#and also at the end they defeat the Operator

[stillnaomi]

World War III and the Fall of Imperialism

A speech by Booker Ngesa Omole, The National Vice Chairperson of the Communist Party of Kenya

As we gather here at the 7th International Conference of the World Anti-Imperialist Platform, we stand at a critical juncture in our shared struggle against the scourge of imperialism. Today, I want to discuss a stark reality that looms over our world: the inevitability of World War III, driven by the unrelenting aggression of imperialist powers. This war is not a distant possibility but a present danger, rooted in the insatiable greed of monopoly capital.

Imperialism, in its various manifestations, poses an existential threat to the sovereignty of African nations. Initiatives such as AFRICOM serve as instruments of this imperialist agenda, undermining our autonomy and reducing our countries to mere pawns in the geopolitical chess game orchestrated by Western powers. These military strategies are designed not to protect our people but to secure the interests of the imperialist elite.

In Kenya alone, we host three foreign military bases, a glaring testament to the erosion of our sovereignty. These bases are not just symbols of military presence; they represent a direct violation of our independence and dignity. They subjugate our military and intelligence agencies to the whims of U.S. imperialism, turning our institutions into extensions of foreign powers. This scenario is replicated across the continent, where foreign military presence is a common thread in the tapestry of imperialist domination.

The spectre of World War III is already haunting us, as conflicts rage on multiple fronts. In West Asia, the struggle against Zionist aggression is an anti-imperialist, antifascist war. In Eastern Europe, we witness the brutal realities of NATO-backed conflict in Ukraine. And in East Asia, tensions simmer around Taiwan and the Korean Peninsula, echoing the same imperialist ambitions.

Lenin, in his classic work “Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism,” eloquently articulated the dynamics of imperialism and its inevitable contradictions. He described how imperialism seeks to escape internal crises through external wars. Today, we observe this in the provocations and military exercises conducted by the United States and its allies, which serve not just as a show of force but as desperate attempts to maintain their declining hegemony.

Yet, amidst this chaos, the anti-imperialist camp is rising, united in its struggle against oppression. Comrades in Russia, China, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Iran, and various resistance movements across the Global South are not seeking war; they are prepared for a just struggle against imperialist aggression. The unity and operational strength of the anti-imperialist front underscore a powerful truth: we are not alone in this fight.

The reliance of imperialism on proxy wars and economic sanctions reveals its strategic limitations. The imperialist powers fear direct confrontation, knowing the consequences of nuclear escalation. This hesitation will be their downfall. While they aim to exhaust nations like Russia, China, and Iran, we can turn their war of attrition into decisive victories across multiple theatres of conflict. These victories will not only weaken imperialism militarily but will also trigger a political and economic collapse. The fragmentation of NATO, the decline of the U.S. dollar’s hegemony, and the emergence of BRICS and other alternative institutions signal the end of the US imperialist order.

The eventual defeat of US imperialism will pave the way for a new global order defined by national liberation revolutions and the defeat of all neo-colonial projects across Africa, Asia, and Latin America. This new order will also see the inevitable resurgence of socialist revolutions and the establishment of people’s democracies. Additionally, there will be a true commitment to peace, independence, and self-determination as guiding principles for global governance.

As we face the challenges of our time, let us reaffirm our commitment to the struggle against imperialism. The victory belongs to the people. The end of imperialism will not only reshape global politics but empower nations to pursue socialism, democracy, and peaceful coexistence.

In conclusion, as we confront the spectre of World War III, let us remember that this is a final confrontation between the forces of imperialism and those of anti-imperialist resistance. Together, we shall emerge victorious, heralding a new era of hope, freedom, and progress for all.

Death to Imperialism!

Long live International Socialism!

[dingodad]

I don’t understand what’s being talked about when its said that Lord English’s attempt to kill Cronus split him into multiple vessels. Does that mean that the idea of the essence of Lord English was splintered to form the other characters? It’s not literal right? At what point in time could that even have happened? Is that why he glitched the session of the alpha trolls, because he couldn’t enter it himself to kill Cronus, since the universe hadn’t ended yet? Also why is Lord English related to the hope aspect anyways? I think Eridan even mentions him being the lord of the angels prophesized at one point, idk what that’s about?

the way Aranea frames the story, English's spell on Cronus backfiring supposedly WAS the glitch that prevented him from entering Beforus, "until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe."

of course this story comes to us through two separate layers of questionable narration; Aranea is relating to us a story that Cronus may or may not have made up about his own backstory. so we're operating well outside of the boundaries of what we could possibly look at through a "literal" lens. all we've got to really work with are vague ideas.

the relationship between Lord English and the hope aspect is exactly that the bloodline of heroes of hope are supposedly the ones destined to beat him, just as related in Aranea's story ("the legacy of defeating the evil magician would have to 8e passed on to his descendant, or if his descendant proved to be as much of a failure as he did, then perhaps on some other Hero of Hope"). it's the aspect of angels, and as a cherub Lord English is of course a kind of angel (though Eridan was actually under the mistaken impression that Jack Noir was the prophesied "lord of all angels").

it's possibly relevant that in the version of the story as WE hear it, the "defeat" Jake ultimately hands out to Caliborn is only a technical victory; he doesn't put an end to Lord English in any meaningful way, and Caliborn even goes as far as to say "THERE IS NO BODILY HARM". he just knocks the guy down in preparation for Dirk to seal him away. but hope is not an aspect that deals with the "bodily", its domain is spirits and ideas; so in the past, my assessment has been that the reason heroes of hope are such a threat to Lord English is precisely BECAUSE they have this ability to pull apart or disrupt the collection of souls that make him up. i don't know if i would still confidently hold this up as the strongest interpretation today, but i think it's worth mentioning.

did any of this "literally" happen... well, I have to emphasise again that at this level of granularity, the "literal" is no longer something we can take for granted. like, "literally", Dirk and Equius were created from slime in an ectobiology lab. but I assert that according to the rules of Paradox Space, the metaphorical "ideas" of Dirk and Equius have to have come FROM somewhere, and if those ideas eventually become constituent parts of Lord English then at some point the loop has to close and he has to be broken back down into those parts. it is worth noting that Aranea's wording - "sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels" - could also pretty easily be taken as referring to the various puppets English is forced to inhabit as he emerges in universe after universe, and that if English were ever to be split back apart it could theoretically have happened in any number of those infinite lifetimes. it's the vague ideas represented by Cronus' story - the spirit of the story, that English is perpetually being foiled by being reverted to the start of his own timeline without any memory of how he failed - that matters more than whether Cronus was literally attacked by Lord English with a wand at some point in his childhood.

[all-lars-bars]

Hehehe hohoho thinking about throwing Post-Canon Tim into Undertale. Just him and Frisk going through the underground, making friends

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[sayruq]

I figured I should list setbacks and consequences (including signs of internal collapse) faced by Israel in the past couple of months. I'll make this as chronological as possible. Add any you think I missed.

While Hezbollah targets Haifa, Golan Heights, and new settlements

Gaza continues to punish the invading army

More and more western publications are forced to admit that Israel cannot defeat the Palestinian resistance

“This is a very high number that encompasses many sectors. About 77 percent of the businesses that have been closed since the beginning of the war, which make up about 35,000 businesses, are small businesses with up to five employees, and are the most vulnerable in the economy,” Yoel Amir, CEO of Israeli information services and credit risk management firm, CofaceBdi, told Maariv. The report adds that “the most vulnerable industries are the construction industry, and as a result also the entire ecosystem that operates around it: ceramics, air conditioning, aluminum, building materials, and more – All of these were significantly damaged,” according to CofaceBdi’s risk ratings. The trade sector has also been severely affected. This includes the service sector and industries including fashion, furniture, housewares, entertainment, transport, and tourism. Israel is in a situation where “there is almost no foreign tourism,” the report said, adding that “damage to businesses is all over the country, and almost no sector has been spared.” This includes the agriculture sector, which is based mainly in the south and the north – both considered active combat zones due to the threat posed by the Palestinian resistance and Lebanon’s Hezbollah – whose support front against Israel has significantly contributed to the downfall of the economy. The CofaceBdi CEO estimates that 60,000 Israeli businesses are expected to be shut down by the end of 2024.

ICYMI, Yemen's armed forces have said they got a direct hit on Eisenhower, a nuclear powered aircraft carrier, forcing it to leave the Red Sea

Israel's attack on Yemen is playing a role in bringing Yemen's civil war to an end.

Etc, etc.

The point of this post is to encourage everyone who reads it. Keep talking about Gaza, keep boycotting, keep protesting, keep resisting.

[cathkaesque]

Relentless direct action has secured another victory in the fight against Israel’s arms trade, as Elbit Systems are forced to sell their ‘Elite KL’ factory in Tamworth.

The company had previously manufactured cooling and power management systems for military vehicles, but was sold on after stating that it faced falling profits and increased security costs resulting from Palestine Action’s efforts. 

After the sale was completed last month, Elite KL’s new owners, listed as Griffin Newco Ltd, confirmed in an email to Palestine Action that they will have nothing to do with the previous owners, Elbit, and have discontinued any arms manufacturing:

“Following the recent acquisition of Elite KL Limited by a UK investment syndicate, the newly appointed board has unanimously agreed to withdraw from all future defence contracts and terminate its association with its former parent company”.

This victory is a direct result of sustained direct action which has sought, throughout Palestine Action’s existence, to make it impossible for Elbit to afford to operate in Britain. Before they sold the enterprise to a private equity syndicate, Elbit had reported that Elite KL operating profits had been slashed by over three-quarters, with Palestine Action responsible: Elbit directly cited the increased expenditure on security they’d been forced to make, and higher supply chain costs they faced.

And these actions did, indeed, cost them. The first action at the site, in November 2020, saw Elite KL’s premises smashed into, the building covered in blood-red paint. Between March and July 2021, the site was put out of action three times by roof-top occupations – drenched red in March 2021, with the factory’s camera systems dismantled, before again being occupied in in May. Another roof-top occupation in July, despite increased security, saw the site forced closed – once again painted blood-red, and with its windows and fixings smashed through.

In February 2022, activists decommissioned the site for weeks – closed off after an occupation that saw over £250,000 of damages caused, the roof tiles removed one-by-one. After this, Elbit erected a security perimeter around the site – but to no avail. One month later, six were arrested after Palestine Action returned to Tamworth – again taking the roof and smashing through, preventing the production of parts for Israel’s military machine.

Elite KL is a ‘specialist thermal management business’. Since the sale, the company focuses on cooling systems for buses and trains, but it had, under Elbit, manufactured these systems for military vehicles. Until December of last year, Elite KL’s website was advertising its military and defence products, and it was known to provide parts for Israel’s deadly Merkava tanks, with export license records demonstrating its provision of ‘ML6a’ components for military ground vehicles to Israel. The company was also known to manufacture crew cooling systems, for the military vests of tank operators.

Elbit Systems itself provides 85% of the drones and land-based military equipment for the Israeli military, along with a wide range of the munitions and armaments currently being used against Gaza’s beseiged population. Its CEO, Bazhalel Machlis, has claimed that the Israeli military has offered the company its thanks for their “crucial” services during the ongoing genocide in Gaza

A Palestine Action spokesperson has stated:

“Each activist who occupied and dismantled Tamworth’s Israeli weapons factory did so in order to bring an end to Israel’s weapons trade, and to end the profiteering from Palestinian repression. Every defeat Elbit faces is a victory for the Palestinian people.

Kicking Elbit out of Tamworth shows once again that direct action is a necessary tactic. It is one which must be utilised and amplified in the face of the Gaza genocide.”

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Scenes of chaos and destruction following the bombing of the Israeli occupation forces across the Gaza Strip on Saturday, resulting in dozens of civilians killed, and scores of others wounded, including women and children. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

WAR OF EXTERMINATION DAY 260: HEALTHCARE WORKERS CONTINUE TO BE TARGETED BY OCCUPATION ARMY, NEW MASSACRES KILL DOZENS AS MASS SLAUGHTER INTENSIFIES ONCE AGAIN

On 260th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 3 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 101 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 169 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

Speaking with the local Palestinian media, the Director General of the Ministry of Health in the Gaza Strip, Munir Al-Bursh, said that the Israeli occupation continues to be intent on murdering healthcare personnel and still targets Gaza's healthcare system.

The Director General also called for an international investigation and asked that the international community intervene to protect medical personnel in the Palestinian enclave.

Further, Al-Bursh called for the investigation to be conducted, including an autopsy on the bodies of those killed by the Israeli occupation, and for the release of all detained medical personnel from the Gaza Strip.

Meanwhile, the Zionist occupation army continues mass murdering Palestinian civilians, even as the occupation army admits it is unlikely Hamas will be defeated in the way the occupation's politicians believe the resistance group can be.

A recent statement by occupation army spokesperson, Daniel Hagari, noted that “saying that we will destroy Hamas and make it disappear is just a speck of dust in the eyes of the Israelis,” adding that “Hamas is an idea, and whoever thinks that we can make it disappear is mistaken.”

At the same time, the Israeli occupation's leadership continues pushing for war with Lebanon, while the head of Israeli energy company Noga recently warned that "the country is not ready for a real war" with Hezbollah.

Netanyahu, for his part, refuses to acknowledge the realities on the ground, insisting this week that the war will not end until Hamas is eliminated and the hostages freed, adding angrily that "This is my position, and whoever opposes that, let him oppose it publicly."

Meanwhile, Palestinian civilians in Gaza continue to be mass slaughtered as the genocide continues unabated.

In just the latest example, the Zionist occupation army committed two new massacres overnight in the Al-Tuffah neighborhood, northeast of Gaza City, as well as in the Al-Shati (Beach) Camp, west of the city, resulting in the deaths of more than 42 Palestinian civilians.

Speaking of the massacres at a press conference on Saturday, director of the government media office in Gaza, Ismail Al-Thawabta, confirmed the slaughter, telling Al-Jazeera News “24 Palestinians were martyred as a result of the targeting of 7 homes in the Beach Camp, and 18 Palestinians were martyred as a result of the Israeli bombing in the Al-Tuffah neighborhood.”

According to local sources, the Israeli occupation forces bombed 3 residential buildings in the vicinity of the Sousi Mosque in the Al-Shati Refugee Camp, west of Gaza City, killing several civilians and wounding a number of others.

In a previous assault, on Friday, occupation fighter jets bombed two residential apartments in the central areas of Gaza City, killing at least 5 Palestinians and wounding several others.

According to the Palestinian media, local civil defense crews managed to recover the bodies of 5 Palestinians and a number of wounded after Zionist warplanes bombed two residential apartments belonging to the Mushtaha and Abu Al-Atta families, behind the Deir al-Latin School in the Old City area of central Gaza City.

Israeli fighter jets also bombed a residential house belonging to the Salah family in the Al-Shati Camp, killing upwards of 10 civilians and wounding at least 17 others.

The wounded were immediately transferred to Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital, while the occupation's artillery shelling continued hammering the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City.

In another bombing, the Israeli occupation forces targeted a gathering of civilians in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, while several others were wounded as a result of an occupation air raid near Wadi Gaza in central Gaza.

South of Gaza, Israeli aircraft bombed the Khirbet al-Adas area, north of Rafah, killing two Palestinians and wounding several others.

The genocide continued with the Zionist army's artillery shelling, which targeted the tents of displaced Palestinian families in the Al-Mawasi area, northwest of Rafah, an area the occupation army previously told civilians would be a "safe" zone, killing upwards of 25 civilians, and wounding a number of others.

According to reporters with the Palestinian news agency WAFA, Israeli aircraft broke the sound barrier in two locations, after which, local residents and displaced civilians gathered and were immediately targeted by an Israeli missile, resulting in the massacre of 25 civilians and wounding many others.

The Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) also reported that its personnel were dealing with large numbers of casualties after the Israeli occupation forces bombed the tents of displaced families.

The Zionist army also bombed a house belonging to the Al-Sharif family, east of Al-Nuseirat, in the central Gaza Strip, murdering a number of Palestinians, and wounding others, including children, who were transported to Al-Awda Hospital, where an infant girl who was wounded in the strike was said to be in critical condition.

Similarly, the Israeli occupation forces stationed tanks and troops along the so-called Netzarim Corridor, an Israeli-built infrastructure dividing the Gaza Strip into its northern and southern constituent halves, firing shells towards the Al-Zaytoun, Tal al-Hawa, Sheikh Ajlin, and Al-Sabra neighborhoods, resulting in a number of casualties, including women and children, who were also taken to Al-Awda Hospital, while simultaneously, Occupation Apache helicopters fired on civilian homes in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood.

The slaughter continued with the occupation bombing of a home in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood that resulted in the deaths of two young men who were quickly taken to Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital in Gaza City.

Another civilian was killed, and others wounded, when Zionist artillery shelling targeted the power station north of the Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination in the Gaza Strip, the infinitely rising death toll now exceeds 37'551 Palestinians killed, including upwards of 10'000 women and over 15'000 children, while another 85'911 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

June 22nd, 2024.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[melyndadwest-blog]

Guardian Deity Spirit Danny

"In the spiritual realm, there are specific steps a being can take to ascend to the status of a god, with certain restrictions defining what a god truly is. Typically, a deity emerges as a result of being worshipped by a group of people, their worship infusing them with divine energy and granting them godhood.

They can be born from an unconscious belief or concept, such as the worship of the moon or nature. Over time, this belief gains sentience and power through the devotion of their followers.

They possess spiritual powers and establish a cult, amassing considerable influence and strength.

They are born from another god.

They achieve godhood by defeating and absorbing the essence of a pre-existing god, embodying their concept.

This means that even if a being is incredibly powerful, like Clockwork, they must be worshipped by someone to attain godhood. So...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the Infinite Realms, time operates differently than in the outside world. I believe that since the Realms exist beyond space and existence, serving as the cosmic glue holding the multiverse together, they remain separate from the flow of time.

So, my idea is this: Danny is already immensely powerful, as he embodies the balance between life and death. Because of his connection to Clockwork, this being occasionally sends him on time-traveling missions, perhaps for preparations related to kingship. As a result, he appears in various places throughout history, safeguarding people and cultures. Over the centuries and millennia, people begin to worship him, seeking blessings and offering sacrifices.

Usually, this would lead the Justice League to believe that he's simply a very old being. However, what if he truly is ancient?

As I mentioned earlier, a god's powers are derived from belief, and this belief gradually transforms the deity. Here's my take:

Batman might insist, "I know you're Danny Fenton," until a summons or a crisis causes Danny's godly side to surface. This aspect of him is truly ancient, as time doesn't flow conventionally in the Infinite Realms. Consequently, Danny could be three years old in terms of his death, yet also an ancient entity. Nonetheless, he remains physically too young to fully comprehend his true power and existence, resulting in considerable confusion.

Ultimately, there are two interpretations:

The Justice League ends up believing that Danny is either a) a vessel for a god, b) a sort of priest, or c) the physical incarnation of a bored god curious about experiencing humanity.

Ghosts do not treat him like a typical ghost child because, due to the nonlinear nature of time in the Zone, his core possesses the essence of an ancient being. The ghosts perceive him as the rebirth of balance, incarnated as a human to restore equilibrium.

Feel free to use this concept for any story or interpretation you find compelling."

[projectdark-if]

Project DARK is an 18+ character-driven SPY IF inspired by a rather eventful weekend binging on Mission Impossible movies. It can be described as Suicide Squad meets Mission Impossible. MC, a retired villain, will be a new operative in a team to bring down their old best friend.

You were a jewel thief and hired mercenary, outsourcing your skills at thievery and espionage for all types of...shady characters. Yeah, you were aiding in the possible destruction of the world in exchange for money, but details, right?

You were the best in the business alongside your partner, Spider. You're not supposed to get close to people in this business, but Spider somehow weaseled into your life and became your best friend.

But then they died, killed by operatives of Mission Shadow, the one organization that has been hunting you down since day one. You decided to retire, changing your name and identity in an attempt to make an honest and private life of what you have left.

Until Project DARK finds you.

Project DARK: an experiment to put the most together the most skilled shadow villains to train and defeat the biggest threat they've faced.

Your best friend, whom you thought was dead.

They need you and your skills. You know Spider best. No longer are you the villain, but a Project DARK operative joining as the newest recruit to the ranks.

Good luck.

Customize your operative from appearance, personality, gender identity.

Tailor your past: were you a merciful villain, or a merciless one? Did you make enemies or try to make friends? Liked for being kind and easy to work with or hated for being the literal worst?

Romance members of your team or your target, with some having special relationships.

Choose what kind of operative you'll be and shape the dynamic of the team.

Try not to fall into old habits and get sucked into the dark world of crime. You left that life for a reason.

THE TARGET | Spider [m or f]: your old best friend and the new target. They've been busy since their 'death' and have grown a network of connections that can dismantle the world as you know it. They're apparently planning something big. Big enough that the organizations of the world created Project DARK to take them down.

Special romance: can have had previous thing with them that was never confronted or simply have been best friends.

THE LEADER | Elias/Elena Steel: one of the best operatives, personally recommended by MI6. The only non-villain on the team, E is also appointed leader and doesn't like you much, considering the fact that a mission of yours ended with their closest partner dead. While you may have not pulled the trigger, E blames you all the same.

Strict and as cold as steel, it makes sense why E is the one with the team on their shoulders.

Special romance: enemies to lovers. E hates your guts.

THE SECOND IN COMMAND | Nick/Nina Sharma: second-in-command and a retired illegal weapons dealer, N is, surprisingly, E's closest friend. N has long given up that life, but before their new work as a operative, you knew them as a distant associate. You two have crossed paths on multiple occasions, most of them happening with them almost killing you or vice versa. N can't help but be nice, but you can tell they're not really a fan of you.

Special romance: may have had a lapse in judgement and have had a one night stand...or multiple.

THE BRAINS | Zane/Zena Omari: One of the most skilled hackers and a familiar face on the FBIs most wanted list, Z is on the team in order to be able to go back home without getting arrested. Oddly enough, they're not what the media says they are. Friendly, warm, comedic. Z seems to be having too much of a good time, even with the circumstances surrounding their presence.

THE WEAPONS EXPERT | Luca/Lucia Cruz: L doesn't know you much, and doesn't care to. Hyper-focused on the mission, L's disinterest in you is a breath of fresh air. You don't know what they did and how they got here, but you do know they were facing a life sentence. Still, things aren't always what they seem.

Maybe it won't stay that way.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo Satoru Masterlist

Multi-Chapter Stories

How you ended up as Gojo's fiancé in a fantasy tale masterlist Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

Opposites Attract Being the daughter of the Zenin clan made it your mission to defeat him. Him, Satoru Gojo, the honored one. Him, who makes your life a living hell. Him, who begins to get so much more than your curse...

One Shots

Touch her and you'll burn Your boyfriend Gojo goes berserk after finding out that Toji kidnapped you.

You saved me After Suguru tried to kill his former girlfriend, Satoru is there to cure your depression.

She is my weakness While you are on the brink of death through Suguru's hands, Satoru realizes just how much you really mean to him.

A word of power When his wife is sent to missions over and over until it visibly gets to her, Gojo decides to do something against it.

Lies in the dark You boyfriend Gojo cheated on you with another woman, leaving you heartbroken. Did he, though?

Keep doing it Satoru loves coming to your office everyday to finally win your heart. But it seems like you're more subborn than he thinks.

Having to share a bed with Satoru Gojo at a love hotel ... no words needed.

Golden girl Satoru Gojo really hates everything about you, especially the fact that you are stronger than him. Is it even possible to get along with you, let alone like you? (Spoiler: yes)

The heart wants what it wants 18+ The farewell of your boyfriend Suguru left a wound so deep that it seems like no one is able to fix it. Is the Satoru Gojo, who's secretly in love with you, able to pick your pieces back together?

Promises you can't keep When Sukuna realizes that you did not only break your oath to wait until he returns back to you but married Gojo Satoru after 1000 years of him waiting for you, he goes insane.

Don't touch her Gojo going berserk when you get injured by a curse

Gojo eavesdropping on his wife when she's talking about him While you kept your relationship with Satoru private, you always admire him when you meet at work. However, when your students ask you about your type in men, you can't help but describe the love of your life who hears every single word

Gojo recklessly flirting with Choso's little sister at Shibuya After being set in Shibuya to distract and exhaust none other than Satoru Gojo, Choso's little sister soon learns that the rumors about his charm are true.

Gojo teasing the heck out of you after realizing you get flustered by his eyes After working with smooth operator Gojo Satoru for years, he slowly but surely began to realize what your true weakness is: his bright blue orbs. And he wouldn't be Satoru Gojo if he wouldn't use that against you...

Gojo's and (y/n)'s son wanting to marry (y/n) no words needed

Gojo going nuts when his students don't believe him that you are his wife When Satoru wears his wedding ring for the first time in front of his students, Nobara can't help but wonder who he's married to. But when Gojo confesses it's you, his students just don't believe him.

Gojo getting flustered by his sweaty wife and smacked at their training session Your beloved husband never fails to beat you without mercy when training together. But this time, something seems to catch his eye - your chance to finally hit him with your best shot.

Megumi accidentaly calling Gojo's wife "mum" no words needed

Gojo calling (y/n) a burden to keep her safe Despite the fact that Satoru Gojo was the one who lifted you up and gave you the confidence to go on your very first solo-mission, it was also him who shattered your confidence in order to keep you safe.

Gojo's wife showing her maniac side when it comes to protecting her precious students (Part 1) Despite Gojo's wife spoke vehemently against sending the first and second years on a way too difficult mission, the elders decided against her suggestion. Her calm and collected self changes drastically when she makes them regret their decicion...

Gojo's wife going berserk in order to protect her students (Part 2) Like your bad feeling already suggested, especially Toge's and Yuji's lives hang on a threat when their mission doesn't go as planned. Good for them that Gojo's wife and their teacher rushes to their side and shows everyone just how much she cares about them.

Gojo's girlfriend being there for Shoko when no one else is Shibuya brings even a strong and collected woman like Shoko down to her knees. Especially when you, the only person who seems to truly care about her, ask her about her well-being when your boyfriend just got sealed....

Gojo dressing up as Santa for his girlfriend, Megumi and Tsumiki Satoru Gojo expected a lot of things, but not his girlfriend and two rescued kids making fun of him after he put on a Santa costume only for them.

Gojo being your enemy (or lover?) Your family told you over and over, pounded it into your head since childhood: Satoru Gojo is your enemy, you are simply not allowed to feel anything but hatred towards the Gojo clan. But why do you find yourself lost in his arms each and every night, begging him to love you right?

Gojo buying (y/n) souvenirs after every mission and finding out she kept EVERYTHING Since your joyful smile is so addictive, Satoru can't help but buy you a souvenir every time he goes on a mission. After a few months, he realizes by accident that you do, in fact, keep everything he gifts you...

Geto's little sister finding out her husband got sealed by her big brother You thought you lost him forever, your big brother. Until Shibuya brings you back to reality, until your beloved husband gets sealed by none other than your dead big brother. Until you show your enemy what you're made off...

Gojo's wife supposedly getting executed by kicking ass instead When Sibuya is finally over, you find yourself facing none other than the elders who want to execute you. Little do they know you are no one to be messed with, that even without your husband by your side, you are a true threat if you want to...

Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.

Gojo's and (y/n)'s daughter buying a prom dress for her mum because she never had one When you told your little one about the fact that you never got to wear a prom dress, it was clear for your husband and daughter they needed to change that for your birthday.

(y/n) comforting her husband after he was forced to kill his best friend The man who seems goofy all day, who never takes anything serious breaks down in his wife's arms after he killed his best friend.

Satoru Gojo trying to make bun with his daughter's kinky hair It always looked so easy to him, the way you put your thick hair into the most breathtaking hairstyles. But when his daughter asked him to do a sleek bun on her, he was confronted with the stinging fact how difficult styling kinky hair can be. But that doesn't stop the dad of the year from learning... (POC reader!)

Reader going from being Gojo's lover to being his worst enemy You were always the perfect girlfriend for Satoru Gojo: innocent, quiet and weak. Until something inside you snapped. Until you decided you don't want to be weak anymore. Until you realized that Satoru Gojo isn't your lover, but your enemy...

Gojo's daughter insisting on him brushing her hair because he's so gentle You are pretty suprised when your daughter insists on your husband brushing her hair depite the fact that this is normally your job. Until you find out why...

Reader finishing Gojo's missions for him when he's sick and he finds out When your husband falls sick, you don't think twice about completing all of his tasks in order for him to not be stressed - even if it means multiple sleepless nights for youself. Little did you know that your husband will find out about it and thank you in his own way…

Realizing your true feelings for Gojo when he stands up for you You told yourself countless times that you aren't able to like Gojo Satoru, that he is nothing but a jerk. Until he stands up for you, until he shows you what he really thinks of you...

I Love You When I Drink Champagne In the late hours, with champagne in hand, Gojo’s teasing fades into something deeper. Beneath city lights and whispered confessions, you begin to wonder if his midnight promises mean more than he’ll ever admit in daylight.

[queers-gambit]

Careful What You Wish For

prompt: he's highly reactive, you're incredibly enduring. he's a righteous dick, you're criminally empathetic. he's temperamental, you're amenable. but you're done being his doormat. -> or in which Billy resorts to breaking up when you two fight, but when he comes to make up (like clockwork), you finally have a change of heart.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5k+

warnings: it's not much so don't expect a lot! author has Daddy Issues™️ and you're gonna deal with it, cursing, drama for drama's sake, Billy Boy's trauma translates into a toxic relationship, feelings are hard, abrupt ending, angst, hurt not a lot of comfort; healthy parent relationship? wild.

and NO this is NOT influenced by Hoover's book / Blake's movie! i have NOT read the book nor seen the movie, so if you recognize similarities, it's 100% unintentional!

To be reactive means to impulsively act upon circumstances instead of rationally considering situations that would asses a humane, clean, agreeable, "legal" response. To be reactive is exactly what it sounds like. It's reacting. It's not thinking, it's not being considerate or logical. It's being fueled by emotion, to be impulsive and rash. To be reactive was borderline selfish as the response is one-sided and results from only a single person's perspective.

Part of growing up is learning to handle your reactions; to absorb situations and consider the best possible option forward. Thing is, it's not a skill people could master in a day, week, month, year - it took a lot of time, focus, and constant, conscious dedication. People in high school were attempting to master this skill; people in college, their 20's - hell, there's even people in their 30's and 40's still trying to learn and perfect the ability to fucking handle their reactiveness.

So, in actuality, you couldn't fault Billy for being "this" way. It's not like he was doing it consciously, maliciously, or on purpose; he genuinely didn't know better and it's hard to unlearn lessons life taught you. Considering the environment he grew up in, you knew Billy stood absolutely no chance to learn and develop healthy coping mechanisms and forms of communication - but Christ, it was difficult to date him.

All romantic bullshit aside, Billy's attitude was increasingly concerning the further your relationship progressed. He required a lot of love and patience - of which, you had an abundance of and was happy to give. Yet that's the key word, abundance - NOT unlimited. He's sensitive, meaning easily irritated; damn near any and everything inconvenienced him. His mouth moved before his neurons could fire. He refused to compromise or admit defeat like Flat Earthers refuse scientific evidence. He would always choose throwing a fist over using his words. He embodied the cutting image of "bad boy", but he also lived it if his lack of manners and foul mouth was any indication. He was aloof, malcontent, egotistical, had the emotional intelligence of a fucking jellyfish, operated as an iron lock with a thrown-away key.

And Billy loves you. You knew, in his way, he loves you. But you also knew how hard it was for Billy to have any degree of emotion for any given reason. This meant more often than not, you worried his feelings for you were forced, or at the very least, ebbed and waned. Odd, isn't it? How his trauma causes a trauma response in you?

Billy was far from perfect, but you didn't need him perfect. You needed him to be loving, supportive, kind and caring, honest, empathetic... All things nobody would EVER think of when trying to describe Billy.

Yet you two worked. Polar opposites; two ends of the spectrum; a flowery romance novel and a doomed tragedy.

You used to think he was the ebony ink and you, the pure snow in the Yin and Yang symbol - or a taijitu. He was dark and brooding and abused and hateful - but with you, as that single dot of white, he felt balanced. You're bright, blinding, glittering, passionate - and with Billy, he added that speck of darkness (or realism) to your purity.

Sure, this could mean literally since you lost your virginity to him within a couple months of dating, but more so in the sense that Billy's pessimism was darkening your optimism; almost as if he was pouring water from your glass into his to force you to see your glass (read: reality) as half empty. It was as if he was corrupting you. Yet perhaps not in the sense we all might think - like he takes you to party all weekend, blow off school, engage in sketchy or concerning or dangerous activities, experiment with drugs and sexual positions that border on acrobatic. His corruption was more along the lines of draining you; where you were once bright and happy, so excited to love and be loved, to live life; you're now just tired and passive and accepting.

Billy wasn't easy to love. When you first started dating, it felt like a challenge - winning him over. You were determined to prove yourself ideal, capable, and willing to endure him and all his (and his family's) antics. Yet as time passed, you fell so deeply in love with him that you didn't even remember why you first kept coming back for more. He was intoxicating; he invades any space and commandeers not just attention, but leadership and control.

Billy was the flame. You, the moth. Yet eventually, fires will die. They will not burn forever. Whether from a lack of oxygen, wood, or something like the wind snuffs it, no flame ever endures forever. And now, the flame was dying and you were finding lesser reason to linger around dwindling warmth.

You see, there's only SO much a person can take. Being so reactive, fighting with Billy is fucking clockwork. It's eerily like a science the way you two will always fight when one of you has the realization, "Wow, things are SO peaceful and SO nice right now!" Naturally, because God (or karma, the universe, whoever) had a sense of humor, would choose that moment to cause issue.

Fights with Billy were usually sparked by something decently simple - like you being paired with Jason Carver for a tutoring session, or taking an extra 10 minutes in the shower after your sports practice, or telling him, "Sorry, I can't go out Friday, baby, I told the Wheeler's I'd babysit." This would cause Billy to spiral. Akin to a ripe, seasonal Kansas tornado.

Fights with Billy usually got personal, and since you knew and trusted one another so well, there was plenty of ammunition. Insults were hurled for an unGodly amount of time, but it was because Billy loved pulling loose threads to watch everything unravel.

Fights with Billy usually ended in a single, consistent manner: with him breaking up with you. Oh, it was infuriating! Billy had both fight and flight instincts - you know, from being so reactive - that he was all for throwing a punch, but when it came to real accountability or resolution, he'd flee; never caring about who he might hurt in the process. He'd engage his "fight" response, and then turn around and "flee", only to return later and resume fighting! Talk about fucking whiplash! Billy was like a wrecking ball, and if you were gonna fight, he was gonna make sure he was ready for it.

This fight was no different.

You can't even remember why it started, but it did and now, you sat on the front porch stairs of your family home, head bowed into your arms while silently weeping. Was it sadness? Was it despair? Acceptance? Frustration? Defeat? Was it anger that made you cry? Were these tears of humor? Disbelief? Exhaustion?

Perhaps all of the above at once.

"Look, I just think we need to take a break. From each other."

You held your breath, rolling your lips between your teeth and slowly looking up at the boy you loved and hated most in this world. Billy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one arm propped on the freshly painted wooden bannister to hold his balance; watching you with mild remorse, mostly neutrality. You smirked mirthlessly, nodding, "Right, okay."

Billy scoffed, ash falling from the end of his lit cigarette, asking, "Really not gon' say nothin'? Don't wanna fight or argue 'bout this?"

"Why bother, Billy?" You snipped, wiping your tears. "You do this every time. Fuck's sake, it's like something gets a little hard or inconvenient and we break-up."

He scoffed, "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, maybe this is the last time, sweetheart."

You just sighed, "Okay, Bee. I'm gonna go in, you kinda interrupted movie night to do this. So, now that you have, cool if I go in? Great, get home safe." You stood without waiting for his answer, turning for the front door and immediately seeking refuge inside. You locked the doorknob, then the deadbolt, and just for dramatic flare, latched the chain, too.

Using the sleeves of your shirt, you dried your face.

"Who was that, honey?" Your mother asked as you entered the dark living room, sighing as you dropped into your spot on the sofa; taking your little sister in arms as she settled on your chest once more.

"Just Billy."

"Oh, he didn't want to come in?"

"No, Mama, he had to go."

"Shame," she sighed, "I thought he would like this movie."

You only hummed, draping a thin blanket over you and your sister. "Pops. Hey, hey," you whispered, hand out, wiggling your foot into your father's thigh, "dad, hey. Daddy." Without looking, he handed over the bowl of popcorn mixed with Peanut M&M's and jumped when the sound boomed and the screen flashed with blinding action.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't focus on the heavy Austrian accent of the time traveling Terminator. Your head repeated the argument with Billy; how it had now spanned over several days and he had the audacity to knock at your door tonight, interrupting the week-standing movie night he KNEW your family participated in, and proceeded to break-up with you - AGAIN!

Yet something felt so fucking different this time.

You weren't sad by this "break-up" (yet) because you knew he was just being reactive and sensitive, but something didn't sit right about tonight. Your parents both worked incredibly long hours at tedious, stressful jobs, but they were very firm that every Thursday night was movie night - and Billy knew this. He knew where you were every Thursday. He knew better than to interrupt, he knew this time together was sacred since your parents worked so frequently but also actually seemed to like family time.

So, he chose tonight as the best time to initiate this break? Your heart hammered as you began to convince yourself this was a malicious move; he knowingly came to your house to inflict emotional turmoil when you were with family. It was deliberate, it was a manipulative power move; knowing he had such a hold on you that even during your beloved family time of bonding, despite being in a fight, you would still receive him; still come back to him.

Angry tears coated your eyes as Sarah Connor fought for her life. Where Billy was always highly reactive, being the eldest daughter, you were resilient and enduring; able to handle anything thrown your way. You were rational, decently calm; able to think through a storm, being only motivated by the sight of the sun. Billy had a bad attitude, he was arrogant, his ego inflated by the small town girls all drooling over him, but it was his abuse and lack of coping ability that made him into a righteous dick. Perhaps that was why he was attracted to you, being so empathetic and understanding that it bordered on criminal - especially with the way it slowly drained you of life. Billy was temperamental, angry and hurt by the world; and you were amenable, agreeable - not a pushover, but similar to water in the sense that you could adapt and conform to any space, shape, or circumstance you're put in (willingly or not).

Something in your gut finally clicked.

You're done being his doormat. Loving Billy was dismantling you brick by brick; he thought because you were so accepting and understanding that he could act anyway he wanted, get away with it, and you'd always forgive him. You'd always take him back. He could rip your heart out of your chest, crush it into dust, and you'd still thank him when he sprinkles it in your hands - because at least he did that. At least he gave you a sprinkle. You were supposed to be grateful - never-minding that he was the one who continuously hurt you in the first place.

Your eyes drifted from the television to your mother and father sat together at the far end of the couch. 20 years married, and they still sat together like high school teens; his arm around her shoulders, kept close, sharing snacks, a throw blanket cocooning their legs. They were so gentle with one another; relying majorly on nonverbal communication, like when there's a jump scare, your father's thumb would sweep over the back of your mother's hand resting on his lap. It was a grounding technique you have long taken note of, but seeing it now just made you sad.

The desire to have a relationship like your parents was strong, but what was even stronger was simply setting a good example for your sister. You'd be devastated if you ever learned she dated a man like Billy; who put her through the emotional wringer for no direct or good reason. You thought you'd tell her it wasn't her job to fix anyone; it wasn't her responsibility or burden to help mold a boy into a man. Your heart would shatter if you learned she was like you - crying to sleep, throwing towels over all mirrors to avoid any reflection, walking on eggshells in an effort to keep the peace you weren't even charged with!

Watching her eyes glittering in the glow of the action movie, you knew what you had to do. If you didn't practice what you preached, you had no true leg to stand on; your words become contradictory, your concerns warped by perspective. You didn't want her to look at your parents, then at you and Billy, and think someone was wrong - or that love was somewhere in between your relationship examples. You wanted her to know love wasn't supposed to hurt, and if you needed her to understand that she deserved the best of the best, you needed to walk the walk that you talked.

Blinking back tears, you resigned yourself to forcing the feeling of contentment; hugging your sister closer, relishing the feeling of your father's warmth against the bottom of your feet where they laid. And as if he could read your mind, your father mutely kept his one arm around your mother, the other laying on your ankle; glancing over to catch your eye and offer a small, soft smile before focusing on the movie again.

You pecked your sister's forehead quickly, whispering, "You okay, Bug?"

"Uh-huh."

"Not too scared?"

"No," she answered, completely entranced by the television.

"Sure?"

"Uh-huh. Can you pause it?" She asked your father, who almost instantly reached for the remote to hit pause. Your sister jumped up and rushed from the living room before quickly doubling back to hang in the doorway, "I'll be back." Then she dipped behind the wall, only to pop back out a second later and punctuate, "With weapons!"

The living room was full of boisterous laughter as she scampered off to the bathroom.

There was a gentle knock at your closed bedroom door, head lifting from the lowered crane it unconsciously drooped into while reading the novel on your lap. With a grimace, you rubbed your neck and called, "Come in!"

"Hey, honey," your father spoke softly, poking his head in, "got a second?"

"Yeah, sure, Daddy, c'min."

He offered a small smile and entered at full, shutting the door behind him and confirming what you sensed - this was sure to be a serious conversation. He sat gingerly at the foot of your bed, heaving a great sigh, asking, "Whatcha readin'?"

"Oh, uh, just," you showed him the cover of your book, "it's for school, I have to write a report on it."

"Is it interesting?"

"It has a good message," you allotted, making him snicker. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, sighing again. "Listen, honey, I just wanted to talk to you about... You know, Billy."

"We use condoms, Daddy, and I'm on birth control."

"While that's great and exactly what every father wants to hear," he whined, "that's not what I meant."

"Oh," you sat up, book marked and set aside, "you mean tonight?"

"Yeah."

You shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"I got a handle on things, Daddy."

"I don't know if I can believe that, honey," he frowned, dimples on display, "because - you've - you're just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Your mother and I are worried about you. You're different since dating Billy and it's hard to ignore. I know it might not be comfortable to talk about, but you know you can always come to us, right?"

You nodded, "I know, Daddy."

"Good. 'Cause, he's 18, right?"

"I'm almost afraid to answer that, but yes...?"

Your father nodded, "Good, so I can legally kick his ass."

"Being friends with Hopper helps."

"Damn straight," he confirmed. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, we just broke up."

"What!?"

"Daddy, chill," you chuckled, "we do this every few weeks."

"Oh, Jesus - "

"But it's the last time!"

"Well, how can you be sure?"

"'Cause I deserve better."

The sigh your father released was out of relief, musing, "Goddamn right you do! Good girl!" He leaned in to peck your forehead quickly, patting your leg. "Well, I'll let you get back to reading..."

"Hang on," you halted him, feeling your heart lurch, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything, kid."

"Do you... not... like Billy?"

"Well, now that I know you two break up every few weeks, less so."

"Daddy."

He nodded, "I thought he was an all right kid, and you never had an ill word to say about him. But he was always kinda troubled, something about him always made me a little suspicious. Is there reason I shouldn't like him...?"

You stared at your father for several long seconds, both with varying expressions as you tried to telepathically communicate. When you understood his meaning, you blanched, "Wait - woah - hey - what!? No! No, Daddy!" You groaned, "Jesus, no! Billy's - Billy's troubled, yes, but he's not abusive or aggressive - not with me! I swear!"

"I'm sorry, I just - I needed to be sure! There's no easy way to ask these things, you know?"

"I know," you nodded, "and I appreciate you checking, but I promise, I'm okay, Billy's not like that. He's abrasive, yes, but he's still respectful."

"Noted," your father breathed, "that's actually relieving. So, uh... Am I supposed to bring you ice cream? Or rent some romcoms? This is your first break-up and I'm not sure what to do."

Your eyes rolled lightly, "Not yet, but keep that energy for when the emotions really set in."

"I'll stock up after work tomorrow," he promised.

"You're... Home this weekend?"

"Your mother and I thought for the next couple months, we'll take a break from conferences," he grinned, "spend some time with our favorite girls. Maybe even take a family vacation this summer!"

You grinned, "You mean it?"

"Of course!"

You launched into his embrace with a laugh, both full of mirth and amusement. Instead of leaving, your father actually situated comfortably on your bed and listened to your read your book - reminding him of the days he read you bedtime stories. He eyed the essay prompt your teacher had passed out with his listening ears on, and when there was a quote or relevant detail he thought related to your thesis, he made sure to speak up.

It was the most at-peace you've felt in ages.

"Bug! You have exactly 90 seconds to get down here!" You hollered into the house, walking out the front door while storing your novel in your book bag. Turning forward, you gasped when you nearly ran into Billy - standing before you, fresh as a fucking daisy. "Jesus Christ, Billy, you scared me," you scolded, keys jangling.

"Sorry," he muttered, sighing, hands going to his back pockets, "didn't think you'd be comin' out so quick."

"We gotta catch the bus," you told him, turning to holler again into the open door, "BUG! LET'S GO!"

"Why? You know I normally drive you two."

"Yeah, but we broke-up last night, Bee, didn't think you'd wanna play taxi driver still."

"It's not bein' a taxi - "

"You live on the other side of town," you scoffed, "my house is literally out of your way. So, don't feed me that line." You could see Max leaning on the passenger door from where Billy's Camaro was parked on the street, waving to her; watching her grin and wave back. "What're you doin' here?" You asked him pointedly.

"Look, I know we argued and I got a little mouthy, but I was just pissed off and reacted poorly. But I slept on it, and I'm sorry for what I said. Can we please just try to move on?"

You scoffed, "Billy, you do this so often, I can't keep up anymore. Your insecurity isn't your fault, you're not to be crucified for it, but I can't be your punching bag. You can't lose your cool and yell and get 'mouthy', break up with me, run away for me to deal with shit, and then come back the next day. So, I appreciate the offer, but Bug and I are gonna catch the bus 'cause... Because..."

"Because why, baby?" He asked, voice hazy and thick.

"Because you should really be careful what you wish for, Billy, you might just get it. I think we should honor this break-up."

"What?" Billy breathed in earnest confusion. "No, hold up - "

"Billy, I'm sorry, I am. You know I love you - "

"So you're breaking up with me, 'cause you love me?"

"You're the one who broke up with me, Billy," you reminded, "and yes, I do love you, but I have to love me, too. I can't do them simultaneously, it seems."

"Of course you can - "

"Loving you means disrespecting myself," you told him. "Every time I come back to you, I'm chipping away at who I am. You and I - we used to be so good for each other, Bee. Remember? But now? You're just on this warpath and I refuse to be a casualty. So, yes, I love you, I love you so much, but I don't think we should be together anymore. I need time alone, to breathe and figure out who I am outside of you - and you obviously need time to process and get your shit together. If we stay together, we're only gonna hurt each other. But apart, we can freely move and improve and curate change without risk of harm to the other."

You both just stared at one another, the sound of thundering footsteps heard from behind you. "Bee!" Your sister squealed when she rushed out the door.

"Hey, Bug!" He beamed, bending to scoop her in his arms - just like she wanted. "Woah, woah, woah - when did you get such cool shoes, kid?" He asked her, holding her ankle to show off her tie-dye canvas shoes.

"Daddy got them! Aren't they cool!?"

"So cool."

"Do you want a pair? We can match!"

Billy smirked, setting her on her feet, "Tell you what, Bug, if you can find a pair my size, I'll match with'cha, yeah?"

"I'll tell Daddy!" She gasped, turning to look up at you. "Can we ride with Billy to school?"

"Not to - "

"'Course, kid, c'mon," Billy cut you off, and it was like you never even opened your mouth with the way your sister bounded down the porch, over the yard, and towards Max.

"Billy," you grumbled.

"You really wanna break the kid's heart this early in the day?" He asked, sighing and offering his hand. "C'mon, just until the end of today - she'll have the weekend to process."

"You know we're not a married couple getting a divorce and Bug is our kid?" You grumbled, slapping your hand into his and allowing him to lead you towards his car; where his sister was settling yours in the backseat.

"Might as well be."

"You're dramatic."

He only hummed, opening your passenger door and waiting until you were inside safely before shutting the door. You greeted Max happily in the backseat, Billy getting in the driver's and pulling off safely - slowly - to start towards the elementary school. While the middle and high school conveniently shared a lot, the elementary school was just a couple streets over. Bug was excited to tell the car all about her upcoming "field day", where the entire school participated in these outside courses, doing various physical activities - it was all good, honest fun.

"What team were you on?" Bug asked Max. "I'm on the Blue Team!" She proudly pulled out the bottom of her shirt; showing off the color. "We won last year, too!"

"Woah! That's so cool, you gonna win again this year?" Max asked.

"Uh-huh! Did your team win?"

"We didn't have field day."

"What?" Bug asked, sounding heartbroken.

"They didn't go to school here, Bug," you told her from the passenger seat, "they lived in California. Remember?"

Bug frowned, "You didn't get to play?"

"We had other activities," Max assured, "we just didn't have a whole day of it - your school sounds so cool!"

"You should come!" Bug gasped. "Today! You and Bee should come! Then you could have field day, too!"

Your heart melted listening to Max tell her why she and Billy couldn't - but that she needed Bug to pay extra close, extra special attention to the games so they could all play together later in their very own field day. You didn't have the heart to halt the plans, to tell Bug why that wouldn't be happening.

You felt Billy's eyes on you periodically through the drive, sisters in the back discussing what California was like. Bug was fascinated by the beaches - having never been - and asked all kinds of questions, nearly exploding in excitement when she learned Billy knew how to surf. You knew it was a source of anxiety for him; you knew Billy associated surfing with his mother and that ever since she left, he couldn't ride the waves. He wouldn't. It hurt too bad to look back on shore and miss that bright smile, yellow blonde hair he inherited, loose, free-flowing dress, and floppy straw hat.

Yet talking to Bug, he seemed relatively at ease.

From the back, Max watched as you, who hadn't so much as looked at Billy since he got in the car, reached over for his hand to hold in silent support. He held on tightly.

"All right, Bug," you called when Billy pulled up to the elementary school, getting out to pull the seat forward and assist her out.

"Bye, Max!" She hugged the redhead, then lunged between the seats, "Bye, Billy!"

She clamored out of the car, Billy fixing the seat for you as you knelt on the sidewalk and helped fix her backpack. "You good?" You checked, smirking at her.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Listen, we'll take the bus home today, okay? Billy's got practice, so, remember - it's bus 104. Got it?"

"Bus 104."

"That's right, good girl. You get on bus 104, it'll take you to the high school and pick me up. All right?"

She took a deep breath, nodding, "I can do this."

"I know you can, Bug. All right, big hug!" You hummed as she wrapped her wee arms around your neck. "Oooooh! All right! That's good stuff!" She pulled back. "Have the best day, Bug. Love you."

"Love you," she messily pecked your cheek before rushing to join the procession of streaming kiddies. You stood straight and dusted off, sliding back into Billy's car, and once clear of the children, let his lead foot drop on the gas and speed into the school lot.

"Jesus," Max grumbled when the car swung into a parking space, "inna rush or something?"

"Just," Billy sighed deeply, shaking his head, "get out. You," he pointed at you, "stay put, we gotta talk." You remained, wishing Max a good day, watching her climb out of the car with her skateboard. As the redhead rode off for the middle school, Billy dropped back into his seat, slammed his door, and lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands.

Silence echoed between you both, Billy handing over the cigarette mutely; students, peers, and faculty all milled around the Camaro to head into school. Smoke wafted from the rolled down windows. When time, the butt was tossed out and the silence remained.

"Bee," you whispered finally.

"I'm just..." He trailed, sighing, "Trying to savor this. Don't know when I'm gonna have you this close again."

He took your hand gently and stroked it with his thumb, emotion heavy in both your chests. "It's not like we're not gonna see each other again," you whispered.

"Not in the way I want."

"It's not like I want this, either."

"Then why're you doing this?"

You scoffed gently, "It's not me doing a damn thing, Billy, you've already done it all. I'm just holding you to your word because I know how fearful you are of commitment." You tossed his hand to his lap and grabbed your bag, reaching for the door handle, then pausing. "For the record," you ended softly, "I'm sorry, and I love you. I hope you find what you're looking for, Bee."

As you finally climbed from the sports car and into school, you felt like you were breathing air for the first time. Like you were feeling sunshine after a decade underground, like there were springs in your sneakers; vigor in your blood, optimism misting your mind into new possibilities. Yet, behind you, in a navy blue Camaro, Billy loosed two tears before tearing out of the parking lot in a fit of anger. Rage. Sadness. Desperation.

He wasn't seen at school the following week, but by the next weekend, rumors spread that he hooked up with both Allison Scott and Kimberly Jones at Donald Reefer's weekend party - so, you know, he seemed to be handling this break up well. It was what he wanted, after all.

And you? Let's just say, you were finally happy, healthy, feeling confident, rejuvenated, and ready to move forward and ONLY accept that which you KNOW you deserve.

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Stranger Things masterlist

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[petriwriting]

Vero amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 1.)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

A/N: My first longer(ish) story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for part 2 and if you like it overall, I always like feedback! also if it is poorly edited I will go back and change a few things here or there. nothing major though. Please heed my warning this will have a lot of time jumps and memories but it will all make sense in the end promise. (Mini Series is now a WIP)

Italic is memories

"This could be the end of me." 

Theodore sighs in defeat, he is exhausted, and takes a swig of butterbeer to calm his nerves. The years past had not been kind to the man, his shoulders were low, as if they were fatigued from carrying the weight of the world had weakened his posture. His eyes had sullen dark circles beneath them, and his hair was long and un-kept. There was a cigarette between his fingers, it was unlit, but waiting patiently. He wasn't so much nervous, as he was ready for this to all be over. He was more than ready to leave his family's reputation in the past and move forward to better things. He was slightly jealous of Draco Malfoy for that reason, Draco had even become much more acquainted with Harry Potter after the war, leaving his reputation in the past now as a mature adult. Theodore felt partially he hadn't matured enough, and that he was still the boy who was stuck in his 6th year. It was a harsh adjustment for everyone, but Theo was completely alone now, with his father pronounced deceased shortly after the war and an estate left to him. He was an only child, his mother was gone. He pushes away all his friends for the most part and had not bothered making new ones... Theodore Nott was a mess. With one hand holding the beer bottle and cigarette, his other hand found its way to his pocket, pulling out a tiny black stone, rubbing it between his fingers to self soothe. 

"Let's not be too dramatic." Blaise says, with a slighty comforting tone. luckily for Theodore, Blaise had been helping him through his depression despite his best efforts to push him away. It was an effort that was silently appreciated. "I doubt Y/N would lie to the council, especially since it happened so many years ago." He said, standing at the other end of the kitchen island looking over at Theo. 

"Well, considering my behavior... I broke their heart. I wouldn't honestly wouldn't be upset if they did, Maybe I deserve it.." Theodore said, running his hand through his messy curls. 

Things had been tense for him lately. The ministry began investigating all those who were suspected to be involved with Voldemort's operations, one by one. Some trials were famous for their unhappy endings, others not so much. With Theodore Nott being his father's son, he was one of the first people to be questioned, going through the lengthy process of trying to prove his own innocence. His fathers action had ruined his son's reputation. Of course many of his friends had tried to speak on behalf of his good character, but the court's jury still seemed unconvinced. They had called you to the stand to testify for him, and he was utterly terrified. Although some may argue that the odds were stacked against Theodore, with the trace of a dark mark still plaguing his arm, Though others stand to believe he was innocent. Many of his friends had gotten through unscathed, although due to his father's high esteem, Theodore felt conflicted and angry. He knew it wasn't right to put you in that position, especially after all the time that has passed. Being a pureblooded slytherin associated with all things evil, the cards were not exactly in his favor.

"Well, let's hope for the best, shall we?" Blaise says, after pouring himself a small glass to toast with Theo. They had managed to stay relatively close throughout the years, despite all the chatter.

*Clink. 

"thanks, I'll need it." Theodore says, finally lighting his cigarette.

.    .    .You were relaxing one evening when a stocky brown barn owl nearly crashed into your window, with it came a letter with a familiar silver wax seal. The ministry of magic. You were quite alarmed, as you had no reason in particular to be contacted by them. Was your wand permit expired? or maybe there was some urgent matter to attend to? These questions flooded your mind as you carefully opened the letter. It was a summons. "You are hereby summoned to testify in court regarding the alleged innocence and character of Theodore Nott."  Readinghis name made your heart flutter. 

You had to stop in your tracks, taking a deep breath. You would be in the courtroom, testifying on behalf of your old ex-boyfriend from your school days. You could not believe it. The rest of the letter was a blur, something about instructions and court behavior expectations and what not to bring. You and Theodore had had a very Illustrious history together. He was your first love after all. It was all you could think about, for days on end until the court date finally arrived. It felt like months of sitting and waiting in anticipation and anxiety. Your mind turned over every interaction you had that would somehow frame you in a bad way, you were scared they might open a case on you just for the affiliation. Part of you, maybe even the tiniest part, felt that this was some kind of fate. Perhaps you were simply destined to relive the past, even if it was some of the most painful memories, maybe you could finally progress and heal after this.

You ran your fingers over your hair, readying yourself for what was about to come about, how it could all blow up in your face, or worse... You simply had no idea what to expect. You didn't even know what Theodore was up to these days apart from the slight mentions you overheard from friends and gossip. Aside from everything you were scared to face the man who broke your heart.

With a sigh, you apparated to the ministry's main office. Rushing past you were business men and women, Aurors, and some office workers. everyone seemed in a hurry, which didn't help your heart rate at all. It was beating fast as the seconds ticked on by. You scurried through the busy halls to the elevator, you were instructed to meet outside courtroom Ten, on the tenth level. You approached the doors steadily although nervously. You were waiting to be escorted into the main room. This level was so silent, almost as if it was void of any people at all. 

Someone in a plumb robe appeared, with a soft smile. It was a much older woman, something about her was oddly comforting. "Alright love," she said, sensing how nervous you were. You were fixing your collar for the third time. "No need to be scared, You'll see a bright light, then I will escort you to your seat." she explained. "Very simple." you nodded along. You could feel your heart-beat in your chest, wanting to run away or apparate somewhere you were familiar with, but you managed to keep yourself collected. 

It wasn't that you were scared of the court or being sentenced, you knew you were innocent and that you had nothing to hide, but you were anxious about seeing Theodore. The clever and mischievous boy you fell in love with may not be in that room, he may have changed completely. You were scared of that change. For you, it was devastating, He was your whole world and you loved him with all your heart, but you were starting to think that you must not have been the same to him, as after the war he had moved away from the city with blaise, Never even bothering to send an owl or talk to you. You tried to justify it, maybe he had his own reasons. He was going through a lot, without a doubt. above all you were scared you would fold under the pressure of being on the stand.

"Alright dear." the old woman whispered, taking your arm. you were led into the hall, it was dark. The woman was truthful about that bright light, it was blinding, like a spotlight. You could feel the enchantments that had been done in this room, there was a fuzzy, but calming feeling washing over you. The jury were all dressed in the same robes, sitting in near rows of curved benches that opened up into a central clearing, where there was a large chair on a podium. That must be where they would question people, you thought to yourself. The bright light began to disappear more and more as your eyes adjusted, as most of everything else was dark. The Wizengamot stood, everyone followed suit. you were standing on the sidelines with your escort, there was so much going on you almost didn't see Theodore sat across from everyone. There were two Aurors on either side of him and he was in restraints. It pained you to see him treated like a criminal, especially after seeing how gentle he really was. He looked older, still as handsome, but tired. Exhausted even, with dark circles under his eyes and his curls a mess atop his head. For a moment, you saw him and your heart skipped a beat.

"Witches and Wizards of the court, we are gathered today for the testimony of Y/N L/N on Behalf of Mr. Theodore Nott. shall the information and insight given to us today be conclusive, we may not need perpetuation of this case."  The wizengamot says. "We will proceed with a brief summary of our evidence, and our trial shall commence with Mrs.L/N's Testimony."

A small, short stubby man wanders up to the front of the jury to recap the evidence. He explains the case in short detail. Theodore was being accused of being affiliated with his father's operations, and since his father worked for Lord Voldemort the evidence was conveniently stacked against Theodore. The first piece of evidence was Theodore's dark mark, and the jury had apparently stated that this was a choice made by Theo, although you knew deep down it wasn't. The second piece of evidence brought up from collections was a broken time turner, you could clearly recall the memory of this. Although that was the only physical evidence against him, The other witnesses were named. One of them was a Slytherin student who had a class with Theodore, but you quickly realized whatever she had said must have been against his innocence, since it was someone Theodore rejected countless times, and he even left her alone to pick up a project worth most of their grade during fifth year granted, he did have a good excuse it didn't matter. The other witness was named Theodore's neighbor, an old man who had been acquainted with his father. It was clear the old man hated the Nott family, having lived in silent hatred next to the Nott manor for many years. And then, the final witness was you.

After turning the thoughts over your head, and imagining all possible outcomes you realized that they were about to try Theodore Nott for an affiliation with Death Eaters that was not his doing. Theodore was about to become a criminal  .  .  . 

You knew in your heart that this wasn't right. It was unjust. You would be guilt ridden for the rest of your life if you didn't at least attempt to unravel these lies. You could disprove most of the evidence anyway, you also knew that it might not be enough. Your escort stood behind you as you stood on the central platform to be seated for the jury. The same man who spoke before and welcomed everyone to the trial turned to you. "Mrs. L/N," he said, you gulped and took a shallow sigh. "How do you wish to proceed?" he asked you. 

You looked at him for a moment, and then back to the jury. They seemed like they didn't particularly care about being there. Without thinking much, "I would like to request to present my memories as evidence." you said. "Very well." the man replied, receding back into the room. At this time, you had to be sure you were providing the best evidence even if it meant showing everyone in that courtroom your most vulnerable moments. It was a brave gesture. 

After a few moments of silence, some Aurors emerged into the room with a Pensive. A small silver bowl with runes and symbols carved on the inside and outside, within it contained a shiny silver liquid. It was placed in the center of the room. The Auror approached you, asking for your permission before proceeding with extracting your memories. You had read about this in school, but you had never seen one let alone used one for yourself. He placed his wand up to your head, twirling gently. You felt a tear escape your eyes, it wasn't painful, but it felt like a sudden rush and headache. The Auror added the memories to the silver bowl, and in almost an instant it began to glow.

"Mrs. L/N," one of the jury members began. "are you sure you wish to proceed?" they asked, you nodded quickly. 

You took a deep breath as you looked into the bowl, It was enchanted to allow everyone to see your memories, and the glowing ball of light sprung up to illuminate the center of the room, within it was your memory.  .  .

[write-or-run]

Jack and Maddy as Justice League consultants

As the world's foremost experts on ectobiology the Fentons are an invaluable resource, and their activities probably count as vigilantism, but The JL never invited the couple as official JL members. 

Officially this is due to the Fentons being so specialized in ghosts and ectobiology. The Fentons are brilliant scientists, that much is indisputable. With their skills in biology, radiology, and engineering they managed to quantify a form of magic and pioneer a whole new field of study. 

It's just that they can get a little… absentminded. 

This ends up a moot point when Fentons (believing that the JL was about to invite them to join) state that they intend to focus on studying ghosts. But don't worry they would be happy to help out with any ghost problems!

…

edit: got rid of the duplicated paragraphs, Super embarrassing!!!

The League first became entangled with the Fentons when a young sorcerer named Nicolas Edgar Nolan, more commonly known as Nick Necro, launched an attack on the members of the Justice League. He sought revenge on Giovanni Zatara for rejecting him as a student when the stage magician discovered that Nick had become involved with a dark cult. 

Nick had managed to get his hands on a gauntlet that allowed him to create gremlin-like servants by sacrificing the lifeforce of other creatures. (Unbeknownst to him, the artifact's original owner, known only as the Overlord, was locked away within the gauntlet. With each additional minion the Overlord gains more influence over the user) The dark sorcerer had sent these creatures to attack the Justice League, thereby leaving Zatara without his allies. 

The artifact is eventually identified by Zatara as the Gauntlet of Tyranny, one of many curios that could be found in the Infinity Realm. Due to the gauntlet’s nature, its creations had the same properties as those of the Infinity Realm’s denizens, making them very hard to defeat. 

At least they were, until a couple of crackpot graduates from the University of Wisconsin-Madison came blasting onto the scene. 

Like everyone else in the world, the recently married Fentons were paying close attention to broadcasts about the latest alien invasion. Of course the couple were able to recognize the ghostly origin of the minion’s powers, and the pair immediately packed up their home-made ghostbusting equipment and set out on the most important cross-country trip of their life! (Unfortunately there was no way for them to fly out as the airport security refused to let them bring their blasters onboard)

Since Zatara’s main place of residence was in Gotham, that's where Nick Necro focused his attacks. It's also the direction that Jack and Maddy’s prototype Fenton Finder points them towards.

The Fentons make their way to Gotham with a trail of defeated minions and property damage behind them. Along the way they encounter Flash, Hawkwoman, and Captain Atom. The Fentons supply the heroes with their prototype ecto-based weaponry. Unfortunately the scientists don't wait to explain anything so the heroes are left to figure out who that couple was and how the gadgets work.

Flash is given a glowing baton that pops the minions on contact. Unfortunately it’s battery cant hold a charge and Flash has to keep repowering it with his lightning. 

Hawkwoman is frustrated when the hard light ecto-blade keeps fritzing out, but discovers the nth-metal of her mace stabilizes it. 

Captain Atom gets a giant tuning fork to his confusion. Eventually he figures out that by channeling his power through it the nearby minions are forcibly gathered at the fork’s end, and he can take them all out with one blast.

Upon arriving at Gotham the Fentons make their way to the city’s last operating clinic, arriving just in time to save doctor Leslie Thompkins. Together they fortify the clinic and set up a shield that keeps out all ghostly beings. 

Poor Batman hasn't gotten a break all week. A mystery enemy had been ambushing members of the League. By the time they identified the culprit as Nick Necro the man had been able to gather enough forces to launch a siege against America's largest cities, with a special focus on Gotham due to it being the home of Nick’s target, Giovanni Zatara. Now some unknown vigilanties were setting up base in his godmother's clinic. Sure the couple claim to want to help, but Batman didn't get this far by trusting people at face value. He interrogates them about everything,  why are you here, how do you know so much about the attackers, what are your devices, etc…

The Fentons are thrilled that this bat-themed fellow is so interested in their work and are happy to gush about it in between shooting minions. Batman is immediately given full access to their makeshift lab and equipment without so much as a thought to security or safety.

Baman begrudgingly teams up with the Fentons but will definitely do a more thorough (re: invasive) investigation on the Fentons later. But for now they cooperate to make a device that neutralizes the Gauntlet of Tyranny.

…

And that’s how it all started.

On one hand Jack and Maddie now have a support system of fellow scientists and vigilantes. On the other hand they are now heroes in the DCU.

Occasionally Jack and Maddie end up on comic book flavored adventures (I'm watching clips of Batman the Brave and the Bold while coming up with this). When they're gone the Fenton kids are usually looked after by their parents' work friends. Mr Terrific, Atom, Swamp Thing, Barry Allen, etc. At some point 12 yr old Dick ends up babysitting 6 yr old Jazz and 4 yr old Danny.

[werywrenniethoughts]

"Security Alert!! Security Alert!!!"

Allow me to overanalyze this ONE line and its implications if you don't mind.

Sun shouts this immediately after throwing Gregory out of the daycare. Instantly, every other main animatronic we've encountered up to this point is there, ready to grab Gregory. Their only deterrent is Glamrock Freddy. (However, it's worth noting he was "unable to reach" Gregory until that moment to prove my point.)

GUYS, I think we just got a glimpse at what could have been a standard MegaPizzaPlex emergency protocol. It's the equivalent of a panic button. JUST IMAGINE: There's a parent or relative attempting to swipe a kid from the daycare during a separation, child abuse case, etc. Sun gets that unruly person out of the daycare and sounds the alarm. All the main animatronics are then priority directed to come to the daycare to neutralize the threat while Sun protects the little ones inside. FazBear Entertainment may be shady, but I'd like to think they've come a long way at this point in the series to avoid SOME liability situations.

Even Moon is the most aggressive he is within the game directly after this moment. If you step out of Freddy on purpose or by accident (which, I did lol), Moon insta-kills you. No countdown, no warning, no idling with his cool moves. Straight up ENDS you the second you're on the ground. Normally, you're perfectly fine to walk around Moon whether you're in Freddy or not up until you hit the hour.

Sun calls someone to get you again if you attempt to go down the slide after being banned, too. In that case, I've only ever seen it be Monty pre-shattering, but I don't think anyone has tried to shatter him before Chica, so I am unsure if this would change who comes to stop you. If Monty has already been defeated, it seems to just not do anything.

(Not directly related, but, Freddy's speech explaining how the Attendant is free to roam the building when the lights are out also implies that otherwise, he is NOT allowed to leave the daycare. He is the one who WILL find you if you're in Freddy, no matter what. It's like Fazbear is purposely hardcore limiting Sun/Moon's mobility within the Plex for one reason or another.)

To see this place on a normal day of operation, pre-virus, would be so amazing. I'm just SO proud of Sun for taking such good care of his charges. A shame that after the lights were turned off during Gregory's visit, Sun felt he was safer away from him.

[sayruq]

3 thoughts on this:

Economy - Israel's economy took a hit in October that was comparable to the economic tremors caused by the COVID-19 outbreak. It is effectively in a major recession today. The longer they drag out this war, the worse their economic condition will be. Foreign capital will continue leaving the country as it seems incapable of stabilising. While the continued use of reserves means 300,000 Israelis will be unable to work, not to mention the millions of dollars Israel has to spend to mobilise its reserve every day. The longer the war goes on, the more people will end up leaving the country. 470,000 have left in October and November with no intention of returning while over 300,000 settlers are internally displaced. Both of those numbers are bound to go up as the war continues. This means that Israel is missing hundreds of thousands of Israeli workers. A few weeks ago, Israel struck a deal with the Indian government to get 100,000 workers after tens of thousands of worker migrants fled the country. That plan fell through thanks to Indian trade unions. Now Israel is turning to African States in a desperate attempt to replace the Gazan workers it's currently genociding. We will see if that plan works as Africans are by and large pro Palestine. Plus the Yemeni naval blockade is growing more and more intense every week as a direct response to the genocide in Gaza. In short, Israel's economy can't withstand a long war. America cannot help prop up the economy as it will soon be facing its major economy issues in the coming years including a housing crisis and likely a recession.

Military defeats - Israel cannot defeat Hamas. It cannot win a war inside Gaza. It failed to do so in 2014, it's failing right now. It has lost hundreds of military vehicles including the (formerly) vaunted Merkava-4. The estimated number of injured soldiers stands at 10,000+ while the Resistance is still intact and capable of carrying out dozens of military operations against IDF and the surrounding cities and settlements every day. The IDF has never looked more weak than it is right now. Hezbollah has been employing a military strategy dubbed the escalation ladder, in which one end of the ladder is no war and the other end is total war. It has continuously escalated against Israel, attacking deeper and deeper into its territory, and it will continue until there's open war between Israel and Lebanon. The point of the escalation is to give Israel time to leave Gaza but as that's not something the Israeli government is planning on doing, we're looking at a region war in 2024 (so far we have a regional conflict and whilebits serious, it's not yet war). Just like it can't win in Gaza, Israel can't defeat Hezbollah and occupy Southern Lebanon like its leaders have been threatening to. It certainly can't take on the Ansar Allah group in Yemen.

West Bank - every week, there are clashes between Israeli forces and the Resistance in the West Bank and it's growing more and more intense. The best way to describe the region is 'powder keg.' Israel has responded to Oct 7th by detaining thousands of Palestinians and killing hundreds. There's a growing popularity of Al Qassam Brigades and other militant groups in Gaza. There also seems to be coordination between the Gazan and West Bank resistance groups, as in they would carry out operations at the same time. The longer the war on Gaza goes on, the more likely that war will also break out in the West Bank.

Many, many more Palestinians will die. This plan, more than anything, is a call for the continued slaughter of Palestinians in Gaza.

But the longer this goes on, the closer Israel gets to collapsing.