately run back to test it out.

A mechanic of sorts, Landmine surmised.

And, after a few minutes of talking passed, he found his hypothesis correct.

Cloudburst had gone to university for a bit, before the war, but it was cut short. He was lucky enough to be selected for a special team of machinery developers, but then, unfortunate to have been placed in a camp that was quickly overpowered by Decepticon forces.

“And I made my escape before my section was done in,” he said. “In the days following, I made my way to…”

As he was talking, Waverider leaned over to Landmine.

“Phoenix,” he whispered behind a servo.

Immediately, he caught on, smirking.

“Flier?”

He watched with some satisfaction through his peripheral as Waverider nodded.

“Well, I guess it isn’t that exciting, but…that’s about it from me!” Cloudburst finished with a huff and another smile. “So what about you?”

Landmine felt put on the spot for a moment, then he shrugged.

“It’s not much compared to your novel of a tale,” he remarked. The others gave a chuckle. He looked to Metalhawk.

“But first…any chance we have drinks aboard?”

…

Landmine was incredibly amused to discover the lack of tolerance to high-grade his commander had.

Of course, he’d never been drinking with a commander before, but he’d expected himself to get drunk first.

Or…am I drunk, too?

Truth be told, he was feeling a bit sleepy…and warm.

Music played faintly from a speaker near the ceiling. Some song from a couple centuries back, the tune registering itself in subconscious memory. He knew the tune, but didn’t know the song.

As it was, with many things.

Yawning, Landmine tilted his helm, which was resting in the palm of his hand, and looked to his holopad. It was laid at the edge of the table, screen open with a striking, blue light.

The sudden blue glow against the dim, pinkish lighting of the room hurt his optics a bit, so he looked away again.

Drunk or sober, I think I’m gonna fall over.

“Commander?” He gently poked the yellow mech. Metalhawk had his head down at the flat, white tabletop.

Landmine guessed he was asleep. He took another sip of his drink, then put it down, giggling.

Perhaps this’ll rouse him…

“Hawk! Report status, soldier!” He deepened his voice to resemble the barking of a drill sergeant, tapping the yellow-plated mech as he spoke.

Metalhawk gave a short jolt.

“Whaz’t?” He slurred, raising his helm sharply, looking around a bit. He seemed to realize Landmine was talking to him and turned his gaze to him, squinting.

“Hawk, I was wondering–”

“Comman’er here,” he murmured suddenly, yet still quietly, cutting Landmine off. He gave what looked like the very definition of an ‘improper salute’ as he spoke.

“Yes, soldier?” He deepened his voice again, smirking. Hawk seemed partially unaware it was Landmine speaking to him, as if he was only half-awake.

“I report…I’m reporting for…my absence reports…I’ll go to class t’morrow, sir!!”

Oh jeez. He’s so out of it–

Landmine tightened his jaw, trying not to burst into laughter.

He promptly failed after a couple seconds more, but Metalhawk didn’t seem to really notice. And of course, this just made it funnier.

He watched as Metalhawk shook his head, looking rather drowsily at the empty cup sitting in front of him, then back at Landmine. Was he aware enough to want another drink?

Perhaps he’d suddenly have some of that energy from a couple hours ago if he had that other drink.

The image of his Commander stumbling around and laughing in a mildly uncharacteristic manner returned to his thoughts. Landmine waited in anticipation as Hawk continued to stare at the cup.

But then, he gave a long exhale and put his head back down, mumbling something else.

Landmine concluded with a small chuckle to himself that, Hawk was probably down for the night–for good this time.

“We come bearing–”

“Shush! He’ll know we’re here!!”

“He already does, you nut–”

He looked to the door as made a hissing noise and opened to reveal Cloudburst and Waverider, having a mild argument.

“Oh, you’re back,” He said, raising his glass with a small grin. Waverider set the crate down. “I definitely didn’t hear you coming down the hall.”

He watched Waverider snap around and issue a light whack to Cloudburst. It was likely in place of a triumphant ‘I told you so.’

This time, Landmine didn’t let himself laugh out loud. He did allow a quiet chuckle.

Cloudburst walked over and grabbed a bottle, popping it open and taking a drink.

“You and the boss’re still around, I see!”

Landmine nodded, moving to take another sip, but he found his cup empty.

“I’d stay, but I’m so drunk right now, I can’t stand up straight,” he said, taking another swig. Landmine nodded again, reaching over and sliding a bottle of his own out of its slot.

“Oh you’re drunk,” Waverider agreed shoving him playfully.

And so are you, Landmine thought. So am I, probably.

Pouring the bottle’s contents into his cup, he found his gaze fixating on the liquid as it sparkled mid-air. He liked the small sound it made as it refilled the cup.

He did not wish to heed how many drinks he’d already had, or was giving himself.

“Well then, begone with you,” Waverider said. With a smirk, he suddenly reached over and swiped the open bottle from Cloudburst and took a sip. The mech didn’t seem to mind, just watching him with an amused grin.

“See you, Phoenix,” Landmine said, taking his eyes off his glass for a moment. He set his now-half-empty bottle next to Metalhawk’s sleeping figure.

That was definitely too many drinks, considering the size of his cup.

“I’ll be here for a while, I think.”

Cloudburst nodded acknowledgement and made what Landmine classified as: an improper salute: exhibit B.

“Then–until the morning shines!” He said, almost a little too loudly. “Cloudburst, signing off my duty–I mean–for my duty! I will bring you–”

“Shut up, you lugnut!” Waverider shoved him out of the room, laughing so hard he lost his footing a bit. The two toppled over, landing outside of the room.

Landmine just watched, sipping at his cup. The door hissed shut on the sight of the two drunken mechs trying to unentangle themselves and stand up again, amidst their giddy, tipsy laughter.

“Until the morning shines,” he echoed to himself absentmindedly, shifting his cup from side to side.

The bubbly feeling he’d been harboring the whole evening was, inevitably and suddenly, starting to fade.

There was something starting to well up inside. Something another couple glasses wouldn’t fix, even though he had as much left in the bottle he’d just taken.

Something rather cold and dark.

To think I was among the dying in some forsaken frontlines camp. Now, here I am, drunk, with drunken fools. Look at me, one of them.

He wasn’t feeling so warm anymore.

Excitement awaits, or is it crueler death?

Another sip, and he felt a twinge of unease. Or was it nausea? His fuel tanks remained in slight discomfort, but not enough that he’d be inclined to obey its silent will.

So, he tilted his helm upwards to finish off the glass. Now he was ready to go.

Landmine rose unsteadily, swaying a bit, gripped the tableside. He felt his fuel tanks lurch with the movement, and took a second to breathe slowly.

He glanced at Hawk, still sleeping in his spot. He wondered when Waverider had planned to come back in, looking to the door. But everything had gone quiet.

Probably went back to his quarters with Phoenix.

Ah, well. It was about time he stopped drinking for the night, anyway. With a huff, he hauled himself upright and started towards the door.

Don’t know where mine is…

He figured he’d just go back to the command center. Perhaps no one would mind if he passed out there.

…

Three weeks later, the team was almost through with their pre-mission training requirements, with only days to go before they were certified to move out.

It hadn’t been easy, but Landmine found himself feeling more confident in the mission to come, and in his Pretender abilities, which had until this point, meant next to nothing to him.

It was funny to think how the higher-ups had tried to convince every bot that their only purpose was a soldier, who should hold their gun and shoot–the only exception being if they were elite by caste or class, or simply higher-ranked.

Day after day of military academy–especially after the war really got started–Landmine knew he was no elite. He was trained in how to use his gun, how to survive without proper resources for periods of time, to be a strategist–with the all the smarts a bot might need but would forget when a blade shoved itself against their throat.

Yet still, only twice had he ever been spoken to about being a Pretender. About fighting as a Pretender and not as simply another Autobot soldier.

Perhaps it was trivial in the bigger picture–after all, dead is dead.

4-edge, 3-edge, length sticks, no not those…

Landmine’s optics flicked to the different boxes lined up in the shelf. Some of them had labels, some of those labels had faded to white.

He’d gone to fetch some repair supplies for Cloudburst. And as usual, the silence invited the chatter of his own thoughts.

How many were there like himself, with unacknowledged potential–who would likely die in battle, the intricate stories of their lives forced shut in an anticlimactic conclusion. No adventure, no life lived before their time?

And how odd, he remarked internally, to still have the fortunate and the unfortunate, in the midst of a war–one being fought namely for the end of the class divide in Cybertronian society.

Will we accomplish anything when we end this, other than the destruction of cities and lives? Be it violent tyranny and oppression, or the will of corrupt and almighty governmental bodies–who below them would come away with anything other than what has always been?

Head down, staring at the contents of the open box, Landmine felt a familiar ache, a sinking feeling of dread and despair.

Our lives lie in the hands of others. If we like it or not, if we wage a war for it or not. How fair is that?

“Lander! Where are you, buddy? We’re doing another simulation soon, but Hawk wants us in the main hall first!”

Waverider.

He looked up, staring at the wall outside the open door. He felt guilty as silence followed, likely for his own lack of response. But he couldn’t say anything back right now. He gripped the box more tightly and started down the hall.

Memories began to awaken. Things he wanted to remember that made his chest hurt, reminding him why he also…didn’t want to remember.

I'm just as bad a spark, aren't I?

He wondered…how fair it was to break someone’s heart, and then, act like nothing had happened at all.

…

On the day for liftoff–when training was complete and all certifications to move out had been met–Landmine found himself exiting powerdown before daylight had emerged in the sky. He was not a late-riser by any means, but not usually quite so early either.

He stared at the faint rays of daylight, reaching through his window and lighting the edge of his room walls.

He thought about the vacuum of space ahead. Something like a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

I’ll remember this for a while, won’t I?

The mech paced his room a couple times, rolling his shoulder joints and stretching a little. He'd found many benefits to morning exercises.

Optics ticking to an empty glass bottle lying near the window, his mind drifted back to the evening before.

To the impromptu speech Metalhawk had made last night over some drinks in the bar room.

The dimly-lit room carried a quiet murmuring, a laugh here and there. Landmine had come a bit late, taking his seat while Waverider waved a hello and handed him a glass. Cloudburst was, of course, talking.

After a little while, Landmine glanced over the table and saw that Metalhawk had a distant sort of smile on his faceplate.

He ran a finger against his rounded glass, gently. Then, as if deciding something, he flicked the edge softly.

The soft cling caught the attention of their group, quieting them. And, without moving his optics from the sight of the rippling liquid in his cup, he’d begun to speak.

“As we prepare to liftoff tomorrow, I wanted to…say a few things.”

He looked now, to each one of them.

“I…cannot guarantee we will make it back to Cybertron, that we will always have what we need, or that we will…survive this. I don’t know if we’ll succeed or fail in our mission, end up as prisoners of war on some Decepticon ship or not, or die as just a handful more nameless, faceless faction of the Autobot army. But, there is one thing of which, I do ask you to be certain.”

He smiled a smile that no longer seemed distant, but very much real. Present.

A look shimmered in his optics that Landmine knew well, yet not of his own experience.

It was a look that belonged only to those who had somehow, not been tainted at their very core–who had somehow learned to love all things as they were, and to always love.

Someone, he mused the thought, who had perhaps, not yet learned to hate from the pits of his being. Or maybe…

Made a choice, he'd thought.

“I am your commander in name only. More importantly, however, know I am your teammate, and I will not abandon you at any cost. Our destinies are uncertain–I only hope for many good centuries together. Not as mere soldiers of the Autobot faction, but instead as warriors of Cybertron, and of justice. Though imperfect as all beings are, we have, and always will have, a duty to protect life, and to strive to do good. And that mission, above all others, I do believe we can accomplish.”

Landmine gave a shout of approval and raised his glass high in the air. Nodding, the others raised theirs. They gazed back at Metalhawk, who gave a small chuckle, then raised his own glass.

“For peace!” He offered the toast. Clinking of glass and overlapping shouts followed.

“For Cybertron!!”

“Let’s get ‘em!!”

“YEAA!!!”

Landmine blinked again, realizing he’d begun to stare at that bottle a little too long.

The memory left him in the silence of his room in the early hours of day.

Today’s the day.

He slipped his new blaster to its holster and cast one more look at his room, then headed down to the main room to start course-planning, as a favor for the others on the ship, of course.

…

Many years had passed since the Pretenders’ liftoff. Missions had been carried out, ships tracked and ambushed, prisoners transported to warships that arrived quickly after battles. The three weeks of training hadn’t done much to show them what they’d learn firsthand on every mission.

Many hours were spent behind piles of mission reports and other writeups for record-keeping. No one had been seriously wounded up till this point, just some scratches here and there.

When it was time to close in on their target, there’d be tense silence in the command room, darkened save for the computer display of what lay outside their ship’s windows. It was the unspoken group decision that pursuing targets would mean windows were closed, for maximum stealth effect in addition to the cloaking technology their ship possessed.

The panel walls were littered with an array of maps and charts (digital or tacked on rather hastily) that either had to do with their ship or the one the team was chasing. All optics and servos were locked to their task, relaying commands and requests between stations, ready for almost anything.

And at present, that was kind of the team’s situation…with one slight change.

“Phoenix, give me the numbers on our bottom left central thruster. Will it hold?”

Having tracked their target to a very distant quadrant, the computer didn’t have much information about the area or its conditions.

“Ah…we’re at 42% power and dropping. The damage report indicates the shielding was torn off and it’s leaking fuel. The secondary power source cables are damaged as well, so once all the power’s gone, that’s it.”

“Are the damage control systems online?”

“Negative. We have to go manual,” He pulled up the video feed of their rear camera to show the damage. “We are traveling at full speed in space, so manual repairs are not doable–”

“–without the cost of a life, alright. And if we continue pursuit as we are?”

“Without repair? The…system says about 20 minutes until it starts sucking power from the other ones, and then we’ll enter float stage, pre-free-fall.”

So…they were trapped.

Landmine watched as he ducked his head, dealing a restrained punch to the wall next to him before returning to his command station and furiously typing away at the controls. He cast his eyes back to his own task, repeating to himself that he must stay focused.

“I’m going to try to reroute the power from the damaged thruster to the functional ones and shut off its power. We need to land now, or we’ll be forced to land,” he said quickly, not looking up.

The tremor in his voice was audible, ambiguously a tone of either urgency or fear.

Landmine looked up from his station, where he had been managing their travel course since no one was piloting manually.

“Should I analyze the properties of our current sector and any stable landforms?” He offered, already pulling up another screen.

“Yes, make sure–”

Suddenly, the vessel jolted downwards and shook with such force that everyone was knocked to their feet. A blaring alarm sounded as the ship shook again, an automated voice announcing in smooth Cybertronian that their back two thrusters were out of power.

The lights shut off for a second, while the ship swayed unevenly before a loud whirring started up and it moved back up again.

When it returned to a somewhat stable position, the lights remained flickering, and everyone remained gripping their stations tightly so as to not fall over.

Metalhawk straightened and immediately dashed to the front of the ship, smacking a panel on the front computer and grabbing the steering wheel. As he twisted it, he turned back around for a moment.

“Lander–something within the current firing range of this ship–we need a landing place now!!”

“We’re abandoning target pursuit?”

He felt a small spark of hope as Metalhawk, gave a silent nod in response. He had the feeling most other commanders would have sacrificed themselves and their ship, preaching the nobility of dying for this cause without abandoning the mission.

“With any luck, one of our last stray shots hit their ship too–which was already on its last leg from the looks of it,” Waverider piped up. “So they won’t be too far ahead, I’ll bet.”

“Okay, then,” Landmine switched off his station’s input to the course control and focused his efforts on scanning the nearby planets. “I’ll get something.”

The ship was vibrating now, but not with its usual even-toned hum.

It was the kind of uneven vibrating a machine made before it finally gave out and powered down for good.

Meanwhile, all the planets in their current sector weren’t looking too appealing.

Not many with life or long-term livable conditions…Hm…

“Balance function is starting to–”

As if on cue, the ship began to tilt downwards again, the metallic whirring noise growing louder and louder. A small explosion could be heard before the lights shut off for good and the alarm system abruptly stopped. Everyone was tossed violently to the ground.

The automated voice struggled to tell the room–

“We lost the third one!!” Cloudburst called over the halting monotone speech from the ship’s speakers. He shook his head picked himself off the ground, then rushed for the door.

“I’ll shut off the power transfer so it doesn’t fry the rest of the ship and us in it!” The door hissed open and he disappeared down the hall.

Then, the sound of…something blowing out, sounded in the room.

“Oh, sweet fraggin–” Waverider muttered the beginnings of a swear before whipping his gaze to the side to watch as the left half of the ship went completely dark, the computer panels clearly destroyed past functioning point.

He slammed his station with a balled first.

“We’re blind on the left side!”

Metalhawk made a noise of frustration and worry, just barely audible above the roaring engine as it struggled to stay active. He was grappling with the somewhat functional manual steering system, trying to keep the ship at a steady angle.

“Can we open the–ngh!!”

He was cut off as the ship as the ship lost control again, throwing him off the wheel and slamming him against the wall and then the floor. As he stumbled to his feet and back to the steering wheel, he gasped as he saw the other side of the ship’s display panels begin to flicker ominously.

Landmine swallowed, doing his best to quickly surf through all the information presented.

“We’re almost out of power–we can’t deactivate the panels!”

It was now or never, they needed a place to–

'Sol System Entry 7625 - Life: detected.’

Landmine blinked twice at the screen in front of him. He scrolled back to the planet that had read the one positive result among the sea of negative ones.

It that…?

With a quick tap, the image of a blue orb with wispy, white clouds tracing its edge, floating gently in its place, appeared on his display screen. His optics flicked to the planetary report, intrigued to find that this place had even been previously logged into Autobot travel records.

‘Atmospheric makeup: Non-toxic. Resource profile: Varied, Non-toxic. Cycle End Date: Undetected. Motion Cycle: Rotation.’

He checking one last thing, anticipation building–

Landing conditions: Optimal; follow procedure 41F-52.’

That was it.

“We need to prepare the ship to enter foreign atmosphere!!”

Waverider and Metalhawk snapped their gazes in his direction.

“Yes, I found us a landing spot, you can thank me later. The profiles of the surrounding planets are virtually uninhabitable–this is our only option right now!”

Waverider exchanged looks with their commander, who gave him a sharp nod. Then, he ran over to Landmine’s screen. After a moment, he chuckled a little.

When he turned to look at Landmine, a smile had cracked onto his face through the solemn, controlled panic that had been previously. The soft, turquoise light from the only control panels still working in the room bounced off the curves of his face, shimmering off his blue visor.

And even though there was such a high chance they’d die in the next few minutes, Landmine found himself frozen, simply staring back.

No. We can’t die today. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.

“Hey! Um, a little help here–did we find something?!”

Landmine let out a little laugh and slid back into his seat as Waverider seemed to snap back to seriousness and leaned over to speak for him.

“Hawk, it also checks out as habitable to carbon-based life forms!” He called, gripping the his station as the ship jerked to the side again. “We’ll be fine as long as we land safely!”

Just then, Cloudburst came rushing into the room.

“The core engine isn’t looking good, guys! We need to get the ship out of full thrust mode or we’ll overheat, and our power sources will mix and explode!!”

Oh. Wonderful.

So, the options had been expanded beyond: 1.) drifting aimlessly, trapped inside a non-functioning ship until energon-depletion or some other cause killed them, or 2.) losing power completely and burning up upon entry to the nearest atmosphere.

Now, they had a third option: sitting and waiting for their ship to simply overheat and explode.

The reddish mech ran up next to Metalhawk and started pushing buttons on the control panel.

“Someone needs to prepare the stasis pods and program them to ejection mode, I’ll set an altitude point!”

“Got it!” Waverider called, jumping up and sprinting out of the room. Landmine started inputting the coordinates of destination to the navigation system–one of the only undamaged things thus far–and deprogramming the space travel controls.

A couple minutes of silence passed before he flashed a thumb-up in the air.

“We’re ready for atmospheric entry in approximately 40 seconds and counting!”

“Brace for a drop, everyone!” Metalhawk shouted, planting his feet and gripping the wheel with all the force he could give.

“Stasis pods are ready to go!” Waverider reentered the room, sliding back into his station.

“Engines to 15%!”

“Roger!”

“Everyone get down!!”

There was a loud noise from the engine, then an abrupt silence as it cut down to about 15% power, and then the ship dipped so far downwards that Landmine felt himself grimace.

Part of him even wondered if this was really procedure, and that they weren’t all about to die now.

As if we weren’t before, he scoffed at himself.

He dug his digits into the side of his seat and shut his optics as the ship began to pick up speed.

The eerie silence endured for what felt like an eternity before the ship moved again, this time to right itself and return to a normal angle. At least, normal enough that Landmine opened his eyes to look around and see that the others were slowly standing up.

Metalhawk let out a shuddering breath and pressed a couple buttons with shaking digits before stepping back and regarding his crew. He’d probably switched the ship back to autopilot, so that they could all–

“Everyone to the stasis pods,” he ordered solemnly, quietly.

No one else spoke a word, ducking their helms and filing out of the room and into the hall.

Landmine walked out last.

He cast one last look at the nearly pitch-black command room, catching sight of the last couple working display panels struggling to function before the door hissed shut behind him.

He felt a twinge of sadness at the idea that they were saying goodbye to this ship so soon. Admittedly, it had been one nice vessel, with a gorgeous design and plenty of capabilities.

Then, there was the stark realization that once they entered stasis, they might not make it back out alive.

We can’t die today. We won’t.

Since the ship was barely working, the lighting in the halls was…nonexistent. However, they knew exactly where they were going, and walked quietly in the darkness until they reached their destination.

With a quiet whirring noise, the door slid open. The darkness was abruptly luminated with a soft, greenish glow, emanating from the center of each stasis pod lying in its place.

There were six of them, more than enough for every member on this team.

Landmine had been there to help Cloudburst put in the other three.

He walked in and watched as Metalhawk entered his verification to the panel on the wall, deactivating the locks on each one so they hissed and snapped open simultaneously. The greenish glow faded to a blue, as if softening, to invite them in.

“Whatever the outcome, remember what I said to you all on our liftoff day,” Metalhawk said as evenly as he could, turning and regarding each mech slowly, kindly. He had that smile on his face again, which seemed to ease the tension in the room.

“If we make it out alive or if this is the day on which Primus welcomes us home, I am honored to have had such a good team of friends. I am honored to die, not for this cause, but surrounded by you.”

"And we're honored to remain with you in this moment, sir."

"It was an honor indeed."

"Frag yeah."

Their commander nodded, then swiveled to gaze down at the stasis pods.

“Then…until we meet again,” he said, soft enough that he almost wasn't audible.

He then walked to the back of the room and took a step into the pod. Cloudburst followed, taking the one next to him.

Landmine stepped towards his pod, then stopped, frozen in place again.

It wasn’t quite hesitation or fear, but something was stopping him from going forward. He could feel the quaking beneath him, as the ship was no doubt somewhat falling apart, reaching closer and closer to the ground.

He heard the doors to the other pods seal themselves shut, administering the stasis lock.

But something was…

“Hey.”

He looked to his side and found himself millimeters away from Waverider. His spark skipped a beat. But, he wasn’t afraid.

He found himself reaching out and gripping Waverider’s servos, firmly, yet gently. He traced his thumb along the palm of his hand, smiling with a deep emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Waverider’s visor glittered, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards. He let his helm fall against Landmine’s.

He spoke so softly, so gently, in his easy-going way that almost made it seem like he didn't even fear death itself.

“I want to see you again.”

“Me too.”

“Then see me again!”

“Alright, I will,” Landmine chuckled, letting go of one hand and bringing it up to caress Waverider’s face for a moment. “I won’t leave you again.”

“Oh, Lander…”

“I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry for the things I said back in Academy, I'm sorry for never contacting you, I’m sorry for–”

“Shh…”

The black-plated mech drew away, his hand sliding slowly out of Landmine’s grip. He gave a soft smile and climbed into his pod, still watching him.

Landmine found himself to be shaking, unable to speak as he watched Waverider lean back and close his optics. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling, that seemed to break his facade, to suddenly force him to realize of the gravity of everything happening in this moment.

The possibility of the unwanted outcome, which no one would mourn, and no one would remember, until long after the war was over. Or perhaps, not even then.

He watched, motionless, as the glass panel slid over his body, the blue shining off it in wavy lines.

He mouthed something just before the glass fogged over and he could no longer be seen.

Until we meet again.

He could still felt the touch on his hand, the weight against his forehead, heard the softly-whispered utterances ringing in the recesses of his mind as he finally forced himself to move.

Stepping into his own pod, he felt a strange relief wash over him. Perhaps it was closer to sudden resignation, but he wanted to believe it was relief.

A sheet of clear glass moved over his body, another, thicker one sliding over from the side.

It was a very small space, this container.

He found himself smiling.

Maybe now he could finally say he’d been a good Autobot.

Had the past been fixed? Had he done anything right or...just? Had he truly strove for the protection of all life, as Hawk had put it?

Perhaps. Or not. But maybe I did my best. And maybe…that’s good enough.

And then, the nothingness of stasis wrapped its grip around him, and everything went dark.

…

“No, you need a new tie–where’s your sense of style?!” Landmine took a long drink from his glass before shaking his head. “Oh, wait I forgot–you don’t have one.”

“Says the guy in the ugliest jacket I have ever laid eyes on–”

“That's my favorite one, shut up!”

“You!!”

“You!!!”

But the both of them were laughing.

Though tipsy, they hadn’t thought to call it a night yet, especially not on their drinks. So they remained, sitting near the window of a high-rise, fancy restaurant in the middle Manhattan.

It had so happened, Waverider was in the city for a bit, so Landmine decided to take him to one of his favorite restaurants.

It was times like this he was happy to be not just a human, but one with a very decent salary.

The lights of the city twinkled like a sea of stars tied to the ground, canceling out the vast number of stars that both of them knew hung high in the sky…out in space…

“It’s been too long for you, hasn’t it?”

Landmine jolted a bit a he heard Waverider’s voice, gaze snapping back to him and away from the city below. He watched him reach out and pick up his glass, tracing the edge of it with a finger.

“Me too, Lander,” Waverider said, so quietly it could have been to himself, “Me too.”

Yes, he agreed, internally, looking back out the window.

It’d been quite literally ages since they’d been able to resume their missions, flying around the galaxy…they’d been in human bodies for so many years, it almost felt like a distant memory–the war, or that they belonged to a whole other world.

Considering how long they'd been forced to remain on earth so far–as their superiors felt it best to just station the team on earth rather than provide or allow them a means to come back to Cybertron–he was fairly open to that notion. Perhaps it was better it all remained a vague memory, put behind him for good.

Life on earth wasn't perfect, but it had a lot of its own good moments. In some ways, it was better than Cybertron, he'd concluded.

And despite what he knew many of his kind would think, he didn't feel guilty at all for feeling that way.

He remembered the day their stasis pods reactivated, opening his optics to a bright light floating in a crystal blue sky, and realizing he was unharmed, and still alive.

The flood of hope like no other, that had caused him to remain motionless for quite a while before he finally left his pod.

But what had felt like such a distant memory wasn’t just the war itself.

“Hey,” he said taking another sip of the sparkling white liquid in his glass. “I’ve missed talking to you like this. Just sitting together...”

He watched Waverider lean back to down the rest of his glass before responding.

“You said it.”

“We should…get together more often,” he found himself saying. The music playing faintly on the speakers stopped for a moment as he spoke.

He watched Waverider smile, but felt his heart tighten as it registered what kind of smile it was. This was familiar. Quite familiar.

Another song started to play overhead. Something about romance.

“I’d…be open to that,” he said at last, looking out the window. Even amidst the medium-level noise of the restaurant, his sudden silence seemed to shout at Landmine.

Should I not have...?

Landmine sighed and reached out a hand, letting his fingers rest on his friend’s.

The warm, semi-dim lighting of the restaurant painted the strangers at the tables behind them in orange shadows. The yellow of the overhead lighting shimmered faintly in the depths of Waverider's soft blue eyes.

He looked out the window again, too, eyes caught by the sight of a skyscraper flashing a bright yellow light in some practiced sequence.

He found it wonderful and intriguing that even after all these years watching civilization build itself into the modern day, there were still some things he’d never know about daily life.

Or it might be a broken light.

Another memory suddenly greeted him.

The one where he went to check Waverider’s pod first, instinctively, and moment he realized how afraid he’d been when Waverider finally opened his eyes, the glass sliding away immediately, letting him sit up.

“We’re up first! How wild is that?” He’d said, dropping down to a kneeling position to be eye-level with him. Waverider blinked once, twice, then chuckled.

“Pretty wild.” He leaned forward and touched foreheads with Landmine. “So, hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m seeing you again. I told you we’d see each other soon…”

“I know…”

Suddenly, the hand beneath his shifted to grip back, pulling him from his memory and into the present again. The smile that he saw across the table was different again, looking happier than before.

I just don’t know how to tell you...

“Can I come to your office tomorrow, then?”

Landmine smirked, feeling his own playful nature return in full.

“Only if you let me pick out your outfit–and you throw out that awful tie!”

“By the Primes, Lander–”

“No, I'll even buy the stuff for you. It’ll be my treat,” He insisted, starting to laugh. “The people at my office will kick you out if you walk in with that uncoordinated kind of style!”

“Oh, then you must have experience in that field,” Waverider joked back, motioning at Landmine’s signature burgundy jacket.

He had the most smug grin on his face.

“My good sir, I’ll have you know that–”

But he didn’t finish his sentence.

He’d broken off abruptly, just staring at Waverider for a moment. The clamor of people around them seemed to fade out.

Unsure as to whether it was the wine he'd been drinking or something else entirely, he felt like something was...pulling at him, and he found himself leaning closer and closer until…

Another memory flashed through his mind’s eye. It was of his first experience with a kiss.

Landmine was sitting in his office, typing away at his laptop. He'd been working at a paper company while he looked for a better job, having set his sights on moving to New York.

He was filling out his application for a position as head of sales at an automotive dealer when he felt a tap on the shoulder.

In the reflection of his computer screen, he could see Waverider's figure before he felt him lean over and rest his head on his shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured, grinning. "Shouldn't you be in a meeting?"

His partner didn't respond, instead leaning over and pressing his lips gently against Landmine's cheek. The blonde froze, obviously startled by the gesture.

Then at last, he cleared his throat, looking up at Waverider, who still had a large smile on his face. He was sure he was flushed, but tried to play it cool.

"And you did that…why?”

“It’s a human custom,” Waverider explained, laughing. “Its called kissing. Saw someone in my office do it with their partner, and I've seen it hundreds of times before that, but didn't know what it was."

"And that is?" He watched Waverider draw back a bit, tapping his chin in thought.

"How do I say...well, it's like...it means affection, or that you care for someone.”

"Alright..." Landmine was still confused, however. “But, I mean...is it platonic or romantic?”

Waverider shrugged. Then, leaned over to kiss Landmine's cheek again.

"That's...up to us, I guess..."

Whatever you wanted it to be, a kiss was.

Well, he didn't know what this kiss was, but...he knew it felt right. It was better than any word he could speak, or gesture he could make.

And after a moment, he and Waverider leaned back, sat back down, quiet again. But, not an uncomfortable silence.

He watched his companion smile, start to blush. The dimples in his face showed themselves as he smiled back at him. He ruffled his brownish-blonde hair with one hand, starting to giggle a little.

Landmine knew it wasn’t going to be long before Waverider would have to return to his job, leaving New York again. They’d be lonely again, even if they called and messaged…

But maybe what they had...didn't need some kind of label, or name. A commitment or a friendship or...something deeper than that...whatever this was.

This still felt alright. As it always had. Something told him Waverider felt that, too.

He and Waverider had since had many long talks about their academy days. Everything had been laid out, brought up, acknowledged and forgiven.

They had come to understand one another so deeply in all their years since coming to Earth, but especially now, as humans in this current time of peace.

“No matter what you do, or who you’re with," Waverider murmured, beaming, "I’ll always be here for you. I know I've said that before, but...eh, it's worth saying again.”

"I know."

"I'm glad!" He laughed again.

He was certainly a little drunk, sure but, he was always like this, Landmine thought.

Waverider had always been a relaxed and fun-loving soul.

“Connected sparks...always find their way back together no matter what, don’t they?” Landmine remarked, flicking a fingertip against his plate.

He felt warm, all the way inside himself, not from the meal or the heater, but...from something else.

Waverider blinked in some surprise for a moment, seeming to take in the words, processing them, before the smile returned to his features.

“Yeah...they really do.”

And, suddenly Landmine took notice of the speaker overhead, as it had started playing something else while they spoke.

It was a song about humanity–something he and the other Pretenders had learned slowly but surely, was quite relative to what they’d known all their lives.

The truth of existence, which Landmine had found and continued to find with every passing day.

That it's alright, to be as one is–imperfect, yet persevering.

Bringing what one can to the table of life, giving, speaking, loving and experiencing it all.

That in that imperfection, life itself was good–contrary of course, to what he’d learned in the Cybertronian Military Academy, which had been wrong about many other things as well.

Life in many forms, which seeks friendships and connections between others, in its funny, social nature.

Nothing quite in idealistic purity, and often happy in that manner of existing.

That, which altogether, made it truly beautiful to be alive, especially on this Earth.

///

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beatnikchick · 10 months

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Commercialism Manifesto

Defying age has nothing to do with denying age. It has more to do with denouncing the concept of the chronological progression arbitrarily implemented by a system that benefits from us dying. 50 was meant to make you feel old, they benefited from selling “age defying” formulas. They benefited from you dying before you could collect social security; ergo, if 50 is old you would feel ancient by 62.

It’s the same with the food pyramid. They wanted to sell more food so you need four food groups, and 1400-2000 calories a day; when, historically through thousands of years this was never true. We are consumers, we are their marks. Nothing we have been taught is for our benefit. It is to sell something. Don’t randomly eat or snack because society says to eat three meals, and two snacks a day. Eat when you’re hungry, and stop when you aren’t.

All shampoos are essentially made with the same garbage, stop searching for the one that’s going to fix your hair, it doesn’t exist. Your hair is that way because you are trained to pay top dollar for chemical treatments that destroy your scalp and hair. Your mother did it, and your grandmother did it but your great grandmother couldn’t afford it nor did she have the time, and her hair did look better. Blondes don’t have more fun but it sure cost a small fortune to find that out, and that’s what they are counting on.

Stop buying diamond rings that cost 6 times your rent to prove that you love someone. The way traditional diamonds are ascertained is inhumane anyway. But besides that they have vaults and vaults full of them. They are not rare gems. They are overpriced rocks that literally have only the value De Beers company (do not ignore the blood on their hands, it’s criminal what they are responsible for) taught to see in them.

This is the post World War 2 conditioning that the American government took from Hitler. Basically that we are their consumerist monkeys that weren’t being utilized to their full potential. This is why you feel suffocated by consumerism. This is why they price gouge everything because they know we will eventually adapt, and pay.

Stop adapting. Reject the system. Unlearn what you’ve learned from two generations of people who were guinea pigs pitted against each other to “keep up with the Joneses”.

Who are you before they told you who to be, and what has value? What has value to you that doesn’t have a price tag? Don’t just say what you were taught to say. Even that, kith and kin, family and friends. That goes without saying. We were taught to say it in defense of all your monetary expenditures. “Of course I like my things but my family comes first”. How many times have you heard that. Paging Captain Obvious.

What is important to you? Let’s assume it’s already family and friends. Do you value nature, do you value a quiet evening reading, do you value art and music? Try to find things that you value that don’t come with a price tag. Another one is, “well I like to spend money”. Do you though, do you like being in debt? Do you love that second mortgage? Do you love getting divorced because your husband or wife doesn’t want to work until they’re dead to pay for your lifestyle, and love of spending money? That high you get is you filling a void that you were conditioned to fill.

You were introduced to commercials at a vulnerable age. You were taught that when you were sad (remember the kid was always sad before getting the toy or food) that when you got this shiny thing you would feel happy. Just like a good guinea pig you were conditioned as the perfect specimen to buy the shiny things, and work until you’re dead to pay for them.

You were not born to work, pay bills, and die. You feel that there is something unnatural about this existence because there is. Exist for yourself, for your friends and family, for experiences. That does not mean there is not responsibility. The chores still need to get done, and yes, money is a part of the system that we are all unfortunately prey to, so working is required. However, work to pay for your needs, and value your time over your preconceived wants.

Your time is something they value. It’s really the only thing they value aside from their God, money. They need you more than you need them. Without you they wouldn’t be flying around in jets, and eating at restaurants with food that cost as much as your rent or mortgage. Make your time invaluable. Make it the most precious thing in your life because it is. It’s the only thing that is truly yours.

You would argue that your body is. I would argue that the fact that you are subjected to god only knows what since the FDA lowered their standards in the 90s by a good 40K, and steadily have been cutting out the rest of the requirements. The fact that the air we breathe, and the water we drink are polluted that our bodies are not our own.

But our time, and our attention is. Take it back, make it yours again. Not for me, I don’t know you. I don’t benefit from this. You do what you want. But isn’t that kind of the point here. Do what YOU want not what they have taught you that you want.

I guarantee you though if you stop going to the hair salon to fix your hair (it was never broken), stop stockpiling your kitchen with thousands of dollars in groceries you end up throwing away at the end of two weeks, stop buying fancy overpriced jewelry (buy a unique piece from a local artist, you’ll get way more compliments anyway, if that’s what you value), stop buying 250-700 dollar Christmas trees, just stop buying Christmas presents altogether. Teach your children that time together is the gift. I’m not saying don’t buy the kids anything just do it throughout the year. Surprising them when they aren’t expecting it is more fun anyway.

Whatever you decide to do, make it your decision. Be aware of what they are selling you. Be aware of how you are constantly being barraged. You can’t even watch something, read an article etc. without them selling you something. Next time you go to a store see if you can walk out with nothing. Make yourself immune to their bullshit.

The economy won’t crumble, it will change, and we will adapt. We will adapt, and be happier. Mortgage’s will go down in price, groceries will, prices in general will drop. The scare tactic implanted by economists is that it’s not how the economy works. It absolutely is, we control the economic trends. Our money talks even when our mouths are closed. If you think economists aren’t paid to scare you into spending well I don’t know what to tell you because everyone in our current socioeconomic climate can be bought.

#commercialism #consumerism #overspending #money #manifesto #rant

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rivalsforlife · 3 years

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what about...COMBINING canadian chocolate bar discourse with ace attorney? which chocolate bar would each aa protagonist favour and why?

HA okay. these are the first thoughts that come to my mind don't take them as a serious character analysis and you are welcome to fight me on it. I'm sticking with non-american chocolate bars that I can find on this list (+ aero which isn't on there) and I'm only doing ones that I've had at some point which rules out about half of those bc of previously mentioned nut allergies.

Phoenix - he's the hardest one to figure out actually I'm stumped on this guy and I'm writing him last. I think at one point in elementary school assuming that this is an au where they have actual smarties in the us Larry thought some of the colours were bad luck and so he always gave those to Phoenix. Phoenix has eaten so many green smarties. (I don't know if that was an actual universal experience or just something my child brain came up with.) anyways he blames this for his later life.

Edgeworth - I'm sorry the thought of him trying to logic the "caramilk secret" and never actually managing to figure it out despite his best attempts is too entertaining to pass up

Mia (I'm counting her) - I can't explain why but I think Mia likes classic plain chocolate. so jersey milk. maybe aero for variety too.

Apollo - he thinks coffee crisp counts as a caffeine boost in the middle of day despite the fact that I'm pretty sure if it has any caffeine in it it's so small a dose it has no effect, but the placebo effect is strong.

Athena - I think she'd like smarties because of the colours. It reminds her of widget and also Athena just likes bright colours.

Ryunosuke - none of these existed at the time his games take place. he'd be amazed by all of them.

Not Protagonists But I Have Thoughts About Them Anyways:

Maya - she prefers chocolate bars that have stuff in it but has fond memories of splitting jersey milk with her sister

Trucy - likes smarties because they're easy to do magic tricks with. the candy coating means they melt less easily too, making it easier for magic tricks.

Klavier - I said I wouldn't do ones I haven't eaten but I just can't pass up the opportunity to make a joke about Wunderbar

Godot - don't know which one he'd like but he hates coffee crisp because it's not real coffee which is blacker than a moonless night, darker and more bitter tha

#asks #this was very fun thanks anon

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mindibindi · 3 years

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Super genuine question, istg. I understand people wanting to see diversity in their shows. Hell, I want to see diversity in my shows. But is it so problematic when a show’s main cast happens to be all of a certain race or ethnicity (NOT the whole cast)? I’m not saying it should be that way (the more diversity the better) but I don’t think it’s necessarily a problem when a show’s main cast is of a single race or ethnicity, especially when the other people of different races or ethnicities are well-written. It’s just like… the particular lens we get into that world. Our initial lens into Ted Lasso is the rich white owner and the white Midwestern coaches she hires to tank the team. And then we expand and learn more about that world just as Ted does.

(If you don’t feel comfortable answering that’s fine, or if I’ve come off terribly that’s fine (who knows I might wake up and be shocked at what I’ve written); but please believe me when I say this is an honest, well-meaning, genuine question.)

Hey Anon, I'm SO sorry, it's taken me FOREVER to get to this. It's partially because I was injured around the time this ask came in and unable to type very well, and partially because this question required a properly thought-out response. This is a pretty complex topic but I'm going to do my best to keep it simple and succinct. That said, my research area is feminist studies, comic theory/humour studies and literary criticism. I did a bit of critical media/film studies back in undergrad but someone else more equipped may wish to jump in if they have something worthwhile to add.

The crux of your question, as I understand it, is about the centring of the white man in western narratives. Your wording – “a single race or ethnicity” – could include narratives that centre people of other races and/or ethnicities. For instance, is there something inherently problematic about an African American sitcom? The answer to this, quite simply, is no. There is not. The problem with this wording is that it assumes people of all races and ethnicities have had an equal opportunity to tell their stories in a truthful, uninhibited way and to be represented onscreen to an audience that includes a range of people from both inside and outside their cultural community. We know this isn't true. So when, for instance, a show like Pose comes along, that focuses on transgender women and queer folk of colour in a particular community and at a particular time in US culture, it is not a problem that their focus is so narrow because this is a perspective we have rarely seen represented. However, in the twenty-first century, when yet another show comes along that centres the white male experience then yes, that does deserve critical attention.

Here’s why.

1. The Male Creator

Your question focuses on race but intersectional feminism tells us that race cannot be separated from gender, sexuality, ability and class. So when we talk about the white male perspective what we are usually talking about is the white, het, able-bodied and -minded, cis man of at least moderate means. Let's call him the whac man for short. Once we put all these qualifiers on him, it becomes clear that the patriarchy only elevates and celebrates a very select group of men. Yet despite the fact that the whac man is technically (in terms of numbers) a minority, he has dominated western narratives for centuries, and even infiltrated and influenced narratives in other cultures.

Some would have you believe that this is because the whac man is so damn extraordinary. He's brilliant, heroic, inventive, ingenious. He pushes boundaries, breaks new ground. He has succeeded in “writing” the world, “writing” culture, “writing” history and all due solely to his inherent worth and hard-won merit, rather than any structural advantage afforded him at birth. And when I say “some would have you believe” I mean he would. The whac man writes culture with the loudest voice in the world. He disseminates his beliefs further than any other competing belief can possibly be broadcast. He is patriarchy’s chosen son, rightful heir. And since patriarchy creates the soup in which we all swim, I totally understand why someone might ask this question. Because it seems normal to us, it seems natural, it seems even fair that the whac man continue to cast himself as the ultimate culture-maker and the innate centre of humanity.

2. The Universal POV

By continually casting himself as the centre of humanity – i.e. “mankind” – the whac man has configured his point of view as the universal point of view. He has done this with the sheer mass of narratives that view the world through his eyes, as well as by preventing other narratives from being heard by any means, including stealing, censoring, limiting or discrediting them. What this means is that every single person raised in a western milieu, despite their gender, gender identity/expression, sexuality, ability and class, is indoctrinated into seeing the world through the whac man’s eyes. Whether we like it or not, we are instinctively sympathetic to it, biased based purely on its pervasive familiarity. We therefore become unconsciously complicit in the whac man’s objectification of women, his homophobia towards gay, bi and queer people and his intolerance towards anyone differently abled or non-binary presenting. We are told that this is the only way to see the world, the correct way, the natural way, the best way. Because the whac man is the intellectual pinnacle, the trustworthy ideal, the unassailable core of humanity so if we identify with him, we can claim some of his power and perfection.

Obviously, this is a fucking fallacy. Because we all instinctively know where we fall in the patriarchal power dynamic. If a whac man is the ideal human then a white woman is one step removed from this ideal. As is a black man, a gay man or a disabled man. The more qualifiers you add to your identity, the further away you are from full and ideal humanity. You become less important, less powerful, less heard and less human. It’s pretty easy to see this reflected in the make-up of the Ted Lasso cast. Ted, as the ultimate whac man, sits at the centre of this universe and even gives it his name. Surrounding him is Beard, Roy and Rebecca (despite her gender but because of her wealth). The next step removed from him would be Jamie, Keeley and Nate (due to his position but despite his skin colour). The other men and woman (singular) of colour only really exist on the periphery of Ted’s world, with their main role to serve the profundity of the whac man's narrative. Just as in the real world, they are less important, less powerful, less heard and less human. They are narratively marginalised and ultimately pretty replaceable.

To be clear, I'm not saying that Ted Lasso is single-handedly responsible for this dehumanising of everyone who isn't a whac man. This is an accumulative impact that’s occurred over centuries but one that has very real modern consequences. Narratives are powerful. They are how we make sense of the world and ourselves within it. And we have had centuries of narratives, with very little respite, that centre the whac man as a universal figure we can all identify with. If you have grown up with streaming services, you may not remember a time when 85% of narratives were led by a whac hero. Maybe 10% centred on women, 5% focused on people of colour.* And the LGBTQI+ experience literally did not exist, except in coding. Unfortunately, that 10% that centred women was generally watched by women. The 5% that centred people of colour was watched by people of colour. And that 85% that centred on the whac man was watched by everyone. So while everyone was culturally encouraged to identify with the whac man, the whac man has never really been required to deeply engage or identify with any perspective other than his own. As such, there is abundant trust, empathy and allegiance flooding towards the whac man that is not necessarily reciprocated.

I'm not sure whether this has changed in recent years, with the supposed democratisation of entertainment offered by streaming services. There seems to be greater representation in programming but who is watching it? Is it enough to begin breaking down our cultural conditioning to instinctively inhabit the experience of the exemplary whac man? And is it enough to create understanding in a whac man who is so profoundly unattuned to the experience of anyone other than himself?

*these are anecdotal not official stats

3. Invisible Patriarchy

One of the most Insidious aspects of this universalisation of the patriarchal viewpoint is that it invisiblises the structures and impacts of patriarchy because the whac man doesn't experience them. The whac man never experiences sexism, homophobia, ableism or transphobia. These are not barriers for him. He must, in his narratives, invent barriers to push through: professional, intellectual, physical, metaphysical barriers that prove his heroism, his dogged individualism, his ingenious lateral thinking, his admirable rebellion against structures set up by……wait a second, by him? It’s hugely ironic that the whac man is so often cast, whether in film, TV or literature, as an underdog, a maverick, a trailblazer and initiator. Because in reality, the whac man is a figure of convention, an embodiment of the status quo. And truthfully, no one pushes harder than he does against true underdogs, mavericks and trailblazers who are attempting to remake the world he has stamped as his own. There is nothing underdoggy, mavericky or trailblazery about the whac man experience. He is set up to succeed. The barriers to his success are fewer than anyone on this planet.

To be clear, I am not talking about the viewpoint of any one whac man but rather the collective viewpoint granted him by virtue of his cultural positioning. I'm also not saying that patriarchy doesn't negatively impact men. One of the main things Ted Lasso gets right is its examination of toxic masculinity and its impact on men. (It just doesn't examine, at least in s2, the far more detrimental impact of toxic masculinity on literally everyone else other than whacs). Unfortunately, if the point of view of a narrative is that of the whac man and the whac man only, it is going to feed into this universal patriarchal viewpoint simply because of its cultural familiarity. And this too-strong identification, accumulated over generations, leads to people who are negatively impacted by patriarchal structures being literally unable to see them.

These people actually become blind to patriarchy because they’ve never seen these structures and impacts truthfully represented in popular narrative. If they don't exist for any of the (whac male) onscreen representations of humanity, then they simply don't exist at all. And what is left is a world that looks fair and natural to them. THIS is how we end up with women rejecting feminism or opposing reproductive rights or voting for the ultimate whac man in a bad toupe. THIS is how we get to masses of people identifying with a white cop standing on a black man's neck rather than the black man who died. THIS is how we get to people identifying with the whac men and women legislating what happens to trans people’s bodies rather than the actual people inhabiting those bodies. Our focus, our identification, our allegiance is with the wrong people and this is largely due to the stories we listen to and who has told them. This is what I mean when I say narratives have power and real-world impact. These are, in my opinion, the very real effects of an overabundance of celebrated whac man narratives.

4. Bonding with the WHAC man

So how do you get someone to identify with a perspective that is so detrimental to them rather than stand in their own unique perspective? Make them feel. Create empathy. This is why the whac man casts himself as the plucky underdog, the lonesome maverick, the genius with a dark past. Identification doesn't work through the eyes or mind. It works through the heart. Then it gets into the eyes, mind, body and life of a person. This is the power of narrative; this is why corporations, governments and movements all deploy narrative. It is not just how we understand our world, it’s how we bond to things in it. That's why we need to interrogate the narratives told, to make sure they are ethical, that we are bonding with the people, places and things that truly align with who we are and what we, individually and collectively, value.

Like many, I bonded with Ted Lasso. But I bonded with it through its female characters. Ted Lasso won a lot of female fans, I think, despite its whac POV. I know I saw the trailer and went “oh my God, no thanks!” simply because it looked so traditionally whac. S1 focused on Rebecca though – she was arguably the protagonist and undoubtedly the character with the greatest emotional arc. And you could absolutely critique this white feminist perspective and the whac writing that underpins it. (Rebecca is an attractive, able-bodied and -minded, white woman, i.e. the sort of victim we as a society prefer to highlight, despite the higher rates of abuse experienced by women of colour and women with disabilities, for example).

S1 was also a super friendly watch for the sensitive whac male viewer, who could feel like a good guy by identifying with Ted as he comforted and rescued Rebecca from Rupert, rather than having to align himself with Rupert, whose violence was in the past and therefore never fully exhibited. This is a phenomenon that exists in the real world too. In cases of rape, sexual harassment or assault, women are more likely to be believed if there is a whac man to corroborate their story. Not only do we all trust his judgement, because the discourses and narratives we've been exposed to have repeatedly told us to, but we can all be comforted by the #notallmen aspect of having a hero present to report on the bad man. The whac man, who expects to be represented in all stories, still gets to see himself as the hero and the rest of us get to breathe easy in the knowledge that we do not need to face the monumental task of smashing the patriarchy. All we need to do is condemn one bad man. He’s the problem. Not the structure that created him and us all.

Honestly, at this point, I’m kinda convinced that part of the rush everybody felt for s1 of Ted Lasso was less to do with the ground-breaking writing of Rebecca Welton and more to do with the revelation that is Hannah Waddingham. We all just fell in love with her and no one can be blamed for that. But in s2, even this complex female experience seemed to vanish from view and I watched as female fans struggled to find their place in the Lasso-verse. They were in good company, since queer folks have never really had a place in this universe. Of course, fandom culture doesn't skip a beat in filling in the glaring gaps left by whac-y writers. That is what fandom does best: find the lack and imaginatively fill it. The question is: should we have to?

5. “Ted Lasso” s2

I suppose you could argue that, while there was little offered in the way of a female or queer point of view, more was offered this season to diversify the male experience. We got an episode of Dani, an episode of Isaac, and an arc each for Nate and Sam (despite problems with both). But is this enough? Is some peripheral Dani and Isaac, along with some highly problematic Nate and Sam content enough to balance out aaaaaalllll the Ted, Beard, Jamie, Roy and Higgins? I can't answer that question because I didn't watch enough of the season. In terms of the emotional charge I saw generated, the impression I got was that there was a lot of empathy for Ted, some of which was at Nate’s expense. And look, I get that Ted is super loveable. You can love him and identify with him despite being a different gender, sexuality or so forth. But this is not just about viewing the world through Ted’s eyes. It’s about the underlying construction of the piece, the space from which it is conceived. And for me, there was simply too much Jason, Brendan, Joe, Jeff and Bill (such whac names if ever heard a whac name). In short, s2 of Ted Lasso was just way too whac for me.

I think if the examination of toxic masculinity had been a little bit more balanced, I might have stuck it out. If the minor blind spots of s1 hadn’t turned into major, highly hubristic blindspots in s2, I would have seen it through. But s2 kinda turned into the show I thought Ted Lasso would be before I watched it and was pleasantly surprised by it subverting my expectations. And personally, I can't help being cynical about the timing of this latest crisis of masculinity. Because whac men always go into crisis when other voices get louder and other people start getting rights (please see: the masculine modernist movement in the 1920s-ish cos history is repeating). At this point, I have limited empathy for the plight of the whac man. He has had enough of my attention, empathy and allegiance. If he is going to continue to write narratives then he's got to do better than in the past. If he is going to continue to write narratives, then he needs to be scrutinised closely and held to account. And anyone who is not a whac man simply cannot afford to sit idly by as he creates and recreates the world in his own image.

#ask #super tardy soz #ted lasso #kinda #smash the patriarchy #show me something/one new #ask me a question and i write you an essay

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tarhalindur · 3 years

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2021 NFL Predictions

Man, as someone who occasionally spends too much time thinking about the NFL (football: the closest thing American sports have to a turn-based strategy game) and trying to predict how its season will go it occurs to me: why do all this work in my head and not write it up? So, here goes nothing:

(Terminology note: “true talent” = estimate of how many games I would expect the team to win given average luck and schedule. The categories are derived off the old 16-game schedule because that’s what I was drawing off of and I’ll need to see how the new schedule plays to calibrate the break points now: as it is, “Super Bowl contender”: true-talent 12-13 wins or better (in 16 games); “division contender”: 10-12 wins; “wild card contender": 7-10 wins, with 9-10 being “upper end” and 7-8 being “low end”; everyone below that is bad.)

- The AFC South got fucked by the scheduling gods (they drew the AFC East and NFC West, likely the two deepest divisions in the NFL), and I will be quite surprised if any team in it gets a wild card. (Let’s take an upper-case outcome and assume the second-place team in the division sweeps two terrible teams and splits with the division champ. That’s five wins. Assume the Jets are terrible too and that’s six. And then... what? Barring a Kliff implosion and/or the Rams rolling injuries to the stars on their stars-and-scrubs roster the worst team in the NFC West should be at least true-talent seven wins. New England could be trash if Mac is bad or gets injured now that Hoyer is their best backup, but otherwise every non-Jets team in the AFC East is true-talent nine wins or better. Cross-divisional? Not likely unless the Colts implode due to injuries and Jacksonville does massively better than expected - they get the Bengals and Broncos, and the Falcons might also count depending on whether that team hits its fail states. The AFC South would even have a hard time benefiting if both the Browns and Chargers implode, because the third place team last year is the one team basically guaranteed to be terrible in Houston. A wild card isn’t impossible, but it needs a whole lot of dice rolls to go in a team’s favor either on the field or between games - which is by definition not likely.)

- The NFC North also gets an uphill climb to a wild card. They rolled the NFC West, the AFC North, and the new cross-conference against the AFC West, an absolutely brutal set. Getting a wild card out of that probably needs at least 4-2 in the division (probably needs exactly one of CHI/MIN to implode, though sniping a game off Green Bay also works) and some good fortune either in games that should be close in true talent or in events elsewhere (the easy road involves at least two implosions in CLE/PIT/ARI).

- The AFC East probably gets a wild card. They rolled the AFC South (likely 2-3 games where you’re heavily favored if you’re even a wild card contender) and the NFC South (admittedly not free, but NO and CAR are both probably winnable and while I’m high on the Falcons they have significant downside risk - there’s also the possibility that Father Time finally gets to the far side of his near-Brady experience), plus the Jets and the new cross-conference game against the NFC East. Worlds where the AFC East doesn’t get a wild card probably involve both multiple implosions in the AFC North and West and at least one of Coach of the Year Robert Saleh and OROY Zach Wilson.

- The AFC West probably gets a wild card? They rolled the other likely weak division in the NFC East, which goes a long way, and frankly there’s enough teams with implosion risk in the AFC North and West (CLE, DEN, maybe LAR, maybe PIT) that it’s probably going to happen to someone.

- The NFC East... they’re probably exporting a whole bunch of wins as well? Not a guarantee, though, I could actually see them get a wild card if there’s enough implosions in either the NFC South or the AFC West.

- The AFC North might be the highest-variance division in football. If they hit the high end they’re absolutely stacked, but there’s a real risk the Browns are fool’s gold (I think they were a true-talent 8-8 team last year that lucked into one of the easiest schedules in years, the question is how much they improved) and that Father Time gets The Older Rapist enough to knock the Steelers down to a true-talent 8 win team (have a hard time seeing them go further down with Mike Tomlin’s team-building, though admittedly they might underperform that given Tomlin’s occasional issues with not covering certain receivers and looking past bad teams on the road). One thing’s for sure: I don’t think there’s enough wins for all of the AFC North, AFC West, and NFC North to get wild cars.

- The NFC South has one good team (barring Father Time finally getting Brady, one that should be decent (Payton isn’t a bad coach), and two that could be anywhere from wild-card contenders to outright collapses. Note that with the Easts and Souths playing each other this year, there’s too many wins for both the NFC East and NFC South to whiff wild cards unless both divisions seriously export wins to the AFC (in which case the AFC North has an uphill climb and there’s a pretty good chance that the AFC East gets two wild cards and the other goes to the AFC West).

(Bonus under the cut: individual team thoughts!)

- Bills: Should be in the playoffs and are the division favorites, but slightly more downside than they’re getting credit for. The problems are twofold: what should have been the second most favorable schedule in the division (because the likely best teams in both the AFC North and NFC East did not finish first last year) is salted by the schedule gods taking away: they draw Pittsburgh in the season opener so are the single most likely team to face a full-strength The Older Rapist, and they draw Washington in September as well maximizing the chance that they get Fitzpatrick before he inevitably turns back into a pumpkin. (Fitzpatrick playing out of his mind and beating the Bills mostly singlehandedly and getting Team fans’ hopes up before dashing them would be peak Fitzpatrick...) More to the point, their early schedule is PIT, @MIA, WAS, HOU, @KC, @TEN; it’s not out of the question they start 2-4 or even 1-5 going into the bye if the stars really align against them, and at that point locker room morale becomes a factor.

- Dolphins: Wild card contender (true talent roughly 10 wins), could be more if Tua really develops or the Bills stumble. Good news: they dodge KC and instead get the Raiders in a quite winnable game, on top of the common AFC East schedule, and now they get the Giants (who I suspect are the worst team in the NFC East) as well. More good news: like, the worst Miami is doing against the Pats is a split, right? Bad news: they face Baltimore.

- Patriots: With Cam gone and Hoyer (a second-tier backup at this point) the presumptive backup the Pats are suddenly one of the highest-variance teams in the league. If Mac Jones is good immediately they’re a division contender, and if he’s even a competent game manager they’re another true-talent 10-win wild card contender given that run game and possibly that front seven as well. If he’s bad or gets injured, however, they now might very well wind up with a top 10 pick. Which might actually be part of the point, on top of doing a vet a solid and avoiding any locker room issues? In a weird sense Belichick is unconstrained by job security in a way no other NFL coach is; he doesn’t have unlimited job security... but he’s also nearly 70, and if the rebuild fails then by the time his seat would really be getting hot he’s probably considering retiring anyways. So he’s playing with house money. It’s not likely, but don’t be shocked if the Pats pull what Arizona did a few years back and draft a first-round QB two years in a row - it’s definitely an option if Mac is terrible.

- Jets: Not out of the question as a dark horse if Zach Wilson is good, I’ve been getting good vibes off of Saleh. Problem is the combination of their division and injury issues; I’m not sure they have the roster to overcome that yet.

- Steelers: Basically covered above. If Big Ben aka The Older Rapist is still above average they��re a wild card contender or even an outright division contender again; if Father Time gets him and they’re stuck with Mason Rudolph or Dwayne Haskins-level play at QB they probably still win a few games because Mike Tomlin is not a bad coach but they have an uphill climb.

- Baltimore: The one obvious division contender in the AFC North, given a very good quarterback and one of the five best coaches in the league. Admittedly their OC is potentially a question mark, but they should get back to the playoffs.

- Cleveland: Actually hard to tell. There’s two offsetting issues here. First, as mentioned above their schedule was soft as fuck last year and that’s unlikely to still be the case. On the other hand, I think there’s a decent chance they take a step forward this year. Ceiling is about where their record was last year barring a massive leap, floor is a 7-8 win team unless a bunch of other teams hit their upside at Cleveland’s expense.

- Bengals: Depends on how good and/or healthy Burrow is, but they probably finish last in the division regardless. Low-end wild card contender if everything goes right?

- Titans: The one team in the AFC South that should actually be good. Exactly how good depends on things like “did they overuse Derrick Henry last year?” and “is the defense any good at all?”, but the fail state here is a true-talent wild card contender in a likely soft division.

- Colts: Depends on two questions: can they get Wentz back to anything resembling 2018 form, and do they keep getting bit by the injury bug? AFAICT the core roster is of the classic “quarterback away” type with good D and a decent running game (see also this year: Denver, Washington, possibly Carolina, Pats if Mac Jones doesn’t pan out). The best case is that they can reclaim Wentz and the injury bug is done with them for the year, in which case they challenge TEN for the division. Worst case Wentz is bad and/or injured and half their roster is on IR, in which case they get a top-10 pick and the AFC East and NFC West are even more likely to get wild cards than they were already.

- Texans: Obvious tire fire, and not just on the field at this point. Problem is the tire fire includes both the new owner and his favorite exec, so they’re likely to remain a tire fire for a while...

- Jaguars: Probably depends on how good Trevor Lawrence is and how quickly, especially since I suspect Urban Meyer is at higher-than-usual risk of flaming out. Best case they’re a true-talent 8 win team that might manage to take advantage of a soft-ish schedule to challenge for the seventh seed. Otherwise look for them to export wins.

- Chiefs: Obvious Super Bowl contender is obvious, barring a Mahomes injury they’re the presumptive division favorite and near-locks for the playoffs.

- Raiders: I’m high on Carr (solid Tier 2 quarterback IMO, on par with someone like Tannehill and I’d take him over Kirk Cousins - and probably Baker Mayfield, too, though maybe not since Mayfield has less track record and thus higher upside). I’m considerably less sold on Gruden, and have doubts about what he’s done to the roster. Still should be a wild-card contender.

- Chargers: How much of last year’s late-season run was fool’s gold? Not sure. Could be all, could be none. IIRC they replaced their head coach, so that hole is at least possibly filled. Herbert is probably good, though I want another season of track record to be confident. The real problem here is that they still seem to be connected to some Indian burial ground somewhere. Upside is division contender, downside is 6 wins or so.

- Broncos: QB-away team in a bad division for it. At least they get the NFC East, but I suspect they finish out of the playoffs again this year.

(Interlude: A general thing to note about the NFC is that due to two QB injuries and one QB retirement there is exactly one team that finished first place in their division last year that I expect to be the best true-talent team in their division this year. Worse, due to the aforementioned injuries two teams I expect to be the best or at worst second-best in their divisions finished third and fourth in their divisions last year, respectively. This is throwing a giant monkey wrench in the usual SOS-based scheduling balance.)

- Football Team: The Football Team has the kind of defense that’s a characteristic of the QB-away team. There’s two differences between the Team and the usual suspect, however. First, I’m not entirely sure how good their line and thus running game will be. Second, and more importantly, the usual QB-away team has a consistently mediocre medium-to-high floor, low-ceiling quarterback. The Football Team, by way of contrast, has Ryan Fitzpatrick, arguably the single highest-variance QB of the last two decades, a man who will absolutely win you games you should have lost… and lose you games you should have won. Also, he’s in his upper 30s and thus at risk of Father Time coming for his NFL career. So, the questions: how many games do you get Fitzmagic and how many do you get Fitztragic? If the usual cycle applies, when exactly does he turn back into a pumpkin? And is the division + the lower end of the NFC South soft enough that it doesn’t matter?

- Giants: Probably the worst team in their division, and my pick for the most likely second-worst team in the NFC. I don’t like Daniel Jones, I don’t like most of the rest of the roster, and their coach is unimpressive.

- Cowboys: Remember those quarterback injuries I was talking about? Right. The ‘Boys are not without flaws – the defense is notoriously questionable (though by preseason reports they may actually have drafted a difference-maker of a linebacker this year) and Mike McCarthy may well be a downgrade compared to Jason Garrett. But barring another injury (eyes Dak’s shoulder nervously) they have a QB (I’m a bit low on Dak relative to most people, but in this case “low” still means a Tier 2 quarterback roughly on par with Derek Carr), and they should have an offense. Barring a Jalen Hurts breakout or Fitzpatrick rolling Fitzmagic for most of the year, with a healthy Dak this is at worst a wild-card contender in a weak division and thus the presumptive favorites for the division title.

- Eagles: Oof. This team is hard to judge, mostly because AFAICT they’re a weird superposition of potentially very good and potentially complete trash (that’s also spelled “very high variance”). The issues are twofold: they have a largely untested starting quarterback who was roughly average last year but might develop (the aforementioned Hurts), and they have quite a few very good but aging players on the roster. Best case, Hurts plays like a Tier 2 or even Tier 1 quarterback, the rest of the roster holds, and they’re in contention for the division title and/or a wild card slot. Worst case, Hurts is meh, the vets fall off or get injured… and then next year might be even worse because at that point you probably need a rebuilding year even if they hit this year’s draft picks.

- Packers: There’s risk here, mostly of the forms “simmering issues blow up the locker room” and “age and/or injury sap Aaron Rodgers and Jordan Love is meh or worse”. But Aaron Rodgers is one of the five best quarterbacks in the NFL until proven otherwise, and both the coach and the rest of the roster are at least decent, so barring those the Packers should be at worst a division contender with Super Bowl aspirations ala the Ravens.

- Chicago: Uh. Hmm. I like the Fields pick, gut says he’s a pretty solid bet at a Tier 2 quarterback of some description barring catastrophic injury. IIRC the D is still good. But I do not like that O-line, and I do not like that schedule, and I’m not a big fan of Coach Nagy either. In the NFC East or AFC South the Bears would have at least a decent chance at the playoffs. Here? Not so much. It’s not impossible the Bears do well, but I think a top-10 draft pick is more likely.

- Vikings: Hmm. By true talent the Vikings are probably a wild-card contender in the same vein as the mid-2010s Bengals. That’s not quite a good comparison, because I’ve got Zimmer as probably a top-10 coach and those Bengals lacked that. But the rest fits: solid if aging roster (ala the later Dalton Bengals years), overpaid mediocre QB. Yeah, I’m low on Cousins; IMO he’s a high-floor, low-ceiling type that gets overrated by analytics, the second coming of Matt Schaub. He’s a solid choice if you want to win 10-12 games (maybe 13 now) and have a shot at the conference championships, but I’ll be very surprised if he ever wins a Super Bowl as a starter. The problem for the Vikes is that they’re in the NFC North and therefore their schedule sucks balls.

- Lions: They’re rebuilding and their schedule is one of the roughest in the NFL. They might surprise someone early before the lack of talent really shows, IIRC I’ve heard about that happening once before with a Dan Campbell team, but this team is playing for a top-5 draft pick and they’re probably going to get it.

- Saints: Actually really hard for me to tell, mostly because I can’t tell how good the non-QB parts of the roster are this year relative to last. They’ve lost a HoF quarterback, and while Jameis has seasoning and a possible QB whisperer now I suspect his ceiling is still a high variance high ceiling, low floor type in the Fitzpatrick mold (absolute peak might be Eli mk. II). Payton is one of the better coaches in the NFL but finished 8-8 with Brees for multiple years. That said, the Saints’ roster last year was better than it was in those years, especially on defense. Question: is that still the same this year? Don’t know; the Saints took non-Brees losses, but I’m not sure how much. Peak is a true-talent wild card team if Jameis is above average and the rest of the roster is good; fail state is probably 6-7 wins by true talent.

- Buccaneers: Let’s be real, this boils down to a single question, the same one we’ve all been asking for over half a decade now: “is this the year Father Time finally comes for Tom Brady?”. At this point I’ll believe it when I see it. And even if yes they’re probably still a playoff team, because the rest of the Buccs roster is still the best in the division and the schedule gods once again blessed Tom Brady’s team with a weak slate of foes – the entire rest of the NFC South has issues, they get the NFC East, and by finishing second-place in the division last year the Buccs get Chicago, the Rams, and now the Colts as their SOS-dependent opponents. The AFC East with the probable exception of the Jets will be tough (but even there the Buccs luck out – they rolled New England early, and even without a possible Mac Jones adjustment period even if he’s good the first month for the Belichick-era Patriots has often been an adjustment period as the team figures out what’s working and what isn’t) and the Rams should be as well (here the schedule gods frown, the Buccs rolled the Rams early – a lot of the Rams’ downside is injury-related volatility, drawing them early minimizes the chance of this happening prior to this game), but even then the Buccs don’t look severely disfavored in any game and everything else looks very winnable and would even if Brady declines to 2015!Peyton.

- Panthers: I’m not going to lie, I actually rather like the Darnold gamble in a vacuum. If you’re betting on anyone in the NFL to pull another Tannehill he’s the one, because I’ve gotten the same vibe off him that I got off Tannehill on the Dolphins: possible tier-2 QB held back by coaching (and the same coach, no less). The problem is, I think he might be better off as a backup behind a mediocre starter for a little while to regain confidence the same way Tannehill was, and instead he’s getting thrown straight into the fire again. (Also, Fields was available, and Mac Jones too though I’m not sure the Panthers would have been a good place for him to develop.) The rest of the roster is another QB-away team with a likely very solid defense, Christian McCaffrey, and IIRC an O-line that is at least decent.

- Falcons: Possible sleeper team. The Falcons have one major advantage that people keep forgetting about: barring a major breakout from one of Jameis and The Darnold, they have at worst the second-best QB in the division, potentially even the best if Father Time gets Brady but not Ryan. And that’s not damning with faint praise; at his peak I had him as the best Tier 2 quarterback and roughly sixth-best in the NFL overall, that MVP year was not a fluke. He’s just been saddled with bad coaching and bad rosters and been unable to overcome that, which I can’t blame him for given all those 8-8 years for the Brees/Payton Saints in the mid-2010s. Good news: Dan Quinn is gone, and the schedule this year is soft (49ers game aside). As I noted above there’s probably a wild card sloshing around for the NFC South and NFC East, and I would not be surprised in the slightest if the Falcons got it.

- Seahawks: … We know the book on the Seahawks by now, right? Top-5 quarterback in the NFL (and of the three I would take over Russ on the field itself, two are old enough for Father Time to be a real concern and the last is testing exactly how bad off-field issues have to be to make a Tier 1 quarterback unemployable in the NFL), average roster otherwise, coach who is average at worst. That’s been a true-talent division contender for the last half-decade, and barring injury or locker room issues blowing up I see no reason why that would change this year.

- Rams: High variance, for a very specific reason. The roster, as constructed, is a wild-card contender, or possibly more if Stafford really goes off. The problem is that due to spending first-round draft picks like candy and not getting enough out of the later rounds to make up for it, this is (as noted above) very much a stars-and-scrubs roster. And the thing about a stars-and-scrubs roster is that it’s vulnerable in a way that a roster with more depth isn’t; if a star gets injured, your team is facing a massive drop-off in performance.

- Cardinals: Honestly, unless Kliff hits one of his downsides (can’t adjust now that defenses figured out last year’s offense and/or loses the locker room) then by true talent this is probably a low-end wild-card contender at worst (~8 wins). The problem is, in the NFC West that makes you the worst true-talent team in the division…

- 49ers: So, let’s just point out the obvious: last year was a case study in just how badly a possible true-talent Super Bowl contender has to get injured in order to get a top-10 pick. Admittedly part of that is that Jimmy G. sure seems to merit the injury-prone label at this point, which is why the 49ers traded up for another QB, but the rest of it is just extremely bad luck and that’s unlikely to persist year-to-year. This is probably the best team in the NFC West, which is saying something. (Unfortunately for them, Shanahan is in the Reid/Tomlin bucket and his weaknesses as a game coach make an actual Superb Owl an uphill climb.)

Bonus: Thoughts on the new QB class!

Trevor Lawrence: There’s obvious sample size issues, but quarterback prospects that highly rated haven’t busted in at least 30-40 years (Luck, Peyton, and Elway were all stars). He’s probably gonna be good.

Zach Wilson: Man, I was all ready to write The Other Wilson off as another LOLJets bust after the draft and then he played well in preseason and Saleh actually looks like the first competent coach the Jets have hired in a while (which may still not help him keep his job because the AFC East is now nuts). We’ll see if that holds during the regular season; among other things he has the misfortune of playing Belichick in week 2.

Trey Lance: So far looks to be talented as fuck and also raw as fuck. Shanahan seems to be pretty good at developing quarterbacks?

Justin Fields: I’ve gotten future Tier 2 quarterback vibes off him ever since he was drafted; the problem is he’s on the Bears, with questionable coaching and at least this year what looks like a terrible O-line as well. Possible next Stafford here?

Mac Jones: People don’t understand the probability curve here – the risk with Mac isn’t the ceiling, it’s the very good but not great outcomes. He got a first-round draft grade despite physical limitations, and he’s almost certainly not just being carried by his school – possibly even the opposite given the talent argument and Bama QBs’ track records. To me, that says he’s a one-tool player whose tool is the mental tool. And of all the QB tools that is by far the most important. So, the question: does that tool play in the NFL? If no, he’s probably a third-tier quarterback at best. If yes? Well, in that case there’s a very real chance he’s a Hall of Famer.

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ccwastaken · 4 years

Text

Jeff Gets Forcibly Adopted

A short story I wrote a while ago based around the mansion au. Warning for a fair few curse words.

Word count: 4160

"Fucking popcorn..." Jeff muttered to himself as he walked down the darkened street. He picked at his teeth using the kitchen knife he used for throat slitting and blood spilling. He grunted in frustration and dug the knife in harder. It slipped suddenly upwards and hit his top teeth. "AH- fuck-!" He sucked on his top lip for a moment. No blood- good.

He licked his teeth. The piece of popcorn was dislodged! Yay! He smiled in satisfaction and lowered his arm, then froze. He got that feeling again. Not the urge to kill- that was way different. It was the feeling of being watched.

He walked in a circle slowly, looking around confusedly. "Yo who the fuck is followin' me?" He called out.

"You have no need to be afraid." The voice that replied was deep and elegant sounding. Jeff stiffened in surprise. He wasn't expecting a reply. "I've been following you for a while, Jeff. I was hoping you'd come here."

"That's really fuckin' creepy, Mr stalker man." Jeff replied. There was a soft chuckle.

"Well if I were to approach you directly you'd attack me, wouldn't you Jeff?"

"How do ya know my name?" The boy snarled back.

"Everyone knows your name, Jeff. You're a murderer. You're in the papers."

Jeff glanced around suspiciously. "Where even are you?" He asked.

"Drop the weapon and I'll let you see me."

Jeff arched a brow. He looked down at the knife in his hand, then dropped it. He stuffed his hand into his hoodie pocket and curled his hand around the handle of his second backup knife. It was duller, but would do the job. "Aight, c'mon out Mr I-Stalk-Fifteen-Year-Olds." He called.

It was still for a moment, then he saw movement. The tree standing in one of the yards down the street suddenly moved. The branches moved like arms and legs until Jeff realized it wasn't a tree at all. Out stepped an incredibly tall creature. It wore a pristine black suit and had pale white skin. And absolutely no face to speak of.

"What the fu..." Was all Jeff could mumble as he stared. He stared in disbelief.

"You may know me. They call me The Slender Man." The creature spoke. "I'm known for stealing children away. For bringing them to the woods, never to be seen again." Jeff backed away. "That's a lie, of course. I don't steal children, I take them in and help them. And they are seen again in fact." The creature tilted its head at Jeff. "I understand if you're freaked out."

"I-" Jeff gulped. "What- what in the sweet fuck-" was all he could bring himself to say. Slenderman stepped a little closer and held out a hand.

"I mean you no harm. I'd like to help you, Jeff. You'll have a roof over your head, warm meals, clean clothes," Jeff looked up at him. "A family, of sorts."

Jeff stared at the outstretched hand for a few seconds. Slender was- actually surprised. He thought it'd be harder to convince this boy.

And then Jeff yanked out his knife and slashed at Slender's wrist. He stumbled back and hissed in pain. The cut wasn't deep, and definitely wouldn't kill him- he doubted anything this boy had could kill him, but still.

Jeff lunged himself at Slender, knife poised to sink straight into the creature's abdomen. Slender moved quickly to the side. Jeff stumbled forward and managed to whirl himself around. He stumbled back, barely managing to not fall. He glared at Slender and ran at him again. He lunged again and-

He was suspended in the air. Jeff looked up in surprise and realised why. The Slender Man had grabbed him with a black tendril, which was wrapped around his midsection. Jeff tried to slash at the tendril holding him, only for a second one to grab his wrist, restraining him.

"Fighting won't help either of us." Slenderman said. "I have no wish to hurt you, and killing me is impossible."

"I don't want your help." Jeff snarled. He struggled in vain against the tendrils. Slender moved him so he was being held the right way up.

"Yes but you need it. And I think you'd like it, among other people." Slenderman replied, his hand over the cut in his wrist. Jeff glared at him. "When was the last time you put on clean clothes?" He asked.

Jeff frowned. "Why does that matter?"

"It doesn't, I'm just assuming you'd like to have a wardrobe of clothes that aren't bloody and don't stink of death."

Jeff glared at the monster holding him. "You're a dick." He growled. Slender might've smiled in amusement if he had a mouth. He turned and walked down the yard he stood beside. He stepped over the small gate at the side, then over the one in the backyard, into the woods. Jeff struggled behind him. "HEY! HEY PUT ME DOWN!"

Slenderman ignored him.

Jeff stared at the disappearing neighborhood and began to panic. This creature was supposed to steal kids, right? Was that what was happening? Was he being fucking kidnapped? He struggled and kicked against nothing. Was this thing going to kill him? Oh- oh no he was going to die wasn't he?

He tried to pull the tendril around his waist off, but it didn't work. He knew it wouldn't but it was still worth a try. Another tendril grabbed his free wrist, restraining that hand too. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to calm his panicked breathing.

He wasn't held for very long. Only ten, maybe less, minutes. He was set down. His knife was pulled out of his hand and one of his wrists was released. He turned around to Slenderman, still visibly panicked. Out the corner of his eye he noticed light, and a building of some kind.

"I'm sorry for forcibly taking you-" Slender's deep, elegant voice was softer now, more gentle. "I usually try to convince people but- I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with you."

Slender gestured to the building in front of them. It was gigantic- practically a mansion. Jeff stared. The light coming from the windows looked warm and welcoming. The door even had a welcome sign on it. He was still scared as all hell but- the place looked...homey. Like someone could actually live here. He gulped as Slender stepped towards the door and opened it. The tendril around his wrist tugged him gently, and he stepped forward slowly.

Slender was already talking to someone when Jeff crossed the threshold. "You need sleep Ben. And you shouldn't be letting him stay up so late, Jack." Jeff hid himself behind the cryptid's long legs and merely listened.

"Ah it doesn't 'urt 'im, slend. 'Sides, 'e's showin' me somethin' in 'is game!" The voice that replied had the thickest British accent Jeff had ever heard. It was kind of gravelly too, but the inflections sounded like the person was usually very bubbly. The kind of person who smiled a lot and liked to laugh.

"Yeah!" The voice that replied was more American sounding, and way younger. "There's this glitch that'll-"

"I don't want to hear it. It's way past your bedtime." Slender replied. The younger voice groaned. Slender looked behind himself, down at Jeff. "Oh- actually Ben, wait. I want you to meet someone."

Jeff tensed as Slender stepped aside and very, very gently pushed him forward into the view of the other two. He registered the sound of the door closing behind him.

In front of him was a large living room with two comfy looking couches and plenty of chairs. There were actually three people in the living room. The first was a- a mime? Possibly a clown? He had black hair, a striped cone nose, suspenders, puffy, striped sleeves and feathers on both his shoulders. He was entirely black and white. The second was a boy around his age with blonde hair and abnormally bright, blue eyes. He wore a green sweatshirt with blue jeans and held a game controller in his hands. He sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the couch from the mime. The last was a kid, probably older than him, who was lounged out sideways on one of the armchairs. He was dressed fairly casual. A grey hoodie, blue jeans and sneakers. What was abnormal was his grey skin, claws, fangs, oh and the fucking three tongues hanging out of his mouth as he snored.

"This is Jeff. He's around your age, Ben." Slender said. The boy - Ben, waved over at Jeff.

"Hi." He greeted. He smiled, then looked up at Slender. His smile dropped. "A-Are you hurt?"

The goofy smile that was on the mime's face dropped and he looked over at Slender too. He didn't look worried, more- curious?

"It's nothing serious, don't worry. It's my fault in all honesty I should've assumed Jeff would have a backup weapon hidden away somewhere." Jeff shoved his hands into his pockets as Slender spoke. These two seemed to look up to Slender, right? So presumably, hurting him made Jeff public enemy number one. Great.

He was definitely leaving as soon as possible.

He was snapped back to his thoughts by the thick British accent again. "Feisty young'n, eh?" Jeff looked up. The mime had somehow moved over to him in seconds without Jeff even noticing. He stepped back in surprise, then realised the mime was still on the couch.

"Jack, you'll freak him out doing that." Slender scolded. Did this thing treat everyone in this house like a kid? Weirdo. The mime's face moved away, and Jeff realised the mime, presumably called Jack, had an extendable neck. Not weird at all.

"Eh, 'e's no pansy I'm sure." Jack shifted on the couch and lay down, crossing his legs. His head flopped over the arm of the chair. "No' wiv a face like tha'." He winked at Jeff, who glared back at him.

"Be nice." Slender hissed back. He looked over at Ben. "Now you, bed."

"But can't I-"

"No, Ben. You're a growing boy. You need to rest."

Ben groaned and turned off his game. He got up and moved over, shutting off his console. As he walked past Jeff towards the stairs he gave him a look of distrust. Jeff watched him go.

Slender walked past Jeff and through another door next to the couch where Jack lay. Jeff opened his mouth to ask Slender if he should follow, then closed it. He didn't want to seem like a needy child or anything- he needed to be tough, establish that he wasn't a wimp. So, instead, he leaned against the nearest wall, crossed his arms, and busied himself with looking around idly.

There wasn't much. The place looked- well, like a normal house. Extremely big, but normal. Jeff frowned at the photos on the walls. There were more kids. Slender and Jack were in quite a few. Ben was in a couple. The grey three tongued boy appeared often too.

"So, Jeff." Jack interrupted Jeff's thoughts. He looked at the monochrome brit. "Wha's yer story then? Dead? Immor'al? Murderer?" Jeff opened his mouth to reply but was cut off. "Oooh maybe ye're a ghost tha' go' murdered an' now ye're a murderer!" His black and white eyes shone with excitement. "Tha'd explain yer face."

"...I'm alive. And human." Jeff replied.

"Ah-" Jack looked at him. "Then I guess I go'a...face the fact that ye're just normal, eh?"

Jack stared at him, waiting for a response of any kind. When he didn't get one he frowned. "Ah, c'mon, tha' was bloody hilarious!"

"At least I'm not the one with the striped nose." Jeff responded coldly. Jack stared at him in horror.

Slender emerged from the kitchen, with bandages wrapped around his injured wrist. He looked down at Jack.

"What are you pouting about, LJ?" He asked with a sigh.

"'E insulted me nose..." Jack muttered back. He curled up, his arms crossed as he sulked. Slender would've rolled his eyes if he had any. He looked over at Jeff.

"Follow me." He said. As he walked towards the stairs, completely ignoring the unhappy British mime pouting on his couch. Jeff didn't spare Jack a glance as he followed the giant faceless cryptid. They turned right and stopped at a door at the end of the hall. Slender pushed it open and ducked inside. Jeff followed.

It was a bedroom. A simple one. Wooden floorboards, maroon walls and simple wood furniture. The bed was big with clean white sheets and soft looking pillows. Jeff looked around, confused. Slender looked at him.

"We'll get you more things as time goes by," he said. "Hopefully it'll work for now?"

Jeff looked at him, surprised. He got his own room? "Uh- yeah. It's fine." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced around.

"Good." Slenderman grabbed something from the bed and held it out to Jeff. "There's a bathroom just across the hall. You'll be sharing it with Ben and Toby. Is that okay?"

"Uh- yeah." Jeff took what Slender was holding out - a towel and clean clothes. Jeff frowned.

"After you shower come down to the kitchen, okay?" Slender said. "Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?"

Jeff looked up at Slender in thought. It- had been a while since he'd eaten something that wasn't snack foods or ready made meals. "Yeah- yeah food would- food sounds good." He glanced away. Slender seemed to smile despite his lack of mouth.

"Good!" He moved past Jeff. "Oh and put your clothes in the laundry basket."

And with that, Jeff was left alone. He waited a bit for something to happen, but nothing did, so he left the room. There was one door across the hall. Jeff walked over, opened it, and stepped inside.

The bathroom was fucking huge. Half of the left wall was just bath tub. It looked big enough for maybe three people. Pretty deep too. "Jesus this place is fancy." Jeff muttered as he locked the door behind himself and took the room in. There was no windows, so he couldn't exactly escape. Not that he wanted to. Not yet. He'd at least shower and eat first.

Jeff wasn't concerned with really cleaning himself, though he definitely would make use of the fancy looking body wash on the shower shelf. He turned on the hot water and sighed contentedly. The whole on the run and homeless thing kinda made it hard to enjoy a nice hot shower. He sat down on the floor of the tub and curled up, just enjoying the warmth. He must've lost track of time because there was a knock on the bathroom door. He looked up.

"Jeff? You okay in there?" It was Slender.

"Uh- yeah."

"Ah- alright. I don't want to rush you but try to hurry up, okay? Your food will go cold."

"Aight." Jeff called back as he stood up. He grabbed the body wash and cleaned himself off quickly. Then he grabbed the shampoo and conditioner and did his best to clean up his hair. It wasn't much, and his long black hair was horribly knotted and tangled, but at least he tried.

After stepping out of the shower he checked in the mirror to make sure his black hair dye hadn't washed itself out yet, then put on the clothes he'd been giving. Fluffy black and white socks, black boxers, striped pyjamas, also black and white, along with a long sleeved white shirt with three large Zs embroidered onto it.

...pyjamas.

Fine- they were comfy, so he'd put up with it. After depositing his old clothes into the laundry Jeff stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. He hadn't been able to take the place in before. The door closest to his was covered in stickers of all kinds. Jeff brushed over them, instead focusing his attention on a white sign on the door. It simply read "Beware: Dumbass moron ahead." In black lettering. Jeff looked at the door beside it. It was painted green and had three yellow triangles on it. Underneath were some letters that read "Ben".

He walked down the hall and looked at the other doors he passed. One was painted red and white with the words "Laughing Jack" on it, and the other, directly in front of the stairs, had vines on it, decorated with different coloured flowers. Past that was a pink door with "Sally" on it and a blue one with black drips painted on. Huh.

Jeff walked down the stairs slowly, taking the place in again. The house was as quiet as the dead, save for the quiet snoring of the three tongued creature sleeping in the living room. As Jeff tiptoed closer to the kitchen he could hear the thick British accent again. He paused and pressed his ear against the door.

"Ye shouldn' 'ave underestimated 'im."

"Yes I know- quite the clever boy, honestly. He's very capable too. He shows promise."

"Ye talk abou' kids like they're projects."

"Perhaps." There was a pause. "He's been alone for two years you know. He's probably on edge, being in a domestic setting again."

"Maybe." He heard someone sipping something.

Once it was quiet again Jeff pushed the door open slowly and peeked in. Jack and Slender looked up at him as he stepped into the kitchen. "Uh-" Jeff began before he was cut off.

"Ah! There you are." Slender chirped in greeting. His happy demeanor was- unnerving. You'd think his very existence would be horrifying but he was nothing but pleasant. "Take a seat. I made soup, is that okay?"

"Uh- yeah." All of this felt weird. Really weird. Jeff walked over and sat in the chair Jack pulled out for him. A black tendril placed a mug in front of him. The liquid in it was a white-ish yellow colour. Jeff arched a brow.

"It's real good. Try i'." Jack said next to him. Jeff took the warm mug and sipped from it. The liquid was thick and warm. It was milky and sweet and soothed his throat as he swallowed.

Oh. Oh wow. Whatever this was it was delicious. Jeff chugged back maybe half the mug then put it down with a satisfied sigh. Jack chuckled next to him, which made him tense. He pushed the mug away and sat up, folding his arms on the kitchen table and looking disinterested again. "Yeah it's- it's nice."

Jack laughed louder that time. "Ah 'e's a fine lad, Slender." He said loudly in between laughs. Slender chuckled to himself and set a bowl of soup in front of Jeff.

"I'm glad you like it. I didn't know if you'd like tea or not and- well cocoa would just keep you up so-"

"'E's thankful, Slender." Jack interrupted.

"I know I know-"

Jeff grabbed the spoon he'd been given and ate the soup silently as Slender sat down again. It was quiet for a bit until Slender spoke up. "So- Jeff," the boy looked up from his meal. "There's a few things you should know about living here." Jeff tilted his head as Slender spoke. "Besides me, Jack and Ben there's a few others here. There's Sally, Toby and- well another Jack. He's the one sleeping on the chair inside."

Jeff nodded. He didn't plan on staying here long but- it'd be worth it to listen.

"They might be frightening at first but they're all harmless. Sally is a little younger, so be nice around her. We have homeschooling four days a week and clean the house on Sundays." Slender looked at him for a response.

"...uh-huh?"

Slender didn't seem to have planned a response to that. He cleared the throat he may or may not have had. "Is there any way we can make you more comfortable here?" Jeff shrugged. "Any allergies?" Jeff shook his head. "Maybe you-"

"Slender, 'e doesn' wanna talk." Jack cut in. "Let him eat up and sleep." The mime looked at Jeff. "We'll figure i' all ou' in th' mornin', yeah?"

Jeff nodded. Jack smiled and looked back at Slender, who sighed quietly. "You're right. My apologies." He said. "Though after you're finished eating there's a couple other things I'd like to do, then you can sleep."

"Okay." Was all Jeff responded with, along with another nod. It was relatively quiet as he ate, though Jack tried to start a conversation a couple times, Slender never really let it go anywhere. "Uh- I'm finished." Jeff said after a bit.

"Ah! Good." Slender stood up. "Jack, clean up his dishes for me will you?" He asked as he left. Jack sighed and grabbed Jeff's bowl and mug. His arm stretched over and placed them beside the sink. The mime sighed tiredly and rested his head on his now normally proportioned arms. Jeff wanted to say something but- couldn't think of anything, so they sat in awkward silence until Slender came back.

He placed several bottles that rattled as they were placed down, and a spray bottle, on the table. Slender pulled out Jeff's chair.

"Can you turn around for me?" He asked. Jeff arched. Brow but did as he was told, his back facing Slender.

And then he realized what was going on. A hairbrush was dragged through his damp, knotted hair. Jeff hissed in pain. "Sorry, sorry," his hair was sprayed with something that smelled of apples and brushed again. Jeff winced. "I'm sorry I know it hurts I'm trying to be gentle-"

The hairbrush was pulled away. Jeff's breathing was shaky as he relaxed slightly. He heard a snipping noise and moved quickly to his feet.

"Jeff-"

"YOU'RE CUTTING IT?!"

Slender seemed to wince. "It's knotted really badly- I won't make it too short."

"No- no you can't-" Jeff stared at him, suddenly panicky. Slender lowered the scissors he was holding.

"How about you show me how long you'd like it? Would you like that?" He asked softly. Jeff stared for a few moments. His breathing slowed and he relaxed.

"...okay." he murmured. Jeff slowly sat down again. He reached up and grabbed a piece of his hair. "Just about there?" He asked nervously. Slender nodded.

"Alright."

Jack watched Jeff as Slender cut his hair. The boy stared at the floor and gripped onto the edge of the chair tightly. The mime frowned and reached into his puffy sleeve, pulling out some candy. "'Ere kid, ye want some?"

Jeff looked up a bit and slowly took one of the candies, a butterscotch and unwrapped it. He tossed it into his mouth. He mumbled a "thank you." and continued staring at the ground.

It took maybe half an hour for Slender to cut, brush and style Jeff's hair back to something decent. A mirror was held down in front of him. "How does it look?"

Jeff looked up and stared at himself. He- it actually- looked nice. His hair hadn't looked this good since...before he'd- y'know- killed his parents. It was a little longer now, but it looked the same as it did then. "It- it's nice."

Slender would've smiled had he a mouth. "Good!" The mirror was pulled away. "Can you look up for me?" Jeff craned his neck upwards at Slender, who was holding a small white bottle. "I'm just going to give you eye drops, okay?"

Jeff didn't protest, though he did flinch as the drops hit his eyes. He looked back down. Wow- wow those felt great- his eyes always felt like they were burning and just- generally not great, but those drops seemed to work wonders. He smiled a bit. Jack noticed this and looked up and Slender, flashing him a toothy grin.

"One last thing before you sleep, Jeff." Slender said. Jeff looked up at him. The faceless cryptid held out a glass of water in one tendril, and a handful of pills. "Just some vitamins to make you stronger and such."

Jeff took the pills and water and hesitated. Taking pills from a stranger was dumb- even Jeff knew that but- Slender was so caring- more caring than Jeff's own parents had been.

He took a swig of the water and tossed the pills into his mouth. He gagged as he swallowed them, then sipped the water some more. "...thank you." He murmured. Slender patted the boy's head.

"You're probably exhausted," he said. "Why don't you go to bed?"

Jeff nodded and stood up. He looked at Jack for a moment, then Slender. "...gnight." was all he could think to say, though he wanted to say something more- well, meaningful. He left the kitchen, walked upstairs and shuffled into his room. His door looked extremely bare compared to the others. He padded over to his bed, lay down, and buried his face in his pillow.

He was asleep in minutes.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #slenderman #Laughing jack #ben drowned #slender mansion #writing

94 notes · View notes

howrry · 5 years

Text

hot yoga

a/n: this is one of my favorite things to write, idk why. i just love roommate slash best friend h, i guess. anyways, he walks in on you masturbating and basically loses his goddamn mind over the course of one (1) week. bon appetit!

warnings: smuttyyyyy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

w/c: 3.9k

***

THURSDAY

Harry didn't really take Y/N to be the type to masturbate during the day.

Not that he necessarily thought of his roommate masturbating at all. It's just... so risky for his normally tame best friend. So imagine the shock on his face when he came home early from work to hear her softly moaning in her room.

Honestly, at first, he thought she had a guy over. Of course, that didn't really explain why he still nosed in anyways. The two of them were quite close, but not close enough to openly talk about their sex lives. Harry assumed it was because she didn't date much and, out of respect, decided to keep his mouth shut about his own goings-on.

So maybe, then, it was out of disbelief that she would actually be getting anythat he slowly trudged up the stairs to her room in their shared house. As he approached her door, her noises got clearer and he could even hear her gasping for air.

Christ, he thought to himself. Who could be that good? Her door was cracked open just a bit, enough for Harry to peer through the gap and see her in bed... minus anyone else.

She laid in bed in her underwear, and he could see she'd tossed her clothes onto the floor haphazardly. One hand dipped into her panties and he could clearly see that she had her fingers deep inside herself. The other was poking into her bra and pulling at her nipples for more stimulation. In between her continued soft noises, Harry could even hear how wet she was.

It was in this exact moment Harry realized what he was doing. Why was he peeping on his roommate and best friend? Why was it so hard to tear his eyes away? Why was his cock fattening in his pants? Why, pray tell, was he still watching?!

He stumbled back a bit, trying to stay quiet, but the floorboard creaked. The door wasn't wide enough for her to see anything outside, but he figured his cover was blown since she suddenly silenced.

Nevertheless, he creeped back downstairs soundlessly, made himself a cup of tea, and decided to take the best route he could think of—pretend he didn't see any of that. Easy.

He hoped.

About twenty minutes later, when his dick was behaving again and he’d cleaned out his tea mug, Y/N hopped downstairs wearing the clothes he'd just seen thrown on the floor.

She acted mildly surprised to see him, making a note of his early arrival home. "We finished up our work for the day and the manager gave us the rest of the day off. Figured I'd come home and have a cuppa," he explained, not looking at her but rather lying on the couch and flipping through channels.

She nodded, hands on her hips and arms pointed back like a chicken. "Good idea. Think I'll go make one m'self," Y/N decided, awkwardly stumbling to the kitchen.

This time, Harry peeked a glimpse at her. He saw that her cheeks were a bit pink, and he was painfully reminded of what she was just doing. His filthy mind started to wander and he thought about if she was a full-body blusher. Did her chest brighten up a bit when--

Stop, he urged himself, rubbing his face with his whole hand. What was wrong with him?

Just pretend it didn’t happen, remember? He’ll be fine!

***

SATURDAY

Harry hated the summer.

The man was just not a heat-adapted person. He claimed it was because of his English roots that his body was naturally made for cold weather. Living out in LA made his career and social life much easier, yet the summer months were hell on his body.

He spent this toasty day on the couch with the A/C turned up high and a small fan in his hand while he read in the living room. Y/N read with him, neither of them saying a word to each other. They'd managed to talk a little since, ahem, the incident, but the conversations weren't very lengthy.

Suddenly, Y/N stood up and placed her Sherlock Holmes novel on the arm of her chair, bending the book's spine. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a green Otterpop. Without saying anything, Y/N picked her book back up and continued reading, enjoying the popsicle.

Harry didn't show it but he’d completely lost interest in his own book; his focus was on her now. She hollowed her cheeks around the treat, audibly sucking out the melting juice. Her lips were so pretty perched around the ice, colored pink by the temperature. He would've thought she was doing it on purpose had she not been so entranced by her reading material; it was like he wasn't even in the room at all. If he kept staring at her, he’d have a full blown hard-on any minute now.

"Can yeh stop?" he blurted, making her head snap up confusedly. He backtracked immediately, realizing he had no reason to say that. It was his fault for being a perv, she was just eating a damn popsicle! "I, uh, I want one and I'm jealous. Do we have any left?"

She nodded with innocent wide eyes, the popsicle still dangling out of her mouth held up only by her teeth. It was a stupid save and she probably saw right through it, but he was glad for the free exit and went to get his own, though he didn’t stop by the living room on his way upstairs.

***

MONDAY

The beginning of the next week had weather that was muchmore bearable, and it'd appeared the heat wave had broken. Harry had no time to appreciate it though, as he had a long and productive day at the studio to end his not-so-relaxing weekend. By the time he got home, the house was empty. He didn’t question this; Y/N tended to be the spontaneous type and could be out with one of her friends.

He busied himself with cooking a small bachelor dinner. After he’d finished his meal and the post-eating doze was just about to lull him to sleep in the living room, the sound of keys in the front door’s lock jerked him awake.

Harry sat up straighter on the couch, waiting until his roommate was safely inside. “Hey, H!” she called. She was only wearing a black sports bra and a pair of peach leggings. Over the course of living with her, Harry had noticed that Y/N’s body tended to soak up sun in these warmer months, evident by her glowy skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Where have yeh been?” he questioned, not bothering with a greeting. He knew his eyes were begging to dart all over her smooth, gleaming body, but he tried his damn best to be subtle.

She snickered, tossing her bag on the love seat across from him. “Good evening to you, too. Valerie and I went to hot yoga.” Y/N dug through her duffel to get her marbled Hydroflask out.

“Hot yoga? What’s tha’?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“It’s just regular yoga but it’s in a room at 100-something degrees and 40% humidity,” she explained, opening her water bottle and taking a swig. Big droplets leaked out of the sides of her mouth and trailed down her jaw and neck to join the sweat on her skin.

He rolled his eyes, pinching his bottom lip. He was trying not to bite it and figured he’d attempt to be more inconspicuous. “I don’t speak American, how hot is that?”

“It’s hot. And humid,” she huffed. “But it relaxes your muscles so much and makes all your joints pop. It felt so good.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she stretched an arm across her torso, pressing her boobs together. Harry’s mouth popped open and immediately shut. “Actually, there’s one move I want to show you. How’s your back feeling?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Laying down on this couch isn’t the most comfortable, t’be honest.”

“Great!” Y/N grabbed H’s hand and guided him down to the floor. She hovered behind him as he sat with his legs extended. “Lift this knee,” she ordered, lightly tapping his right thigh.

He obeyed, extremely glad that his pants were thick black sweats. Her chest was brushing against his shoulders as she showed him what to do, and everywhere she touched him felt like it was on fire. He could only think about dead puppies to calm himself for so long.

“Cross it over the other knee, like you’re in a chair.” It was phrased like she was telling him what to do, but she still grabbed at him to move him into the desired position. She might have been a bit rough on him, though, and nearly crushed his family jewels between his legs.

“Whoa, easy, love,” he groaned, stopping her from man-handling him any further. “Some of us are a bit more delicate down there.” Y/N giggled, and Harry carefully crossed his leg over while remaining painfully conscious of her presence behind him.

“Now take your left elbow and put it on your lifted knee to twist as far as you can. Your back will sound like someone shuffling a deck of cards.” She put two hands on his shoulders to help him with the motion, and she was right. The stretch sent relief flooding through Harry’s body and the noises he made were borderline pornographic. “Feels good, hmm?” she purred into his ear.

He nodded, reveling in the feeling of her breath ghosting over his skin. “Try the other side,” she suggested, standing up and drinking more water.

“You should try going to hot yoga sometime,” she offered as he fully stretched out his spine, grabbing her bag and heading upstairs. “I’m gonna shower real quick. Do me a favor and pour me a rum and Coke?” she called behind her, not bothering to see if he agreed or not.

And Harry would be damned if he didn’t check out her ass in the leggings before getting up to make her a drink.

***

TUESDAY

Some nights are, in general, rougher than others in H's life, and this was one of those nights.

It wasn’t that the day was a complete disaster, it’s just that the studio had kept him much later than he'd anticipated. He was a very tenacious guy, but two long days in a row was just a bit much on his end. As he drove home, all he could think about was pouring himself a glass of MacMurray pinot and having an unwise later-evening nap. He sloppily dug his key into the lock and kicked his shoes off the second he was inside.

As he wandered through the halls of his house, he yanked out his headphones to reveal his roommate's voice coming from the kitchen. Given that it wasn't accompanied by another voice, he assumed she was on the phone.

Sure enough, he poked his head into the kitchen to see Y/N with her phone cradled between her shoulder and her cheek. She was making dinner while talking and didn't appear to notice Harry had arrived. He should’ve made his presence known given how this situation usually ended up, but he remained silent.

"You're lucky you have so many hoes, Val," Y/N noted, checking on boiling noodles and stirring them with a purple spoon. "If I'm trying to get fucked, I don't exactly have a lot of options."

At her words, he ducked out of the kitchen and hid in the hallway. Harry could chastise himself for being nosy later—he had to hear this conversation. There was some silence as Val responded before Y/N continued.

"I mean, dating for-real at this age sucks, and one night stands aren't what they used to be. All the attractive guys are cuffed up so now the only people prowling the bar scene are ugly or shit in bed." The two of them laughed. "And there's only so much my own hand can do," they giggled again before dissolving into a conversation about Val's new dog (how fast they were able to switch topics is beyond his grasp).

Harry took this as a chance to go back upstairs and pretend he never even heard that. Jeez—how many times will he have to remind himself that was the plan? How many times was this going to happen before it stuck? What was with him and barging in on Y/N during intimate moments and conversations?!

***

Harry woke up in the middle of the night with lips pressed against his neck.

At first, he couldn’t tell exactly whose lips were on him, but could tell it was some attractive female and decided to let it continue. He loved when girls spent a lot of time on his neck but didn’t give him love bites. He was so sensitive on his throat and chest that any kissing or sucking would leave him like putty in anyone’s hands. Harry decided to not question this and enjoy the lovely treatment.

The mystery girl did all the things he loved—she brought a hand up to rake through his sweaty curls, the other forced two fingers into his mouth to get them wet, and her kisses left wet patches all over his taut skin. The fingers between his lips dropped down, presumably to touch herself.

Finally, Harry needed to see who was doing all this to him. He lightly tugged the girl off by her hair, only to make eye contact with none other than his roommate Y/N.

“Y/N?!” he blurted. He was in utter shock—not only was he hard as a rock, but one of his closest friends is bare naked in front of him and trying to make out with his neck.

“Don’t think about it, love,” she purred, mocking his accent. Y/N tossed a leg over his body and grinded down onto his cock, kept separate by his boxers and the sheets on his bed. He could practically feel the heat coming off of her, if only it wasn’t for the barriers between them. In fact, the sheets seemed so tight around his legs.

Harry was suddenly washed over with anxiety and thrashed around, struggling to kick the sheets off his legs. Y/N stared at him like he was a maniac, which only made him panic more. Why wouldn’t the sheets come off his legs? Why wasn’t she helping him? Why was it suddenly so hot in there?

Harry woke up with his cock straining up against his stomach, forehead covered in sweat and bedsheets tangled around his feet just like in his dream. You know, the dream where he was about to have sex with Y/N.

He was grossed out when he thought about it, even though he had no control over his dreams. How could he be actually thinking about his totally platonic, totally innocent roommate like that? It almost felt dirtier dreaming about her than it did watching her touch herself. One of them was just a goofy accident and the other was rooted in some sub-conscious desire to bury himself in someone who probably trusted and respected him as a co-habitor.

God, did he need a therapist?

***

WEDNESDAY

“I’m thinking Chinese for lunch,” Y/N announced as Harry came into the living room.

He groaned. “The last time we had that, they messed up every part of our order. Can’t I have some time to heal?”

She lazily flipped through the last pages of the magazine in her hands. “It’s been six weeks, Harry. You have to give them another chance sometime.”

“You’re not the one who got duck in their order last time!” He indignantly crossed his arms. “Let’s just order in pizza.”

“Fine,” she sighed. Y/N pointed across the room to her phone on the TV mantle. “Go ahead and call that place down the street. I’m going to get some water.” She tossed the Cosmopolitanon the coffee table and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry with her phone. Alone.

It wasn't that Harry was a distrusting person, necessarily, he was just a bit nosy. He stared at the keypad in the phone app, switching over to the recent calls tab as quickly as he could. Most of them were pretty normal—her mum, Harry himself, her job, and so on… But what really confused Harry was the fact that the most recent phone call she’d made to Valerie was over two weeks ago.

Wait. He’d just heard her chatting with Val about her sex life yesterday. There’s no reason for her to have deleted the call so… it must have never happened.

Y/N had been playing him the whole time. His mind felt like it was short circuiting. He truly had thought he’d gone mad! She knew exactly what she was doing, at least ever since the popsicle incident. He wasn't sure if he should be mad or super turned on, but he was sure that she couldn't get away with this.

“Everything alright, Haz?” she asked, coming back into the living room with a sweating glass of ice water in her hand.

He scrambled to switch back to the keypad, hastily punching in the number to the shop and bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, m’fine! What’d you want on yours, again?”

***

THURSDAY

The next morning, Harry sat at the breakfast table, reading the paper and minding his business. A tiny rumble from his stomach made him consider eating something, since his tea wasn’t doing much for him. His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N joined him in the kitchen.

She fluttered in wearing only a t-shirt. It was a black band shirt that was long enough to cover her ass, but Harry still peered over his newspaper, wondering what kind of game she was going to play now.

The answer to that was metaphorically shoved in his face when Y/N got on her tip toes to reach a bowl on a high shelf; the hem of the shirt lifted as her arms did, exposing her panties. Harry couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but after a few seconds of shamelessly staring he realized they were the exact same pair she'd been wearing when he peeped her touching herself last Thursday.

They were silky and light pink, not covering her whole ass but not quite a thong. The fabric really framed her flatteringly and Harry felt an urge to grab her ass and maybe smack it, even more than he’d been wanting to earlier throughout the week.

Fed up, he scraped his chair back and threw down the paper. He marched over to her as she whirled around wearing that fake confused-and-innocent look she'd been rocking all week. Harry was quite done, however, and pressed her up against the counter, his semi-hard cock digging against her hip.

"Why are yeh doin' this to me, love?" he whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

Her knees buckled, but she stayed standing thanks to H trapping her between his warm body and the counter. "I d-don't know what you mean."

Harry laughed dryly, grabbing her wrists and forcing them behind her, getting them even closer together. "That's enough of that, minx. Y’know you've been driving me mad all week just to get a rise out o’me." He smirked as his eyes dragged across her face.

She swallowed, trying not to break eye contact with this intimidating man. All she could do was nod.

His eyes darkened and he dropped his head down to her neck, brushing over the skin with his lips. "I want to hear you say it, pet," he growled. "Say you've been teasing me all week because you wanted my attention."

Her jaw dropped as he started sucking marks into her soft skin. "I teased you all week - oh God there - because I wanted your attention. Wanted you to fuck me."

Harry groaned at this, one fist coming up to yank at her hair. "Yeh think y’deserve that? You've been a real menace ‘n you shouldn’t get off that easy,” he demanded, grinding his cock into her hips. "You think you should get my cock inside your sweet cunt?”

“Yes!” she groaned out, knowing a nod wouldn’t suffice. The corner of his mouth tugged up once more, and he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her up to her bedroom.

He set her down on the bed and joined her, crawling on his knees. “There’s a move I wanna show you,” he started, yanking his t-shirt off from the back of his neck. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, pet,” he ordered. “You’re gonna lie on your back and you’re gonna touch yourself.”

Her brows furrowed and she sat up on her elbows timidly. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” he barked, voice low. “Don’t act shy now, I saw how you make yourself feel.”

She nodded, pulling her shirt off her body. She laid back down and timidly pulled aside her underwear to expose her cunt to Harry. His own palm dug into the front of his trousers as she warmed herself up, rubbing circles around the sensitive spot on her clit.

“Wish it was,” she breathed, “wish it was your fingers. They’re so much – uh– bigger.” Y/N was one to put on a show and Harry was eating it up. Her fingers dipped inside herself and came out glistening wet, and he finally pulled out his cock from his trousers to start stroking himself. Neither one of them were really giving any thought to how insane masturbating with your best friend was—all they could think about was how long both of them have waited to do this.

Harry caught her eyeing his cock slicking in his palm. “Wanna get your mouth on me?” Her doe eyes met his, and she confidently nodded. “Stay still then,” he commanded, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

So she continued fingering herself and Harry climbed over her and straddled just below her shoulders, so his cock was right at her mouth. She obediently stuck her tongue out and he slapped the head on it a couple times, eliciting a groan from his mouth. Y/N latched her mouth around him and sucked like she did on that damn popsicle. H grabbed a fistful of her hair as the moans from her self-inflicted pleasure rang through his cock into his body.

The more she touched herself, the more she moaned, and Harry was starting to lose it. Her fingers worked herself over as the heel of her palm slid over her clit. She came on her own fingers, just like she did by herself awhile back, and arched her back below him as her orgasm rippled throughout her.

“Can I come on your face, pretty girl?” he begged, and she politely nodded, having trouble catching her breath with a dick in her mouth. He pulled out and painted her face with thick ropes of white cum, body shaking as the pleasure washed over him. “Fuck, pet, you’re killin’ me.”

Once they’d caught their breath, Y/N got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a new t-shirt on and a clean face. Harry had since put his boxers back on, and she joined him on the bed. He was the first to speak.

“So… do you wanna go to hot yoga now?”

#harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #majorharry #jawllines #harryforvogue #haroldloverboy #permanentcross #happy thursday bitches light up

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sledgefuweek · 4 years

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Hi everyone! As we mentioned a couple days ago, Lea and I thought it’d be helpful for everyone if we made an informational post about the prompts for Sledgefu Week, just in case people were either confused about the prompt itself or maybe looking for some inspo!

Here is the AU prompt list: I’ll pop it under a read-more just to save your dashboards, but do go ahead and check it out! And as always, any questions or comments you may have, our inbox is always open :~)

PIRATE AU

Pretty self-explanatory, and a really popular suggestion on the google form that came before the poll, so I’ll assume most of you have a pretty good idea of what makes a pirate AU! This is a fun prompt to pair up with other ‘ocean’ themed prompts, I’m thinking of sirens, mermaids, sea monsters, however many tentacles you want to introduce into this thing. I think Pirate AU can encompass all of those, plus all the various different degrees of piracy that can be had, ranging from the big bad Captain Hook style of piracy down to something a little more Treasure Planet... the AU doesn’t stipulate anywhere that it has to be on land/water after all ;~) My favourite childhood pirates were the sky pirates from the Edge Chronicles series! Really, the only limit with this prompt is your own imagination, feel free to push the envelope!

SOUTHERN GOTHIC

This is one that I’ve seen a few people be curious about, and honestly as was I! Maybe if you’re American you may have a better understanding of what makes a Southern Gothic story different from a conventional (European) Gothic novel, but I know a lot of people here aren’t American, including myself and Lea, so! I did a little research (but if any of this doesn’t quite ring true to what Southern Gothic is, don’t hesitate to correct me! There’s only so much the internet can tell me haha). It’s my understanding that where Euro Gothic is more heavily rooted in the fantastic, Southern Gothic tends towards magical realism instead. It’s more heavily entrenched into the culture of the South than Euro Gothic is necessarily about European culture. Its essentially preoccupied with examining the values of the American south, so it’s important to exercise some sensitivity and care with some of the themes which can come up when looking at the history of the south; namely racism, and slavery -- for obvious reasons. There are plenty other ways to approach Southern Gothic without making comment on these aspects of the genre if you aren’t appropriately knowledgeable about them... the genre stems from European Gothic after all, which means that although it is focused on the south, it is also characterised by explorations of madness, fear of the outside world, decay and despair, the impact of the past on the present, and events stemming from or relating to poverty, crime, alienation, or violence. It has an absolute wealth of generic characteristics that, once combined with the magical realism that is unique to Southern Gothic, can be really fun to play with. Think Wuthering Heights, you know?

VAMPIRE AU

Another pretty classic one, and an AU that I think warrants very little explanation. I think the fun in Vampire AUs is in making it new -- there are SO many various vampire stories out there, what do you want to do with yours? Draw from popular culture, draw from history, draw from your own imagination... just as with the pirate AU, there’s really no limit to where you can take this prompt. Imagine the impact of an all-vampire company in a canonverse story! Or how would a newly-turned vampire navigate his new condition in the modern world? Plus, the whole immortality thing really lends itself to some great slow burn opportunities here. Or, hey, Twilight AU?

PARANORMAL AU

Okay, so: I know now that this looks similar to our Supernatural AU from last year, at a glance. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like they’re two very distinct prompts! It’s always been my understanding that supernatural is monsters: werewolves, witches, etc. whereas paranormal means ghosts, and aliens? Either way, if you already have an idea planned for this that tends towards the werewolf rather than the ghost, don’t worry about it. However this is the time where the angst can come in... I feel like The Pacific is kind of a perfect piece of source material to base a ghostfic on -- not to be morbid but well, you know. And of course, it isn’t limited to one of the characters being a ghost -- as I said, my understanding of ‘paranormal’ always encompassed ghosts, but also aliens, and cryptozoology. Now, wouldn’t Eugene being so interested in birds translate nicely into cryptozoology? Wouldn’t Snafu, being the paranoid legend that he is, quite possibly be into weird internet forums about aliens? You can interpret the prompt as loosely or as closely as you like :~)

COFFEE SHOP AU

I feel like I don’t need to explain this. Do I? Are coffee shop AUs still as popular as they used to be? The real challenge of a coffee shop AU is actually this: how will you make the employee of the coffee shop feel anything less than distain for the customer that is the would-be love interest? Fellow customer service workers know exactly what I mean. (But for real, this can be a fun prompt despite how oftentimes overworked it can seem, and that’s because it leaves a lot of room for creativity. Is your character a poet doing a reading at a local coffee house, catching the eye of the person in the audience? Are they a musician, a stressed-out student, a caffeine-hater who is gritting their teeth after every sip just for a chance to speak to the cute barista? There’s tons of options, and I’m excited to see where people go with it.)

GHIBLI AU

So this is quite simply an opportunity to write an AU for any Ghibli movie of your choice! It’s actually my prompt (I was super happy to see it make it up there in the polls!) so I can explain why it’s nice and vague :~) I didn’t like the thought of having to limit every single person who wanted to contribute to the ship week to a specific AU for a specific Ghibli movie: they have such a huge catalogue of movies, and everyone seems to have their own particular favourite! So basically, you have the freedom to pick from any movie made by Ghibli to turn into an AU here. And these AUs can be as close to the source or as far away from it as you like. Want to write Gene and Snaf as background characters ordering bread from Kiki? You got it. Want to have them fighting in the war that features in Howl’s Moving Castle? Your mind. It’s completely up to you! And if you’re not familiar with Ghibli movies, you’re gonna have a great time if you do decide to watch a couple :~) They’re all on Netflix in the UK, but can’t speak for other countries sadly.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

A time-honoured classic. Who hasn’t read an enemies to lovers AU? If you haven’t, and you’re unfamiliar with the concept, it’s pretty self explanatory! It’s pretty much about two characters who have an oftentimes very long history of conflict with each other, (though the ‘long’ part doesn’t really matter much) that eventually resolves into, well, love! The enemy relationship gets swapped for a romantic relationship. I always associate this prompt with slow burn fic too -- it’s always so good if it’s a gradual descent into affection. Now, this is a very broad prompt, which means it can be applied really nicely on top of other AUs! Just glancing at the list here, you wanna write a centuries long Vampire AU where they start out enemies and become lovers? Go for it!! It’s easily one that can be made unique and really fun by applying it to other AUs if you want to. I always think of Spy AUs or things within that genre too!

MYTH AU

This is another pretty broad one that I think covers a lot of bases, simply because there are SO many myths out there lol. If your culture has specific myths, this’d be a really nice time to get creative with them and also let people learn a little more about myths they might not know! There’s also obviously a ton of myths centralised around the American south so that would be fitting for both characters, but don’t be afraid to branch out! Really, you can apply this to any kind of folklore you want, and it’d be perfect! Obviously Greek myths are super popular and always cool too -- imagine an Achilles/Patroclus AU! But I think what makes this prompt really nice is tha it leaves you some room to actually have a go at making your own mythic tale up. So fall back on the real myths that kinda build up our world, but if you’re feeling really creative, take a stab at crafting your own!

#sledgefu week

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topconfessions · 4 years

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[ask] will top ever come out as bisexual? his fans ship him with gdtop for their fun.

NEVER. he would never ever ever ever ever ever ever in his lifetime come out. Maybeeeee in his mid 40s if the society both american and korean is more open to it. He’s too secretive and stubborn on that. GD would come out as bisexual before him and unlike GD, TOP is more masculine than him. I mean sure he acts like a little whipped twinky bitch at times (I’m sorry, I love TOP, but you have to think of WHY people have the aduacity to even ship him with someone like tha if he didn’t present himself that way. I don’t see taeyang getting heavily shipped, fans did it to him and GD but that was intrusive cause they couldn’t accept 2 grown men having a close brotherly bond and wanted to make it gay just cause.) but TOP presents himself aesthetically as traditionally masculine most of the time. If he didn’t open his mouth too much to show how............out there he is...I’d assume he was straight or just very picky on first glance.

Top will never come out anytime soon.

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thisisthepartwhereyou · 5 years

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STAR WARS-SPECULATION #2: Rebel or Lost Cause? *May Contain Spoilers*

--- During the course of human history there has been many cases of overwhelming tyranny and opression. It can be as small as the dominion of a single creature, or as vast as an entire world. But as they say, even the cornered rat will bite the cat, and give birth to struggle and resistance. Under these circumstances, a rebellion rises to resist and challenge the rule of the oppressors, despite facing unlikely odds. David against Goliath, the Spartans in the battle of Thermopylae, and when speaking of the Star Wars-sequel trilogy, the Resistance and the First Order.

While one can go on to say that the conflict between the First Order and the Resistance is basically a carbon-copy of the Empire versus the Rebellion from the original trilogy, as we don't go deep enough into the history or political aspects of either group to really nail down their differences to their older counterparts. Though from what I gather, the First Order is composed of the remnants of the empire, who by the time of The Force Awakens (2015) is recognized as an extremist following, though not generally seen as a major danger in the eyes of the government (like a space-equivelent to North Korea?). The Resistance is a countergroup acting outside of the galactic government who sees the threath of the First Order and keeps an eye on their acitivties.

Either way, that is not what I am here to talk about today, as my focus will be directed at one of the most principal characters within the Resistance: Poe Dameron.

Played by the very likable Guetamalan-American actor Oscar Isaac, Poe Dameron is an ace X-wing pilot, an agent of the Resistance and the original owner of the droid BB-8. His actions in the first movie, where he stores important information within his droid, is what starts the whole chain of events for the trilogy, an act which rhymes with the actions of princess Leia in A New Hope (1977). Over the trilogy he is portrayed as a brave, cocky and hotheaded brother in arms. He is a generally well-received character, especially in regards to his bromantic (and apparently quasi-romantic) relationship with Finn, but has over the progression of the last two films been the subject for critique. Not as red-hot of a critique as some other aspects of the sequels, but enough to make you raise your eyebrowns a bit. The main critique being, is he REALLY neccesary?

Don't get me wrong, new members of the Resistance are vital for new movies, otherwise the Resistance might have looked like an old folks home. Poe Dameron should have all the ingredients neccesary to be the posterboy of the the Resistance: he is the member with the most screentime, his actions set off, he is played by a very likable actor and he is a great pilot. But the issue is, while it is all there, it is not really utilized well. The further one goes with these movies, the more one realizes that he is the least developed of the main characters. His role in TFA is minor, he acts as an agressor in a generally disliked sideplot in The Last Jedi (2017), and his part in The Rise of Skywalker (2019), while the richest in content, feels un-earned because the direction of the character is neither clear or given enough development.

So considering that his role doesn't add a whole lot in the trilogy after the first part, was Poe Dameron's continuous role in the sequel-trilogy REALLY neccesary? Objectively, I would have to say no. I mean if a character doesn't have a clear purpose, you either give him one, scale him back or kill him off, so that you can give more room for the other characters. I believe the therm is “kill your darlings.“ With that said, I can understand why one would be reluctant to kill him off to begin with; Oscar Isaacs is the most likable actor ever, something that translates into his performance, and in turn, the character. While Poe Dameron is pretty pointless, he is still hard to completely dislike. This illustrates the power of a talented actor, that he or she can someimes overwin bland or nonsensical writing.

So we have a character that is perfectly likable and who could have been a great addition to the franchise. There certainly was potencial in him, so what could have been done to make the most of it? Well, below are some of the directions I think could have been taken:

A) Poe Dameron dying in TFA: This one feels appropriate, considering it was the original intent of the moviemakers. As stated by Oscar Isaac's in Business Insider (https://www.businessinsider.com/star-wars-poe-was-supposed-to-die-2016-3?r=US&IR=T), his character was originally supposed to die. While it would be a shame to see a likable character go so fast, it might have solved a couple of issues and added something more to the first part of the trilogy. Besides the fact that it could have added an extra layer of danger to the plot, in that any character could die at any point, it would have also put all of our eggs in the basket of a deserting stormtrooper and a random scavenger. Plus, killing him off wouldn't have made his role in TFA much smaller anyway. Poe not being in the two following movies could have also left much bigger room for the development Rey, Finn and several other characters. Also, to see how the heroism and sacrifice of a single Resistance-member would affect Finn would be really interesting, considering that Finn would have owed his freedom and life to a complete stranger (who was just recently his enemy) that would have died before he could have even had a chance to thank him. How does that make a person who is trying to flee from the battlefield, feel? I can't help but to think of a similar situation in the Green Lantern-comics (DC), where veteran member of the Green Lantern Corps, Abin-sur, crashlands on Earth and gives his power ring to Hal Jordan, a human pilot, before dying. Abin-sur's death had a considerable effect on Hal Jordan, in that besides becoming a new corps member, but became one by taking over the ring of the corp's most beloved and respected members. That is a hell of legacy to live up to, not to mention a massive responsibility. Something like THAT would have been a pretty thought-provoking storyline for Finn.

B) His carelessness has personal consequences in TLJ: In the beginning of TLJ, Poe Dameron disobeys an order to evacuate and instead engages a First Order fleet. This is a foolhardy act, as even though they take down a Stardestroyer, a lot of Resistance pilots die in the process. While it has several consequences within the movie, such as barely having any pilots left for the remainder of it, he himself do not seem overly affected by it, dismissing it as the casualties of war. But if you really think about it, should there not be some resentment aimed at him besides from his superiors, and shouldn’t he feel more guilt? I mean, Rose Tico's sister died in that battle. Wouldn't it have been more interesting Rose and others resent him for his careless actions? This could've been a more likable struggle for him, as he should have been the one to learn that war is not just about defeating the enemy, but saving the ones you love. If he had done this and in the process displayed a sense of leadership in a time of great need, maybe his transformation into a commander in TROS would have felt more organic?

C) Poe goes with Finn to Canto Bight instead of Rose Tico: This one could have worked as a continuation to B. Canto Bight isn't exactly a favorite moment in TLJ, even for the ones who like TLJ. The main criticism being that it is not that interesting of a planetary environment; basically just feeling like a casino with aliens. Another critique is that it felt like a detour that was too disconnected and did ultimately not add that much to the other parts of the movie. One way of making the movie less fragmented, as well as give Poe something better to do, could have been to give him more or less the same role as Rose Tico. Besides further developing his and Finn's friendship, it could have even been a way of putting that awkward kiss in the third act to better use, and confirm some legitimacy to the whole Finn X Poe-ship. While I am not staunch supporter of the ship, I have to admit that it would have been interesting. With that said, I don't think it would have made everyone happy. I mean lets face it, if people get upset about a black dude in a stormtrooper-uniform, one can only assume how they would have reacted to an openly gay or bi character in Star Wars. But at the same time, if people were pissed off at even the good bits in TLJ, why not go all the way and piss off every stuck up parent sitting in the theaters worldwide while you're at it? Certainly would have been ballsiest move ever, especially considering it’s a Disney-film.

D) Poe staying at Leia's side in TROS: As I have written before, the main issues with TROS is messy storytelling and a rushed pace. One of many things that adds to this is by suddenly providing Poe with a backstory while simultenously trying to give him a bigger role than before by having him travel with Rey and Finn. What if they had scaled him down a little, let him stay with Leia as they plan for the upcoming attack? Not only would it have been more powerful for him to be there with her as she passes away, but also motivate him to step into the role of a mature leader more. I realize that this is a little sensitive, as it may have required additional footage of Leia in order to work. Though to be fair, being respectful is one thing, making a good movie is another. And also, if they can remake young Leia for a flashback, why can't they just remake old Leia a bit for some extra material?

Could any of these alternatives have added something good to the movie, or subtracted from the main story? You tell me. No, seriously, tell me what you think, I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter in the comments. Do you have any ideas of your own that could have helped make Poe Dameron the most iconic pilot of the sequel era? Feel free to discuss this with me :) ---

#star wars #poe dameron #finn #rey #leia #sw #x-wing #Speculation #rebel or lost cause #TROS #TLJ #TFA #The last Jedi #The Force Awakens #the rise of skywalker #theory #analysis #jcl #oscar isaac

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wittynameme · 4 years

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update to the “a confession” feasco.

if you dont k ow what im talking about just look up “a confession” on my page and read all the way through . (its an unorganized mess im so sorry)(my name is chloe plz ignore that.

f:For the racist thing- A country with two different races might have a bad history with each other. So generally the country that got the beat down the most is gonna hate the other, so that country's people are gonna be racist and against them. With the stealing thing- Animals steal eggs and what not all of the time. Also with artifacts the governments take those and preserve those for the future. Racism is bad I understand that because it usually is because of someone's skin which is wrong to be against someone for there skin tone. Stealing is also bad, like robbery and shoplifting and so on

me:you do realize that you just used like , three natoriously rasist talkinhg points used by kkk members all the time right?

me:you think that humans are naturally rasist because of a war and the winners tell the story and the losers are bitter about it? in this case the losers of this "beat down" being africa?the "rasism is natural" thing . the "africa is just bitter" thing.or are you sayig whights were the victims? which in that case is the "whights are being attacked" thing

f:Both aren't necessarily wrong actually

we are not like dumb animals, we have the ability to know when we sis something wrong .yes animals steal but the full grown people who grave robbed thoghs tombs did so because they thought they could and should have known etter

and the "its for there own good were just keeping them safe" thing implies the people we stole it from wont take care of it. even if they dont its not our call cause the mummys are not ours, its not like they want the artifacts any less tha we do

So you're saying we shouldn't take artifacts and preserve them and let people destroy them and sell them off.

Chloe it assumes we just love these mummys more than they do and were scarered they will hurt it so that completly justifies us keeping it from them.we should ask permission first

That's what they do

Chloethe whole "its for preservation" thing is exactly what the british museum said when people lobied for the artifacts to be moved to and african museum.

"they"

africans fuin and sell there artifacts as trinkets?thats ALSO a rasist sterio type.

That's just how the world is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chloe no it isnt you have been fed propaganda and you dont even know itall the things you said have been used by the kkk constantlyits like ypur reading right out of there apologetic s book.

I don't see the problem in that. I'm a person of history. Does it help to mention that my preferred ideology is Socialist-Imperialist. Does it also help to say that I'm also Atheist/Satanist. I'm also a Republican and conservative. I also see things from abroad. I also believe history should be preserved at all costs.You sent Today at 12:18 AMif you knew the hystorical contexts of the arguments you just used i dont think you would be usseing them

What are you talking about?You sent Today at 12:20 AMi litteraly just said where the "were preserving them" argument comes fromYou sent Today at 12:21 AMand if you love the accurete preservation of hystory than you must be anti confeterate right?sent Today at 12:21 AMNoYou sent Today at 12:22 AMthe confeterates literraly flodded public schools with confeterate propaganda and tried to pass laws that forsed american nationalism to be taght in schoolYou sent Today at 12:23 AMand banned any books deemed"against the confeteracy"You sent Today at 12:23 AMmost of the confeterate monuments are from the 60sYou sent Today at 12:23 AMas a fear tacticYou sent Today at 12:24 AMnot real authentic confeterate statuessent Today at 12:24 AMOkay..You sent Today at 12:24 AMthe flag we assosiate with the confeteracy is actually very resentYou sent Today at 12:25 AMcan you guess who poularized the confeterate flag we see today?You sent Today at 12:25 AMa literal kkk dragon who adopted it as a symbol of the "opressed whights"sent Today at 12:25 AMThe Confederate flag is not popular, the Confederate battle flag isYou sent Today at 12:26 AMthats what i was talking aboutsent Today at 12:26 AMOkYou sent Today at 12:27 AMmost of the people who say they are modern confeterates adopted the flag and lable as something to stand under for a more modern political agenda , usually whight nationalism.You sent Today at 12:27 AMbut the spin it as "were being opressed by minority groups"sent Today at 12:28 AMTo a degree yesYou sent Today at 12:28 AMthey dont want to preserve hystory , they whant to preserve this weird fantacy world where the 1940s were the good old days , there perseptions of hystory.

What's wrong with ww2?You sent Today at 12:30 AM.....uh people diedYou sent Today at 12:30 AMthere was a warYou sent Today at 12:30 AMa war of the worldssent Today at 12:30 AMWell yeah that's what happens in warYou sent Today at 12:30 AMgermany , italy, and japan were ruled by horrible dictatorssent Today at 12:31 AMWrongYou sent Today at 12:31 AMehy do you just say that like thats normal??? like thats a good thing?sent Today at 12:31 AMKinda yeah

wtfYou sent Today at 12:32 AMyour a nazi lover?sent Today at 12:32 AMNoYou sent Today at 12:32 AMi thoght you said you were americansent Today at 12:32 AMI amYou sent Today at 12:32 AMthen tell me you hate nazis

No, I don't hate any ideology

but you hate the one that caused the halocaust more right?

millions of peole died it shouldnt take you that long to type "yes"

No I look at them negatively, it was some horrific things they did but they never did anything to meYou sent Today at 12:36 AMso what !You sent Today at 12:37 AMthat they have never done anything to you!You sent Today at 12:37 AMthay never did anything to you because your whight conservitive and not jewish

say itYou sent Today at 12:38 AMsay the halocaust was bad and hitler was evil

say the halocaust was bad and hitler was evilsent Today at 12:40 AMYou know Judaism is just a religion. Yes the holocaust was bad. Hitler was good at bad, just depends on how you look at it.Jimmy Goodson sent Today at 12:40 AMGood and bad*You sent Today at 12:40 AMhe was evilsent Today at 12:41 AMIn some aspects yesYou sent Today at 12:41 AMwhy wont you say it? why do you beat around the bush?Aa

Because he did some great achievements toYou sent Today at 12:42 AMwhat the fuckYou sent Today at 12:42 AMlemmy guessYou sent Today at 12:42 AMthe train thingsent Today at 12:43 AMNoYou sent Today at 12:43 AMno he did not that is a rumor satrted by neonazi groups-You sent Today at 12:43 AMthan what!You sent Today at 12:43 AMwhat prey tell could pissibly be worth so many lives? you scare mesent Today at 12:47 AMHe United a shambled country. He fixed the economy of Germany. He put Germany back on the world stage. Helped stop hunger and joblessness in Germany. He made the first super highway. Because of him Europe is a prosperous place. Without him NATO wouldn't be a thing. And so on.

you think communist germany was a thriving economy? even if it was that would be outshadoewd by the mountain of dead bodyssent Today at 12:50 AMWho ever mentioned communist?You sent Today at 12:50 AMand the second bit?You sent Today at 12:51 AMnato was made to stop him??????You sent Today at 12:51 AMto stop the red scurge?sent Today at 12:51 AMAll of that was before ww2 (for the top part), Germany was fascist.You sent Today at 12:52 AMand what is the deffinition of fascismsent Today at 12:52 AM...You sent Today at 12:53 AMa dictator who tortures and brainwashes people , opressing the right of others.You sent Today at 12:53 AMisYou sent Today at 12:53 AMnotYou sent Today at 12:53 AMasent Today at 12:53 AMNo...You sent Today at 12:53 AMgoodYou sent Today at 12:53 AMthing a dictator who tortures and brainwashes people , opressing the right of others.You sent Today at 12:53 AMisYou sent Today at 12:53 AMnotYou sent Today at 12:53 AMasent Today at 12:53 AMNo...You sent Today at 12:53 AMgoodYou sent Today at 12:53 AMthingsent Today at 12:54 AMYou got the fascist thing wrong but okayYou sent Today at 12:54 AMyou missed the other 4 texts following it but oksent Today at 12:55 AMThat's not the definitionJimmy Goodson sent Today at 12:55 AMI also don't see the problem in a dictatorshipYou sent Today at 12:56 AMand you call yourself an americansent Today at 12:57 AMI never said I call my self anything I never said I call my self anythingYou sent Today at 12:58 AMso you just hate everyone then?

No I see everyone as equalsYou sent Today at 12:59 AMequally ok to murder in the persuit of money and metirial growth?

equally ok to murder in the persuit of money and metirial growth?You sent Today at 1:00 AMyou can see why im upset right!sent Today at 1:00 AMThat would be different thenJimmy Goodson sent Today at 1:00 AMYea I seJimmy Goodson sent Today at 1:00 AMSee*You sent Today at 1:01 AMwell you just said it was fine the halocaust happened because hitler ultimatly ended up creating economic ad political grrowth That was before ww2 and yes the holocaust bad.You sent Today at 1:04 AMwhy did you not just say that in the first place?

I said that sometime beforeYou sent Today at 1:04 AMyou cant call a horse a horse when you see a horse? I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the fact you shrug at the holocaust discusts me

the fact you shrug at the holocaust discusts meYou sent Today at 1:06 AMi hope you never hold any knind of power

Okay?Jimmy Goodson sent Today at 1:07 AMI have my own country technicallyYou sent Today at 1:07 AMwell its not americasent Today at 1:08 AMIt technically somewhat owns America I have my own flag, ideology, religion, currency, map, and so on

(he then directs me to this link after i ask him what the fuck hes talking about)

https://www.nationstates.net/nation=the_orangeempire?fbclid=IwAR1PpZaq_r6oVFXdZ0j3WZnoUIbH3c1suPEfD58msuX_gFB9T9FJq1X3fOQ

this guys actualy insain

i need a hug.

#public school #facebook #politics #tw #facebookisterrifying

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aunti-christ-ine · 4 years

Text

As much as I dislike Biden, this guy makes a very good point.

...several of them, in fact.

____________________________________

Why I'm skeptical about Reade's sexual assault claim against Biden

by Ex-Prosecutor MICHAEL J. STERN

A former staffer to Joe Biden in the early '90s has accused the presidential candidate of sexual assault. Here's everything you need to know about it.

During 28 years as a state and federal prosecutor, I prosecuted a lot of sexual assault cases. The vast majority came early in my career, when I was a young attorney at a prosecutor’s office outside Detroit.

A year ago, Tara Reade accused former Vice President Joe Biden of touching her shoulder and neck in a way that made her uncomfortable, when she worked for him as a staff assistant in 1993. Then last month, Reade told an interviewer that Biden stuck his hand under her skirt and forcibly penetrated her with his fingers. Biden denies the allegation.

When women make allegations of sexual assault, my default response is to believe them. But as the news media have investigated Reade’s allegations, I’ve become increasingly skeptical. Here are some of the reasons why:

►Delayed reporting … twice. Reade waited 27 years to publicly report her allegation that Biden sexually assaulted her. I understand that victims of sexual assault often do not come forward immediately because recounting the most violent and degrading experience of their lives, to a bunch of strangers, is the proverbial insult to injury. That so many women were willing to wait in my dreary government office, as I ran to the restroom to pull myself together after listening to their stories, is a testament to their fortitude.

Even so, it is reasonable to consider a 27-year reporting delay when assessing the believability of any criminal allegation. More significant perhaps, is Reade’s decision to sit down with a newspaper last year and accuse Biden of touching her in a sexual way that made her uncomfortable — but neglect to mention her claim that he forcibly penetrated her with his fingers.

As a lawyer and victims’ rights advocate, Reade was better equipped than most to appreciate that dramatic changes in sexual assault allegations severely undercut an accuser’s credibility — especially when the change is from an uncomfortable shoulder touch to vaginal penetration.

►Implausible explanation for changing story. When Reade went public with her sexual assault allegation in March, she said she wanted to do it in an interview with The Union newspaper in California last April. She said the reporter’s tone made her feel uncomfortable and "I just really got shut down” and didn't tell the whole story.

It is hard to believe a reporter would discourage this kind of scoop. Regardless, it's also hard to accept that it took Reade 12 months to find another reporter eager to break that bombshell story. This unlikely explanation damages her credibility.

►People who contradict Reade’s claim. After the alleged assault, Reade said she complained about Biden's harassment to Marianne Baker, Biden’s executive assistant, as well as to top aides Dennis Toner and Ted Kaufman. All three Biden staffers recently told The New York Times that she made no complaint to them.

And they did not offer the standard, noncommittal “I don’t remember any such complaint.” The denials were firm. “She did not come to me. If she had, I would have remembered her,” Kaufman said. Toner made a similar statement. And from Baker: “I never once witnessed, or heard of, or received, any reports of inappropriate conduct (by Biden), period." Baker said such a complaint, had Reade made it, "would have left a searing impression on me as a woman professional, and as a manager.”

►Missing formal complaint. Reade told The Times she filed a written complaint against Biden with the Senate personnel office. But The Times could not find any complaint. When The Times asked Reade for a copy of the complaint, she said she did not have it. Yet she maintained and provided a copy of her 1993 Senate employment records.

It is odd that Reade kept a copy of her employment records but did not keep a copy of a complaint documenting criminal conduct by a man whose improprieties changed “the trajectory” of her life. It’s equally odd The Times was unable to find a copy of the alleged Senate complaint.

►Memory lapse. Reade has said that she cannot remember the date, time or exact location of the alleged assault, except that it occurred in a “semiprivate” area in corridors connecting Senate buildings. After I left the Justice Department, I was appointed by the federal court in Los Angeles to represent indigent defendants. The first thing that comes to mind from my defense attorney perspective is that Reade’s amnesia about specifics makes it impossible for Biden to go through records and prove he could not have committed the assault, because he was somewhere else at the time.

For instance, if Reade alleged Biden assaulted her on the afternoon of June 3, 1993, Biden might be able to prove he was on the Senate floor or at the dentist. Her memory lapses could easily be perceived as bulletproofing a false allegation.

►The lie about losing her job. Reade told The Union that Biden wanted her to serve drinks at an event. After she refused, "she felt pushed out and left Biden's employ," the newspaper said last April. But Reade claimed this month in her Times interview that after she filed a sexual harassment complaint with the Senate personnel office, she faced retaliation and was fired by Biden’s chief of staff.

Leaving a job after refusing to serve drinks at a Biden fundraiser is vastly different than being fired as retaliation for filing a sexual harassment complaint with the Senate. The disparity raises questions about Reade’s credibility and account of events.

►Compliments for Biden. In the 1990s, Biden worked to pass the Violence Against Women Act. In 2017, on multiple occasions, Reade retweeted or “liked” praise for Biden and his work combating sexual assault. In the same year, Reade tweeted other compliments of Biden, including: “My old boss speaks truth. Listen.” It is bizarre that Reade would publicly laud Biden for combating the very thing she would later accuse him of doing to her.

►Rejecting Biden, embracing Sanders. By this January, Reade was all in for presidential candidate Bernie Sanders. Her unwavering support was accompanied by an unbridled attack on Biden. In an article on Medium, Reade referred to Biden as “the blue version of Trump.” Reade also pushed a Sanders/Elizabeth Warren ticket, while complaining that the Democratic National Committee was trying to “shove” Biden “down Democrat voters throats.”

Despite her effusive 2017 praise for Biden’s efforts on behalf of women, after pledging her support to Sanders, Reade turned on Biden and contradicted all she said before. She claimed that her decision to publicly accuse Biden of inappropriately touching her was due to “the hypocrisy that Biden is supposed to be the champion of women’s rights.”

►Love of Russia and Putin. During 2017 when Reade was praising Biden, she was condemning Russian leader Vladimir Putin’s efforts to hijack American democracy in the 2016 election. This changed in November 2018, when Reade trashed the United States as a country of “hypocrisy and imperialism” and “not a democracy at all but a corporate autocracy.”

Reade’s distaste for America closely tracked her new infatuation with Russia and Putin. She referred to Putin as a “genius” with an athletic prowess that “is intoxicating to American women.” Then there’s this gem: “President Putin has an alluring combination of strength with gentleness. His sensuous image projects his love for life, the embodiment of grace while facing adversity.”

In March 2019, Reade essentially dismissed the idea of Russian interference in the 2016 American presidential election as hype. She said she loved Russia and her Russian relatives — and "like most women across the world, I like President Putin … a lot, his shirt on or shirt off.”

Believe all women? Now that Reade has accused Joe Biden of sexual assault, never mind.

Pivoting again this month, Reade said that she “did not support Putin, and that her comments were pulled out of context from a novel she was writing,” according to The Times. The quotations above, however, are from political opinion pieces she published, and she did not offer any other "context" to The Times.

Reade's writings shed light on her political alliance with Sanders, who has a long history of ties to Russia and whose stump speech is focused largely on his position that American inequality is due to a corporate autocracy. But at a very minimum, Reade's wild shifts in political ideology and her sexual infatuation with a brutal dictator of a foreign adversary raise questions about her emotional stability.

►Suspect timing. For 27 years, Reade did not publicly accuse Biden of sexually assaulting her. But then Biden's string of March primary victories threw Sanders off his seemingly unstoppable path to the Democratic nomination. On March 25, as Sanders was pondering his political future, Reade finally went public with her claim. The confluence of Reade’s support of Sanders, distaste for the traditional American democracy epitomized by Biden, and the timing of her allegation should give pause to even the most strident Biden critics.

►The Larry King call. Last week, new "evidence" surfaced: a recorded call by an anonymous woman to CNN's "Larry King Live" show in 1993. Reade says the caller was her mother, who's now deceased. Assuming Reade is correct, her mother said: "I’m wondering what a staffer would do besides go to the press in Washington? My daughter has just left there after working for a prominent senator, and could not get through with her problems at all, and the only thing she could have done was go to the press, and she chose not to do it out of respect for him."

As a prosecutor, this would not make me happy. Given that the call was anonymous, Reade’s mother should have felt comfortable relaying the worst version of events. When trying to obtain someone’s assistance, people typically do not downplay the seriousness of an incident. They exaggerate it. That Reade’s mother said nothing about her daughter being sexually assaulted would lead many reasonable people to conclude that sexual assault was not the problem that prompted the call to King.

Reade’s mother also said her daughter did not go to the press with her problem “out of respect” for the senator. I’ve never met a woman who stayed silent out of “respect” for the man who sexually assaulted her. And it is inconceivable that a mother would learn of her daughter’s sexual assault and suggest that respect for the assailant is what stands between a life of painful silence and justice.

The "out of respect" explanation sounds more like an office squabble with staff that resulted in leaving the job. Indeed, in last year's interview with The Washington Post, Reade laid the blame on Biden’s staff for “bullying” her. She also said, “I want to emphasize: It’s not him. It’s the people around him.”

►Statements to others. Reade’s brother, Collin Moulton, told The Post recently that he remembers Reade telling him Biden inappropriately touched her neck and shoulders. He said nothing about a sexual assault until a few days later, when he texted The Post that he remembered Reade saying Biden put his hand "under her clothes.”

That Reade’s brother neglected to remember the most important part of her allegation initially could lead people to believe he recounted his Post interview to Reade, was told he left out the most important part, and texted it to The Post to avoid a discussion about why he failed to mention it in the first place.

In interviews with The Times, one friend of Reade’s said Reade told her she was sexually assaulted by Biden. Another friend said Reade told her that Biden touched her inappropriately. Both friends insisted that The Times maintain their anonymity.

On Monday, Business Insider published an interview with a friend of Reade’s who said that in 1995 or 1996, Reade told her she was assaulted by Biden. Insider called this friend, Lynda LaCasse, the “first person to independently corroborate, in detail and on the record, that Reade had told others about her assault allegations contemporaneously.”

But Reade alleged she was assaulted in 1993. Telling a friend two or three years later is not contemporaneous. Legal references to a contemporaneous recounting typically refer to hours or days — the point being that facts are still fresh in a person's mind and the statement is more likely to be accurate.

The Insider also quoted a colleague of Reade’s in the mid-1990s, Lorraine Sanchez, who said Reade told her she had been sexually harassed by a former boss. Reade did not mention Biden by name and did not provide details of the alleged harassment.

In prior interviews, Reade gave what appeared be an exhaustive list of people she told of the alleged assault. Neither of the women who talked to Business Insider were on that list.

The problem with statements from friends is that the information they recount is only as good as the information given to them. Let’s say Reade left her job because she was angry about being asked to serve drinks or because she was fired for a legitimate reason. If she tried to save face by telling friends that she left because she was sexually assaulted, that’s all her friends would know and all they could repeat.

Prior statements made by a sexual assault victim can carry some weight, but only if the accuser is credible. In Reade’s case, the statements coming from her friends are only of value if people believe Reade can be relied on to tell the truth, regardless of the light in which it paints her.

►Lack of other sexual assault allegations. Last year, several women claimed that Biden made them uncomfortable with things like a shoulder touch or a hug. (I wrote a column critical of one such allegation by Lucy Flores.) The Times and Post found no allegation of sexual assault against Biden except Reade's.

It is possible that in his 77 years, Biden committed one sexual assault and it was against Reade. But in my experience, men who commit a sexual assault are accused more than once ... like Donald Trump, who has had more than a dozen allegations of sexual assault leveled against him and who was recorded bragging about grabbing women’s genitalia.

►What remains. There are no third-party eyewitnesses or videos to support Tara Reade’s allegation that she was assaulted by Joe Biden. No one but Reade and Biden know whether an assault occurred. This is typical of sexual assault allegations. Jurors, in this case the voting public, have to consider the facts and circumstances to assess whether Reade’s allegation is credible. To do that, they have to determine whether Reade herself is believable.

I’ve dreaded writing this piece because I do not want it to be used as a guidebook to dismantling legitimate allegations of sexual assault. But not every claim of sexual assault is legitimate. During almost three decades as a prosecutor, I can remember dismissing two cases because I felt the defendant had not committed the charged crime. One of those cases was a rape charge.

Reopen the Biden campaign: Ramp up social media and name a vice president now.

The facts of that case made me question the credibility of the woman who claimed she was raped. In the end, she acknowledged that she fabricated the allegation after her boyfriend caught her with a man with whom she was having an affair.

I know that “Believe Women” is the mantra of the new decade. It is a response to a century of ignoring and excusing men’s sexual assaults against women. But men and women alike should not be forced to blindly accept every allegation of sexual assault for fear of being labeled a misogynist or enabler.

We can support the #MeToo movement and not support allegations of sexual assault that do not ring true. If these two positions cannot coexist, the movement is no more than a hit squad. That’s not how I see the #MeToo movement. It’s too important, for too many victims of sexual assault and their allies, to be no more than that.

Michael J. Stern, a member of USA TODAY's Board of Contributors, was a federal prosecutor for 25 years in Detroit and Los Angeles. Follow him on Twitter: @MichaelJStern1

#Joe Biden #tara reade #metoo

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