#and conflicted by publicly sharing his location

[aziraphale-is-a-cat]

I need an AFTG AU where Neil, instead of hiding around and flying under the radar, decides once he gets to the foxes that the best way to make sure that nobody has a chance to get to him is to stay in the spotlight. He's a menace in interviews, he's very publicly a shithead, and he gains an absolute cult following.

It doesn't come naturally to him, it's a headache at best, but with some help from Allison and maybe Nicky, he posts his every location on Instagram and has his classmates reporting known sightings of him to the campus Yik Yak. He hates it, it makes him so grumpy and the foxes can't figure out why he does it for the life of them, but he can't mysteriously disappear or die in a car crash never to be heard from again if he's Collegiate Exy's redheaded darling.

In the end it puts one last barrier between him and impending death, the fact that he can't be taken out like old yeller if everybody and their mother can see his location on snap map.

[steveyockey]

In the US, total deaths from fire and burning declined steadily and significantly over the course of the 20th century, a trend paralleled in much of the rest of the world in recent decades. Building materials are safer, open flames are less necessary for lighting and heating, and fire-response infrastructures are more robust. For most of us, most of the time, fire is innocuous, confined to stovetops and grills and lighters. There is one important exception. Beginning in World War I, modern warfare has vastly multiplied the range of available methods for burning people to death. Bullets still have their place, of course, and more ancient tactics of siege and starvation, but wars since the early 20th century have probably lit more people on fire than all prior military conflicts in human history.

Scholars often associate the rise of political self-immolation in the 1960s with the rise of television: a spectacular form of protest for the society of the spectacle. But of course there are less painful ways for protestors to attract eyeballs. The reality is that self-immolation registers the near-total impotence of protest—and even public opinion as such—in the face of a military apparatus completely insulated from external accountability. It the rawest testament to the absence of effective courses of action. When war consists primarily of unelected men in undisclosed locations pouring fire on the heads of people we will never know on the other side of the world, there is very little that ordinary people can do to arrest its progress. But we still have our bodies, and it is in the nature of fire to refuse containment.

To ask whether self-immolation is good or bad, justifiable or non-justifiable, effective or ineffective is in large part to miss the point, which is that it is an option, whether anyone else likes it or not. It illuminates our powerlessness in negative space, but it also affirms the irreducible core of our freedom, that small flame of agency that no repression can extinguish. Since Aaron Bushnell’s death by self-immolation this week in protest of Israel’s genocide in Gaza, his detractors have warned about the risk of “contagion,” suggesting that his protest will encourage imitators (who, they imply, share his alleged mental instability). There may or may not be additional self-immolators before the slaughter comes to an end, just as Bushnell was preceded by a woman, yet to be identified publicly, who burned herself outside the Israeli consulate in Atlanta in December. But the purpose of lighting yourself on fire is not to encourage other people to light themselves on fire. It is to scream to the world that you could find no alternative, and in that respect it is a challenge to the rest of us to prove with our own freedom that there are other ways to meaningfully resist a society whose cruelty has become intolerable.

Erik Baker, “Burnt Offerings: Aaron Bushnell and the age of immolation,” n+1, February 29, 2024.

[mariacallous]

As asylum centers are boarding up ahead of another predicted day of violent protests across the UK on Wednesday, X owner Elon Musk has stoked tensions by labeling UK prime minister Keir Starmer “#TwoTierKier” and spreading a far-right conspiracy theory that claims white rioters are being dealt with more severely than minorities by police.

For days now, Musk has sought to use his huge influence to suggest that diversity was causing the riots: “If incompatible cultures are brought together without assimilation, conflict is inevitable,” Musk wrote. Responding to a video of riots in Liverpool on Monday, Musk warned: “Civil war is inevitable.”

Six thousand police officers are on standby in response to far-right figures sharing a list of dozens of targets, including locations of asylum centers and offices of lawyers who help asylum seekers. Officials are facing resistance from X to take down posts that are deemed a threat to national security, according to a report by the Financial Times.

After the death of three children in Southport during a mass stabbing attack last week, which sparked the riots, conspiracies flooded social media platforms, including X. But it was on Telegram where much of the initial organization for the attacks took place.

Far-right channels not only posted information on locations and times for protests, but shared information on how to construct Molotov cocktails and set fire to buildings, according to a WIRED review of multiple Telegram channels.

But, while Musk and X have done little to quell their activity, Telegram appears to have taken action against at least one channel which has been set up to spread hatred and disinformation around the Southport stabbings.

The “Southport Wake Up” Telegram channel was set up within hours of the stabbing incident last week and soon amassed a huge following. It shared details about local protests but quickly descended into making violent threats against named individuals and locations.

On Monday night, Telegram appeared to remove the channel, which at that point had almost 15,000 members. It is unclear if Telegram made this decision itself or if it was at the direction of the authorities in the UK.

The creator of the channel, who has been flagged to police by researchers but has not been publicly named, has attempted to set up new channels several times, but they have all been shut down within hours of being established.

Telegram told WIRED that its moderators were “actively monitoring the situation and are removing channels and posts containing calls to violence.”

A spokesperson told WIRED the Home Office could not comment on whether they had called for the Stockport Wakeup telegram channel to be blocked, as “it’s an operational issue.”

Many far-right figures had migrated to Telegram in recent years after being kicked off all other platforms, because of Telegram’s notoriously lax approach to censorship. But since Musk’s takeover of Twitter in November 2022, many of those previously exiled extremists have been welcomed back, including Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, the leader of the now-defunct English Defense League, who goes by the name of Tommy Robinson.

Robinson has repeatedly thanked Musk since being reinstated in November last year, calling Musk “the best thing to happen for free speech this century.” In recent days he has tagged Musk in multiple posts on the platform. Musk responded to one of Robinson’s posts over the weekend.

Analysis from disinformation researcher Marc Owen Jones has shown that any engagement like this from Musk dramatically boosts the number of views, likes, and shares a post on X receives—even posts whose interactions had been declining dramatically.

“Twitter has been a disinformation delivery system,” says Jones, which has allowed the “proliferation of anti-migrant and anti-muslim speculation.” He cites the trust and safety team cuts, the blue tick pay for play strategy and the reintroduction of far right people onto the site as “perfect conditions for disinformation and hate speech to thrive.”

“[Musk’s] comments are totally unacceptable,” courts minister Heidi Alexander told the BBC on Tuesday. “For someone that has a big platform, a large following, to be exercising that power in such an irresponsible way, is pretty unconscionable.” X did not respond to a request for comment.

UK law enforcement is taking action against those using X to overtly promote violence—in one case by arresting the wife of a local councillor in Northampton who called for hotels housing asylum seekers to be set on fire.

“Mass deportation now, set fire to all the fucking hotels full of the bastards for all I care … If that makes me racist, so be it,” Lucy Connolly wrote on X. Northamptonshire police told the BBC the 41-year-old child care worker was arrested on suspicion of inciting racial hatred.

Rioters and violent protesters have also taken over TikTok Live, sharing self-incriminating videos of them confronting the police or members of the public in cities like Leeds, Stoke, and Hull. Police have used that footage to prosecute a first wave of demonstrators this week.

“Over 400 people now have been arrested, 100 have been charged, some in relation to online activity, and a number of them are already in court, and I am now expecting substantive sentencing before the end of this week,” Starmer said in a video posted on X on Tuesday. “That should send a very powerful message to people either directly or online.”

Starmer has not referred to X or Musk by name in his comments on the issue of online radicalization around the riots.

[mlbigbang]

2022 Ladynoir Fic Rec List

It's the end of the year which means it's finally time for the ML Big Bang's yearly fic rec lists! We're really excited to bring you our contributors' favourite fics started this year to supply you with plenty of reading material while you're waiting for the Big Bang fics' publication in January.

Movie Date, Interrupted by @purrfectlypunny 1,043 words, General, 1/1 chapter

Ladybug and Chat Noir finally have time to spend together at a movie; unfortunately, a goofy akuma and a moody teenager have other plans.

"The dynamic between Ladybug and Chat is so good!!"

Polaris by @miabrown007 4,029 words, Teen, 3/3 chapters

Adrien had lost everything. Along with his Miraculous, he gave up his freedom, his kwami, his partner; there’s nothing else left to lose. But maybe it is an akuma attack going so predictably wrong all it takes to change his fate, and prove his worth in the team to the only person doubting it: himself. *** Kuro Neko-divergent hurt/comfort fic

"I am weak for any hurt/comfort that is made worse (better) by identity barriers. This fic very much delivers."

breaking me down to my knees in the dead of night by @sunfoxfic 2,429 words, General, 1/1 chapter

Marinette ran off in the middle of an argument and Adrien panicked. Now, he has showed up to patrol as Catwalker, and he has to lie in the bed he's made, even if he overreacted a bit much.

"(technically Ladywalker, but anyway…) A very sweet fluff-and-angst fic that gently but realistically portrays neurodivergence."

Maintaining a Professional Distance by @buggachat 43,417 words, Teen, 11/11 chapters

“I mean, how dumb does the mayor think we are? Offering us a permanent hotel room as a ‘gesture of gratitude for all our work for Paris’, like it isn’t clearly just some half-baked political ploy to place him more in the public’s favor after the whole school funding scandal, like we’ll allow ourselves to sleep in a hotel that we were publicly offered, making ourselves sitting ducks for Hawkmo—” “It’s a pretty big building,” he countered, and at least he seemed amused, because she certainly wasn’t, “Nobody knows which room we were given but us.” “It doesn’t matter!” she scoffed, “It’s still a security risk that he can narrow our location down at all! Also,” she jutted her arms out towards the bed a second time, “May I remind you? ONE. BED. ONE!” ——— Or, Ladybug and Chat Noir receive a hotel room from the city, which they most certainly will not use. After all, that wouldn't be very professional, would it? Yes, it's a Ladynoir bed sharing fic.

"Genuinely one of the most in character Ladynoir fics I've read. I love how the conflicts are resolved, how the characters deal with the fallout, and how no one is villainized. There's the "there's only one bed" trope, Marinette is a MESS but we love her for it, clownbug, Adrien is oblivious, Chat is a dork. Fun times all around."

"The best "There was only one bed" fic you will ever read. Ladybug and Chat Noir get their own dedicated suite in Le Grand Palais, as thanks for their continuing work protecting the city. Only one bed shouldn't be a problem since they both have a home and a bedroom anyway, right? Except.... sometimes Marinette needs to get away from the kwamis and have some space, and sometimes (a lot) Chat Noir needs to get away from whatever is happening with his family, soooooo..... "Friends with benefits without the benefits" is the perfect tag. It's hilarious. It's sweet. It's romantic and emotional."

Hamburger Ladybug by RaspberryCatapult 1,773 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

Ladybug runs into a burning building. What comes out no longer resembles anything that can be described as a person.

"So, it's a little graphic, as it's about Ladybug running into a burning building, getting charred up, and Chat staying with her in the hospital. BUT...it is beautifully written - descriptive and emotionally spot on (pun intended). And the ending is mind-blowing. It never leaves you. Totally original."

i am not a puppet (i will work against your strings) by @bugchat 7,525 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

Nothing quite hurts like loneliness– unless you count being thrown against a wall at top speed, while Ladybug’s horrified expression follows you. Adrien questions how he got here, pressed against a wall while fighting for his life, watching the city crumble around him while Ladybug stares. There are other heroes, a second, third, fourth villain, and all he’s done is give the villain the power to win. It’s over.

"GORGEOUSLY WRITTEN!!!! in love with how Cartara provided an Adrien POV to the season 4 final!!!!"

Wait— Don't let this line go slack by DescentIntoAbsurdity 14,418 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

I think you've got the wrong number She sends her simple text, satisfied. Then she goes about and wipes down the benches and puts away the flour, and thinks, wait. I have a thousand neighbourhood cats that loiter around my apartment complex and threaten me for food. I cook cat treats in my free time. I know what to feed cats. Marinette deals with her crush on Adrien, cute neighbour and well-known model. She also tries to cope with baking in her free time, and her college assignments, and her growing feelings for Chat Noir; a boy who accidentally texted her regarding his cat. It's going about as well as can be expected.

"loved to follow their interractions via text and their fumblings irl"

Take 31 #LadyNoir kiss, action! by @malauu-ladynoir 41,422 words, Teen, 31/31 chapters

How many kisses does it take to let feelings spread free? How many redo to finally get over the subdued inhibition? Is it a first tentative kiss propelling you in an awkward leap into the unknown? Or is it the one built from years of holding back repressed feelings? When Ladybug and Chat Noir get asked to play themselves in a movie the drama doesn’t just stay on set. With a new nemesis, a dreaded kissing scene, consuming feelings and a new revelation can Ladybug finally give in to what she’s always held back…her love for her partner? Can Chat Noir's heart still be able to surrender?

"I absolutely loved Ladynoir's dynamic in this fic, it's so good!"

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus 99,476 words, Mature, 34/43 chapters

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace. Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most. Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

"Quite possibly my favorite ml fic ever. Is really all sides of the love square (Ladynoir is emphasized, especially towards the beginning, also Mari...walker?), as well as other pairings (Lukazoe, DJwifi, and Feligami), and a lot of amazing action and office espionage. Chat Noir was killed by Monarch in front of all of Paris, and Ladybug swore revenge. Now, after a strange visit from Bunnyx, Monarch is suddenly back, along with a team of Miraculous users that Ladybug has to face all by herself. Amazing character interactions, new uses of Miraculouses, fantastic action scenes, and heartbreak, heartbreak everywhere. Also senticousins."

[catedunlapgodu]

love aches

made it just in time for tech tuesday!! as i've said before, thank y'all for the patience and love <3 here's some gentle tech angst and here's the link to my last tech fic

love aches [gif by captainrexs]

pairing: tech x gender neutral reader

summary: as a mission for the republic goes wrong, Y/N is aggressively separated from the batch and their S/O, tech

rating: T (12+)

warnings: mild violence, falling from heights, bit of angst, nothing you couldn’t see in a clone wars episode

word count: 2k

“‘It’ll be fine,’ you said. ‘The tunnel entrance will collapse before the clankers could possibly follow us,’ you said,” Echo growled over the discord of opposing blaster fire.

In an extraction mission for the Grand Army of the Republic, Clone Force 99 had gotten themselves into quite the predicament. The holomaps provided of the frostbitten planet, Agamar, by — supposedly, reliable — intel had proven to be astonishingly out of date. Past locating the complex of droid reserves, the Batch needed to depend entirely on Hunter’s heightened senses in order to navigate the building itself. Retrieving the target data-stick had gone smoothly; in fact, suspiciously, smoothly. The Batch slipped through the facility with ease, seeing a negligible amount of droids and nary an actual lifeform. Yourself — a droid specialist assigned to the Batch at the beginning of the Clone Wars — commented that there was no need for your presence on the mission except to provide the occasional terrible joke.

One member of the band of brothers silently disagreed.

You and Tech had been maintaining an ardent relationship in the background of the bloodshed and combat, confidential to everyone including your vod. The pair of you felt it was unimportant to publicly share such feelings of intimacy during the current sociopolitical climate. Therefore, you settled on stolen moments instead. Sprightly kisses in blind corners; hands tightly intertwined under tables; whispered affirmations of love in the darkness of sleeping pods. It would be lying to say that it didn’t hurt sometimes; to feel that such a pleasure in your life was a form of desecration. However, the pair of you understood that there was a light at the end of the tunnel: the end of the war. Once the conflict was over, you’d be able to rejoice in the warmth of sharing your relationship with the others, who you did not doubt would be thrilled at the arrangement. Or they would, at the very least, be thrilled at the opportunity to tease the two of you.

This was, of course, assuming that you would all make it out of Agamar alive.

The moment the squad pressed the control pad to leave the containment facility, a cacophony of explosions resonated throughout the building. Unbeknownst to you, Separatist leader, General Kalani, was more than aware of your presence and had rigged the establishment to self-destruct upon that trigger. To exacerbate the situation, dozens of battle droids were primed for your hasty exit; a discordant reverberation of “Roger, roger,” chased you down the halls.

Thankfully, Hunter had found another exit: a stone tunnel revealed by the rupturing of a support wall. Based on the stability of the frame itself, he estimated that the entrance would crush any droids that attempted to follow the Batch through the musty cave.

Oh, if only that had been true.

The Batch swiftly traversed the unlit, calamitous cave as blaster bolts whizzed past you. Tech nonchalantly tossed a few grenades in their relative direction; it never ceased to amaze you how he never lost his composure even in the direst of situations. The act afforded the group a few paces ahead of the metallic brigade, but the automatons quickly recovered their ground. Crosshair then attempted to provide some cover, taking out a handful of the droids with hasty headshots, but the sheer number of them alone prevented him from making any significant progress.

The only thing the Batch could do was run.

Hunter and yourself led, narrowly avoiding areas in which the rock ceiling above began to collapse. With the lack of any visible light, the two of you relied entirely on instinct and adrenaline to navigate your path ahead. Quite honestly, you were running entirely blind.

“Uh, guys? They’re getting closer!” Wrecker roared at the fleeing vod, lumbering behind the rest of the group.

“We can see that, you loon!” Crosshair snapped back.

“Well, maybe instead of seeing it, we should do something about it!” Wrecker retorted, pausing in place before pivoting and assaulting the droids head-on. With his large frame, he swung an arm and wiped several out of the way with a joyous, bellowing laugh. “Now this is more fun!”

At the sudden calamity, Hunter whipped around and let out an exasperated groan. He unholstered his blaster and slowed his quick pace, shooting a few rounds over his shoulder in an attempt to provide some cover for his boisterous brother. The group’s previously tight formation began to break apart, with Wrecker in the midst of the action; Crosshair and Echo close by, shooting their blasters as fast as the weapon would allow; Tech a few strides ahead, quickly configuring something on his datapad; Hunter close to him, now facing the droids. You continued sprinting forward, both unaware of the vod’s stagnation and longing for escape.

“99! We’ll try and- Wait, Y/N!”

You stopped your pursuit, abruptly turning to face the sergeant, hair whipping—

A blaster bolt hit you square in the stomach. Instantaneously, the air left your lungs in a harsh gasp. Your armor protected you from the bullet piercing your skin, but it could not prevent the sheer force of the laser. You were impelled backward, your feet lifting off the ground momentarily before harshly landing again as you stumbled astern. Desperately, your hands attempted to grab onto the cave wall for balance, fingers clawing for any sort of ledge; the slick mildew allowed for no such grip. The clamor of blaster fire and shouting transitioned to only the sound of your thundering heart, blood rushing to your ears. Intrinsicly, your lips began to move in a hopeless attempt to say the one word that was coming to your mind. Tech.

The ground gave out.

Weightlessness. Damp air sped past you, whistling in your ears as your body entered freefall. Your eyes squeezed shut, unable to comprehend the sudden, pertinent realization of your own mortality. Air entered your lungs again in sporadic gasps — your body's inherent survival instincts kicking in. However, as quickly as it returned, the air was, once again, knocked out of you. Your back abruptly landed on hard, flat rock. A gentle whimper escaped from your lips as you lay limp, sure that any attempts at standing were futile — or, at the very least, harmful — in your current state. Hot tears spilled out of the corner of your eyes. Not necessarily out of pain, though it was evidently and achingly there, but out of pure shock and adrenaline at the conspired events.

You could now hear the Batch shouting from the cliff above, both at each other and for you below. Above the cries, a multitude of detonations rang from above before a final explosion fulminated and left the cave quiet. Without the sound of warfare, you thought you could literally hear the dust and rubble settle. It was silent. Well, silent until Wrecker let out a celebratory shout. The commotion reverberated in your sore ribs, but you understood that after a symoxin pill and a few day’s rest you’d be alright. You released a relieved sigh, now knowing that yourself, your brothers, and your love were alright. Gentle drops of moisture pinged in the once again quiet cave, placing your mind further at rest. Suddenly, to your right, the sound of rapid footsteps began to approach. Had your holomaps been up to date, the carved staircase leading safely to the bottom cliff would have been revealed. Evidently, the rest of the Batch had found it.

“Oh, my-Kriff. Y/N. Oh, Maker. Y/N, Y/N, are you hurt?”

Tech was frantic.

He raced over to you, boots skidding on the damp ground. Hands shaking, breath quavery and scattered. He dropped to his knees and removed your helmet with a hiss as the airlock released, muttering an expletive under his breath as he saw the tear stains on your temples. His eyes, still secured under his goggles, briefly met yours before they madly searched the rest of your body.

In that brief moment, you saw he was in more pain than you were.

Nimble fingers hastily checked every inch of your body. Your neck, your arms, your abdomen, your legs; no limb was left unturned. Panicked, he began removing your armor to reveal your blacks, terrified at the possibility he would see something darker, something excruciating pooling under the cloth. Tech continued to mutter to himself. I’m sorry. Oh, Maker. Oh, Y/N. Kriff. His head shook uncontrollably and in a manner that displayed his complete anguish. Despite already checking your body once over, he began to do it again. His tall, self-assured posture now small and desperate; utterly crushed.

“Tech,” you murmured, gently raising yourself to lean back on your elbows. He ignored you, still talking to himself as he scanned your midriff with his datapad. “Tech.” It was no use. The exceptional mind was now exceptionally agonized at the sight of you. He continued to shake his head, keeping it down and focussed on his datapad. I should have been watching you. I should have- Kriff, kriff.

“Cyar’ika.”

Slowly — and finally — Tech raised his head. His eyes crawled up your chest, then to your neck, taking a heavy pause before eventually reaching your own.

They were filled to the brim with tears.

“Oh, cyar’ika,” you said, slowly adjusting to a seated position to free your arms. You raised your hands to either side of his helmet before slowly removing it. Tech’s eyes never left your own. His lips were in a tight line, brow furrowed and concentrated. His nose inhaled sharp breaths in an effort to hold in the cry that fought to escape. The pair of you stared sorrowfully at each other, the space between you threatening to release all of the secrets you worked so hard to contain. The insistent ache of love.

“Cyar’ika, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Strong arms engulfed you as a violent sob echoed off the cave walls and his face buried into the crook of your neck. You returned the gesture with wary arms, wreathing them around his waist. Another bawl racked through his body, his fingers gripping tightly at your hair as if you were about to disappear. You rubbed your hand across his back in an attempt to soothe him, but it was no use.

“I-I’m so-I’m so sorry. Ni ceta, ni ceta, mesh’la. I shouldn’t-shouldn’t have left y-your side. I want to-I need to al-always be by your side. I’m-I’m s-s-supposed to protect y-you. You c-could have died. Oh, oh, oh, Maker, what if you had died?” Tech continued to babble apologies through his tears, sniffles replacing his punctuation. You began to gently hush him, holding him tightly until his gasps became more infrequent and his tears began to dry.

Once you were sure he had calmed, you slowly removed your arms from his waist and set them on his shoulders, gently pushing him back so that you could look at his face. Tech’s cheeks were flushed, both from crying and from the embarrassment he felt once he realized the rest of his vod had seen the entire interaction. Nevertheless, he had never been more certain of the next words he said to you.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

A smile curved across your lips, happy to have understood that Mando’a phrase. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, to you too, my darling.”

“Took you two long enough,” Echo’s modulated voice chimed in from the side as the rest of the Batch approached the two of you. A small giggle escaped from your lips as Tech’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Echo, what could you possibly mean-”

“Oh, come on, Tech. You were as subtle as a rancor in a ceramic shop.”

[rocorambles]

Home Schooling

Pairing: Stepdaddy!Meian x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, NSFW, Invasion of Privacy, Overbearing and Controlling Behavior, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Non-Con/Rape, Degradation, Overstimulation, Humiliation

Summary: Why would Meian let you go to college in Tokyo when he can teach you everything you need to know right here in Osaka?

A/N: Happy birthday @iwaasfairy ! Of course I need to dedicate my first ever Meian fic to you on this very special day~ I hope this fic manifests a real life DILF Meian for you!!!

Meian has always been protective, even before your mother’s untimely demise. You remember how uncomfortable you had been about this handsome man waltzing into your family home one day, acting like a father figure almost since day one. Only your love for your mother and your desire for her to find happiness again kept your mouth shut, although when she wasn’t in view, you not so subtly found ways to keep your contact with the older man as minimal as possible.

There’s nothing necessarily “wrong” with Meian. In all honesty, if he weren’t so overwhelmingly involved with your life, you’d even argue that he’s a great guy. You can tell he truly cares for your mom, maybe even loves her— although you gag at the cheeky winks and flirtatious touches they generously dote on each other in front of you. And you’re happy for her! You really are. It’s been a long time since you’ve been forced to rely only on yourselves, only on each other. You’ve seen how hard she’s tried, keeping a strong front whenever you’re around, working twice as hard as anyone else to try and fill the aching hole in both your hearts from the loss of your father. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s her.

But there’s something unnerving, even aggravating, about the way Meian interferes with every aspect of your life. You can’t help a strange foreboding feeling twisting inside of you as a heavy gaze trails after you wherever you go, as he begins to rope you into every conversation he has with your mother, almost demanding and insistent about not letting you withdraw to your room despite your well-meaning wishes to give them their privacy.

You try to be on your best behavior, not wanting to be the reason your mom’s new relationship is ruined, especially when you can see just how much she likes him. But every time he opens his mouth and questions everything you do, everything you wear, and everything you say, you can feel your temper rise, wondering where his audacity to act as a father figure comes from.

It’s easy enough to retreat to your room, closing your door and sighing in relief as you escape those sharp eyes. You find comfort in the fact that you have at least one safe place he can’t breach, finding false security in the hope that he’d never invade an adult woman��s bedroom. Except he does, and your heart drops when you notice the miniscule adjustments in your room — your underwear drawer slightly ajar with some pieces missing, your bedsheets slightly rumpled in a way you know you hadn’t left them this morning. Things you know you could never bring up to your mother without sounding like a madwoman. So without irrefutable proof, you keep quiet, knowing that at least there’s not much more time left before you can truly run away from all of this.

Being an adult comes with many responsibilities and adventures, and together, your mother and you pore over myriads of college pamphlets, debating which locations make the most sense, planning how you’re going to make the finances work, and thinking about which colleges have the courses best suited for you. It’s a fun and stressful rollercoaster, but you beam when your mother proudly ruffles your hair, when you both agree on you leaving Osaka behind and adventuring out, creating new memories and beginnings in a different city.

(“Plus, I’ll be able to visit you and play tourist”, your mom excitedly says, and you giggle, letting her affectionately hold you as you stare at the universities you’ve narrowed your choices down to.)

The future seems bright and exciting as you studiously sit down and scan over textbooks and practice exams, dutifully attending your tutoring sessions, cramming for the college entrance exam. It’s all going to plan, except Meian has different opinions. And this time, you can’t hold back the scowl when he yet again goes on and on about how he doesn’t understand why you can’t just stay in Osaka for college.

It’s not a new argument by any means. Just the same few questions being twisted and worded differently and tossed back in your face on a daily basis.

“Don’t you think your mom will be lonely if you move away and only come back for the holidays?”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for? To keep her company?”

“Don’t you feel bad about spending your mom’s carefully saved money on room and board when you could just continue living with us instead and just pay tuition?”

You silently thank your mom when she steps in, firmly telling Meian that she doesn’t mind, that this is exactly why she’s saved up.

But the arguments keep on coming, and you can feel the tension growing in your household, your own stomach churning with guilt and worry, wondering if you’ll end being the cause of their breakup after all as you constantly hear their raised voices going back and forth about you leaving or staying in Osaka.

So despite your discomfort and wariness towards Meian, you can’t help the relieved grin that stretches across your face when your mom comes squealing to you, flinging her arms around your body and shoving her gorgeous engagement ring in your face. You even muster up a slightly tight smile, that only feels a little forced, as you look to the tall man who leans in the doorway, muttering congratulations before directing your attention back to your mom, fondly smiling as she continues raving about her new piece of jewelry, ignoring the way Meian continues to loiter around the both of you.

Your mom is the most beautiful bride as she walks down the aisle and you stare in awe at how she glows, hoping one day you’ll look even remotely as mesmerizing as she does. And while you look on, star-eyed and in wonder, at the woman who had raised you, you miss the way dark eyes intently gaze at you, eyes that should be on the woman he’s about to publicly vow to be with his entire life.

Maybe if you had been more aware, more cautious, you wouldn’t have so eagerly waved both of them off on their honeymoon, wouldn’t have been so excited to shove your mom towards the airport, giving her one last hug and kiss before sillily demanding that she enjoy herself and have the best time of her life.

Maybe then your heart wouldn’t be shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as you collapse in Meian’s strong arms, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking your head in denial when he returns by himself and breaks the news of your mother’s passing.

You delay going to college in Tokyo for a year, allowing yourself time and space to grieve. Or so you had planned, but it seems that Meian has no intention of letting you have your privacy. You share the house with him after your mother’s funeral, unable to argue against him completely moving in when he now owns the property.

He’s still up to his usual overbearing ways, although his tone is softer as he treats you like a wounded animal, carefully handling you as he rouses you from your sleep in the mornings, startling you the first few times he sits on the edge of your bed and wakes you up by tenderly stroking your cheek, preparing all your meals for you and scolding you when he thinks you haven’t eaten enough. It’s almost frightening how easily you fall into his rhythm, not even flinching after a while when his large hand finds itself on your face, your shoulder, your back, your hand, your thigh. Tiny, seemingly platonic touches border the line of what’s appropriate for a guardian and their ward. Although, deep down, you know the two of you are diving in dangerous territory when you feel his knuckle brush against the swell of your ass briefly, his calloused fingertips quickly skimming your breasts, his palm squeezing just a tad too high up your thigh.

But you seek any remaining softness your mother had instilled in your heart for a man who’s lost his wife of just a few days, letting your new guardian (you don’t dare call him father) do as he pleases, not wanting to deal with any more conflict when your heart is still mending. And maybe, just maybe, you find some solace in his touches, in the love he forces upon you, seeking even just a hint of the parental affection your mother had bestowed upon you.

Time heals all wounds, or so they say. You can’t agree that it resolves everything, but you can admit that you’re feeling much better now that a year is almost up, ready to move on, live your life, and make your mother proud. You start re-looking into Tokyo housing, comparing the expenses of living off-campus versus living in the dorms, typing and reworking budgets over and over again in your Excel sheet until your eyes burn and you let out a huge yawn.

Coffee now. Budgets later.

You trudge to the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of dark caffeinated liquid, letting out a pleased sound when the aroma fills the air, happily making your way back to your room to revisit some of your calculations, mug in hand. But you freeze when you see Meian sitting at your desk, clicking through the different tabs of apartment and dorm options you had been looking at, scrutinizing your planned expenses.

There’s no reason for the guilt that claws at your chest when you see the way his jaw clenches as he turns to look at you, hurt in his eyes as he silently demands an explanation for what he’s looking at. But it’s guilt that has you slamming down the mug on your desk and planting your firsts on your hips in a confrontational stance, that has defensive angry words spewing from your lips as you yell at him for invading your privacy, that has you storming towards him and trying to shove his much larger and stronger frame away from your computer.

But it’s futile and you gasp when you’re pulled into his lap, his hands easily pinning you to him and holding you still as he holds you in a mockery of an embrace, your back against his toned chest, his mouth right against your ear.

“You were just going to leave for Tokyo without telling me?”

You want to stay angry, want to continue twisting and fighting against his grip. But the vulnerability you hear in his words has you staying still, has you anxiously biting your lower lip as you try and find the right words to soothe the man clutching you.

“I- I didn’t think I needed to tell you anything. This was always the plan. You knew I only put off attending college for a year to take some time for myself. But I’ll come back and visit during the holidays-”

Your words are cut off by a pained gasp as thick arms tighten their hold on you, but the growled threat in your ear has your anger bubbling over, masking any other feeling.

“You’re not leaving.”

The matter of fact tone, the final decisiveness of the words, the way Meian leaves no room for discourse or arguments, has you lashing out at him and before you can second guess yourself, the position you’re in, or the difference in power between the two of you. In a matter of seconds, you’re snarling right back at him.

“You’re not my father! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

Righteous pride swells in your chest and you spare him a sharp, wicked grin, haughtily tilting your head up condescendingly, basking in the viciousness of your words. But what you aren’t expecting is the hearty laugh he responds with, something dark and gleeful swirling in his eyes as a cruel smile cuts across his face.

“You’re right. I’m not your father, not even your guardian. So this is fine, right?”

You scream as the arms still wrapped around you haul you up, your limbs thrashing and flailing as you try to force your way free from his iron grip to no avail. Fear and anger make you hysteric as you register the fact that you’re quickly approaching the room that once belonged to your mother, the room Meian now resides in. Disbelief and nausea overtake you when you’re assaulted by the familiar four walls as you’re haphazardly tossed onto the bed, sobbing as memories of your mother surround you and invade your thoughts while calloused hands easily tear your clothes off your body.

But you’re immediately silenced, sobs turning into choked whimpers as a large hand grabs the bottom half of your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, a palm suctioning your mouth shut.

“Where are all those manners your mother taught you? What would she think if she heard you throwing a temper tantrum like a child?”

The callousness of his words hits you like a ton of bricks. Meian smirks at the new round of fat, watery drops that stream down your face, mockingly cooing down at you, calling you a good girl, praising your newfound silence as his hand slowly drags down until it's wrapped around your neck, where he lightly squeezes, reveling in the adorable whimper you release.

But as pathetically amusing as you are, sniveling and choking under him, there’s more that he’s keen on seeing. You feel like a slab of meat under his observant gaze. Prized meat, but meat all the same as he runs his hands across your figure like a butcher testing the firmness of his livestock, pinching and prodding almost methodically, coldly. Only the amusement and hunger in his eyes are indicative of how much this is truly affecting him. Yet it’s tolerable, barely, if you just stare up at the ceiling, pretending you’re at an incredibly invasive medical exam.

He’d be offended by how hard you’re trying to ignore him if it weren’t for the telltale signs of your arousal that you desperately try to deny. He grins at how your nipples harden from just a few teasing circles, how your clit stands to attention, your pretty folds already beginning to glisten as he pets your velvety walls. You’re even more beautiful than he had imagined after watching you prance around the home in your skimpy loungewear. And suddenly, his pants are far too tight, cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric he’s quick to rip off. It’s music to his ears when you shakily say his name over and over again, as you try and resist the way he forces himself between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart, toned body pinning you down, something hard nudging at your tight entrance.

“Meian, please. Please! Please, Meian.”

He ignores your tears, ignores the other words of resistance that slip past your mouth, head dipping down to your mouth and neck, kissing and marking every part of you he can reach, murmuring for you to call him by his first name. And when he loses patience with your whining, you finally acquiesce as he forcefully shoves himself balls deep inside you, a sneer ruining his handsome face as he lightly slaps your face in approval when you wail his first name, “Shugo” howled in an agonizing exclamation as you try to somehow dislodge him from ripping you in two.

“Look at that, the little slut can behave when she wants to. I bet your mother would be so proud.”

You hate how he drags your mom’s name in the ground as he defiles you, violates you in the bed they had once shared. You hate how his large frame feels crushing you, overpowering you, making you feel so incredibly helpless and weak. But mostly, you hate the slick lewd sounds your pussy makes as he pounds hard and fast into you, the undeniable proof that your body doesn’t hate this nearly as much as it should. Hot angry disgusted tears roll down your face as you glare up at him, desperately fighting back the rising moans threatening to humiliate you even more.

Your little defiant attitude is punished by Meian thrusting even harder into you, practically bending you in half as he pushes down on the back of your thighs, forcing you into a mating press. And he laughs at your wrecked face, hungrily taking in the way your eyes roll back in your head, the way your jaw drops wide open, your tongue and rivulets of drool trickling down your face, wanton moans loudly filling the room.

“For all your whining and complaining, you sure do look like you’re enjoying this, sweetheart.”

You wish you could deny his words, retort back with a scathing remark, do anything really. But when he reaches a hand between the two of you and rubs rapid circles against your erect clit, hips still pistoning against yours, cock stuffing you full, your mind blanks and an animal-like howl tears through the room as your body convulses, pussy walls clamping down and quivering as you cream all over the shaft still dragging against your sensitive walls, only heightening your peak.

Meian briefly wonders if this is what heaven feels like (or as close to heaven as someone like him is going to get) as he groans at the way your velvety walls milk his cock, gritting his teeth to not be dragged over the edge with you. He’s not delusional to think that any of this is right, the photo of his ex-wife, your mother silently watching you from the nightstand only emphasizing just how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re a fucked out mess underneath him, so obediently and submissively slurring his name over and over again, drowning in pleasure and bliss.

There’s nothing more he wants than to just lose himself in the feeling of your tight walls, to fill you, mark you, claim you with his seed, but he’s not quite ready for a full house just yet. He has a few more years alone with you all planned out in his head before he breeds your pretty little womb. So just as his control teeters on the edge, he pulls out of you, casually sitting back and spreading his legs, slowly stroking his cock as he orders you to come and suck him off.

He’s almost proud of the little fight you still have left in you, lips quirking upwards at the way you try to ignore him, trying to look anywhere but at him. But his balls are almost painfully tight, his cock aching for release.

“Suck me off like a good girl or I’m going to cum inside of you over and over again until you’re knocked up. Bet your mother would have loved that for you. Her precious college-bound girl turned into a pregnant uneducated whore.”

It’s an empty threat, but you don’t ever need to know that, not when it has you obeying so well as he threads his fingers through your hair, groaning as your hot wet mouth sinks down on his cock still covered in your essence. All it takes is a few harsh shoves of your face, his hand pulling you up and down like a warm fleshlight, and as he finally reaches his end, he completely pulls you off, arching your neck back in a way that leaves your mouth open as he spurts thick white stripes all over your face and in your orifice.

You make to wipe your face, grateful at least that this is all over, but before you can move even an inch, you yelp as you’re shoved back down on your back, hands instinctively trying to push at broad shoulders as your legs are once again forced open. You’re a quick learner though, and with one dark warning look from the man whose face is now hovering over your spent hole, you instantly bring your hands down to your sides, clawing and fisting the ruined bed sheets instead as Meian ravenously licks and laps at your dripping cunt. The disgusting wet sounds echo in your ears as pleasure and shame swirl inside of you, a crescendo ascending too quickly, too high.

But your thrashing and blissed out pleas to stop, to let you rest, only serve to whet Meian’s appetite even more. Time becomes surreal and meaningless as you drown and float in a mixture of pain and pleasure, brought to climax over and over again until you feel boneless, your pussy and body ceaselessly twitching, mind broken beyond repair as you babble incoherently, unsure of anything except the lips and tongue at work between your thighs.

You cum one last time, body barely moving aside from a slight shudder, too worn out, too dazed to even comprehend the fact that Meian unravels himself from you, wiping his face of your arousal and taking a few swigs of water before making his way towards your desk and dialing the admissions office number he finds. And as the phone rings and he leans back in your chair, he adoringly gazes at the sinful display you make, looking like the epitome of debauchery as your body splays out, a stupid blissed out expression on your face, reeking of sex and sweat.

He strokes his cock as it rises back to life, raring to go again as he licks his lips, tasting your sweet juices on his tongue, never stopping even when a voice finally comes through the line. He only pauses slightly to bite back a laugh when something shatters in your pretty eyes, a sliver of realization piercing through your dazed look as you hone in on his conversation.

But you do nothing to stop him, unable to do anything but listlessly stare and watch as he cancels your enrollment in front of you, hangs up the phone, and casually makes his way back towards you as if he hadn’t ruined years of hard work and decimated your future plans in mere minutes.

“There’s no need to go all the way to Tokyo for education, sweetheart. Not when I can teach you everything you need to know right here. Now open up your mouth so we can get your first lesson started.”

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || Queenship and Political Power in Medieval and Early Modern Spain edited by Theresa Earenfight ★★★★☆

For example, Mark Meyerson describes the importance of Elionor of Sicily to the tumultuous reign of Pere III of the Crown of Aragon (1336-87) in fostering, and in some cases defending, their Jewish subjects in Morvedre, a town located in the kingdom of Valencia. Marta Van Landingham describes the relationship between Violant of Hungary and Jaume I of the Crown of Aragon (1213-76) as both an exemplary marriage and a superb political partnership. Jaume claims publicly to make no final decisions without first consulting Violant, his second wife whom he takes pains to present as an improvement over his first wife. Violant possesses all the characteristics that Alfonso specified, but what Violant has, and that Alfonso did not think to mention, is brains. She is not only intelligent, she is savvy in many ways— shrewd, patient, courageous in speaking her mind, and very much involved in military affairs. This is a significant but unusual place to find a queen— with the exception of Urraca of Leon-Castile and Isabel of Castile, military affairs were off-limits for late medieval and early modern queens. Unlike most medieval kings, Jaume gives us a rare glimpse of a queen who, although a “junior partner”, is nevertheless a genuine partner who typifies the ways in which, in the absence of prohibitions, queens simply stepped into the political arena.

At the other extreme, Marie of Montpellier exemplifies what Elizabeth Haluska-Rausch describes as an “unsuccessful” partnership, an appearance of a partnership which was in fact, a failure on all levels. Marie of Montpellier brought an impressive dowry, substantial personal wealth, and formidable family connections to her marriage to Pere II of the Crown of Aragon (1196-1213). These assets should have positioned her well for a role in the governance of the realm, but instead they became a site of conflict rather than a source of power. And Pere was a bully, unwilling to accept anyone, least of all his wife, as sharing in any aspect of his sovereignty. She was a “silent” partner, the financial backer whose wealth and family connections enabled Pere to wage war and opened the door to Aragonese influence north of the Pyrenees, setting the stage for the conquests of their son, Jaume I (1213-76).

We are fortunate to have two important perspectives on queens and their political role in monarchy from medieval kings themselves— a proscriptive view from Alfonso X of Castile (1252-84) in the Siete Partidas and the Especulo, and a descriptive one from Jaume II of Aragon in the Llibre dels Feyts. What does a queen bring to this partnership? As Joseph O’Callaghan clearly demonstrates, when Alfonso emphasized the “harmonious” union of a king and queen, he meant more than just the reciprocity of the marriage relationship and the ways in which one partner makes the other better. He also meant the ways in which both king and queen share their responsibilities in both the public and private realms. Alfonso enumerates four things that a king should look for in a partner: money, character, physical attributes, and good lineage. The possession of money can cut both ways, as the case of Marie of Montpellier makes clear. Character, meaning personality, intelligence, diplomatic skills, tact, shrewdness, wits, and even tenacity, is harder to measure and yet it may well be the determining factor in the success or failure of a monarchical partnership. Marie of Montpellier comes across as particularly passive and weak while Violant of Hungary, Elionor of Sicily, Maria de Luna, and certainly Isabel of Castile and Isabel of Portugal were endowed with formidable personal traits and were well matched to their equally formidable husbands.

[popcorn-kitten]

new hiveswap info and development timelines just dropped on the Kickstarter ✌️

Over the years, a lot of misinformation, as well as deliberate disinformation, has spread around about the history of Hiveswap. The purpose of this post is to clarify these matters for backers who've been wondering what the truth is.

The Kickstarter was planned by the What Pumpkin business development team in mid-2012. One member of the team was a crowdfunding specialist who led the planning process and managed the contracts with the developer. Prior to the Kickstarter opening for pledges, What Pumpkin worked out a plan for a flexible game concept that could be refined according to how much the campaign ultimately brought in. As Hussie was still working on Homestuck full time at this point, the plan was to hand over his game concept and story outline to a development company that could deliver the project.

The crowdfunding campaign finished out at a gross total of $2,485,506, as well as a gross total of $207,930 from PayPal pledges. But because of platform fees, as well as the costs of producing and shipping merchandise to backers of the campaign, the effective budget was significantly lower than the gross pledged total:

The above deductions from the gross total do not include taxes.

After determining the final budget for the game, What Pumpkin signed an agreement with the contracted game company (hereafter “GC”) to develop Hussie’s game concept. WP and GC entered into a development contract on November 30, 2012, shortly after the conclusion of the Homestuck Kickstarter. WP paid $788,000 to GC in late 2012 for development.

Because there was an understanding that delivering the complete game development documents would take some time, during which it would be difficult for GC to make meaningful progress on the Hiveswap game build, GC inquired about getting involved with other Homestuck-adjacent projects to do immediate work. WP let GC know about the Act 7 animation plans. With an assurance that this work could be done in parallel with a flexible timeline and would not impact the development cycle of Hiveswap itself, Hussie and What Pumpkin saw this as a good opportunity to establish a working relationship with this organization prior to the start of development and agreed to contract GC to do animation work for the Act 7 project. WP and GC agreed that this project would have a separate budget from the Hiveswap Kickstarter money, paid for from WP’s regular operating funds. As the existence of this animation itself would not be revealed until its release in 2016, this was not publicly announced at the time. GC and the lead animator on the project specifically requested not to be credited upon release of the animation.

Hussie initiated the “Megapause” on April 14, 2013 in order to devote his full attention to finalizing the Hiveswap development documents. What Pumpkin soon provided its story documents so that GC could formally begin core systems development. In July of 2013 WP and GC mutually agreed to push back GC’s deliverable dates without penalty. Hussie would share an update in 2013 detailing the state of predevelopment:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/14293468/homestuck-adventure-game/posts/708686

In 2013 following receipt of WP’s deliverables, GC enthusiastically assured WP that it was positioned to begin development. GC would deliver its first prototype in early 2014.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qSXwWKD5Km1yL-3Cj_W5IevW-IA978zJ/view?usp=sharing

This prototype, linked above, was sent to WP on 2/18/14. At this point, it was becoming a significant concern among backers that WP had yet to show proof that the game was being made, so WP was looking for any sort of tangible progress update from GC that was suitable to share with the public. But Hussie and WP found the quality of the prototype somewhat alarming, and decided that sharing any shots from the game would only cause embarrassment for GC. Nevertheless, WP was still willing to assume that this was a very early draft of something that would develop into a more promising product soon, and gave GC some more time to improve on it.

But the improvements didn’t come. No other advancements on the prototype were ever made. After waiting weeks with no update other than assurances that progress was carrying on smoothly, Hussie initiated the “Gigapause” both to take care of personal matters and later to get directly involved in the development of the game himself. He decided to move to southern California from the east coast in hopes that working directly with the GC could help them overcome whatever obstacles they were facing with Hiveswap’s development. GC responded positively to the prospect of Hussie’s involvement, but when he made the move and tried to coordinate a time to visit the GC offices and meet, GC insisted it was a bad time due to office renovations and a busy schedule. Here is a timeline with quotes from emails exchanged between Hussie and GC:

May 12, 2014 - from Hussie to GC

“Just letting you know I actually moved to the west coast recently. I'm only an hour or so away from LA now.

I could drive down and check out the office, see how things are going with the game and animation in person some time soon. Is there a time that would work for you guys? In a week or two maybe?”

May 15, 2014 - from GC to Hussie

“That's awesome about being on the west coast. It'd be great to have you come to the studio.

Dev has slowed a bit on our end, as we wanted to take a step back and really evaluate what was needed and the best way to achieve the features that have been coming online in the docs. We're continuing to break that all down so we can build and plan most effectively moving forward. We also wanted to find some simple formats for input from your writing team for dialogue content and are getting that squared away.

The best time to come by would actually be right after E3. Things are a bit nuts until then.”

May 18, 2014 - from Hussie to GC

“[Name redacted], sounds good. I'll set aside some time after E3 to make the drive down. As we approach the date, just let me know what works for you.”

E3 was June 10-12, 2014. GC did not invite Hussie to visit at this time.

Hussie and WP representatives were in LA over July 4th weekend, 2014. When they inquired about visiting the offices again they were still not welcome. A GC representative insisted that they meet at a restaurant instead. Yet GC continued to telegraph that they were receptive to the idea of inviting Hussie to the office well into the summer:

Aug 18, 2014 - from GC to Hussie

“We'd love to set up a new time for Andrew to come to the studio as well as a skype chat to meet the other team members.”

Despite apparent enthusiasm about meeting with Andrew in their email correspondence, GC continued the pattern of refusing to meet at the office or supply any signs of progress on the prototype.

Over that summer, GC delivered several pieces of concept art that WP had been requesting since January. Hussie did his best to present this publicly as a positive development as WP felt it would be counterproductive to the project and harmful to GC to publicly detail the development troubles at the time.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/14293468/homestuck-adventure-game/posts/883860

There was no indication from GC that the Act 7 animation project was in any way in conflict with Hiveswap development. GC was enthusiastic about taking on this project, and bidded against other animators for the contract. They saw it as a useful tie-in to concept art work on Hiveswap, as GC leadership conveyed in an email to WP in early 2013:

WP also does not have any reason to believe that the Act 7 project in practice created a conflict that was not disclosed by GC to WP. Act 7 was a 2D animation project, and Hiveswap at the time was a 3D game, so it did not pull GC’s programmers or 3D artists away from work on Hiveswap. GC never mentioned the development needs of a separate project at all to WP, or cited any such reason as distracting from work on Hiveswap; GC instead repeatedly provided WP with various assurances that everything was still fine with Hiveswap.

Had GC communicated that they had scheduling conflicts or some other impediment preventing them from developing Hiveswap, WP would have terminated the contract even sooner.

WP moved to terminate the agreement with GC late summer of 2014, and Hussie pivoted towards establishing a new independent game studio while consulting with a designer who had stepped up into a leadership position during the GC development period. That individual lived in NYC, which is why that location was chosen to establish the new studio rapidly. They helped build the studio through a local network of professional contacts. While this “What Pumpkin NYC” studio shared a name with What Pumpkin, it’s important to note that all of WP NYC’s studio staff save for the aforementioned individual were hired without any prior affiliation with WP and thus had no association with the GC contract. WP documented this development on Kickstarter on October 30th, 2014. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/14293468/homestuck-adventure-game/posts/1035099

At this point, negotiations were very amicable; both parties agreed the project simply wasn’t turning out to be a good fit for GC, and were both ready to move on. There were no signs given at all that WP was about to have trouble recovering the remaining funds.

WP is legally permitted to discuss details of the resolution of the dispute only under very specific circumstances. WP may make additional disclosures outside of this post to individual backers in accordance with legal obligations.

Following resolution of the GC contract, in Spring 2015 the WP NYC studio was running at full capacity on Hiveswap. The main problem was the fact that WP management was blindsided by the revelation that much less money would be coming back than expected. The WP NYC project manager had designed the schedule based on the good faith presumption that most of the development funds would be recouped. When it was finally revealed the return was far short of what was expected, and the repayment plan could in no way keep up with the schedule as currently drafted, it threw the project into a period of chaos as plans were quickly redrawn. The length of Act 1 was slashed, and other modifications were made to try to fit the rest of Act 1 into the newly shortened runway. But in the end, the revisions still weren't enough to save the game as it existed, and the studio needed to be closed in order to reserve what funds remained to finish the project in some form.

This may have come across as a sudden or spontaneous decision. Part of this is because the WP NYC senior staff and WP ownership were doing everything in their power to save the project, including injecting WP regular operating funds into the project, until it was determined that going any further would be disastrous for the future of Hiveswap. Another is that WP was legally unable to give any detailed disclosures about the financial troubles, even to many of the WP NYC staff.

It should also be noted that originally the NYC studio was not going to be permanently closed, but only frozen for a reassessment of the project. But during this freeze period, there were some dramatic events. One staff member behaved in a destructive and threatening manner. For the protection of those involved, details shouldn't be disclosed. But these events made navigating the post-freeze issues impossible. Communication between ownership, management and staff broke down because of these events, and the freeze turned into full closure. This version of the project was then abandoned for many reasons, including these events.

Some misinformation claims that at the time the WP NYC studio was shuttered, its iterations of Act 1 and 2 were complete. This is wrong. Act 1 was very far from a shippable state and absolutely no work on Act 2 had been completed besides some concept and 3D art. Here you can see a video documenting one of many major bugs with critical path progression in the final build produced by WP NYC, where it becomes impossible to re-focus on the Simon Says toy if Joey fails and then exits out of the puzzle:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1M2mmkMx8Wkwp1VU_5IpMKDvngmUFS0IG/view?usp=sharing

At the point the WP NYC studio was frozen it was still difficult to finish a full run of the critical path without the debug tool, and the UI was far from complete. With that build, Act 1 ended the moment Joey passed through the portal on Earth. The current version of Act 1, where Joey makes it to Alternia and meets Xefros, is more indicative of the original length of the NYC version of Act 1. Not only did it need to be slashed from what the original script proposed, the NYC version of Act 1 still wasn't that close to resembling a shippable product after those changes were made.

Because of the amount of time and resources already devoted to this project, WP was initially very reluctant to lay anyone off or scrap the work being done. It was for this reason that the studio stayed open for months after the contract with GC was resolved; WP made every effort to deliver a game with that team, but at the time WP NYC was shuttered, the funds just weren't there to keep the studio running at its current burn rate and schedule slips. The game was never going to reach delivery with the funds available. The studio urgently needed to be frozen for a full reassessment, and then it was closed after the freeze due to the reasons stated above. This was the only course of action that could have saved the project.

To WP's knowledge every artist whose work was used in the final release of Act 1 was included in the credits. The final version of Act 1 was in large part built off concept art and storyboards drawn during the WP NYC era, and many of the artists who made them continued to work on the team that produced the final version of Act 1; the roadmap for the completion of Act 1 was specifically planned because WP had determined that the existing 2D concepts could easily be refined into a final product that would both be visually appealing and more economic to produce. Unfortunately due to the transition to 2D WP no longer had a place for the 3D artists or the original 3D engine, and all of those assets were dropped. They were not used as a basis for the finished assets in Act 1, and visual similarities to WP NYC 3D assets are due to the fact that final Act 1 assets are in large part refinements of the original concept art. Any artist whose work was used incidentally was included in Additional Contributions.

Both the GC and NYC phases of Hiveswap were setbacks to the overall fulfillment of the project, but not insurmountable. WP reorganized the budget to establish a new version of the studio, and Act 1 was released two years after the closure of NYC.

As an addendum, WP has identified the primary source of a disclosure to a well-circulated document of the Hiveswap development process. WP has been aware of a pattern of false claims this former employee has made since the end of their employment at the beginning of 2014. As this individual was not present during the end of the development contract with GC, nor the WP NYC development period, all of the information they have shared is based on speculation and conjecture.

At this time, WP does not wish to invite more controversy into the lives of anyone previously involved with this project, and considers these matters to have been resolved long ago. The goal for years has been to turn the page on flawed attempts by earlier studios, and simply move forward and bring Hiveswap to completion without sparking the chaos, disruption, and threats to personal safety that would have resulted from disclosing many of the details stated above. Doing so would only make it more difficult for the staff to rebuild the project during these periods immediately following the termination of the GC agreement and closure of the NYC studio. Since preservation of the project was the primary responsibility to the backers, making destructive disclosures that put the project at risk along the way would have been at odds with that responsibility. This policy also served to protect individuals from personal or professional harm, including those who were responsible for serious setbacks with the project. Please respect the privacy of any persons affiliated with GC and WP NYC.

[freehawaii]

THE US OWES HAWAIIANS MILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF LAND - THE US CONGRESS MADE SURE THE DEBT WASNʻT PAID

By Rob Perez, Honolulu Star-Advertiser/ProPublica ProPublica is a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative newsroom. In the 1990s, Hawaii’s two elder statesmen — U.S. Sens. Daniel Inouye and Daniel Akaka — were at the forefront of efforts to ensure that the U.S. compensated Native Hawaiians for ancestral lands taken from them over the years. “Dan Inouye believed that a promise made should be a promise kept,” Akaka, a Native Hawaiian, said in 2012 upon the death of his longtime Senate colleague. But an investigation by the Honolulu Star-Advertiser and ProPublica has found that those same senators voted several times each to support must-pass legislation that included provisions undermining efforts to repay millions of dollars in land debt to Hawaiians. At least six other current and former members of Hawaii’s congressional delegation have supported such legislation one or more times. Between them, Hawaii’s members of Congress voted for at least six laws authorizing the federal government to sell dozens of excess properties to private parties rather than offering them to a Hawaiian trust established to repatriate the land. In one must-pass military spending bill spanning more than 500 pages, lawmakers slipped in a single sentence that helped a handful of nonprofits to acquire the land. In another, they added language that effectively put the need for military housing ahead of the need for housing Hawaiians. The circumvention of the landmark 1995 Hawaiian Home Lands Recovery Act, which has not been previously reported, sent the excess lands to a variety of buyers instead: the Catholic Church; the nonprofit operator of a private school; a developer that intends to sell a site to another company with plans to construct hundreds of private-sector homes there. The transactions mostly involved lands on Oahu, the state’s most populous island, and were executed during a period in which the Department of Hawaiian Home Lands, which manages the trust, faced a severe shortage of developable residential land there. About 11,000 Hawaiians are now seeking residential homesteads on Oahu, nearly double what the figure was when the recovery act passed. As the Star-Advertiser and ProPublica reported in December, the trust has only enough land to accommodate less than a third of those homestead-seekers in single-family homes, although it is moving to develop more multi-family housing. Many waitlisters are homeless, and thousands have died without getting a homestead lease. Even as the federal government was selling excess properties to private buyers, it offered only two parcels to the trust over the past decade, according to the news organizations’ investigation. And one was for a remote mountainside location that DHHL rejected because it determined that the property — a former solar observatory — wasn’t suitable for residential use or to lease for other purposes. The findings confirmed the suspicions of Mike Kahikina, who said he had a hunch something was amiss during the eight years he served on the Hawaiian Homes Commission, which decides policy for DHHL. Kahikina joined the commission in 2011, 16 years after the recovery act was signed. Along with eight other commissioners, his job was to help the department get beneficiaries onto residential, ranching and farming homesteads in a timely way — a task DHHL has struggled with historically. By the time he left in 2019, the federal government’s debt was the same size as when he joined. Kahikina said he periodically raised questions with DHHL about the land debt, but they were never satisfactorily answered. The news organizations shared their findings with Kahikina — an Air Force veteran, former state legislator, ordained minister and outreach worker for troubled youth — as he sat outside the West Oahu homestead residence that has been in his family for three generations. With his long salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a bun, Kahikina, who now heads the Association of Hawaiians for Homestead Lands, a statewide nonprofit organization of waitlisters, was stunned as he learned details of the private deals. “You connected the dots for me,” he said, repeating himself to emphasize the point. “It’s like we’re an invisible people.” The investigation relied on federal, state and county records and revealed nearly 40 deals over the past decade involving about 520 acres, all authorized by special language inserted into at least six bills passed by Congress. Beyond the Catholic Church, the developer and the private school operator, the special legislation also allowed land deals with a veterans association, individual homebuyers, another nonprofit private school operator and several religious organizations. Had it not been for that legislation, advocates say the recovery act could have allowed some of these same entities to access the land while benefiting DHHL at the same time. That’s because under the recovery act, DHHL is permitted to sell certain properties for fair market value and use the proceeds for homestead development. The Navy, which had owned the majority of lands involved in the private deals, defended its actions. The special legislation expressed the intent of Congress at the time, and if a new law conflicted with a prior one, the new one applied, according to a spokesperson. “Navy followed the law,” she wrote. The General Services Administration, which plays a key role in federal land disposal, would not address criticisms about bypassing the recovery act. But in response to a letter from one of Hawaii’s two current U.S. senators, a GSA official acknowledged that congressional actions — a reference to the special legislation — allowed some agencies to bypass the recovery act. William J. Aila Jr., who now heads DHHL and the Hawaiian Homes Commission, said the congressionally approved workarounds deprived the trust of promising development opportunities. “It’s a conscious effort to go around the spirit of the recovery act,” Aila said in an interview. “Somebody had to consciously propose legislation.” Aila also said that some of the Oahu parcels that were sold would have been especially appealing to the commission because they were relatively flat and already had roads and utility connections. The high costs of installing such systems have contributed to DHHL’s slow pace in developing homesteads in recent years. “It wasn’t the department that was deprived,” Aila said. “It was the beneficiaries and the people on the waitlist.” Inouye and Akaka were widely known as strong advocates for Native Hawaiians and were credited with helping secure passage of major legislation benefiting Hawaii’s indigenous people, including the recovery act and bills related to health care and education. But extensive reporting on the special legislation did not turn up evidence that Inouye, Akaka or other legislators publicly addressed the potential impact on the debt. For their part, Hawaii’s current U.S. senators vowed to stop the practice of workarounds — even though both voted years earlier for legislation allowing it. They said they hadn’t realized at the time that the trust effectively would be left out the loop. Beneficiaries also said they didn’t know Congress was shortchanging the trust all these years. Many greeted the news with shock. “My heart’s broken,” said Ian Lee Loy, who lives on a Big Island homestead and served on the commission from 2011 to 2013. “The promises to Native Hawaiians continue to go unfilled while the political machine keeps churning and deals are made.” More Land Still Owed The circumvention of the recovery act is only the latest chapter in the struggle by Native Hawaiians to reclaim their lands. The U.S. debt to Hawaiians began accruing in the 1890s, after the U.S.-supported overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy. In 1898, when the U.S. annexed the island chain, it took possession of 1.8 million uncompensated acres of former kingdom land. In 1921, as a form of reparation, Congress adopted the Hawaiian Homes Commission Act, creating a trust of 203,000 acres from among those taken. In promoting the act, Prince Jonah Kūhiō Kalaniana‘ole, considered the father of the program, referred to the destitute conditions that many families lived in, particularly those in urban tenements. “That is why the race is fast dying out,” he said in advocating for the bill. “These conditions stare the Hawaiian people in the face.” The new law authorized the government to issue 99-year land leases to people who are at least 50% Hawaiian for $1 annually. In the decades that followed, the state and federal governments took control of thousands of those acres for public purposes — roads, airports, schools, military uses — again paying little or no compensation. The recovery act was specifically meant to compensate for over 1,400 acres the U.S. was using without authorization. Under the act, the trust must be notified whenever most federal land in Hawaii is designated “excess,” or unneeded, by a federal agency. That designation triggers a screening process in which other federal agencies are given an opportunity to claim the land. It also triggers a requirement that the Department of Defense or GSA notify the chair of the Hawaiian Homes Commission of a potential acquisition candidate. If no other federal agency claims the land, the trust has the option to acquire the parcel. If that option is exercised, the land value is deducted from the outstanding debt. The new law kicked off rounds of negotiations about how to settle that debt. Because not all acres are created equal, the two sides focused on land values and eventually signed a landmark agreement to settle all claims: The federal government would transfer to the trust nine properties totaling 960 acres, roughly comparable in value to the 1,400 acres in question. The land was almost all on Oahu and described in news coverage as prime land. At a 1998 signing ceremony at the Hawaii governor’s residence, the Royal Hawaiian Band entertained a crowd of VIP guests. The newly inked settlement was hailed as a turning point for the trust. But things haven’t turned out that way. The trust has not received about 70 acres, including 47 that were removed from the settlement. Two other parcels have yet to be transferred because of a variety of environmental or other complications. DHHL staff last year told the commission that the land debt was worth between $24 million and nearly $34 million in 1998 values, which is how the department tracks the debt. That equates to roughly $39 million to $55 million in today’s dollars. What’s more, some trust beneficiaries — those who are at least half Hawaiian — believe the homesteading program is due more compensation because of the relatively poor quality of the nearly 900 acres it has received thus far. None of that land has been used for residential homesteads, according to DHHL, mostly due to the location or condition of the property or the prohibitive cost of installing infrastructure. The land is largely being used for industrial purposes. The federal government did offer, last year, an 80-acre site in Ewa Beach, a former tsunami warning center surrounded by residential neighborhoods and a golf course, along the West Oahu coastline. Hundreds of homes could be developed there, and DHHL said it accepts the offer. If, as expected, the acquisition goes through, the federal government still would owe DHHL more than $11 million worth of land in today’s dollars. When the Department of the Interior, which oversees the trust for the federal government but doesn’t decide which lands are offered to DHHL, was asked why a balance still remained after 25 years, a spokesman in a December statement gave three reasons. The first was that few excess lands have become available since 2000. The second was that the trust declined several offerings because of contamination or other concerns. And the third? The impact of the congressional workarounds. Making the Workarounds Explicit Inouye, a decorated Army veteran who lost his right arm during World War II and went on to become a political legend in Hawaii, was a key figure in winning passage of the recovery act. But the new reporting shows that he also played a critical role in the creation of the workarounds. One key example came in the 2000s, when nonprofit organizations near Pearl Harbor unsuccessfully tried to purchase the lands they had long been leasing from the Navy. They turned to Inouye for help. By the late 2000s, Inouye was one of the most powerful members of Congress, eventually becoming chair of the influential Appropriations Committee and the Senate’s president pro tempore, third in line for succession to the U.S. presidency. The nonprofits had built churches, schools and other facilities on the land, and they told his staff they wanted to remain. In interviews, the nonprofits said that after they contacted his office, Inouye in 2009 got language added to the annual military spending bill that enabled the organizations to purchase their leased lands from the Navy for fair market value. Two years later, Inouye added language — a single sentence — to a 566-page spending bill, adding a “clarification of land conveyance” to the 2009 law, specifically exempting those land sales from the recovery act, according to his former chief of staff, Jennifer Sabas. Sabas said in an email that her memory of how the exemption provision came together was fuzzy, but she recalled several lessees had contacted the senator’s office seeking assistance in acquiring the land. Because they had invested so much in those locations over the decades, “he wanted to provide them the opportunity to stay,” Sabas wrote. At the time, Sabas added, Inouye believed other nearby Navy parcels would become available and DHHL could pursue those if interested. But no such offers were made to the trust, according to GSA and Navy records. The Navy told the Star-Advertiser and ProPublica that all the lands covered by that special legislation were acquired by the nonprofits. Through the 2009 and 2011 legislation, six churches, a veterans group and a private school operator purchased more than 20 acres from the Navy between 2013 and 2019, generating roughly $9 million for the federal government, according to public records. That money did not go to the trust. Several of the nonprofits said they were unaware that the land sales had been exempted from the recovery act until they were contacted recently by the Star-Advertiser and ProPublica. Bishop Robert Fitzpatrick of the Episcopal Diocese of Hawaii, which acquired its nearly 3-acre site in 2016 thanks to the special legislation, said that had the diocese known that the trust and its beneficiaries were left out of the process, the church would have reconsidered the purchase. He noted that the church was founded in Hawaii in the 1860s with the aid of the monarchy. “Respecting Hawaiian sovereignty is a core value for us,” he said. Hawaii’s former U.S. Rep. Neil Abercrombie, who voted for the 2009 bill authorizing the land sales, didn’t recall the trust issue being raised at all. “It certainly never occurred to me,” said Abercrombie, who vacated his congressional seat in 2010 to begin a four-year term as governor. “I thought we were doing a good deed.” In addition to the Inouye efforts, one other bill explicitly included a recovery-act exemption. The military spending measure in 2013 authorized the sale of an 11-acre parcel at Navy Hale Keiki School to its nonprofit operator. The exemption language — inserted into the 494-page National Defense Authorization Act — was a copy of what Inouye had put in the 2011 bill, allowing the Navy to convey title to the land before it is “made available for transfer pursuant to the Hawaiian Home Lands Recovery Act.” Robin Danner, chair of the Sovereign Council of Hawaiian Homestead Associations, the largest statewide organization representing those eligible for the homesteading program, blamed Hawaii’s congressional delegation and DHHL for the lost opportunities. She pointed out that DHHL basically has two main federal laws to monitor and said its failure to flag the circumventions was glaring. “This would not have happened if DHHL had been doing its job,” she said. Kahikina, the former commissioner, agreed, saying no one from the agency was aggressively monitoring the situation, enabling the private deals to continue under the radar. Aila, however, pushed back on this point. He said DHHL doesn’t have the staff to monitor all federal legislation, but that it periodically asked GSA about the availability of property. He also pointed out that the recovery act requires the federal government to notify the trust as excess lands become available. A More Indirect Route In addition to the two explicit exemptions, several other pieces of special legislation did not mention the recovery act but had the same end result: The federal government transferred excess lands without offering them to the trust. Many of those acres were in Kalaeloa, part of the region where DHHL has been concentrating development on Oahu in recent years. Close to a dozen other parcels on Maui and the Big Island were in residential neighborhoods. Critics pointed out that the residential quality of the land represented lost opportunities for the trust’s future housing plans. Two of the laws benefitted Hunt Cos., a Texas-based developer that has done Hawaii projects for more than a quarter of a century. Legislation that Congress passed in 1999 and 2006 authorized the Navy to sell or lease land on Oahu to pay for redevelopment of Ford Island, a historic Navy base in Pearl Harbor. Hunt issued a brief statement acknowledging the acquisition of Navy properties but declined to respond to criticisms over the deals. Alan Murakami, who recently retired as an attorney for the Native Hawaiian Legal Corp., a nonprofit advocacy group, drew on history to criticize the property deals. Given that the Navy never properly owned the Kalaeloa lands, it “had no moral right to treat [them] as a piggy bank,” he said. Abercrombie, who as a Hawaii congressman and member of the House Armed Services Committee was a key advocate for the 1999 Ford Island legislation, also questioned the Navy’s actions, saying the law was designed to keep all the land in use for military housing. Once the property was placed for sale without maintaining that use, it should have been offered to the trust, Abercrombie added. “It’s crystal clear the Navy had that obligation,” he said. Asked to respond to the criticisms, the Navy spokesperson said the Ford Island law “speaks for itself.” Quoting from the statute, she noted that it was enacted “for the purpose of developing or facilitating the development of Ford Island.” “A Slap in the Face” Just as the workaround deals were picking up momentum, Bode Kalua, 28, a landscaper who is at least half Hawaiian, applied through DHHL for a residential homestead on Oahu. He wanted a place to call home for the family he planned to eventually start. In 2012, DHHL added him to the waitlist, more than 10,000 spaces from the top. Since then, he’s moved up roughly 700 spots, a pace that will keep him waiting for years. Kalua, now the father of three young kids with a fourth on the way, said the circumventions prolonged the waits for applicants ahead of him. He is renting a home on Oahu’s windward side but, like many other lower-income applicants on the waitlist, he and his family have spent time homeless. And the private deals were made during a period in which DHHL’s residential awards fell to record lows, hitting single digits in recent years, as the Star-Advertiser and ProPublica reported last year. “It’s even worse than just a broken promise,” Kalua said of the workarounds. “It’s like a slap in the face.” Sharon Pua Freitas, 55, who applied for an Oahu residential homestead a year after Kalua, shares his disdain. “It bothers me to my core because that was the land that the United States of America illegally took to begin with,” said Freitas, who is more than 9,000 slots deep on the waitlist and has yet to receive a homestead offer. “Now it’s still in somebody else’s hands.” Senators Vow Change Both of Hawaii’s current U.S. senators have voted for legislation to circumvent the recovery act, but they now say they will take steps to ensure the trust isn’t bypassed going forward. “I won’t defend the circumvention of the recovery act,” Sen. Brian Schatz, chair of the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs, which deals with Native Hawaiian issues, said in an early March interview. “It’s something that I was just made aware of, and I don’t think it should happen going forward.” Schatz voted for the 2013 military spending bill that included one of the two explicit recovery act exemptions and allows a sale to the operator of Hale Keiki school near Pearl Harbor. “I will scour every must-pass bill for anything like this to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said. Sen. Mazie Hirono, who voted for the 2011 legislation with the exemption sentence, said she too was unaware of the implications of the measures for DHHL. “It’s clear there’s a gap here that shouldn’t have existed,” she said in an interview. Prompted by the news organizations’ inquiry, she recently wrote to the heads of the DOD and GSA, the federal agencies required to notify the trust of excess lands, expressing alarm that the state agency wasn’t being properly notified. A senior Pentagon official wrote back to Hirono, saying his office would review the military’s processes for disposing of property in Hawaii “to ensure each is fully consistent” with the recovery act and the 1998 settlement agreement. He also named a liaison within the department to deal directly with DHHL. GSA, which did not comment about the news organizations’ findings, told Hirono that the agency would work with the trust to resolve outstanding recovery-act claims — an apparent continuation of the status quo. “As noted in your letter, GSA is aware of specific congressional actions that have also allowed some landholding agencies to bypass the HHLRA to achieve other goals,” Gianelle Rivera, an associate administrator, wrote in her April 19 letter to the senator. Beneficiaries, lawmakers and others say the best way to prevent the circumvention problem is twofold: Don’t pass legislation allowing that to happen and make sure the federal government notifies DHHL when any excess lands become available.      

[cfwarricrs]

          ☆.｡.჻· ( teresa palmer, cis-female, she/her ) i’d be careful, that’s [ KAYLESSA ‘KAYA’ ARDEN ], they’re a [ SHIFTER ] mage. at [ THIRTY SEVEN ] years old, they specialize in [ HUMANOID SHIFTING ]. but i also hear they have the ability of [ DESIRE FORM ], rather remarkable for a [ HUMAN ]. as a [ TAVERN’S OWNER ], they’re known for being [ PASSIONATE ], if not a little [ SARCASTIC ]. it might just be me, but they remind me of [ DIRT ON WORN DOWN HEAVY BOOTS, A HELPING HAND FOR THOSE TRULY IN NEED, EYES SEARCHING FOR A LOST BROTHER ]. i wonder what side they’ll choose in the upcoming conflict.

— BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Kaylessa Arden

Nicknames: Kaya

Age: 37

Species: human

Gender/Pronouns: cis-female, she/her

Orientation: bisexual/biromantic

Occupation: owner of The Flask and Sword tavern in Elysia

Region: Frosthold, Gwynn

— PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Eye Colour: blonde

Hair Colour: blue

Build: slim

Height: 5 ft 4½ in or 164 cm

Weight: 58 kg or 128 pounds

Piercings: both earlobes

Tattoos: none

Distinctive features: the light blue eyes

Face Claim: Teresa Palmer

— PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: passionate, selfless

Negative Traits: sarcastic, opinionated

— FAMILY

Father: unknown

Mother: unknown

Siblings: a younger brother

Other relatives: unknown

Significant other: none

— MAGIC

Magic archetype: shifter, humanoid shifting

Gift: desire form The user can take on the form of others' greatest desire, becoming what the viewer most wants their observant to be. Won't work if the target has no desires.

— BIOGRAPHY

          Kaya has never known her parents. She has a vague memory of her mother having blonde hair just like hers, but that’s it. All she knew was the orphanage she grew up with her younger brother. Kaya expected to be adopted along with her brother, but unfortunately that didn’t happen. Her brother was much younger, easier to raise as their own, meanwhile Kaya was older and nobody wanted a child her age. So one day her brother got a new family, but she didn’t. They refused to also adopt Kaya. For weeks Kaya didn’t spoke to anyone, didn’t come out of the room she shared with other older kids.

          Years passed, she eventually became one of the oldest kids there and somehow, without realizing it, she took on a role of the caretaker. She always helped out and took care of the younger kids, she was like a mother to them. A mother none of them had.

          She was almost of age when her powers manifested. Kaya was sent to the Circle to learn how to control and use them. It took a few years and after that she was too old for being in orphanage, so that’s why she could go wherever she wanted to, nothing was holding her down anymore. But she didn’t know where to go. Kaya would love to find her brother, he was the last family she had, but she had no idea where to even start looking.

          For a couple of years she travelled around aimlessly while doing odd jobs, until she found The Flask and Sword tavern in Elysia. The owner was an old man, who was in need of help. Kaya was in a need of a job, and one thing led to another, the old man took a liking to her, saying she reminded him a lot of his own daughter he once had, and he hired her.

          Years passed, with Kaya’s help the tavern started to thrive, and the old man took her under his wing. Unfortunately not many years later the old man’s clock stopped ticking. To Kaya’s surprise, he left his tavern to her. Only later she found out he had no blood relatives to leave it to. So she became the over of The Flask and Sword. It wasn’t easy to run it on her own, she did struggle the first few months, but she got more help and things picked up. Kaya had never been a quitter. Besides, owning and working in a tavern in Elysia could help with locating her brother.

          The tavern now is known for good food, always cold drinks, occasional bard performances and welcoming staff. But that’s no it. There is more to it than meets the eye. It isn’t mentioned anywhere publicly. Hell, she will laugh and even deny it if asked, but there are whispers - if you need a safe place to stay, if you need to hide from someone bad in your life, if you need a roof over your head for the night or if you have nothing at all and you are completely alone and at the lowest point in your life, Kaya will help. All you have to do is go to her and say “I’m here to see Lady Josslyn”, which is a code that will alert Kaya that you are in danger or in need of her help. She will escort you to a backroom to see how she can help.

[lo-55]

Tilt the Hourglass Ch. 14

Feemor stood before a small gathering of the Council in his mission attire. 

It was an unassuming body suit, with patches of thick insulated armor over each hip that went down his legs and a lined tunic that made it difficult to see the weapons he hid under his clothes. His cloak fell from his shoulders, and his hood was down. His lightsaber was tucked out of sight against the small of his back. 

His pale hair was cut shaggy but short enough to be out of his way. He looked at best like a civilian with odd taste, and at worse like an inexperienced bounty hunter. 

So. 

Exactly the way he wanted when he was about to go out into the field. 

Master Windu and Tyvokka sat before him, calm as could be. 

Looking at the holo projection of Obi Wan Kenobi and the blurry one of both the Mandalorian and the child he kept with him Feemor couldn’t say that he shared their sense of calm. 

There was a child at stake, one of their own and one that they had no information of except his height and the fact that he had cut down a Dark Jedi without breaking a sweat. That wasn’t a lot, but it was alarming. 

“Master Jinn suggested that we bring the other child in for… safekeeping,” Tyvokka growled. Feemor had to listen carefully. He hadn’t brushed up on his shyriiwook in a while. 

“Safekeeping,” Feemor repeated flatly. He’d been given the details of Jinn’s last mission, both what his former Master (and oh how that still hurt) and that of witnesses that had been interviewed after the fact. 

“Yes,” Master Windu said, his voice carefully level. His little Padawan, who wasn’t so little anymore, was sitting behind him as she tended to. It would be odd to see him without her when she passed her Trials of Knighthood. “He was of the opinion that a child that dangerous should be minded, by whatever means we might see necessary.” 

Feemor breathed through his nose. 

“I suppose he didn’t have time to wonder what could have made a child so filled with Darkness in the first place?” 

Master Windu grimaced and Tyvokka growled. 

“He believed the boy to be trained by a Darksider, though he didn’t know the origin or spend much time with the boy. He responds to ‘Maul’.” 

Maul. 

Feemor filed the information away carefully. 

“I see.” 

That sounded like Master Jinn. He had always been very self assured, and when Xanatos failed he somehow managed to keep that self assurance but also twist it together in a complicated knot of insecurity and self doubt. He was bundle of contradictory emotions that Feemor couldn’t puzzle out, and hadn’t been close enough to try in… years. 

Not since he’d denounced Feemor publicly in front of the entire council and several other Masters. In front of Feemor himself. 

Feemor breathed out carefully. 

There was a child who was missing, at part because Master Jinn had made his typical mess of the situation and called it the ‘Will of the Force’ and a ‘Test of Perseverance and Honor’, or something. 

Feemor needed to find him, and he needed to save him. And figure out what to do about the other boy. If he was truly capable of such actions at such a young age then Master Jinn was probably right about him being trained, but tails of what Darksiders considered training were still horror stories told by Padawan in the dark of the night. 

As a Shadow Feemor had seen more than his fair share of evidence of their ‘training’, and what he knew did not bode well for the youngling. 

He would help him too, if he could. 

The Mandalorian could be a problem. 

He could see the sign of the True Mandalorians on his armor, and while he didn’t have all the details of Galidraan he had heard that Master Dooku had been badly wounded during the conflict, and Komari couldn’t be pried from his side no matter what Master Che told her about attachments. 

Feemor should have gone to see her. But he wasn’t part of their lineage anymore, Dooku was no longer his Grand Master and- 

“I will see to it that the boy is safely returned to the temple,” Feemor said firmly, nodding towards the two Masters. 

“Good. Try to contact us every fortnight,” Master Windu instructed. Both of them knew that with Shadow assignments the check in might not be exact, and that no news was not necessarily a sign that he was dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“Yes, Master. I will leave at once,” he bowed to the pair and left the room. 

He sent a message to Nari, a friend of his who worked in the EduCorps, asking for any information she could find on the Mandalorian’s and their civil war. He didn’t know much as it was. He knew there were three factions, and that the senate supported the pacifists lead by a human man named ‘Kryze’. He knew that the True Mandalorians had been involved in Galidraan and had done a lot of damage to a lot of Jedi, though thankfully no one in the taskforce was dead. 

That wasn’t enough information to go off of. 

Certainly not enough to have if he had to approach the Mandalorian in his pursuit of Obi Wan. 

Feemor sighed quietly and turned his feet towards the hanger bay, where his nondescript ship should still be. 

“Once more, it looks like I’m picking up Master Jinn’s mess,” he murmured to himself. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Maul watched hyperspace pass them by with barely concealed impatience. He’d started pacing half an hour ago, and driven Kenobi and Jango both up to the cockpit while his vornskr trailed after him in a long line, until they too got tired and went off to hunt whatever poor mouse droid had caught their attention. 

The fact that Siolo had denied Kenobi was irritating. The fact that he had given them no realy information on where a more suitable teacher might be found was more so. 

There were, as it happened, a number of Jedi who made their home in the outer rim, travelling from one planet to next and following only the Force to where they were needed most. A handful that Siolo knew personally, and another small dozen that he’d heard of. 

He’d contacted one for them, a human named Diath, but he was rearing his own nephew, who would one day be his Padawan, and coudln’t do much for them. 

Siolo had entrusted them with the location of a few Outer Rim temples that had more average teachers they could meet with, but he admitted that those Jedi were not as strong in the Force as even Kenobi was. 

His hope for Knighthood was growing thin. 

Maul would have tried to teach him himself, but Kenobi was far to Light for it. It was disgusting. Maul had seen him at his lowest and he had had no more darkness in him then than he did today. His soul had ached and his heart had shattered, but no Darkness dwelt inside of him. 

To much a Jedi and too little of one at once. He couldn’t learn the Darkside if he tried.

“He who learns the dark way will become infected with darkness. His judgment will become clouded and he will forget the good things he learned. If a Jedi persists in this attempt to bridge the two ways, he will be torn apart in his very being.”

“Yes, that’s very helpful, but I’m already as Dark as they come, and he won’t be corrupted. Unless you’re going to spit out coordinates for his teacher, shut the kriff up!” Maul finally snapped at whatever irritating source the voices had. 

It was another woman, but this one felt warm and golden, like a yellow sun humming in space. 

He got the vague impression of amusement before the words cut off again. 

They did that. They said something that was sometimes only somewhat applicable, gave him annoying advice, and then disappeared. Thus far he’d tracked four voices total, and the woman who somehow managed to feel purple was the chattiest of all. 

None of them offered a name, but they felt old. 

They were getting one Maul’s last nerve. He had to go to Malachor to find some answer soon, or he might truly go mad again. 

They were not bound for Malachor now, nor even one of the Jedi temples Siolo had mentioned. 

No. 

They were bound of Dathomir, and after that they would go to Concord Dawn, where Jango had people waiting for him. He didn’t say much about it, but apparently he had some responsibilities to tend to, and the looming threat of the Death Watch was still there. Maul still hadn’t figured out how he was going to get Rook Kast and Gar Saxxon back on his side. He’d have to take over the Death Watch again, but they lacked a common enemy this time, and the Haat Mando’ade still lived. And they were children still. 

Maul scowled at the blurred blue light and turned on his heel once more. 

There was so much to do, and while he had time to do it he was very tired of being patience. He was tired of waiting and watching. He longed for the freedom of a good fight, face to face and simple. 

Xanatos had hardly been a challenge, and he left Maul more irritated than anything else. He should have fought Siolo while he could. He already had the Jedi’s attention through Jinn and Kenobi, where would the harm have been? 

Probably mostly physical. 

Likely on Siolo’s side. Maul still fought dirty, after all. 

The ship shuddered and they dropped out of hyperspace above Dathomir. Kenobi came down to join Maul while Jango guided them towards the planet proper. 

Maul stopped in front of the window to look down at the planet of his birth. It was a strange place, strong in both the Light and the Dark in equal, changing turns. When he’d gone through the old scriptures and studied what little the Nightsisters had left behind during his stint living there he found that oddly enough they worshipped both. 

The Nightsisters used the Darkside, yes, but their worshiped the Winged Goddess and Fanged God both. The Ashla and the Bogen. It was strange, Maul thought. 

He still thought as much. The Darkness of the planet swelled to welcome him when they came down from orbit, just as it reached curious tendrils of Force towards Kenobi. The Dark moved around him but Light caressed, gently, against his skin. 

Kenobi gasped faintly. Maul shot him a crooked grin. He remembered the first time he’d felt Dathomir’s Force before. It felt like stepping in from the rain for the first time in years. Not like home, but there was a familiarity to it he’d never known before. 

They floated to the planets surface, several klicks away from a Nightbrother village.  

Once they touched down Maul felt something different. Not the vaguely playful welcoming of the planet that he’d come to known, and one that recognized him in turn. It was the familiar feeling of the Force warning him something was amiss. 

Maul grabbed his poncho and pulled it firmly up over his head before he holstered his blaster and waited impatiently for Jango to come join them from the cockpit. He might be useful. Maul didn’t know exactly what was happening yet, but his gaze was drawn to the crooked forest that grew around the settlement. 

He lead the way to the Nightbrother village. 

The buildings were angular and primitive. They were made to be sturdy, not elegant or pretty. When Maul had come last it had been decimated by droids, and all that remained were bones littering the ground and buildings destroyed long ago. 

Now it was teaming with life. 

Dozens of Nightbrothers were working in the village, constructing new buildings, repairing old one, trading and training in the streets. Young boys, their tattoos not yet finished, raced each other through alleys and around wells that stuck up rhythmically. A strange shadow seemed to hang over the adults, one that the children were free of. 

Life swirled around them. Everyone carried weapons, primitive as they may have been. These men were warriors, trained their entire lives for combat. Even if they rarely saw open battlefields, or only fought for the pleasure of the Nightsisters. 

Maul had seen all the Nightbrothers of this village fight at one point, when Talzin sent him startling aid against Dooku towards the end of the Clone Wars. Most of them died, but they had won the day nonetheless when the rest of the Shadow Collective launched their attack. 

Maul rubbed his temple, under one of his horns. His head was starting to ache whenever he thought too much about the time that had come before, and the time that would never be again. 

When they reached edge of the village a ripple seemed to go through it. 

The young boys vanished and the work didn’t come to a halt but it slowed. Eyes locked on them. Hands hovered close to weapons. 

Kenobi and Jango tensed beside him, but Maul paid them little mind. He knew who he was looking for. 

There. 

Bother Viscus appeared at the edge of the street, his hands empty. Maul knew him to be a powerful hand to hand combatant. That didn’t stop Maul from leaving Jango’s shadow to approach him, his arms deceptively loose at his side. The Nightbrother’s tensed as he passed, and he heard whispers when someone caught sight of his lower face and the tattoos that marked him as one their own. 

He stopped in front of Viscus. 

“I seek Savage Oppress, and his brother,” Maul said clearly. He’d never met the younger brother, and speaking of him pained Savage. Maul knew that he should have pressed him, and pushed him, and forced him to relive to pain to make him stronger in the Darkside, but he hadn’t been able to. 

A failing on his own part. 

When his words registered the shadow on the elder Nightbrothers seemed to increase. Maul felt a swell of sorrow and rage in the Force. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Maul recalled the feeling when he’d stepped off the ship. Something in the woods. 

Savage in the woods? 

“Where is he?” Maul demanded, taking a step closer to Viscus. Viscus didn’t back down. His gaze darted to the markings on Maul’s face and his eyes widened minutely. 

“You’re a Son of Dathomir,” he realized, his eyes going wide. Maul scowled. He carefully pulled his hood back, revealing the rest of his face and his small, nubby horns that crowned his skull. 

“Savage is my brother,” he snapped. “You will tell me where he is!” The urgency in the air pushed him to abandon his usual caution. He couldn’t afford it now. Savage was in danger, and likely their other brother as well. 

Viscus’ gaze went from shocked to sad, even sympathetic, and Maul bristled at the pity. He bared his teeth at the adult, and barely felt it when Jango came to his side, with Kenobi in tow. 

“We came to fetch his brothers,” Jango explained, pulling Maul back to his side. “He said they were in danger here.” 

Not his exact words, but good enough. Nightbrothers were born slaves, and Jango had nearly flipped a table when Maul had told him as much. Mandalorian’s and their children. 

Viscus bowed his head. 

“I’m afraid you’ve come too late, stranger. Savage and Feral were fetched by a pair of Nightsisters not an hour ago. Mother Talzin had need of them.” 

“So young?!” rage roiled through Maul’s chest. No, surely not. Surely the Nightsisters had not touched his brother when he was barely a teenager! He wasn’t a man and they would- 

“She bleeds some early,” Viscus said, dispelling only some of Maul’s fear. “Or buys the cooperation of other planets with them. We live to serve the Nightsister’s, young one.” 

“They don’t,” Maul snarled. “I will not allow it! Where have they gone?!” 

Viscus’ eyes darted towards the woods before they settled again on Maul. 

“There is nothing to be done about it now, little one. You are Savage’s brother without question. I know your horn pattern. The same ones adorned your father, Barbarous. Yet we have not seen you before. The Nightsisters must have taken you before you were ever given to us.” 

Maul barely heard what else he said. The wood. Where he’d felt the disturbance. 

Maul pulled from Jango’s hand and bolted for the forest, ignoring the shouts that came from behind him. Viscus yelled and Jango tried to grab his poncho, but Maul was too far gone. The Force twisted around him and filled his body, making him faster, and stronger. 

More, more, more. 

He shot through the trees. Now that he was closer he could find Savage in the woods. His Force signature was so much smaller, and so much less Dark and dense than Maul knew it to be. It was like it had been at the very end of his life, unadjusted by the Nightsisters. 

Maul heard a child cry and sped up. Something had changed. They had not taken Savage until he was already grown before, what was different now?! 

He shot out of the woods. 

Two Nightsisters stood before his two brothers. Savage stood protectively in front of a Nightbrother half his size, his teeth bared and his eyes huge and terrified. Fear and anger radiated off of him while the child cowering behind him cried and clutching his cheek. 

One of the Nightsisters had a hand on the other’s raised wrist, her face twisted in a grimace, but Maul had seen everything he needed. 

He launched himself off the ground and caught the second Nightsister around the throat. With one hand behind her head he reached around, grabbed her jaw, and twisted her neck until it snapped cleanly. The first Nightsister leapt away from them, drawing a weapon from her hip, while Maul landed in front of his two brothers defensively. Savage was a good head taller than he but that did nothing to stop him from placing himself between his young brother and the threats. 

The Nightsister froze. His hood was still down, revealing his small horns and his tattooed skin. 

“Maul... “ she breathed, her eyes growing wide. Maul tensed. She knew him? Did she work for Sidious? 

“Mother,” Savage hissed from behind Maul. “You know him?” 

“Mother?” Maul repeated, daring to look back over his shoulder at Savage. 

The trees shifted and Jango and Kenobi came stumbling out of their branches just in time for the woman to drop to one knee in front of Maul, holding her hands up to show she meant no harm. Maul twitched away from them. He didn’t trust her. 

Her smile was crooked and familiar. 

“I had thought to never see you again,” she said quietly. Her gaze darted to the two humans before they returned to Maul, her smile growing wide. “Not that I am adverse to it. You were a unique child. Not many Nightbrother’s are your shade. It was an omen, a blessing from the Fanged God himself. If Mother Talzin had known about you, you would have been her personal slave, a warrior meant only to serve her. I couldln’t allow it. Is Sidious no longer your guardian?” 

His guardian? Maul eyed her wearily. 

“...No. I have left him now.” 

“I see. You have attracted interesting company. It is good to see you well. I knew I couldn't’ do anything for Savage, Talzin already knew about him, but when I found myself with child again, just after your sire died, I knew I couldn’t subject a second son to the life of a Nightbrother,” her voice was soft and the Force sang with her truth. 

Maul never looked away from her. 

“I kept you a secret, and when you were born I waited until an Offoworlder came. Sidious. He was strong with the Force, as you were even as a babe. I begged him to take you away, to give you a life you deserved. One that you would never have on Dathomir. Would that I could I would have done the same with all my son’s but… to fool Talzin even once is a great stroke of chance. I could not repeat it for Feral,” she sounded genuinely sad. 

Maul struggled to put together what she was saying but- 

It was true. 

The Force whispered that it was true, that this woman shared his blood. He could see it, if he squinted. Her crooked smile matched his. The shape of her eyes was just as Savage’s, even if they had the Zabrak look of Nightbrothers and she the humanesque look of Nightsisters. 

“You are… my mother.” 

“Kycina.” 

“Kycina,” he tasted the name curiously.  

Kycina watched them with shadowed, pale eyes.  

He glanced back at his brothers. Savage clutched Feral to his hip protectively. He eyed the woman warily, but it was not true fear. She was not the one who had struck the youngest Oppress. 

Maul had thought that Talzin was his mother. She certainly spoke like she was. Yet, the Force resonated with the truth. 

This was his mother. 

She had given him to Sidious. She had- 

She had tried to save him of all things. A near hysterical laugh clawed at the back of his throat. She wanted to bring him salvation from slavery, but she had sold him to a fate on par with the Nightbrothers. 

Well. 

Maul eyed the twisted neck of the nightsister he had killed dispassionately. The one taking the boys away to be reared to be bred and bled. 

Perhaps not quite on par. He had never been expected to breed and then die under Sidious’ care. 

“I am taking the other two,” he said firmly. “You cannot stop me.” 

“I would not try,” her voice softened. Around Maul, his vornskr prowled restlessly. The Force was so strong on this planet it had their short fur standing on edge. She approached, slowly. Maul put himself between her and his brothers but did not draw his weapon, even when she pulled out a short, serrated blade. 

“I felt I should carry it with me,” she said with a despairing twist of her mouth. “Your brother’s each have their own. It’s meant to be given to a Nightbrother after their first hunt by the clan leader. I had yours made in secret, in case… Well. It is yours.” 

Maul picked it up carefully. It felt wrong in his hands. 

He still turned it carefully over and over. He could recognize some of the markings engraved in the hilt. 

“Come with us,” Jango said quietly, his voice muffled by the helmet. He’d come closer while they talked. “We can help you.” 

“I cannot. This is my home. I am bound to Dathomir, to live and die on her soil,” Kycina unclasped her arm guard to show a carefully carved tattoo of the darkest green. “I cannot leave her. I am a Guardian, bound to my home.” Maul could feel thick threads of power sealing Kycina to the ground. 

“Talzin will know what happened,” he said slowly, “When she finds you, you will be punished terribly.” 

Kycina inclined her head. “I know.” 

Cold certainty coiled in his small chest. Maul peered over his shoulder at the other’s. His brothers and his- his whatever. He locked eyes with Kenobi and Jango. 

“You should take them back to the ship,” he said quietly. “I’ll be along soon.” 

Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder and nodded towards the path they had taken to get there. Kenobi hesitated, but gently guided the other Nightbrothers away. Jango hesitated a moment longer before he went after them. Good. A look at Kycina showed her watching him with sharp, pale eyes. She seemed to know where this was going. 

Just as Maul did. 

“You showed me a mercy,” however it might have failed. “I will do the same for you.” 

Maul shoved the blade into her chest. 

Kycina touched his shoulders. Her smile was strained. “You have become strong, Maul. You have found your freedom.” 

“My chains are broken,” he recited quietly. He tilted the blade up and punched it through her heart. Kycina gasped faintly, and fell limp. 

Maul lay her on the forest floor. He felt like he should do something. Bury her. Honor her, for what she’d tried to do, but it was not to be. 

If he did it would take too much time and give Talzin too much to go on, should she try to pursue them. 

Maul cleaned the blade carefully and tucked it inside his cloak before he made his way back to the ship. His mother lay dead in the forests of Dathomir, and his family waited for him on a borrowed Mandalorian ship. 

[voiceteammods]

Voiceteam Mystery Box is a two-week mini spinoff of Voiceteam to wrap up the holiday season and start the new year! Every day of the first week, teams will be presented with two new point-earning challenges. Each challenge will be active for seven days, so for the second week two challenges will close each day. Once all the challenges have closed, the team with the most points per member wins!

TIMELINE

Sign-ups: December 12th–December 22nd

Discord server opens: December 23rd

Challenges post: December 26th-January 1st

Final challenge ends: January 8th

Amnesty: January 9th

Results & Celebration: January 10th

Voiceteam runs on GMT, which means that all challenge drops and deadlines will happen at midnight GMT. Your mods—cantarina, forzandopod, klb, and wingedwords—are in EST, CST and PST.

RULES

For Mystery Box, we’ll be offering team sign-ups and individual sign-ups. In team sign-ups, teams of between 5 and 15 players can sign up as a complete group. In individual sign-ups, individual players can sign up to be matched by mods with others who signed up individually.

Minors (and over-18 folk who prefer to avoid mature content) are welcome to participate in Voiceteam! Where needed, two Discord channels will be provided to a group: a general-access channel and a NSFW channel.

Since team sizes will vary, each team’s final score will be determined by dividing the number of points the team earned by the number of players.

Challenges will sometimes leave room for interpretation. If you are not sure whether something counts, please check with the mods. We support creativity and will be generous with what we allow!

Completed creations should be turned in to the mods via a form we will link here once the challenge begins. A mod will look over and verify your submission and will reach out to you if we disagree about the point value or need more information from you. You are also encouraged (but not required) to share your creations within the Discord so that other players can see and enjoy them!

Individual participants will have a cap for how many points they can earn for each day’s challenges. If you’ve capped out for a particular day’s challenges, you can still participate by supporting and cheering for your other team members!

This challenge is all about adding fun and connection to our lives, not adding stress! If you choose to sit out a couple days or to only take on a single challenge for the whole event, that’s perfectly allowed. If you decide to just hang out in chat from time to time and cheer on your team, and you end up not making any creations, that’s allowed too. That said, you do need to meet the minimum participation level of checking in with your team to say hi once per week, or you will be removed from the team. If you are removed for non-participation, there is no stigma attached (really really) and you’re still welcome to sign up for future rounds.

Each team member has the final decision about their own creations (including their part in collaborative creations, if they choose to participate in any). There are no minimum requirements for the quality or size of your creations.

The mods are committed to supporting a positive experience for our players! Please feel free to come to the mods to request support with any issues, including but not limited to: feelings of exclusion, conflict with a group member, and concerns about the rules or structure of Voiceteam. We’ll keep your concerns confidential unless you give us the go-ahead to share them, but we can help you think up solutions or make mod-level changes as needed to address the problem. For more serious problems, our anti-harassment policy is linked here.

This is a community space, and players are expected to act in ways that take the needs and feelings of other players into account. If a player publicly complains about their team, pressures or excludes team members, or gives unsolicited concrit, they will be contacted by the mods and asked to stop. If this type of behavior happens repeatedly, they may be asked to leave Voiceteam or asked not to return in future years.

That said, our community will always make space for calling out or calling in of racism, transphobia, or other behavior harmful to historically marginalized communities, and the mods will always work to support players who speak up about this type of behavior. This includes calling out/calling in of the mods.

Connected to the previous point, we want to publicly (re-)acknowledge that as an all-white mod team we’re also a part of racism in fandom and the world. We have messed up in the past and caused harm when it comes to issues of race. As we go forward into this new round, we’re working to center anti-racism more intentionally from the start. The initial steps we will be taking are detailed in the FAQ below.

FAQ

Where did this idea come from?

We wanted to fit in one more round of Voiceteam before next May, and as we looked at available times, this idea started to form. We’ve been picturing the daily new challenges as a kind of opening of presents to extend the winter holidays, and the creation of new fanworks in the second week as a fun and exciting way to launch the new year!

Sounds fun! But I don’t have a pre-made group and don’t like the idea of being matched to a group of total strangers. What can I do?

While Voiceteam is a great place to make new friends, we also know there are lots of reasons someone might not feel comfortable being thrown into a social situation with a group of strangers. To address this, we have something new this round called “sign-up buddies”! People who sign up in individual sign-ups can choose one sign-up buddy, who will be guaranteed to be on the same team with them. Please note that to keep matching from becoming overly complicated, sign-up buddies must be reciprocal, so if person A requests person B, person B must request person A (and not person C)!

What if I have one or more people I’d like to privately request to NOT be on a team with?

There’s a field at the end of the sign-up that says “Is there anything else you want us to know?” If there are any people you’d like to request to not be on a team with, please mention it there. This field is set to private, so nobody except the mods will see what you type there.

What is Discord?/Tell me more about how the Discord server is going to work.

Discord is a chat-based platform. Every server (like the Voiceteam server) can host multiple text and voice chat channels. Some of the channels will be open to the entire Voiceteam community and some will be visible only to members of your team.

Voiceteam players will be emailed an invitation to the Voiceteam Discord server on December 23rd. You can spend the first days saying hi and getting to know your team—we’ll provide some optional icebreaker questions you can answer for each other—and then the first list of challenges will be posted at midnight (GMT) on December 26th (as the clock is ticking over from the 25th).

I don’t live in GMT. How do I keep track of when drops and deadlines will happen each day?

We know this can be confusing! We will have a time zone converter set up in Discord in a prominent location to help players keep track of when the next drop or deadline is coming up.

Are there limits or requirements for crossposting creations I make for Voiceteam?

Nope! You may crosspost any works made for Voiceteam whenever and wherever you want. You can also choose to not crosspost at all and only share with the mods, or only share within the Voiceteam Discord. One reminder, though, is that since many Voiceteam works are collaborations, all collaborators should discuss and be on the same page about when/where a work will be crossposted.

What is Amnesty?

During Amnesty Day, you can turn in anything you didn’t submit on time, but the point values for all submissions will be half what they were during the main challenge.

What’s an example of what a challenge might look like?

You can find examples of past Voiceteam challenges here.

What plans does Voiceteam have in place to address racism within fandom and our community?

We have put in place content moderation rules—if a fanwork is flagged and found to be in violation of these rules, any points previously earned by the work will be removed and the work will be removed from our Voiceteam collection. We will also be hosting 3 discussions on the Discord across the span of Voiceteam Mystery Box where we will talk together about articles, posts, or other sources written by BIPOC about antiracist practice.

We have also been looking for areas where we can shift our work as mods away from exerting power over others in the community and towards equal power-sharing, with us taking the role of facilitators. As one small part of this, mods will not delete any words by players from our Discord unless those words violate our anti-harassment policy and their deletion is requested by the affected community members. In case of deletion, we will keep screencaps of the unedited conversation for accountability reasons.

We are continuing to reflect as a mod team about these topics and will also remain open to suggestions and feedback from members of our community for how to improve in this area.

How do I sign up?

Head to our sign-up post or directly to our sign-up form

I have more questions!

For the answers to other questions, you can check out our FAQ from the last round. Anything in there that isn’t explicitly contradicted here still stands! If you have further questions after that, please ask them in the comments and we will get back to you as quickly as we can.

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Robert Johnson(27 Club) who Died: August 16, 1938 in Greenwood, Mississippi

Robert Leroy Johnson was an American blues singer, songwriter and musician. His landmark recordings in 1936 and 1937 display a combination of singing, guitar skills, and songwriting talent that has influenced later generations of musicians. Johnson's poorly documented life and death have given rise to much legend.

From 1932 until his death in 1938, Johnson moved frequently between the cities of Memphis and Helena, and the smaller towns of the Mississippi Delta and neighboring regions of Mississippi and Arkansas. On occasion, he traveled much further. The blues musician Johnny Shines accompanied him to Chicago, Texas, New York, Canada, Kentucky, and Indiana. Henry Townsend shared a musical engagement with him in St. Louis. In many places he stayed with members of his large extended family or with female friends. He did not marry again but formed some long-term relationships with women to whom he would return periodically. In other places he stayed with whatever woman he was able to seduce at his performance. In each location, Johnson's hosts were largely ignorant of his life elsewhere. He used different names in different places, employing at least eight distinct surnames.

Biographers have looked for consistency from musicians who knew Johnson in different contexts: Shines, who traveled extensively with him; Robert Lockwood, Jr., who knew him as his mother's partner; David "Honeyboy" Edwards, whose cousin Willie Mae Powell had a relationship with Johnson. From a mass of partial, conflicting, and inconsistent eyewitness accounts, biographers have attempted to summarize Johnson's character. "He was well mannered, he was soft spoken, he was indecipherable". "As for his character, everyone seems to agree that, while he was pleasant and outgoing in public, in private he was reserved and liked to go his own way". "Musicians who knew Johnson testified that he was a nice guy and fairly average—except, of course, for his musical talent, his weakness for whiskey and women, and his commitment to the road."

When Johnson arrived in a new town, he would play for tips on street corners or in front of the local barbershop or a restaurant. Musical associates have said that in live performances Johnson often did not focus on his dark and complex original compositions, but instead pleased audiences by performing more well-known pop standards of the day – and not necessarily blues. With an ability to pick up tunes at first hearing, he had no trouble giving his audiences what they wanted, and certain of his contemporaries later remarked on his interest in jazz and country music. He also had an uncanny ability to establish a rapport with his audience; in every town in which he stopped, he would establish ties to the local community that would serve him well when he passed through again a month or a year later.

Shines was 20 when he met Johnson in 1936. He estimated Johnson was maybe a year older than himself (Johnson was actually 4 years older). Shines is quoted describing Johnson in Samuel Charters's Robert Johnson:

Johnson died on August 16, 1938, at the age of 27, near Greenwood, Mississippi, of unknown causes. His death was not reported publicly; he merely disappeared from the historical record and it was not until almost 30 years later, when Gayle Dean Wardlow, a Mississippi-based musicologist researching Johnson's life, found his death certificate, which listed only the date and location, with no official cause of death. No formal autopsy was done, as a dead black man found by the side of the road near a farm, a pro forma examination was done to file the death certificate, and no immediate cause of death was determined. It is likely he had congenital syphilis and it was suspected later by medical professionals that may have been a contributing factor in his death. However, 30 years of local legend and oral tradition had, like the rest of his life story, built a legend which has filled in gaps in the scant historical record

[greatfay]

since ur answering asks and shit can u explain what u meant by generational differences in communication

Damn it’s like 2015 tumblr when my inbox used to be WET. So if you’re talking about the controversial opinions post, YES, like I totally understand where people are coming from when they say that generational divides aren’t real (because they aren’t, they’re arbitrary) and distract us from real problems and yes they paint past generations as collectively bigoted when Civil Rights protestors in the 60s (who are in their 70s and 80s now) are mirrors to BLM protestors today, who could be of any age, but the most vocal and famous (at least online, especially irt to the founders, like Patrisse Cullors who is 37.

But how we communicate is sooooo different. I really point to the Internet and Social Media as a major influence in how younger millennials (more Tom Hollands and less Seth Rogans—see even there, I feel like there are two different types of Millennials) and Gen Zrs/Zoomers and even Generation Alpha behave and communicate. We live in a world where we grew up either knowing right out the gate or discovering the hard way that what we say and do has permanence, the kind of permanence that prior generations have never experienced until today. The dumb things kids have been saying since forever can now follow them... forever. We have an inherent understanding of how online spaces work. Compare that to, idk, let’s say you posted on your Facebook (for the first time in 18 months) “All these big and bad grown ass Senators going after actual child Greta Gerwig lol ok, you’re so brave for attacking a CHILD over climate change” and then your aunt, who’s turning “forty-fifteen” in May replies to your post with “So happy to see my passionate niece! Much love from us, hope you’re doing well. Paul is doing great, waiting on his screening results. Tell your mom I said we miss her, we need to get together, we forgive her for last Christmas.”

Like... ok there’s a lot going on there, but your hypothetical aunt is oversharing on a publicly accessible post. And even with the most strict of privacy settings, she’s oversharing where your other Facebook friends (which may include classmates, coworkers, etc.) can see. But she’s saying things that would only be appropriate in a 1-on-1 conversation. This Aunt doesn’t have an understanding of such boundaries, she’s not as technologically literate and hasn’t grown up in a world of Virtual Space, she still gets most of her news from TV, she trusts what a reporter on Channel 4 will read off a script more than what actual video footage of an incident might reveal on Twitter, and she has no clue that she’s been sharing her location data with every post she makes.

There’s such a huge difference. I think it even affects how we experience and express stress and frustration. I think growing up partially in online spaces has made me more accustomed to conflict and consequence-free arguing than someone who never had to worry about that. I’ve been exposed so much to harassment and bullying, triangulating and echo chambers in forums and threads, and vastly opposing point of views at such an early age that it’s had an effect on how I see the world. Compare this to a customer I helped two weeks ago who was looking for a specific type of supplement for children. I found it for her, I handed her exactly what she was looking for, even though her description of the product actually matched several different products; to make sure I’d done my job thoroughly and that she leaves happy and satisfied and doesn’t bother me again, I then show her more products that match her description so that she knows she has options. And she proceeds to freak out, saying “NO, NO, I’M LOOKING FOR [X] AND IT HAS TO BE [XYZ]” and when I say freak out, she looked stressed and PANICKED. And being a retail employee wears you down bit by bit, and add COVID on top of it and little shit like this makes you snap, sometimes. So I have to cut her off like “Why are you screaming and freaking out, jfc you’re holding what you said you wanted. It’s in your hands. I gave you what you wanted, I’m just showing you more things.”

That customer is not an exception, she’s not a unique case. She’s representative of a frightening percentage of her generation, the kids who watched Grease and The Breakfast Club and Ghost in theaters when they were originally released. This is how they communicate and process information. She could not, for some reason, register that her need had been fulfilled, and defaulted to an extreme emotional response when given new and different information.

I’ve yet to deal with someone younger than 35 act the same way, the exceptions being the kids of very wealthy people at my new job who reek of privilege I gag when they walk in—but even they are like *shrugs* “ok whatever” and understanding when there’s something I can’t do for them.

Me: “sorry, we are totally out of that one in your size, but I can order it for you, it’s 2-3 day shipping at no cost to you and we ship it straight to your house”

A rich, white, attractive 22-year-old who’s had access to organic food, a rigorous dermatologist, and financial security since she was born: “mmm... sure, I’ll order it”

A 47-year-old of any socioeconomic background, of any race, in the same situation: “AHHHHHHHHHHH”

I just think it’s crazy how three generations of kids and young adults raised in a world where everything moves so much faster, where knowledge and entertainment and communication can be gathered so much faster, are often so much more polite and patient and understanding. Yesterday I told an older man (mid-50s) whose native tongue is the same as mine, as clearly and succinct as possible, that what he’s looking for is “in aisle 4.” He proceeded to repeat back, “Aisle 7?” four time before I dropped everything to show him what he needed in aisle 4, despite his insistence that he didn’t need me to walk him there. 4 and 7 sound nothing alike in English. There’s just something going on up there 🧠 that’s different.

Oh, other generational divides!!! We have different approaches to labor and working. Totally different! I’m a “young” millennial where I’m almost Gen Z, and I’ve noticed an awful trend among my demographic where people actually brag about working 90 hour work weeks. Or brag about how they skip breaks and live on-call to get the job done for “the hustle” like this “hustle, become a millionaire by 30″ culture that’s dominated these kids, idk where tf that came from. Like why are you proud of being a wage slave, getting taken advantage of by your millionaire/billionaire overlords. Compare this to my mother’s generation (she’s a borderline Genius X’er, she and her best friend were a year too young to watch Grease when it came out and had a random older woman buy tickets for her; she went to Prince concerts, took photos of him, then sold the photos on buttons at school, that’s her culture and teenage experience), where she’s insistent on her rights and entitlements as an employee, and these things she instilled me: “whatchu mean they didn’t schedule a break for you and you’re working 12 hrs today? oh no, you’re off, don’t answer your phone cuz you are NOT available!” There are Gen X’ers who entered the workforce at a time that America was drifting toward this corporate world, with more strictly defined regulations, roles, and understandings of labor rights (and also, let’s talk about how the 80s there was so much more attention on workplace harassment, misogyny and gender divides in wage gaps, etc. etc... not that much has changed, but at least it was talked about!). There are young people today who are taken advantage of because they aren’t as informed or don’t feel as secure and valuable enough to claim what belongs to them.

At the same time, those generations (Gen X and older) have a different viewpoint of hierarchies in the workplace and respect irt our direct supervisors. That’s how you get this blurring of boundaries between Work Life and one’s Personal Life that leads to common tropes in media written by their generations, where oh no! I’m having my boss over for dinner and the roast beef is still defrosting :O is such a “relatable thing” for them... meanwhile us younger generations are like I don’t even like that you know where I live, and if I see your 2017 Honda Civic pass my place one day, we’re going to have a problem. I think older generations have a different relationship with the word “Respect” than we do. Like, my grandma, who’s turning 87 (?) this year, and the other seniors in my area, they have a different concept of honor and an expectation of professional boundaries that I, and my mom and her generation, just don’t see (so then there’s something in common with Gen X’ers and the rest of us.) My dad grew up in a world where talking and acting like George Bailey and knocking on someone’s door with a big smile could get you a job, a job that could pay for college and rent no problem. My mom grew up in a world that demanded more prestige, where cover letters and references could get you into some cushy jobs if you’re persistent and ballsy enough. And I grew up in a world where potential employers literally don’t see your face when you apply unless they lurk on any social media profiles you have publicly available and they hold all the cards, and you need all those CVs and reference letters just to make minimum wage... so I feel like I am powerless in the face of such employers.

[valiancyvulnerability]

What It’s Like Being Gay in a Town Where It Isn’t Accepted

     I made the choice to come out publicly mid-March of 2020, after the COVID-19 pandemic left the majority of Illinois stuck in our homes for the safety of others. I thought this would be a good time for me to make my announcement as it was an opportunity to avoid facing any of my peers after the fact, and I also wanted to do so before I moved into my first year of college.

     If I’m being honest, it was something I had always feared as a child. Being an individual who tries too hard to please everyone and be liked, I knew it was something that wasn’t necessarily the most accepted where I lived. I live in a predominantly white and conservative area, and there is nothing wrong with that, but that is a vital piece of information to know as I explain myself in this piece of writing. I moved to my current town when I was in the first grade, and based off my interests, personality, and mannerisms, everyone immediately made their assumptions about me, so I quickly began to alter and adjust accordingly in order to keep the remarks at bay. Additionally, my mom worked in the school district, so in order to avoid being talked about since I already felt like I was in the public eye, I just wanted to blend in with the crowd as much as I could.

     The lying to myself and to everyone around me didn’t cease until I was already out of high school. The first three words that title this post are “What It’s Like”, so with that being said, I want to share specific experiences I have had growing up that have stuck with me, and are all contributors as to why I waited so long to come out. Being gay in a town where it isn’t accepted is:

Giving a sheet of paper that has “GAY” written in big letters to your Kindergarten teacher, asking what it meant and why a 16 year-old handed it to you on the bus

Being targeted by a group of first grade classmates at recess for being a gymnast, and that it’s a “gay sport for girls”

Being told in an elementary music class, with an unchanged voice, as all elementary schoolers have, that I sing like a girl and that it would make more sense to go sit with them if we sound the same anyways

Being twelve and intentionally coughed on by an eighth grader, followed by the kindest “Move out of my way, faggot”

Hearing boys on the other side of the locker room say they feel uncomfortable that they have to change around me

Being shoved into a gym locker without any clothes on

Hearing an upperclassman say they don’t want the “fat closeted kid” on his team in gym class

Being shown a photo of a skinned deer with a caption “I am going to cut you up”

Singing a solo for a school assembly with the choir and directly facing the front row of boys while they laugh

Being called out in class for “only wanting equal LGBTQ+ rights because I’m too scared to come out of the closet”

Having someone tell you, (”No offense”), “If you want my guy friends to like you, you just need to stop acting gay, because you do a little bit” and that “you dressed like a grandma today”

Being called a bloody tampon because you dyed your hair red

Being laughed at for what you’re wearing by a whole table of underclassman boys that turn around and watch you get a napkin before lunch

Having a group of boys from school make a (very condescending) point to all like a boy’s comment complimenting one of my pictures on social media

And this is the one that will stick with me more than any other one:

Being sent this message on an anonymous social media platform this year-- 

“You’re the biggest f***wad I know. Just come out as gay already because you’ve seen more girls get undressed simply because you’re friends with them. Your tattoo looks cool but that’s about it. You look like an emo girl trying not to cut her wrists”

My mother raised me on kindness. She raised me on lifting others up. She raised me on being there for others. The thing I struggled with the most is that I couldn’t get my mind wrapped around the fact that I tried my hardest to be kind to others, no matter how they treated me, and it felt like I just had disrespect and insults spat back at me. I found myself using the “not everyone is going to like you” phrase often, because there were many times where it felt like, truly, I was disliked by everyone.

My junior year of high school, I fell into an eating disorder, and consequently lost weight and started dressing differently to dodge any negative attention that I had been faced with previously. I started partying. Drinking every weekend. Hanging with people fueled by hate. The result was all I could have asked for. I was liked by my classmates. I was on Homecoming Court. Guys at my school willingly spoke to me. The only issue with all of that though is that there was no genuine part of Carson that was present. It was entirely phony.

Once I found a friend group I felt accepted in my senior year of high school, my world entirely changed. I gradually found myself and became more comfortable with who I was as a person and I no longer felt a need to pretend about anything. I had that sense of security, so I didn’t have to worry about the opinions of people that didn’t have anything to do with me. I knew who I was, and I was still going to be respectful and kind towards those who weren’t to me, because that’s all I can do.

With all that said, there are some things that can be done.

I understand if my way of life doesn’t completely align with your beliefs, and I completely respect that. However, if it doesn’t affect you directly, then there is no point, none at ALL, to make an individual feel lesser than you, feel isolated, or feel like an alien. I have always been Carson, and always will be.

I am not a parent so some may think my opinion is unjustified here, but as children we are taught certain principles and morals that shape the way we treat others. If a child is raised that they need to show kindness to everyone EXCEPT group ABC or group XYZ, then something is wrong there in my eyes. 

My teachers were always great about making everyone feel included and welcome in their classrooms. I do challenge the education system as a whole, though, to not shy away from conflict regarding homophobia. Many times it is brushed off to avoid “ruffling any feathers”, so to speak, but that is not a solution that I can find the least bit of validity in. By sitting back and letting mistreatment happen to avoid “taking a side”, unfortunately, you are doing nothing but taking the side of the oppressor.

As the youth is shifting towards a more vocal and diverse generation, it is important for this to be talked about. Your location on the map should not be a deciding factor in how you are going to be treated, especially if it’s something you live with that can not and will not change. There is so much negativity and mistreatment among children and adolescents that is swept under the rug, and there needs to be some sort of action taken to get the general attitude among the youth (and adults, too, for that matter) moving in a more positive direction.

Be kind to one another. Find common ground within your differences, and learn to respect them. Stay safe and healthy, as always, and I hope everyone is doing well.

And happy Pride Month.