#and that's not to like be dismissive of community aid and efforts that shit is wonderful BUT my brain is stupid and is like 'but theyre

[bunnyb34r]

Mmm the bad thoughts™️ keep setting in with every appointee named and thinking ab how bad this is gonna be

So fun

[chicago-geniza]

not 2 go all Affect Dictates Politics because it’s not a predictive text algorithm but like material conditions do not & cannot account for the sum of human experience that shapes political convictions or the probability tree of potential moments that might catalyze a person into consciousness of themselves as a political subject &/or political actor. this is one of the reasons, i think, that the Political Family Saga became such a ubiquitous genre in late 19th/early 20th c. eastern europe, unique because it dramatized political conflict not as intergenerational conflict, not the hardheaded parent-tradition vs. the hotheaded child-innovation, but siblings, competing modernities, competing utopian visions. bundists, zionists, narodniki, SRs, etc. breaking bread at the same table, written into metonymic brothers (& the occasional sister), gesticulating wildly & articulating their parties’ talking points. it wasn’t just fictional either--look at gershom scholem & his brother! (assimilation also had a seat at the proverbial table.) anyway i started thinking about this because a friend mentioned that she & her brother are both trans, but she’s a communist & he’s an anarchist; another friend mentioned how desolate & intolerable the suburbs are if you are a person who pretty much plunges into despair if they’re not surrounded by other people. and finally concluded that 1) i, too, have this tendency; in fact it was this need to be around people that first drew me to organizing efforts! & 2) i really truly genuinely think a main reason why my parents--who identify as “libertarian socialists” lmao--keep doubling down on the “i have no obligation to anyone outside my immediate family, i don’t know them, i don’t care about them, i want them to leave me alone” attitude is because, *personality-wise*, they are both loners, quick to judge, quick to quip scornful, dismissive shit like “our countrymen are morons,” they don’t have any friends where they are & don’t want to seek any out. they’ve done community organizing before, where we used to live--they spent several years learning local zoning law & working to stop a megacorp from leveling a trailer park in our neighborhood & turning it into a gravel pit--but they’ve gotten so isolated &, like, embittered & contemptuous that they feel like other people aren’t worth their time. & that IS a political affect whether it’s explicitly recognized as such or not, because it DOES dictate how you think about the world & how you move thru it as a political subject. it’s the same kind of alienation you actually see elsewhere: people willing to throw money at a problem--donate $20-50 to a fundraiser for a Good Cause, or an online campaign, or a bail fund, or a mutual aid society--but not talk to their neighbors, or...participate in mutual aid *networks* that aren’t passing the same crumpled $20 bill back and forth. idk man i had a brief hit where the cold brew & adderall made me able to think & now it’s gone 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Ten

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone is well!! Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: The mission that the Captain had chosen not to brief us on that night at Liquara (which I was trying so hard not to think about), was a diplomatic mission to Larilia. 

The slush-o mix was not worth the hangover.

I considered the conversation I’d had with the Captain the night before as I laid in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I was just… So confused. Had he really bothered to leave the bar just to ask me if I was alright? And the way I’d spoken to him…

I groaned, smoothing my hands over my face. I had a dull headache, I was hungry, and I had an intensive to get to.

--

“You’ve been, really? An active war zone doesn’t exactly seem like a prime vacation destination,” Thaleh commented, crossing her arms as she leaned against my console. I smiled.

“It wasn’t really a vacation. My dad had a diplomatic summit at the capital. I didn’t get to see much. I mostly stayed in the suite they had set up for him and spoke with the aide that had gotten stuck looking after me.”

The mission that the Captain had chosen not to brief us on that night at Liquara (which I was trying so hard not to think about), was a diplomatic mission to Larilia. The planet had been embroiled in a civil war for the last 78 years. The Federation typically did its best not to get involved in such matters, but the Larilians had reached out to the Federation for mediation.

Admiral Spargo had boarded the Enterprise, tasked with bringing the conflict to a peaceful end.

Cyril Spargo was practically a Starfleet institution. His storied career with Starfleet had included a fifteen year stint as captain, numerous diplomatic missions, and countless victories - both on the battlefield and at the negotiating table. The man even had a maneuver named after him. 

--

“Larilians are matrilineal in all things, so, if the translator that’s chosen is a woman, and if yourself or the Admiral have something to say, the translator is going to need to announce it first.” That was the last thing I had on my list of pertinent information pertaining to Larilia. Pike nodded, glancing from me to the Admiral. “I think we can handle that,” He nodded, “Is there anything else that you think is crucial?” “No, Captain.” “The lieutenant also prepared a briefing document on the Larilians, it’s available for review if needed,” Number One chimed in. Pike gave a nod, lip quirking into what looked like a small smile. I’d only made the document because I’d mistakenly assumed, when asked to put a brief together, that it would be given to Thaleh, and that she’d be speaking to the Captain and the Admiral herself. “Thank you, lieutenant. Dismissed.” I stood, nodding to the group before leaving the Captain’s ready room. I tried not to make too much of a hurry out of it. I hadn’t spent any time around the Captain since my idiotic comments on the turbolift. He had seemed no less his usual self than when I’d come in, had been attentive throughout. I had been avoiding the observation deck all week, but after my shift I found myself drawn to it. It was empty, and I was relieved. I relaxed for a few minutes, peering out of the window and watching the stars whizz by in silence. “Lieutenant.” I straightened up, whirling around. I swallowed thickly. “Captain.” He stood just by the loveseat I’d settled on. I wasn’t sure if I should gesture for him to sit; surely he’d just settle down if he wanted to? “I wanted to thank you again for your comprehensive briefing today,” He nodded. “Of course. Glad I could help.” “I also wanted to inform you that you will be beaming down with myself and the Admiral to aid in the Larilian negotiations.” Panic wormed its way into my core. “Me?” Pike’s brow arched. “Problem?” “No, of course not, sir, but-- Surely there’s someone on the ship that’s more qualified for something of this...Magnitude.” Pike seemed to consider this, pressing his lips into a thin line and directing his eyes to the ceiling, as though he was looking through a catalogue of other communications officers. Then his eyes returned to me. “Are you not the one that briefed us on the cultures and customs?” That felt rhetorical, though the look I was fixed with told me that I was obliged to answer. “Yes.” “And if I recall you speak six languages fluently, would you just...List them for me?” This felt like a trap. “...Federation Standard, obviously--” “Obviously--” “Vulcan, Orion--” “High and Low--” “That’s still technically only one language, Captain-- Cardassian, Romulan, Laril...ian…” I trailed off, nodding a little bit. Pike mirrored the movement. “I think you’re plenty qualified,” He reassured me, “And you won’t be beaming down to negotiate alone. We drop out of warp in two hours.” He turned to leave. I eyed his retreating back, feeling the panic turn to jitters. I don’t know what compelled me as I stood hurriedly, saying, “Captain.” He stopped, turning back to face me. For a moment, I couldn’t speak; he was looking at me so expectantly. Of course, if someone were to address you, you’d assume that they’d know what they were going to say in advance. “...Lieutenant?” He asked, taking a step closer. “The other night, I--” I let my eyes drop to the cushions for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again. The least I could do was look the man in the damn eye this time, “I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed. “What are you apologizing for?” He seemed sincerely confused, which only made this about a billion times worse. “You asked me if I was alright, and the way I responded--” Pike held a hand up to stop me, and I closed my mouth. “I overstepped,” He shook his head once. Jitters reverted to panic in a split-second. “No, you--” “Lieutenant, it’s alright,” He cut me off again “And if there’s nothing else, I have to speak with Admiral Spargo about his strategy.” Panic dropped away, embarrassment shooting up to take its place. I shook my head once, lowering my eyes to the cushions then. “Nothing else, Captain.” “Two hours, lieutenant.” The thump of his retreating footsteps on the carpet, and then swoosh of the automatic doors. I let myself turn and drop back down onto the loveseat, head tipping forward and resting in my hands. “Fuck,” I whispered, heat prickling at the back of my neck as that embarrassment radiated, sweeping through me like a fire and burning me from the inside out. I leaned back, reaching up and frustrated tugging at my collar, opening it at unzipping it, fanning at my neck, my ears, my face, desperately trying to cool the flush. He thought that he had overstepped? Well of course he felt like that, the man had asked me if I was alright and I had basically shrugged him off, called him a liar, and avoided him for a week. “Shit. Shit,” I breathed out, fanning at my face with both hands now. “If anything, exerting that much effort that is only going to make you more warm.” I didn’t turn to meet Una’s eye as she sat down beside me. “Nervous about the assignment?” She guessed. “I’m never drinking another fucking slush-o mix again,” I swore. 

[dothwrites]

ayyy congrats on 500!! Prompt: witch/familiar au please?

@queenvee08, I live to serve this is definitely going to be a longer fic at some point in the future i hope you’re happy with yourself

—

“What do you think? Hellsbore or mandrake root?” 

Dean stops his perusal of the two herbs which, to be fair, look almost identical, to glance over at Cas. 

Cas, who is still sulking from this morning, when Dean accidentally kicked him off the bed, doesn’t answer. The only indication he gives that he’d heard Dean at all is the irritated flick of one ear in his direction. 

Asshole stays in cat form when he wants to give Dean the silent treatment. And sure, Dean can hold a sulk with the best of them, but it’s also disconcerting to be ignored by someone who’s intent on raising their hind leg and indulging in a thorough tongue bath. Especially when Dean knows that Cas only does that shit to get on his nerves. 

“Come on. Cas. Come on. Asked you a question. Come on buddy.” 

Dean can feel Cas’ low-grade frustration thrumming through their bond at the back of his mind. It’s like having an annoying song that you just can’t quite get out of your head, or a persistent itch that lingers, no matter how you contort your body to get at it. It’s annoying, but ultimately not damaging. Except Dean is done being ignored. He truly does want Cas’ opinion, seeing that he and Cas make a hell of a team (in the six months since he and Cas bonded, Dean’s understanding and abilities have only deepened, to the point that even Bobby says that with a little more practice, he’ll make a hell of a witch), but more importantly, he wants Cas’ company. 

When he’s not being a grouchy little bastard, Cas is great to have around. If he’s in cat form, he’ll laze on the counter, sunning himself and batting at the random bits of string that Dean dangles in front of him. After some trial and error and one memorable time when Dean yowled, Holy shit Cas your claws, as Cas failed to gain purchase and ended up dragging his claws down the back of Dean’s neck, he’s learned the trick of balancing on Dean’s shoulders as Dean fills orders and experiments to make different combinations of spells. Dean’s gotten used to Cas draping himself on the back of his neck, like a warm, furry weight (fucker is heavy). And then there are the times when Cas will just curl up next to him, or wrap himself around Dean’s ankles, butting his head against him. It’s worth it then, for the daily allergy potion that he drinks (a twist of fate that his familiar ended up being a cat, the one animal that Dean’s allergic to, but it’s worth it if it’s Cas). 

And if Cas is in human form, then that’s even better, because he’ll sit crosslegged on the counter and help Dean measure out ingredients for spells. He’ll read spells over Dean’s shoulder, suggesting improvements or modifications (Cas’ practical knowledge of witchcraft is formidable, his intellect staggering and sharp; every time he speaks, Dean’s reminded that he’s in the presence of a mind much quicker than his own). He’ll even, if the mood strikes him, deal with customers. Dean’s seen more than one granny come tottering in, looking for a joint relief aid, and come waltzing out, starry-eyed, from a conversation with Cas. 

Not that Dean blames them. Cas is gorgeous. 

He’s the kind of attractive that stops people in their tracks, the kind that makes people do an unironic double-take. When you add in that jawline, those shoulders, the long elegant fingers, thick runner’s thighs, and perpetually messy bedhead, and multiply it by his pack-a-day deep voice, and then throw in his intelligence–No wonder that people are falling over themselves. 

And that’s the problem. Because Dean is one of those people. 

It’s not forbidden persay, shacking up with your familiar, but it is the kind of weird that gets you talked about at parties. It’s taboo enough that only the fringe elements of the community will even entertain the notion, and then in whispers and titters. Kind of like having people figure out that you like weird kinky sex stuff. There’s no law against it, but they sure as hell look at you differently. 

Dean’s not sure if he’s ready for that. And he’s damn sure not going to make a move until he’s sure that Cas is interested. And as for that…Dean has no idea. They may share a bond, but the bond doesn’t stretch to their every thought, which means that they can hide things from each other. And Cas can be closed off when he wants to be, which makes him almost impossible to read. 

So Dean grits his teeth, keeps running his shop, and tries not to have a coronary every time he goes to sleep with Cas in his cat form at the foot of his bed and wakes up with Cas in human form snuggled up next to him (that probably means something, right? What? What does it mean?). 

And then there are the times that he tries not to scream, like right now, when he poses another question to Cas, and the irritated scrabbling at the back of his mind gets louder. Cas pins him with a long look before he deliberately flattens his ears to his skull. A second later, he lifts up his lips to reveal two delicately pointed canines and hisses softly.

“Jesus, it was a fucking accident,” Dean mutters, turning away from Cas. See if two can play that game. He’s interrupted from his brief pity party by the sudden absence of aggravation from Cas. Instead, it’s replaced by intent focus, that steel-trap mind narrowing its sight until it finds a single focal point. 

Forewarned, Dean is facing the door, magic already sparking at his fingertips, when it opens and Crowley comes through. 

Crowley, who’s been after him for months to join the coven he keeps under his thumb. Crowley, who trades and barters in souls instead of money. Crowley, whose eyes flash red as he neatly sidesteps the Devil’s Trap Dean keeps hidden underneath the rug. 

A low growl rumbles from Cas’ chest as he stalks over to Dean. It never ceases; Dean can feel it shaking through his body as Cas presses against his elbow. Their bond tightens and Dean feels the additional surge of magic, the familiar supporting his witch and boosting his powers. The magic surges through Dean, the purest drug he’ll ever need, and that, combined with the presence of Cas at his side, gives Dean enough fortitude to look at Crowley and snarl “Get the fuck out.” 

Crowley pretends to be hurt. “Such a cold welcome Squirrel. And after everything I’ve done for you.” 

Dean forces a brittle laugh. “You? You’ve never done shit for me, except try to get me in your pocket from Day 1. I told you then and I’m telling you now–I’m not for sale.” Next to him, Castiel hisses in punctuation, lips curling back to reveal his bared teeth. Without looking, Dean reaches down and settles his hand on top of Cas. He feels the fur standing on end, the tension running taut through every inch of Cas’ frame. 

Crowley flicks a dismissive eye towards Castiel. “Can it pussycat,” he sneers, before he turns back to Dean, ignoring how Castiel’s growl rises in pitch. His eyes glow red in warning. “Last chance Winchester. Take the deal before something goes wrong.” 

Dean doesn’t even need to consider. “How about you go to hell?” 

He senses Crowley moving before he does, but it’s Cas who acts. With an inhuman screech, he launches himself from the counter straight at Crowley, claws outstretched. 

A flick of Crowley’s fingers sends Cas flying across the room, his small body hitting the shelves. Cas’ high, anguished scream, somewhere in between a human and cat cry, strikes straight at Dean’s heart. 

Magic sparks at his fingertips and this time it’s his turn to flick his fingers. He’s never been adept at nonverbal magic, but it turns out that with rage clouding his vision, he’s amazing at it. It doesn’t feel like it takes any effort at all for him to hold Crowley stationary, hand outstretched. No matter how much Crowley struggles, he can’t break free. 

Dean chances a glance to the other side of the room. His chest clenches in worry when he catches sight of Cas’ human frame, sprawled unmoving on the floor, back to him. For Cas to lose control of his form–Dean turns back to Crowley. For the first time, the demon’s face shows fear. 

“You head back to that pit of brimstone you crawled out of,” Dean snarls. The urge to hurt, to rend rises in him, dark and ugly–But then he feels, muted but still blessedly present, the calm pulse of Castiel in the back of his mind. It soothes the violence in Dean, long enough for him to look at Crowley and enunciate every word, just so that there’s no misunderstanding. “If I ever see you in this shop again, I won’t hesitate to rip you right out of that meatsuit and shove you down so far into the pit that it’ll take decades for you to crawl back out.” 

He leaves Crowley pinned for a moment, just to make sure that the demon gets the message, before he relaxes his hand. Crowley’s feet don’t even touch the floor before he disappears. 

Dean rushes to Cas’ side, gently turning him over. A thin trickle of blood runs from Cas’ hairline to his temple. Dean’s blood boils, but before he can perform a summoning to yank Crowley’s ass back and take every bit of Cas’ suffering out of his hide, Cas’ eyes flutter open. 

Now, as always, Dean’s caught in their piercing gaze. His mouth goes dry and he becomes aware that he’s gently thumbing over the bolt of Cas’ jaw. He doesn’t stop. 

“Crowley gone?” Cas asks, voice thicker and rougher than usual, but his eyes are lucid. 

“Yeah. Asshole hightailed it out of here.” 

And before he can second-guess himself, give himself a list of reasons of why he shouldn’t, Dean leans down and kisses Cas. It’s firm, unyielding and unapologetic, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what he means. 

Cas freezes, but only for a moment, and then he’s kissing back, hands reaching up to rest against Dean’s cheek. His fingers hook into the soft spot behind Dean’s ear, pulling him closer, and Dean goes willingly. 

“Finally,” Cas murmurs, once they part. 

“Finally?” Dean echoes, drunk on the memory of Cas’ stubble scraping against his chin, the bold sweep of Cas’ tongue against the seam of his lips. 

Cas gives him his best flat stare. “I was spooning you every morning for two straight weeks. What did you think I was trying to do?” 

Dean swallows, aware that he may not be as suave as he likes to pretend. “I thought you were cold?” he offers, when it becomes clear Cas is waiting for his answer. 

“You thought I…” Cas murmurs to himself, before he rolls his eyes. “What would you do without me?” he asks, rhetorically, before he’s pulling Dean’s face down to his once more. 

Don’t know, Dean thinks blissfully, as he proceeds to learn Cas and the variety of noises that Cas can be persuaded to make. 

Hopefully I’ll never find out. 

[fotiathymos]

Reply from @fragile-euphoria : “ Ok big agree but also like.... Burning Rescue Pretty Much existed because of the Burnish, no? Like, y'all got mechs and shit for house fires? Doubt 🧐. So Ive always figured that Burning Rescue kinda finds themselves out of a steady job bc suddenly there's.... No weird magic fires.... And so they probably got Lots of free time to kinda be a search and rescue rebuilding the city type team? Idk i might be off on this one but that's what I always assumed “

---

OKAY. YES. And I’ve thought about this too!! Cause I’m a mess.

We’re getting somewhat “real worldy” here.

Burning Rescue 100% was an organization created to suppress and oppress the Burnish. And It is not acknowledged enough, you’re so right! The reason why Galo and co. felt okay and doing good in their job was because they weren’t “outwardly killing or harming Burnish people... just ‘arresting’ the bad ones”. Thats why the pizzeria scene is so fucking important in breaking down Galo! He’s always doubted the whole system but he just wanted to save people and it’s all backfiring on him. SIGH. Okay, I’m not gonna talk about Galo’s relationship with his job cause that’ll be a huge thing.. 

Burning Rescue def would’ve gained a huge reputation as a savoir to the non-burnish and well a possible death sentence to the ex-burnish. So Lio working with Galo in either solely ex-burnish aid as well as bridging the gap and a whole community aid, would be a mix of controversial and groundbreaking. 

The concept and how its run of Burning Rescue would, of course, completely change as a must. But I doubt it would possibly change their name or just fire and dismiss every member in the organization. The whole organization may get sued for acts against human rights and certain higher ups arrested and put on trial. Lower staff members like Galo and co. wouldn’t get under such trail I feel.

I see Galo, and even the rest of his team, moving to change the goal of Burning Rescue to other means. No more acting like cops and more acting like first responders. They’d may be just exclusive to bigger disaster efforts. I still feel natural disasters may occur more often with the core of the earth altered and volcanoes may continue to erupt or earth quakes and etc. So they’d be on that. As well as rebuilding efforts for the city and maybe new building of new communities and expansions of the city. Galo would keep his job but be creating a big push in a better direction and more collaboration with the ex burnish to make amends and well.. right the whole systems wrongs. Def not something that’d be fast paced, though.

Perhaps down the line like years down the line Burning Rescue will officially combine with whatever new organization Lio and the ex burnish created. And in turn making what Burning Rescue use to be just a big note in the history books.

[kanashii-na]

CHARACTER ATTRACTION MEME

ᴵⁿ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ: homra-no-artemis  ​​said: ⋙ takehiko lol

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗 (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.Takehiko is seriously attractive, enough so that it triggers the “Time to sound like a complete asshole every time I see her,” response in Dabi’s brain, without fail. Every time he sees her. He could be charming, but no, his talky-talk filters are installed all wrong and he maybe likes her irritated expressions a little too much. She takes up her own space in a room and he likes that they both have passion enough to swallow up everything, even themselves. Something about the way she dances between entropy and a purity of resolve really makes her beautiful to him. 

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗💗 (how close a friend they consider them)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.While her vigilantism would sometimes put her at odds with his own work, Dabi still considers their connection to be benign, or even benevolent. He doesn’t have even an ounce of interest in seeing her come to harm though he wouldn’t mind making things a little harder for her just to prompt her temper and if he could, he would be more likely to lend aid if she was in a pinch (but he would talk so much shit). Dabi trusts her to know what she’s doing, and trusts that she’s forging her own path, even if he wants her to hurry up and break away from heroic feats altogether, as in his opinion, she’s just creating a cushion to soften the blow of the Pro Heroes’ failures, thereby slowing the inevitable fall of the order. Regardless as to the differences in their views, approach, and ‘moral compass’, Dabi is aggressively invested in Takehiko’s progress and state of being.    

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗💗 (wanting to have sex with them)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.He definitely feels the tension between them, the sameness in the esurience of their respective quirks, and there are things that are easier for him to convey and commit to through actions rather than words. He can’t articulate his sentiments for shit, and even if he tried, his emotional listlessness would have his efforts lost in derision and dismissal before they could even reach Takehiko’s awareness. He might, however, opt to convey it all through tactile communication -- a kind of self-abandonment that accepts that everything was over before it even began, so the consequences and the potential for the collapse of his defenses won’t even factor in.     

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💗💗💗💗 (hoping for a romantic relationship)

┋ 蒼炎⋙—.He would be relatively cooperative in maintaining a relationship with Takehiko. He wouldn’t even mind the strain of their divergent viewpoints, as the value of her perspectives and the enjoyable dissonance of her company are appealing enough to weather the storms. Unconventional, and likely marked by a great deal of tempestuous clashes, their relationship would still be a commitment that Dabi would hold in a high regard. Granted, he doesn’t think his lifespan will encompass much time, but he would make use of the hours they did have together, availing to one another that which they couldn’t find in anyone else’s company.           

💔 Non-existent 💗 Very low 💗💗 A little 💗💗💗 Hopeful 💗💗💗💗 High 💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum

[bigskydreaming]

(Last Anon) I write a lot of dark shit. I’ll openly admit it helps me cope with the shit Ive been through. It was advised to me by a therapist, and reading and writing it makes me feel better. The tagging system helps me avoid the things that WOULDNT make me feel better. It’s up to me to make that distinction. What level of tagging would actually make you comfortable? Do you want to stop people from writing anything noncon all together? (Idk if this sounds attacky, I don’t mean it that way)

I answered before I saw this second question, so I’ll try to make this briefer...

I’m gonna be blunt here: I’m.....not exactly side-eyeing that therapist, because its not like I’ve talked to or worked with every therapist out there lol, and I don’t know their reasoning on this subject, but I DO question whether or not there’s room in your dialogue with your therapist to expand on this and explore if there’s any kind of miscommunication or misinterpretation of WHY they suggested it might make you feel better....as well as whether or not they meant just in writing it for yourself vs writing it to share with other people online.

I say that last part because those can be very distinct things.....because ALL forms of writing, are at their core inherently just....communicating ideas. Even to ourselves.

Its why journaling is so effective for a lot of people. Its literally just us using writing to express our own ideas to ourselves, to communicate what we’re already thinking or feeling to ourselves in more...digestible ways we can more easily internalize even if we’re the only intended audience for what we write there.

And I also say this because there’s a difference between exploration and validation....and the intended results and receptions to both these things.

Like.....tbh, I’ve spent a lot of my life asking WHY, in terms of why certain of my victimizers might have done the things to me that they did. Its been a large, central question at times.....the mystery of it being something that’s bothered me to large degrees.

So in that vein, there is a certain logic to writing various dark shit in an effort to reach SOME kind of understanding, even just in my own mind. Trying to understand what they were even thinking, the WHY of it, in order to at least transform the unknown of it into something real or tangible that I could more easily refute or push back against. 

But all of that can be done in the form of writing just to myself. The second I share that writing with a wider public, many of them unknown to me, however.....it takes on a whole new dimension.

Because now I’m not just communicating my thoughts on this matter to myself.....I’m communicating it to an audience of people all with their own thoughts, priorities, lived experiences, etc. And there is ZERO guarantee, or even really a realistic expectation, that this wider audience is receiving what I’m communicating or interpreting it or whatever.....in the same vein, and for the same reasons, that I’m writing it in the first place.

So not only do I now have to factor in that while say, exploring my victimizers’ mindsets in order to make them more real and thus more realistically refuted, like....that might be my motivation for writing it to myself, and MY understanding of what I’ve written and why......but to people out there in that wider audience....I have NO idea what they’re getting out of it. People who actually ALREADY think this way could see it as validation, proof that the predatory thoughts they had were more normal and acceptable than society otherwise wanted them to think.....or other victims of similar kinds of events could accidentally use it to negatively reinforce ideas they had about THEIR victimizers’ being valid in thinking the way they did, and for doing the things they did to them.

But then I also have to now factor in the ADDITIONAL angle that is....feedback. And especially, ESPECIALLY in a fandom environment which simply does not allow for or condone negative reception to this kind of content, and will default to defending the author and any readers of the author, REGARDLESS of their motivations or intentions....over a reader who is genuinely distressed by how they received the content.

Because feedback IS validating. Plain and simple. Positive reception IS affirming, in WHATEVER we do.

So....now there’s the problem that I can’t honestly say for sure at this point if what’s making me feel better about writing this dark shit is just the writing of it itself, communicating whatever it communicates to me when I put it to paper....OR if maybe what’s making me feel better is the external validation I’m getting from readers who for their own reasons, whatever they might be, are telling me this is fantastic, I’m great at this, they want more.

And that can very easily become a trap, see....because whereas initially my writing this stuff for myself might have had some benefit....if the how and why of me doing this goes somewhere it wasn’t ever intended and becomes something else entirely....that can eventually like....overtake and REPLACE my original motivations completely.

And instead of this being something I do for a FINITE period of time, for as long as I need to in order to work through this stuff....it can become something I kinda just...dwell in, and never move past.....because the validation I’m getting from writing this specific content and how that VALIDATION makes me feel, specifically.....gives me reason enough not to...ever actually move past this stuff no matter how else it might be effecting my life or my mindsets about things.

And I’m not saying that’s what’s going on with you or going to happen with you or anything of the sort, because I flat out DO NOT KNOW your situation or your therapist or what they recommended or why.

I’m just saying....the problem with using ‘coping mechanisms’ as a catch-all defense without ever delving into the specifics of WHY this specific coping mechanism and what specifically its meant to accomplish....is there is nothing inherent in a coping mechanism that’s like.....good.

Because coping is the bare minimum, frankly.

It should never be upheld as the IDEAL.

So for instance, as a survivor of physical abuse and in terms of how that often made me feel weak or powerless....I could, feasibly, say getting into physical fights is a coping mechanism for me, as long as I win them, because they make me feel strong or powerful. I could genuinely say, despite how it sounds, punching someone on some level DOES make me feel better.

But could I actually argue this is any way ideal, healthy or sustainable in the longterm? Let alone ignore the effect is has on the people I fight, for what are essentially entirely self-serving reasons?

I’m just saying....coping isn’t always the be all and end all....and it can get away from us very quickly if we lose sight of WHY we’re doing it and to what end.

And to answer the rest of your questions.....all of this is what I want. All of the above conversation is the POINT of my frequent rants.

Because these kinds of conversations are ESSENTIAL to what fandom CLAIMS are the point of these kinds of fics and content and readerships.

These are not things that can just be assumed, or things that are one size fits all and the same for every writer and reader regardless of personal situation.

But can you honestly say that fandoms, as they exist now, are remotely open or conducive to HAVING these kinds of conversations regularly? To making the asking of THESE specific kinds of questions something people regularly do, or check in with, or consider before or during the creation or consuming of dark content.....as opposed to just taking for granted that its fine and its GOOD because fandom has been doing it this way all along and everyone who’s been a guiding influence to you in fandom has previously assured you this is fine and works and doesn’t need fixing or adjusting?

Because I don’t think they are, and THAT’S my issue, and THAT’S what I want, in answer to your other question.

Do I really want people to just stop writing dark shit altogether? At least the fetishistic kind, the kind that exploits real peoples’ real traumas for entertainment rather than be respectful of the inherent power and weight it comes with just by virtue of being what it is?

I mean, on the one hand, yes, sure. I’m not going to lie. That would be ideal.

But part of why I object so strongly to accusations of purity policing and censorship is because I DON’T view the world in terms of black and white, binary thinking.

And so on the other hand, no, this isn’t what I want, because it isn’t something I spend any time actually WANTING....because that would be a waste of time and effort, because I UNDERSTAND that that’s just not a realistic want. I’m not likely to ever see like, just a full scale abandonment of the consumer culture fad of rape culture.....and I don’t want to actually censor it because I fully believe censorship is just a band-aid slapped on a gaping chest wound....banning content does nothing to address the WANT of a type of content, and as long as that want persists, people will find a way to feed it.

So realistically, ACTIONABLY.....all I really want is this. More of these kinds of conversations, engagements. Open, frank, directness about what’s ACTUALLY going on with a lot of this content and being communicated with it, the risks inherent in it....acknowledgment of the negative impact that goes hand in hand with the positive impact you get from readers saying they like this, they enjoyed it.

And yeah, I fully admit and hope that along the way, it DOES lead to more people just stopping writing this type of content altogether.....BUT the WHY of that is important.

Because I believe this would only happen or come about because in the act of actually ASKING these questions of themselves and their work, ACTUALLY acknowledging the full scale of impact, the bad as well as the good, actually LISTENING to people who complain or criticize it instead of just dismissing them as entitled or whiny or puritans....I do think that this would inevitably lead to some people abandoning this type of content altogether.....because its just flat out not really enjoyable to them when they consider it in the context of its negative impact AS WELL as the positive.

But the thing is......THAT, yeah, I’m okay with. Because I don’t believe anyone is entitled to LIE to themselves or hide from the negative impact of their own actions or actions of those around them, just in order to preserve the entertainment value of ONE aspect of ONE personal hobby.

That, I have no shame about potentially having an influence on people in regards to, because there is literally NOTHING WRONG with asking people to be more aware of themselves and their place and impact among others, and to interact honestly and directly with their own actions, likes, and interests.

Like, there’s just not.

And I fully believe everyone really already knows that, and that’s WHY this conversation so frequently gets twisted and derailed into being about things its just not about...censorship, purity policing, fiction not being the same as reality....

None of those are the point. THIS is the point. Has always been MY point, at the very least.

Bottom line, fandom as is, expects people whose lives are directly reflective of specific types of content to make THEMSELVES smaller in fandom spaces, in order to make room and make way for the content a lot of people like.

And I fully and unapologetically believe that’s backwards.

Fic should not take priority over people. Fictional interests should not be more important to a fandom COMMUNITY than lived experiences.

Nobody has any right to ask or expect other fans to make room, object less, isolate more.....just so that other people can enjoy certain fictional content without having to do any serious examination of it and how that makes them feel.

[leviathan-supersystem]

i feel like people need to get a better understanding of how certain reactionary memeplexes, particularly those relating to conspiracy theories, work.

okay, remember how westpal shut up real quick when i mentioned that his avatar was from the cover of Behold a Pale Horse? i suspect that’s because he has some level of self awareness, in spite of it all- here’s a brief summary of the book’s relevant segments, swiped from wikipedia:

In Behold a Pale Horse Cooper proposed that AIDS was the result of a conspiracy to decrease the populations of blacks, Hispanics, and homosexuals.[8] In 2000 South Africa's Minister of Health Manto Tshabalala-Msimang received criticism for distributing the chapter discussing this theory to senior South African government officials.[13]Nicoli Nattrass, a longtime critic of AIDS denialists, criticized Tshabalala-Msimang for lending legitimacy to Cooper's theories and disseminating them in Africa.[10]

UFOs, aliens and the Illuminati

Cooper caused a sensation in Ufology circles in 1988 when he claimed to have seen secret documents while in the Navy describing governmental dealings with extraterrestrials, a topic on which he expanded in Behold a Pale Horse.[6] (By one account he served as a "low level clerk" in the Navy, and as such would not have had the security clearance needed to access classified documents.[14])  UFOlogists later asserted that some of the material that Cooper claimed to have seen in Naval Intelligence documents was actually plagiarized verbatim from their research, including several items that the UFOlogists had fabricated as pranks.[15] Don Ecker of UFO Magazine ran a series of exposés on Cooper in 1990.[16]

Cooper linked the Illuminati with his beliefs that extraterrestrials were secretly involved with the United States government, but later retracted these claims. He accused Dwight D. Eisenhower of negotiating a treaty with extraterrestrials in 1954, then establishing an inner circle of Illuminati to manage relations with them and keep their presence a secret from the general public. Cooper believed that aliens "manipulated and/or ruled the human race through various secret societies, religions, magic, witchcraft, and the occult", and that even the Illuminati were unknowingly being manipulated by them.[6]

Cooper described the Illuminati as a secret international organization, controlled by the Bilderberg Group, that conspired with the Knights of Columbus, Masons, Skull and Bones, and other organizations. Its ultimate goal, he said, was the establishment of a New World Order. According to Cooper the Illuminati conspirators not only invented alien threats for their own gain, but actively conspired with extraterrestrials to take over the world.[6]  Cooper believed that James Forrestal's fatal fall from a window on the sixteenth floor of Bethesda Hospital was connected to the alleged secret committee Majestic 12, and that JASON advisory group scientists reported to an elite group of Trilateral Commission and Council on Foreign Relations executive committee members who were high-ranking members of the Illuminati.[2][3]

Cooper also claimed that the antisemitic conspiracy theory forgery The Protocols of the Elders of Zion was actually an Illuminati work, and instructed readers to substitute "Sion" for "Zion", "Illuminati" for "Jews",  and "cattle" for "Goyim".[3][17][18]

okay so you get the gist here. the usual dumb shit you see in the right-wing conspiracy theory zone.

now, to be clear, i’m not dismissing the idea that people, and the ruling class in particular, might, at times, conspire- indeed, i’m about to go out on a limb here and suggest there may in fact be something to the notion that AIDS was deliberately manufactured, or at least that the government was guilty of severe purposeful neglect.

this is not synonymous with believing in illuminati or UFO crap without evidence- though the purpose of this book, i suspect, is to try to tie those two things indelibly together in people’s minds. not to mention the obvious barely disguised buildup to antisemitism at the end there.

the purpose is twofold- the first to discredit any investigation into there being more of a story behind AIDS, the second to try to lure left-wing leaning people toward right-wing extremism, the mechanism being obvious- first, they’re lured in by wanting to know more about the possibility that AIDS was deliberately engineered to target black and gay communities, something which obviously would have more appeal to those on the left. once lured in, it hits them with the alien bullshit, as well as the inherently reactionary illuminati nonsense, then tops that off by presenting literally the entire text of the protocols of the elders of fucking zion to really start bringing them into the reactionary worldview- but, knowing that the person reading is likely from a left-wing background, an extremely weak effort is made to disguise the antisemitism- “oh, it wasn’t about jewish people, oh no, it was about uhhhhhhhhhhh illuminati” and then if they swallow that, it’s only a short hop from there to “nevermind, it was about jewish people after all.” it’s a tactic used to gradually acclimate people to antisemitism. manipulative “milk before meat” tactics.

you can see the results of this play out in action with Tila Tequila- obviously she didn’t pop out of the womb seig heiling, and there was quite a bit of buildup in the form of new-agey anti-illuminati conspiracy theorism before she became a full-fledged genocidal neonazi.

and the thing is, if there had been an intervention at the right time, she could have been saved from that, before becoming completely conditioned into an ideology which is immensely harmful to so many people.

so, if possible, it’s good to try to ascertain how deep in someone is- have they been completely re-conditioned into a hardline reactionary? or is there still time to help them see what’s happening to them, and stop it?

for example here: [link] this person is clearly deeply in the clutches of reactionary psychological warfare, but it seemed to me like there might still be some hope for them, so i tried to intervene to help them get a better understanding of the nature of the ruling class and so forth.

but, if you’re going to intervene in this way, you need to do some background research first- just going in there and shouting “illuminati fake!” won’t cut it, especially because there was, in fact, an actual historical group called the illuminati, and to effectively grapple with this kind of thing, you’re going to need to have an understanding of what that group’s history was, and how they became such a boogeyman in the reactionary narrative in the first place. to explore this, let’s look at what Behold A Pale Horse has to say about it- which, interestingly, is shockingly little- the name “Weishaupt” (the founder of the actual irl illuminati) appears only 10 times in the whole text:

Adam  Weishaupt,  a  young  professor  of  canon  law  at  Ingolstadt  University  in  Germany,  was  a  Jesuit  priest  and  an  initiate  of  the  Illuminati.  The  branch  of  the  Order  he  founded  in  Germany  in  1776  was  the  same  Illuminati  previously  discussed.

the “branch” in question is actually just. the illuminati. it wasn’t a “branch” of a larger pre-existing movement, as Milton here is claiming, and indeed, he never provides any meaningful evidence of any pre-existing illuminati before weischaupt’s group. in fact, he points to the lack of evidence prior to then as proof of how strong their oath of silence was. of course he does.

Weishaupt  advocated  "abolition  of  all  ordered  national  governments,  abolition  of  inheritance,  abolition  of  private  property,  abolition  of  patriotism,  abolition  of  the  individual  home  and  family  life  as  the  cell  from  which  all  civilizations  have  stemmed,  and  abolition  of  all  religions  established  and  existing  so  that  the  Luciferian  ideology  of  totali-  tarianism may be imposed on mankind."

In  the  same  year  that  he  founded  the  Illuminati  he  published  Wealth  of  Nations,  the  book  that  provided  the  ideological  foundation  for  capitalism  and  for  the  Industrial  Revolution.  It  is  no  accident  that  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  written  in  the  same  year.  On  the  obverse  of  the  Great  Seal  of  the  United  States  the  wise  will  recognize  the  all-seeing  eye  and  other  signs of the Brotherhood of the Snake 

this is interesting here because there’s a strange tension between the anti-communism of contemporary reactionism, and the anti-liberalism and anti-republicanism of the earlier reactionary movements, which anti-illuminati ideology is an echo of.

the first anti-illuminati conspiracy theorists was the reactionary monarchist priest Agustin Barruel, and all anti-illuminism traces back particularly to his book Memoirs Illustrating the History of Jacobinism. inerestingly, he did not at any point in this book accuse them of ruling the world, or wanting to establish “totalitarian” rule! quite the opposite in fact- the illuminati and other enlightenment movements of the time were accused of  "conspiracy of impiety" against God and Christianity, the "conspiracy of rebellion" against kings and monarchs, and "the conspiracy of anarchy" against society in general. if you understand anything about Augustin Barruel’s politics, you’ll understand that Augustin was if anything, profoundly in favor of “totalitarianism”, particularly that of the king and the church. he wrote angry screeds against the illuminati precisely because they were anti-totalitarian, and espoused democratic values.

but over time, this reactionary social current had to change with the times. thus the strange tension between accusing weishaupt of both wanting to abolish private property and being behind the publication of Wealth of Nations.

for the record, no, i can’t find any evidence that weishaupt published Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations- but that accusation is nonetheless much more in the spirit of Augustin Barruel’s original accusations that the illuminati were behind the spread of enlightenment values, while the accusation he was against private property sits as an obvious later attempt to incongruously graft anti-communist reactionary talking points onto  framework which originated in a reactionary anti-republican pro-monarchist context.

its interesting to see how a rectionary memeplex which was, in it’s origins, overtly pro-ruling class, and overtly anti-populist- as anti-illuminism was in it’s origins in the work of Augustin Barruel- over time get dressed up more and more with the character of a kind of artificial class-consciousness, where a short-lived progressive discussion group has been mythologized into this sort of decoy mirage stand-in for the ruling class, to divert people from developing any real understanding of the actual capitalist ruling class.

at any rate, it’s important to understand the origin an nature of this reactionary social current if you want to effectively help people who are caught up in it- to show them this history so they can see how, in their attempt to oppose the ruling class, they’ve been suckered into a reactionary ideology which is, in both it’s historical origins and contemporary functions, engineered to uphold the ruling class. 

[shanix-the-stars]

Worshipers of the Old

Kylo Ren x OC / Kylo Ren x Reader

Read on AO3

Summary:  He arrived at the archive during the late hours of the  night, searching for answers regarding a long lost Force ability. When  AR-210 is assigned to help him, she would never have anticipated the  strange and terrifying series of events that were to follow... and what  it all meant for her.

*Written in first person; main character has feminine qualities, but doesn’t have any defining characteristics.

Chapter 1: A Healing World

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,018

A/N: hello! thank you for taking the time to read my story! this is  the first star wars fic i’ve written, so i hope it’s good enough for  this wonderful, amazing community.

this story does not follow the  movies’ timeline and is heavily based on lore and Legends material. i  put my own twist on things so it’s not important to read/look at any  background info on any of it. however, if you want to read more, i  suggest visiting Wookieepedia (also a great source for inspiration).

please enjoy!

『ID: AR-210

Passcode: ******

Keyword: Lower Level Overview Report』

I press the enter key on my datapad before setting it down on my desk, letting the entry load as I run out to the main lobby. Thirty minutes remain, and we aren’t even ready. Dozens of faculty members and students are rushing back and forth, each carrying some sort of device or package in their hands. I make a beeline for the Director’s office, but a voice calls out behind me before I can rush inside.

“Ahré!”

I whip my head around, seeing the Director himself running in my direction. His graying hair is a mess, and I can tell that his wrinkles are, well, even more wrinkly than before. I can practically feel the stress radiating off of him once he stops in front of me. “D-Director Malobry, I was just about to-“

“Reassure me that all the holobooks on the fifth floor in the east wing are all finally organized and shelved?” He storms past me and slams his office door open. I quickly follow. “It’s hell out there, and if that damn General sees that we’re behind schedule for the third consecutive month, he’ll have my head on a platter.”

“I-I’m sure that won’t be the case, Director-“

He holds a hand up. “Ahré, please.” He takes a breath, clearly trying to calm himself down. He lowers his voice. “Is the east wing done or not?”

I open my mouth but almost immediately clamp it shut. I don’t have any good news, and truth be told, none of those holobooks are shelved.

The Director waits for me to give him an answer, but after a moment, it seems like I don’t need to. Still, I hand my head and close my eyes, uttering a soft "no" under my breath.

There’s a pause. He collapses back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Guilt forms in the pit of my stomach. The fear of witnessing the General’s wrath invades my mind, but perhaps the Director’s anger might be more concerning for the moment. I wasn’t even the archivist assigned to that wing, but I know who was: Jolson. The thought of him being reprimanded—or worse—for the third time this month... I can feel my head swim with fear.

“Go help Jolson with that floor,” the Director says quietly. He’s already accepted his fate. “Make sure you get every droid working on those shelves. We might still have a chance.”

I’m surprised, but I make a point not to show it. I bow my head and exit the office, merging with the traffic of people busying about. Several droids are attending to other minuscule chores in other rooms, so I call on them to go to the east wing before rounding up a few other archivists as well.

I glance at the time on one of the walls, but I don’t give myself the time to process the numbers. I immediately look away and make my way to the fifth floor.

Just focus, Ahré.

Once I arrive, there is a frenzy of excitement and eagerness flowing in the room as piles of holobooks and scrolls are being carried from one end to the other. Half of the staff inside is working on the main lower shelves, while the other is up on the mezzanine. It’s a slightly relieving sight, but I try not to let that get my hopes up. The majority of the shelves are still empty.

“Ahré! Over here!”

I turn to see Jolson on the other side of the room, wearing a fresh new uniform and a pair of shoes. His usually messy black hair swept up into a bun, and I can tell he put a little more effort into today’s occasion. Still, he looks a little tired. I watch him jog over with a stack of new flimsiplast, a big smile painted on his face. I do my best to return it with a disapproving frown.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“We have less than half an hour until the General arrives. He’s already at Aurora looking at things over there. And the Director knows about your...” I gesture to the entirety of the room. “...lack of shelving.”

“Malobry can go die in the pits of Kaon for all I care,” he huffs, walking toward one of the supply shelves. “Hope to the Force one of the scranges get to him before anything else does.”

I trail behind him, suppressing an eye roll. “I know the both of you don’t... get along. But can you please, at least for today, keep your head on your shoulders? If the General sees one thing out of place, what’s to stop him from getting rid of Malobry?”

“Come on, Ahré. You know as well as I do Hux doesn’t have anyone else to look over these libraries. Not after all that’s happened.” He sets the packets of flimsiplast down on the floor before pulling out his datapad. “Besides, the Supreme Leader personally appointed Malobry. I doubt the General would want to oppose him.”

He does have a point... but there’s been talk about infighting among the First Order, especially between the both of them. After Kylo Ren got rid of the former Supreme Leader, things have become rather tense. There seems to be a stricter hold on First Order regions and institutions; not to mention the seemingly never-ending war with the Resistance. However, that only meant escape from the Yuuzhan Vong for Obroa-skai, so I can only complain so much.

Jolson snaps his fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to attention. “Obroa-skai to Ahré, helloooo?”

I swat his hand away. “Sorry, just... thinking,” I say dumbly.

He chuckles. “Sure. Now, stop worrying and help me with sections eight, nine, and ten, okay? We’ll get it done.” He looks down at me, his big blue eyes full of reassurance. A sincere smile graces his lips. He knows how to calm me down, and as much as I hate it, it works. Although he tends to lag behind most faculty and staff, he can always be counted on to do one thing: be a friend.

I guess that’s all I can really ask from him.

~

The General arrives at the archives precisely on time. He is accompanied by a few other officers with identical uniforms, some of whom seem to care less about the visit. At the entrance remain at least a dozen stormtroopers with blasters gripped in their hands, while a couple of others follow behind the group of men.

Odd.

All of our staff members are lined across the lobby, everyone standing in attention as General Hux and his entourage make their way up to the Director and I. He surveys the lines, eyeing each and every one of us with a scrutinizing glare. I have to stop myself from squirming in my spot and pray to the beings above I look presentable enough. I can already feel a chill running down my spine.

“Very well,” he finally says. He turns to Malobry. “I trust that work on Celebratus has ceased, Director.”

He nods. “Yes, General. We have been working tirelessly on the facility. The east and west wings are complete, as well as the lower levels.”

There’s a hum of approval. “Excellent. The Medical Director at Aurora has reported that there haven’t been any border attacks there as of late, so I believe the situation to be corresponding with this sector?”

“That would be correct,” Malobry confirms. I glance up at him, seeing a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead and neck. Poor guy.

General Hux turns back to the staff, giving them a final once-over before nodding. “You are all dismissed.”

They bow their heads quickly and head out in different directions of the archive. I catch a glimpse of Jolson, seeing him send me a playful wink my way. Warmth blooms in my chest at the small gesture.

“AR-210.”

I snap back into position. “Y-Yes, General?”

“The Supreme Leader is planning a visit later today. Seeing as you are the head clerk for the archive, I believe you could aid him with something he needs.”

My brows furrow together. Need? What in the galaxy would the leader of the First Order possibly need from here?

I manage a semi-nod, but it feels more like a confused tilt of the head instead. I’m sure I look oblivious, but I can’t help but feel like I am. Perhaps I’m missing something. “Of course. May I ask what he is looking for?”

The General scoffs. “He wouldn’t tell me,” he says, a hint of irritation laced in his words. “But I doubt it’s of much importance. Our own records and archives weren’t sufficient enough for his... research projects. He insisted on coming to Obroa-skai.”

My head is swimming with a thousand questions, none of them actually verbalized. Instead, I relax my features and bow my head. “I’d be happy to help, General.”

“Good. Now, Director, if you could show us around the facility, we will be on our way soon.”

I’ve never seen Malobry move faster. “Yes, yes, of course. Please, gentlemen, if you could follow me...”

Within ten seconds, they round a corner and disappear from view. I’m left standing in the lobby with the feeling of nothing but dread in the pit of my stomach. Now I’m the one sweating. There isn’t even a hint of comfort anywhere nearby, just a receptionist desk on the other side of the room. Stormtroopers still stand outside the entrance, perfectly still and ready at a moment’s notice. I decide to step away into my own office and wait there instead. It doesn’t help.

I grab my datapad and scroll through the entry I loaded up earlier. The words are a blur on the screen as I try to read, but it’s useless. Fear grips at my mind. Something about this doesn’t feel right. The Supreme Leader... in need of help with information he can’t already acquire? I sigh and sit down at my desk, letting my thoughts drown in stress.

~

Hours pass and no Kylo Ren. The General has already left, as well as half the stormtroopers that had initially arrived. The remaining still stand outside. My nerves have somewhat calmed down, but what remains is worry. Perhaps, to someone above, this may just be some sort of punishment for me. For what reason, I do not know, nor do I think it matters at this point.

A knock at my door nearly sends my heart over the point of no return. I get up, composing myself as I make my way to open it. The anxiety kicks back in, and for a moment I begin to feel nauseous. This could be it—the defining moment of whether or not I get to live another day. Would one slip-up ensure my demise? Would he really go that far? What if I can’t find what he’s looking for? I force my thoughts aside and slide the door open, relieved to see that it’s only Jolson. His eyes widen once they meet mine. “Ahré? Are you alright?”

“Jolson.” I let out a shaky breath. “Thank the stars. And no, no, I’m not alright,” I reply blatantly. He waits on me to elaborate, his worry turning into confusion.

“Well... what’s going on?”

I peek out into the corridor to make sure nobody else is present before pulling him into my office. “Sit,” I command, gesturing to the chair in the corner. He obliges, but the concerned expression he wears doesn’t waver for a second.

I slam the door shut. “The Supreme Leader is coming to the archive later,” I begin, walking behind my desk. “Apparently he needs help finding something.”

“Okay,” Jolson starts, hesitant. “What does he need from here?”

“That’s just it. I asked the General the same question, but even he didn’t know.” I fall back into my chair. “I also don’t know when he’s coming. He could be walking through the front doors right now. Maybe he is, and I’m just back here panicking. He’s going to think I’m terrified of him, which I’m sure he already knows, but it’s just going to—“

“Ahré,” Jolson interrupts, tone firm and deep. I shut my mouth immediately. “Why are you worrying so much? You shouldn’t be.”

I huff. “Why not? It’s the Supreme Leader-“

“Who is coming here specifically for help, Ahré.”

I pause, taken aback. He’s coming here... for help. For help.

Jolson’s features smooth out into a tired smile, no doubt exhausted after today’s near-disaster. I take a moment to look at him, really look at him, and see dark circles under his eyes. I suddenly forget about the Supreme Leader.

“Have you been taking care of yourself, Jolson?” I ask, my tone sounding perhaps a little more accusing than intended. “You look tired.”

He stands, chuckling as if amused, and extends an arm out towards me. I walk over. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me gently. “I am,” he says. “But you’re anxiety over this whole thing might be tiring me out even more.”

I glare at him.

“I’m joking.”

We walk out into the main lobby. A few librarians and archivists are leaving for the night—no doubt heading out to the bar—while others are coming in for their shifts. Malobry is talking to Vess, one of our receptionists, with a bright smile I haven’t seen in months. The weight of today’s visit has been finally lifted off of our shoulders. We probably won’t have to worry about another inspection for a year or two. I only wish I could celebrate with the others.

Jolson stops for a moment, turning to face me. “You’re going to be fine,” he reassures once again. “Remember, he’s the one who needs your help. No need to get overwhelmed.”

His eyes bore into mine, and all I can do is nod.

He pats my arm softly before heading for the doors. I watch as he slaps Malobry’s back forcefully as he walks by, earning him a near disgusted look from the elder. He too heads out for the night a moment later.

The clock reads 25:00, and I decide whether to go back to my office and wait or just go home. General Hux did say that the Supreme Leader would be coming today... there’s still an hour left. I’ll wait until then.

I walk up the receptionist's desk, replaying Jolson’s words in my head. He’s right. There’s no need to get worked up about it. I know what I’m doing. This has been my job for the last five years, after all... I’m allowed to feel confident.

“Hey, Vess,” I greet with a warm smile. She looks up from the datapad in her hands, immediately returning my smile with her own.

“Ahré, oh my goodness! How are you? How was the inspection today? I heard that Jolson almost didn’t get his level of the east wing finished on time, and that the General asked you to help the Supreme Leader with something, and that Malobry almost passed out. Oh! Is it true that...” She speaks at a pace I can hardly keep up with, but I let her go on. Her golden curls bounce excitedly at the news of today’s events, and I almost feel bad that she has the late shift this month. It’s clear that she likes to stay in the loop.

“Everything is great,” I say once she’s done. “And yes, it was pretty busy today, but also kind of scary.”

“Oh, I’m sure! After all of that? I wish I could have seen it!” She leans back in her chair dramatically, bringing a hand up to her forehead with a swoon. “You are so lucky, Ahré.”

If only.

I giggle and shake my head. “Hey, I’m going to be in the fifth library study on the second floor until the Supreme Leader arrives. If you could direct him there when he comes, that would be great.”

She nods eagerly. “Of course! Absolutely no problem! Have fun!”

I thank her and go back to my office to grab my datapad before making my way up to the second floor. It’s quiet in this part of the building. No students, no faculty or staff... just the low hum of the heater and a couple of droids finishing up their work. It’s the perfect place to relax at this hour. I enter the study and climb up to the mezzanine. There’s an alcove in the back, a small armchair and lamp occupying the space. It looks so inviting, I have to stop myself from running over and laying down for a nap. Out of the couple thousand study rooms, this is by far my favorite.

I pass by a window that looks far out to the border, stopping for a second to watch the red blinking lights on the gate. On the other side lies a frozen wasteland, filled with nothing except what remains of the Yuuzhan Vong. Their arrival to Obroa-skai two years ago was anything but expected, and before we all knew it, they had destroyed much of the planet’s life within the span of a few months. It wasn’t until the First Order caught wind of the invasion did they come. They were able to wipe away a majority of the enemy rather quickly. Since then, we’ve all been trying our best to return to a sense of normalcy... but even now, that reality seems to be illusive as ever.

I tear my eyes away from the view and sit down in the armchair. The anxiety I’ve held back for the last few minutes settles in once again, and this time it just feels a little more real. I run my fingers across my datapad in an attempt to distract my nerves but to no avail. I turn it on and see the lower level report, still open and ready for me to read.

I skim through the subheadings: field reports in need of filing... more software malfunctions... registering new reference codes... Nothing out of the ordinary. Again. I sigh and begin to read from the top.

About a half-hour later, I hear the door open on the other side of the room.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

Wheels Set In Motion, Ch 3.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: As the situation in New Ham takes a dark, mysterious turn, Campbell is faced with a threat he never saw coming. With few allies and the past coming back to haunt him, he is forced to deal with a world that is crumbling fast, and choices with grim consequences.

Rating: Explicit.

Tags: Minor Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Addiction Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships, Teen Pregnancy, Past Rape/Non-con, Campbell Isn’t The Dad, Brother Feels, Attempted Murder, Supernatural Elements, Gay Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 7613

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 4 || Ch 5 || AO3

The house felt empty.

Campbell went about his life, because he didn't know what else to do. Elle kept to herself, going to work and coming home. Rinse and repeat. It felt like the same fucking song and dance they'd been through before-- come together, pull apart, come together, pull apart, like some sadomasochistic ocean tide. She did her own thing, and Campbell focused on work and Sam and Harry, because it kept Campbell from getting destructive.

Sometimes, they would sit together at mealtimes, or mull about the same part of the house. Someone would crack a joke, or hum one of their favorite songs, and just for a second they would forget. They would smile at each other, and Campbell felt that little flicker of affection, but then Elle's face would fall and she would look away. He still saved the little mini candy bars out of the rations he got, and left them on her nightstand. If he noticed her laundry stacking up, he'd wash them while she was at work and fold them neatly. Campbell knew there was some deeper feeling on the other side of the bomb shelter door that was his heart, but what could he do, besides what he was doing? It would have been easy to be angry, but Campbell didn't have the energy to spend on that, or on pining after Elle like some lovesick child. It hurt, fuck it hurt, but in the end there wasn't anything he could do to convince her. Even if there was, he didn't want to. She needed to decide for herself what she believed, and where she wanted to be. It was like seeing a houseplant dying. He could try and water it. He could give it sunlight, and talk sweetly to it. But at the end of the day, if the roots were rotted out, he couldn't save it. All he could do was mourn the loss. Harry, on the other hand, was still there. Harry needed him. Campbell was mopping a hallway when he heard a commotion from the next room, where Harry was working. The two week break had ended. Harry was back to work. He was making an effort, but Campbell could tell that he was still run down. Tired. And, well, they all were tired. But Harry was the kind of tired that a good night of sleep couldn't fix. Campbell saw that look in a few people's eyes. No one talked about it, but it was there. It was there a lot more often, lately. A few people were less than sympathetic. "That's against the rules," a redhead was snapping at Harry. "No shift-shirking. I'll tell the guard." Harry was standing there, head bowed as he curled in on himself. "And you wonder why no one liked you in school." "I know that you used to strut around like you owned the place, but what exactly makes you think you're so special now?" "Nothing." The redhead, someone Campbell knew from a few classes over the years, stomped out of the room and past Campbell. Gretchen. Not usually a cruel person, but he made a note in his head to let Allie know about Gretchen's tendency to text her girlfriend when she was supposed to be working. Just in case. Harry managed to slink his way out into the hall, once no one was looking. "I've only been working three days," he mumbled. Campbell could see that Harry's hands had little cracks in the skin. "I never knew I was this weak." "You're not weak. It's just cold, and your skin is dry. C'mon. Follow me." They ended up at a little room where Campbell had stashed some health care supplies. Band aids, ointment, alcohol wipes. Harry watched as Campbell took his hand and gently cleaned up the abrasions. "That's not what I meant. It's.... I want to work. I do. But I wake up, and I feel so heavy. Every move takes so much effort. It hurts." Campbell slowly massaged Neosporin into the cracks, frowning, and then wrapped the wounds in a loose bandage. "Yeah, buddy. Depression is like that. It sucks." "I used to see kids online or in movies and I'd think, wow, just pull yourself together. But how? How do you do it when all you want to do is sleep?" "Get help, usually." "You're the only help I have." "That's frightening." Harry rested his other hand on top of Campbell's own. He sounded angry when he spoke, but his gaze was soft. "It's not frightening to me," he said. "I want you to know that. I don't care what other people say." His hands were warm. Campbell stared down at them, counting off the days in his head since he'd last felt meaningful touch. Eighteen days. Not long, really, but he'd gone most of his life without it and he'd just started to think that maybe it was something good. Something he needed, after all. To be without it again made him more uncomfortable than he thought it would. Still. He didn't want to, he couldn't, give up on Elle yet. "You say that now, but wait until you end up with a foot sewn onto your hand or something." Before Harry could reply, Campbell pulled away and went back to work. The next day was Sunday, and Sunday was-- officially, by Allie's rules-- mandatory community meeting day. Campbell tried to act like he was paying attention, but Helena was going on and on about improv classes, football, and family shit. Blah. Allie came up on stage and that was slightly more interesting. Thanksgiving on Thursday the 22nd, bring recipes to Will for ingredients if people wanted to cook something to bring to the community dinner. "Next," Allie announced, "we have an update from the Committee on Resources." A voice rose up from the audience. Lexie. "What about the Committee on Going Home?" "Gordie and Bean promised me a report by Thursday." "Are we going home?" "Not before Thursday." Campbell could see Lexie's face from his position in the pews. Her eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched, as other kids in the crowd giggled. She was embarrassed. Angry. A bad movie on Allie's part, mocking people when her leadership was already in a precarious position. Luckily, Will got up there fast and began to explain the results of the food audit. It was the last sentence in his report that drew an audible gasp from those gathered. "We'll start to run low by next summer." "So we're all going to fucking starve?" another person called out. "Not if we prepare now." Will gave the crowd a confident, assured smile. It was tight around the edges, and it didn't reach his eyes, but he was trying. "We knew this was going to happen. We have time to find solutions. Grizz has come up with a plan that will help us. Grizz?" Grizz froze, but then joined Will on the stage. Compared to Will, he was stiff and awkward, but at least he managed to not throw up. "Uh..." He cleared his throat. "We're gonna start looking into options for gardening and farming. There's been a few options suggested that we're exploring." Grizz glanced at Campbell. So, they had listened to Campbell's suggestion after all, but decided not to do shit about it yet. "And after Thanksgiving, I'm going to lead a search party to look for alternative food supplies." "Does he not remember what happened last time?" Harry wondered, a little too loudly. "Emily died from a fucking snake bite." Ignoring the unsettled buzzing in the room, Grizz continued. "If anyone wants to join me, I'm looking for four or five volunteers to come along with me. We all know what happened to Emily. This time will be different. We know what to expect now, and we can better defend ourselves." Lexie, apparently, wasn't done with Allie and Company yet. "Even if this all works out, who's gonna work the land?" "We will," Allie spoke up. "All of us. Some of us already know how. They can teach us what they know, and the rest, we'll learn from books. Just like how we learned to do everything else around here. What other choice do we have?" No choice. They all knew that was true, even if no one wanted to admit it. Helena had been right, earlier, during her big long speech-- they were trapped. What else could they do, except fight to survive? Campbell sighed, standing up to leave when the crowd was dismissed for the day. He'd made it a few paces when he realized he was alone. Going back, he nudged Harry a bit with his elbow. "Hey. Earth to Harry." "We're just kids." He was staring down at his hand, running his fingers over the bandages. "How are we supposed to handle all of this, alone?" "Kids a lot younger than us have been figuring this shit out for eons. We can do it." Harry sat for a little bit longer, then pushed himself to his feet and trudged after Campbell. Elle got home not long after they did. Instead of going up to her room like she usually did, she lingered around the living room while Campbell tidied up. "Do you have any plans?" she asked. "I thought maybe we could go to movie night." Campbell blinked at the sudden offer. Elle was looking at him with some measure of expectation in her eyes; maybe she'd decided to believe him, after all. "Sure. I'd like that, if you want to go." And it was as easy as that. Harry stayed home, giving Campbell a nod of encouragement as they headed out the door. They went to the movie, got popcorn, and laughed and leaned on each other like a normal couple. Campbell tried to ignore the tone of the movie. 500 Days of Summer wasn't exactly the most cheerful of RomComs. He tried even harder to ignore the niggling feeling in the back of his head that something was wrong. Again. Like always. It was a sudden thought in his head. This isn't normal. How was it healthy, for him to constantly be wondering what was going on? How was it healthy for Elle, if she felt like she had to pretend all the time that things were fine? Maybe they would have stood a chance back home, outside of the rat cage they were in now, or maybe if Cassandra hadn't died. But here? In the new world? Maybe they were just fooling themselves. Elle must have picked up on his mood. On the way home, she slowed down a bit and took his hand. "I know the last few weeks have been crap. But I've missed you. If you say you weren't involved, I believe you." "You don't have to pretend," Campbell replied. "It's okay." "But it's too hard to live like this. I just want us to go back to normal." "It just doesn't really feel that way, Elle. I don't know. I get that it's terrifying, but I'm innocent and I'm gonna find some way to prove it. If you want to keep your distance until then, I'll understand." "I don't want to. Why don't we try and patch things up over Thanksgiving?" Elle asked, curling her arms around his waist and peering up at him with an adoring expression Campbell couldn't resist. "We could stay home, just you and me. I'm sure Allie won't mind." Campbell buried his face in Elle's hair. He slid one hand behind her head and rested the other one her hip, and breathed her in. The breeze was cold, and carried a hint of woodsmoke. He memorized the way she fit in his hands, before kissing her forehead and letting go. "Sure. If that's what you want." Allie was sitting out on her porch the next day, drinking tea and staring off into the woods. No one else was around. Odd for her. She barely seemed to notice Campbell approaching, but then he stepped through the scattering of crunchy leaves on the walkway, and she snapped out of whatever trance she'd been in. "Hey, cousin. How are you?" "I was just..." Allie glanced back at the woods, then shook her head. "You shouldn't be here. It's not exactly Campbell-friendly right now." "You too, huh?" "It doesn't seem your style, but I guess we never really know anyone." Campbell turned his eyes to the trees for a moment, too, thinking. "Be careful with Lexie. I just thought I should let you know that she's not someone you wanna piss off. She's popular, and a lot of girls who hate you like her." "Noted." "I'm serious, Allie." "Fine. I'll keep an eye on her. What do you want?" Shrugging, Campbell kicked at the leaves. "Elle wants to have dinner at home on Thanksgiving. Just the two of us. Can we do that?" "Elle wants to stay home?" "Surprised me, too. So? Can we get a free pass?" Allie looked him up and down. She looked away and chewed on her thumb, jiggling her leg as she considered. "Might be better if you do. Until we can figure out what to do about you and Becca, it's only going to piss people off to see you." "Is that something that can be resolved?" "I think so. But you know that if she's right about what she said and it was you, there's no way in hell I'm just letting you go again." "Fair enough." "I'll let Will know you're staying home. Have Elle give him the list of what you guys need, and we'll make sure it's ready for pick-up the night before." "Thanks, Allie." "Campbell?" Allie called after him. He stopped, looking over his shoulder. Allie pulled her jacket in tighter around herself. "You told Cassandra everything. Everything. She wouldn't have just let you walk away, if it'd been you." "Maybe. Whatever keeps you from throwing me into the fucking wine cellar." "Sometimes I think I still see her. Out of the corner of my eye." It was just blurted out, like some sort of terrible secret. Campbell paused, then kept going without responding. Same, he wanted to say, but what good did it do to dwell on memories or hallucinations or imprints left behind? There was nothing he could say that would give Allie the comfort she needed, or soothe the pain left behind by Cassandra's death. Better to say nothing at all. Besides, the dead were dead. The living had plenty to worry about. Campbell was in the middle of his work shift the day before Thanksgiving when Sam showed up, deep creases on his forehead and a jittery, restless energy around him. At first, Campbell wondered if Sam had shown up to see one of his friends-- he and Gretchen had been part of the school LGBT Alliance group-- but he headed right at Campbell with the same look he'd had when they'd first arrived in the new world. Something a few paces beyond worry. "Can we talk?" Sam asked, signing only. "Somewhere private?" Campbell nodded and followed Sam outside the main work area, where no one would easily see them. "What's wrong?" he signed back. "You look like Queer Eye got cancelled." Sam tried to laugh, but broke into tears instead. "Becca's pregnant." Fuck. Campbell moved closer, inviting contact; Sam immediately mushed himself against Campbell. Sam was whimpering something, but like hell if Campbell understood it. Pregnant. Becca was pregnant. Campbell's first reaction was almost something like victory-- a baby meant blood, blood meant a blood test, blood test meant potential vindication. He shoved that thought aside and focused on what his real reaction should be. Was Becca healthy? Was she getting vitamins? How would they manage complications? Hell, who was going to help her give birth? It wasn't something anyone could do on their own. And if anything happened to Becca, Sam... "I don't know," Sam continued. "I found out prom night, and then everything happened and I thought we had time to figure things out. But Kelly found out, and other people will soon, too, and I just... I don't know what to do." "What do you mean?" Sam hesitated. Oh, there was more to the story. He let out a long, slow exhale, his hands shaking when he answered. "We agreed to tell people I'm the father." "You?" Campbell thought over it. Becca and Sam were best friends. Sure, people could ask questions, but people did weird stuff all the time. People sometimes dabbled, and after all, bisexual people existed. Who was to say? Plus it was a softer story. Unfortunately, there was one big flaw. "Will people go for it, considering what people overheard at Halloween?" "We're not kids anymore. I've learned how to lie." "Well, then. Why are you worrying?" When Sam didn't answer, Campbell ran the situation over in his head until he found the puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. Okay, so there were two big flaws. "Something happened with Grizz." "He came to the library and tried to flirt with me in BSL, and I said I'd teach him ASL." Campbell tried to bite back a smirk. "How about that." "It's not going to be funny when he wants nothing to do with a teen dad!" "It'll be less funny if he hears it from someone else first. Tell him a good story, Sam. You experimented with her nine months ago, the condom broke, and you just want to be honest with him. Reasonable, right?" "Is it really that easy?" "Cross my heart." Sam studied Campbell's face. Whatever he was going to say, the ping of both of their phones going off at the same time cut him off. Community alert. "Time for the first group to pick up their food rations," he said, sighing. He glanced up from his phone. "Are you sure you don't want to come to Thanksgiving dinner?" "I feel like this dinner is kinda the last shot between me and Elle," Campbell admitted. "But I'm sure you know about those rumors, too." "Not really. I try not to listen." Campbell groaned while Sam chuckled quietly. "Seriously, funny guy, if you're set on the idea then maybe you could stop by after. We can eat walnuts out of the can and throw darts at a picture of dad." Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a tiny smile on his face. "A real family holiday." He rested his hand on Campbell's shoulder before he left. "Good luck, Campbell." "You, too. Go get 'im." Harry approached as Sam left, watching him walk away. "What was that about?" "It's nothing," Campbell muttered. Harry looked over at him and raised both eyebrows. Campbell let out a tiny growl. "Fine. It was just boyfriend troubles." "And he said something about Elle." "What, you can read ASL now?" "I thought you'd have been more concerned about the fact I was spying on you." Campbell shoved the broom he was using to the ground, giving it a kick for good measure. "Everything's going to hell, okay? The last thing I needed was this shit with Becca, but I can't even be mad about that because it's not like it's my life at stake or anything. Still, now things with Elle are fucked up. They've been fucked up for a while. I just don't see how we can bounce back from this when she doesn't trust me. Shitty Thanksgiving food isn't gonna fix anything." "No." Harry stepped into Campbell's line of fire, resting one hand on his cheek. "Hey. Breathe, okay? What's going on with Becca?" "Like you don't know." "I've been sleeping eighteen hours a day. I don't know anything." Campbell leaned into Harry's touch. The whole story came spilling out in one go, and Harry's eyes went wide. "I promised I wouldn't say anything," Campbell finished. "But I'm guessing she thinks it was me, and told Elle. Who fucking knows." "Jesus fucking Christ. I had no idea. I never heard anything about it." "No one bragged about it around school, either." "That's scary shit. Poor Becca. Why is this coming up now, though?" "Becca..." Trailing off, Campbell shook his head. Sam shouldn't have told Campbell in the first place, but Campbell sure as hell didn't have the right to pass the news along. It wasn't his secret to tell. "I guess it all got to be too much to keep to herself." "I guess. Damn. And Elle?" "You can't tell me you haven't noticed how she's been acting." "I have, but I guess I just... I was hoping it would blow over." "Either it'll work out or it won't. That's just the truth of it." Harry brushed Campbell's cheek with his thumb, then pulled back and picked up the fallen broom. He handed it to Campbell. "Look. I'll go to the Thanksgiving dinner with everyone else so you can have the house to yourselves. Have a nice night. Relax. Be your charming, vaguely exasperating self. Things will work out eventually." What answer could Campbell give? He managed to mumble a thank you, took the broom, and kept working. Campbell had always known that his life would be different than it would be for people who weren't like him. In a lot of ways, he was still lucky. He'd had a roof over his head and access to resources a lot of people didn't have. He'd had some sort of support structure, and managed to pull himself out of the dirt enough to work towards some sort of recover. Some sort of normal. But he wasn't like everyone else. His biology and brain chemistry had seen to that, and he knew it was going to be a lifelong struggle to maintain a balance between what felt natural to him and what he knew society demanded. Maybe losing Elle was the price for getting Sam back, for making a friend in Grizz. When one door opens, some other door closes. Campbell knew it was the ASPD telling him that it was already over, time to brace for impact and be ready to move on when the fatal blow came, but it felt so real. So true. Elle had already been through enough. Her mouth said she wanted to keep trying, but he could see it in her eyes that the time of death had already been called. They just didn't know when it was, yet. But... One more try. One more chance. Thanksgiving morning, they went to the cafeteria to pick up their take-home rations. It was as fancy as it got, these days-- boxed stuffing, instant mashed potatoes with instant gravy, a can of cranberry sauce, and a turkey. Elle sneaked away with a small bundle of goods wrapped in plastic grocery bags. Mysterious, but Campbell wasn't about to pry. When they got home, Campbell tried to help unpack the food, but Elle swatted his hand away from the bags. "Can you get the bowl?" Campbell snagged the mixing bowl Elle had gestured to and handed it to her; Elle was busying herself with the food, and didn't even look at him. "This makes me happy," he said, trying to start some sort of conversation. "Our first Thanksgiving together." "Good." When he went to open something for her, Elle put her hand on his chest. "It's gonna take me a few hours, so I need you to get out of the kitchen." "Oh. I thought..." "It's okay. Go amuse yourself. Go and take a nap." The casual tone to Elle's voice didn't really do much to mask the dismissal. Maybe she was just nervous about cooking? Campbell stepped out of the way, but stopped near the edge of the kitchen. "I was just hoping to help. I never really liked Thanksgiving before this." "No? Why not?" "I mean, you know what my parents were like. Holidays, special occasions. They didn't really want me around other kids. Other families." "You did tell me about that." "Forced affection and merriment really isn't my thing." Campbell noticed the odd look Elle gave him. "It was just difficult, seeing that they actually felt all those Hallmark movie things towards each other. They really missed each other. Just eating together made them happy. They really were sad to say goodbye." Elle stopped arranging the ingredients. "But you didn't feel those things." "Maybe I gave up, when I realized they didn't feel that way about me. They never missed me." Moving towards Elle, Campbell stroked her hair. It hit him then, how much he wanted her to stay. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. He knew he sounded desperate when he spoke again, when he cupped her face in his hands, but Campbell needed some assurance. Any assurance. "This is different, though. Right? We're different." "Campbell." Elle took his hands and moved them from her face. She stepped back, and for a moment, Campbell thought that was it. She was done, it was over, they couldn't go on like this. Instead, she reached into the plastic bag and brought out a can of pumpkin. "It was going to be a surprise, but..." "Really? I thought you hated pumpkin pie. You like, literally gagged when you saw it at the Halloween party." "I mean, I do, but you don't." She gave him a little kiss on the cheek before shooing him. "Now get out of my kitchen so I can cook." Had he just misread the situation? Campbell left the kitchen confused, and more than a little torn. Was he just seeing a catastrophe where there wasn't one? ASPD did involve seeing threats where there wasn't any, and overreacting. Like a self defense mechanism dialed up to twelve, it whispered that every little thing and every single person was a danger. Campbell knew it wasn't true. Maybe in this case, it also wasn't true that Elle wanted to leave. Maybe she really was just stressed out and worried about what Becca had said. Maybe she really did want to stick it out and give him a chance to prove himself. She had before, hadn't she? Maybe this time was no different. She just needed time. Campbell wandered off to Harry's room, helping him get ready for the group dinner and playing a few rounds of Smash Bros. It didn't feel right letting Elle do all the work, but if that was what she wanted, well, they both knew to just stay out of her way. "I should go watch the football game," Harry sighed once it was three o' clock. He stood and stretched, grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. "Try and be social or whatever. You gonna be okay if I do?" "Yeah. Go watch people get concussions." "I'll have my phone on. Text if she tries to go all Sid Vicious on you." Campbell snorted, but kept his eyes on the television screen. He could see Harry lingering in the doorway, just for a moment, but then he was gone. Harry said something to Elle on the way out-- they both laughed-- and then the front door shut. The silence felt strange. Campbell popped in a Walking Dead DVD and settled in to binge watch for a few hours. The sky outside had turned dark by the time Elle peeked her head into the room. "Hey. I think it's gonna be ready in about twenty minutes. Can you come set the table?" "Sure, babe."   At least it was finally something to do. Campbell hopped up and gathered the plates, the silverware, napkins; by the time Elle came into the dining room, he'd managed to get everything in place and light some candles. The dim, golden lighting was perfect. All the food, plated up, looked perfect. Campbell found some holiday music, some classical stuff that he'd swore he'd never listen to once he'd moved out on his own, and put it on. It wasn't his taste, but it seemed appropriate. All that was left was to bring in the food. Elle was hovering around the food in the kitchen, staring hard at the slices of carved turkey. "I know you don't like meat, so I didn't know if I should bring the turkey out here, or if you wanted something else instead." "Hey, it's okay. I mean, I have to get over it eventually, right? Why not tonight?" "Are you sure? Because I could--" Cutting off a tiny piece of the least gross-looking slice of turkey, Campbell shoved it in his mouth. The taste was foreign and made him want to gag, but he managed to get it down without flinching. "See? It'll be really good with the cranberry sauce." "I'm glad it's okay. Sorry if anything tastes funny, or something. It's the first time I've ever made anything like a traditional American meal." "Seriously? Why not?" "My family's from Ireland originally, so my mom's idea of Thanksgiving was a little different. You know. Lamb stew. We never did the whole, turkey and stuffing and decorating." "Why are we sitting here, then?" Campbell wondered. "We should be at the church with everyone else. We could even bring something to share. The pie or something. Be neighborly." "But I already made all this food, I wouldn't want it to go to waste." "C'mon. We can put it in the fridge and save it for leftovers. I mean, I don't wanna even see half of those people, but you liked Helena and Becca, and the improv class is doing something fun tonight. A traditional Thanksgiving really is best with friends." "No, no. I just, I had my heart set on a romantic evening, just the two of us." "We eat almost every meal, just us." Campbell couldn't puzzle out the sudden shift in Elle's mood. "Or with Harry. I thought maybe you'd like some variation." Elle met his eyes, then glanced at the food. "Maybe it would be nice to walk over there and see everyone. Do you want to try a slice of pie while I get ready to go? I don't want to take it if it tastes bad." "Deal." She gave him a smile as she cut him a generous slice, handing it over as she left the room. Campbell let out the breath he'd been holding; whatever weird argument that had been starting up seemed to have, thankfully, settled. He snagged a fork and took a bite of the pumpkin pie. Right away, Campbell could taste that there was something weird about it. It was too sweet, in an almost sickening way. Too much condensed milk? Maple syrup, maybe? Making sure Elle wasn't looking, Campbell gently slid the rest of the slice into the garbage can and covered it up with some pieces of trash to hide it. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, and it wasn't like it was objectively disgusting. There were just only so many compromises he could make in a night. Turkey, he could try and deal with. Pumpkin pie with a pound of sugar? No. Leave that to the carb fiends at the church. "Was it okay?" Elle asked as she came back in. "I've never made a pie before." Campbell offered her a bright smile. "Yeah, it was great." He picked it up and headed towards the door, slipping his feet into his sneakers. "Ready to go?" She eyed the pie in his hands, but nodded and followed him out the door. The walk to the church was quiet, but at least the weather was mild and the sky was clear, with stars glittering overhead and leaves swirling around their feet. The church was humming with activity inside, though more than a couple people fell silent when they saw Campbell. Well, whatever. He ignore them and focused on Allie, who was moving toward them at a brisk pace. "Campbell. Elle." She smiled, but it was strained. "I didn't expect to see you two here." What the hell were you thinking by coming here, Campbell translated in his head. "I wanted to bring Elle. It's her first actual Thanksgiving." He held up the pumpkin nightmare for Allie to see. Allie's eyes went right to the missing slice. "She made pie." "Wow. Well, if you guys want to take a seat, feel free." "Cool. Thanks." Elle reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved towards the table to set the pie down. "Campbell, I can do that. Just let me--" "I'm right here. I can do it." "But I made it. I should be the one to put it over there." Campbell stopped and looked to her. Her voice sounded almost frantic, and honestly, the pie wasn't anywhere close to good but she couldn't possibly be that worried about it. He set the pie down among the other pies, and led Elle off to the side where there weren't any people to listen in. "Babe, are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird all evening." "I'm just not feeling well. I feel sick in my stomach. Can we just go?" "It's probably because we haven't eaten all day." "Please..." Elle curled her arms around herself. "Please don't get mad." Campbell noticed, then, that there were tears in her eyes, and she winced when he went to try and comfort her. His stomach sank as he saw the one thing he had hoped not to see. Fear. "Woah, hey. I'm not mad, sweetheart, I just don't understand what's going on. Do you... Are you worried I'm gonna hurt you?" "You act one way sometimes, and then another, and then people say things and I just want to make you happy. I thought this would make you happy." Her hands were shaking when she reached up and touched his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I want you to be happy with me." He wanted to be sick. "I get it. We've had a lot of ups and downs since we came here. I'm trying my best, Elle. I am happy with you. I really am." His throat squeezed shut. Fuck, he didn't feel all that great, either, and all this wasn't helping. "Can you just try? Just a few bites or something? If you still feel sick, we can go home." Elle sniffled. She didn't say anything. She just turned and headed out to the main floor, heading towards the table where Gretchen, her girlfriend, and a few others were chatting. Campbell got her a plate of food, but she picked at it, and at that point he didn't really feel like eating. It had been a mistake to push her. He tried to plan out the apology in his head and find some way to save things, but Elle's words kept playing in his head. People say things. The way she shrank from his touch. It was time to let go. For now, anyways. Maybe someday he would be better, and could prove that he wasn't the piece of shit people kept saying he was, but obviously it wasn't the right time. Campbell had wanted to protect her. He'd hoped that maybe, together, they could stay sane. But he had once been afraid he would hurt Sam, inevitably. Instead, it looked like the one he was going to hurt most was Elle, and there was only one way to keep her safe. Like Sam, he had to let her go, and hope that someday it would work out. Things had seemed calmer, at least, until Elle mumbled something about more potatoes. She took her plate and vanished into the crowd without a word, leaving Campbell to sit there alone with Gretchen looking at him like he was sprouting devil horns. Campbell sunk his head into his hands and pretended he was anywhere but there. After a few minutes, hen Elle didn't come back, he decided to go looking. He found her arguing with someone else over her pie. Elle had taken a huge slice, and the other girl-- Lotus, maybe-- was giving her shit over it. Campbell sidled up next to Elle and fixed Lotus with a cold glare, and thankfully, Lotus backed down. Not before taking the rest of the pie with her, but still. "Are you okay?" he asked Elle, who looked pale. "What happened?" Elle smiled weakly. "I just wanted to make sure all my friends got some, but I guess Lotus thought I was taking it all for myself." "Well, screw her, yeah?" "Yeah. I'm just gonna go say hi to a couple of my friends." "Sure. I'll be here." Campbell was loitering around the punchbowl, waiting for Elle, when a hand glided along his shoulders. He could smell a familiar hint of cologne. "Hey, Harry." "Hey." Harry leaned against the wall next to him. "I thought you were staying home. What happened?" "Long story, but I guess we're going back home. She said she felt sick." "Do you need me to drive you guys?" Unfortunately, Helena stood up and gave a speech just then, and announced that she and Luke were getting married. Campbell hissed at the cheering, a headache building up behind his eyes and making his vision start to swim. What the hell? Maybe they had some sort of cold, or something. It was the season, and it wasn't like anyone had gotten their flu vaccines, or knew what new or different diseases the mirror world had. "Yeah, that might be good." He took a step, and the ground under him spun ever so slightly. Fuck. Why had he even tried? They should have just stayed home. "Let me go find her." "Alright. I'll meet you at the door." Campbell scanned the crowd as Harry left, trying to find Elle in the hustle and bustle. Maybe Sam or Grizz would know where she was? But he didn't see them, either. Allie's table was empty. Helena and Luke were with the rest of the guard. Where was she? Had she just left on her own, without even saying goodbye? Campbell felt a bubble of nausea form in his stomach at the thought, but then he spotted her with Becca near the bathrooms. Both of them were huddled together and making sharp, urgent gestures. Campbell had no idea what was going on with them, and he wasn't about to find out. It would be easier to just wait until they were done talking. It didn't take too long. Elle spotted him waiting, and hurried over. "Can we go home now?" she asked. Elle was hunched in on herself and looked out of breath. "Please? I want to get out of here." "Harry's getting the car. C'mon." He put his arm around her as they walked outside, more to hold himself steady than anything else. Campbell could feel Elle shaking, hard, but was that illness or anxiety? Was it the cold weather? He didn't know anymore. All that mattered was getting home before whatever was going on got even worse. Harry helped them both up the steps, and got them upstairs. Elle shrugged them both off and headed to the bathroom, grabbing her pajamas along the way. "Are you okay?" Campbell followed her into the bathroom. He just wanted to lay down and sleep, but he couldn't leave Elle to fend for herself if she was sick. "Do you need me to get you anything?" Elle shook her head, but when he got closer, he could see that she was sheet-white and sweating. "I'm gonna take a bath and get sleep." "Yeah, me too." Campbell knew that he should leave and let her do what she needed to do, but he hesitated in the doorway. "Look, Elle... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed for you to go when you didn't want to. I just thought it'd be fun." Silence. Campbell waited another heartbeat, then went to his room and laid down. He closed his eyes, willing the universe to stop spinning. It was bad enough of a day, wasn't it, without everything churning? Campbell burrowed under his blankets, swallowing over and over as he began to hypersalivate. His stomach was reeling, but his body wouldn't vomit. Not yet. "Cassandra," Campbell whispered to the air. "I wish you were here." He could play the game he played on the bridge, before. If he just held still, very still...

[rikerssexblouse]

Chrisjen

Headcanon A:  realistic

Chrisjen is a loving, but not very attentive mother. Arjun did most of the child-rearing while Chrisjen worked. She is more the distantly disapproving parent. 

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

I’ve given up on coming up with hilarious headcanons. 

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Chrisjen has cheated on Arjun many times and Arjun knows it. He may not have known about each individual one, but he knows about enough of them. But he accepts it. He is willing to accept Chrisjen’s indiscretions so long as she keeps it quiet and always comes back to him. Which she does. She really does love Arjun and there is no one else she could ever trust the way she trusts Arjun. 

Chrisjen, however, didn’t realize that Arjun knew for a long time. He hadn’t said anything because he’s tolerating it, not because he’s unaware. But she’d assumed it means he doesn’t know. And as a result, she got a little careless. 

They are having a dinner party and Chrisjen is flirting with the (very beautiful) district governor of the Indo-Malay Communal Interest Zone when Arjun hits his limit. He doesn’t say anything while everyone is there (always the good politician’s spouse), but after the last guest leaves, he turns on Chrisjen. He tells her he can handle the fact that she is not completely faithful to him, but FOR GOD’S SAKE, NOT IN THEIR HOME. 

Chrisjen feels terrible. Not enough so that she doesn’t meet up with the district governor again later that week, but she spends one very guilty and sleepless night next to Arjun, and she respects his boundaries from then on out. 

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Maybe not unrealistic, but it’s probably a stretch. So this is based on the tv canon, rather than the book canon, where Chrisjen’s son, Charanpal, died in the Marines, attacked by Belters (rather than in a skiing accident at 15). Cotyar, Chrisjen’s… bodyguard? Aide? Helper person? I’m going with bodyguard. He says that he protects Chrisjen, not because he is loyal to her, but to make up for letting Charanpal die. It’s not clear how his death was Cotyar’s fault, but they were apparently in the UN Marines together and he certainly believes he was responsible. 

Additionally, Chrisjen and Arjun seem to be responsible for the care of some of their grandchildren (well, Arjun is obviously, not Chrisjen), and I feel like the natural assumption is that those must be the children of their dead son, because why else would Chrisjen and Arjun have them? I don’t think it ever makes any of this explicit. But if it does, let me know. 

So that’s what we know. Charanpal had kids (and presumably a spouse?) and was later killed while in the Marines. 

So, of course, I had figure out the story behind all this. And I’m pretty sure this wasn’t what they had in mind. 

So, in the future we see, you don’t really NEED to do anything. and Charanpal has a cushy fucking life being Chrisjen’s son. But he doesn’t have her drive. He isn’t passionate about WINNING AT EVERYTHING like his mother is. So he grows up and doesn’t do anything immediately. He doesn’t go to school. He doesn’t join the Marines. He finds a nice boy and gets married and they adopt some kids and they live with Chrisjen and Arjun. And it drives Chrisjen UP THE FUCKING WALL. Because he’s SO smart and SO capable and he could do anything with his life if he would just put some fucking effort into it! (can you hear the mothering going on? lol) So she pushes and pushes but it doesn’t get her anywhere. So she finally kicks him out. 

So now he’s got to suffer with being on basic assistance for the first time, and it SUCKS because he’s used to having nice shit. So he finally decides, okay I’ll go to school. He still doesn’t want to run the world, but he wants a nice normal job so he can have nice things again. but then she says she won’t pay for school unless he joins the Marines. She’s hoping he will get a sense of duty beaten into him. 

So he does. 

He joins the Marines and his husband and kids get to move back in with Chrisjen and Arjun (a reward for Charanpal doing what they want). But in the Marines, he and his husband struggle with the distance. They are young and it’s just hard. So one day, his husband just leaves. He tells Charanpal he’s done and leaves the kids with Chrisjen and Arjun. Chrisjen goes on a LONG rant about young people not taking any responsibility. They continue to care for the boys while Charanpal is still in the Marines. 

Meanwhile in the Marines, Charanpal and Cotyar have been into each other for a while, but they’d been trying to ignore it. Charanpal was married, after all! They fooled around a few times before Charanpal’s husband left but had dismissed it as a one-time mistake (okay, three-time mistake). It was just being in close quarters like that under so much stress, things just happen sometimes, right? It didn’t mean anything. But now all of the sudden, Charanpal is single and they fall together HARD. 

It isn’t something he tells his mother about because his divorce is so fresh and it’s not like they are ready to deal with real life (there’s no way he’s ready for Cotyar to meet the kids). But then Charanpal dies. And Cotyar blames himself. When Cotyar later goes to work for Chrisjen, she still doesn’t know about what their relationship really was; she thought they were just friends. 

Send me a character and I will give you 4 headcanons. 

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 34: Picking up the Pieces

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Implied/Mentioned abuse, mentions of terrorism, death mention, injury mention; Illustrated

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Rose was…thoughtful. Not long ago at all, it had felt like the world was ending. Her twin had been hovering on the brink of death, her older brother had been a wreck, their father had had to be chased off with a bullet. Things should not have settled down quickly after such a stretch of chaos, and yet, less than an hour after Roxy’s car had pulled into the driveway, the house had achieved something approaching normalcy, or as close to normal as this house ever got. Mom and Aunt Ramona working on dinner and speaking in hushed tones, Karkat and Dave still sequestered away in Mom’s room after whatever loud conversation had echoed down the halls briefly, and Rose herself was on the couch across from Roxy and Dirk, watching the latter receive the chastising of a lifetime.

“Miaaaaoooowr!”

Rose shared a look with Roxy, feeling her lips pull up despite herself. Jaspers, having already greeted Rose, was now in the process of giving Dirk a piece of his mind. He’d done so before, on other occasions in which Dirk disappeared from the house for longer than a couple days, but never quite so loudly or stubbornly as today.

“You see what happens when you leave, Dirk?” Roxy cackled, jabbing Dirk in the ribs. “You get chewed out by the cat!”

“Mow! Mrrraow!!”

“He was so worried, Dirk!” she added, poking Dirk in the ribs.

Dirk shot Rose a hassled look. “Well?” she said, shaking her head and grinning. “Answer him, Dirk. He was so very worried, and deserves to know why you dared leave for so long.”

“Excuse me for getting a fucking concussion,” Dirk said.

“Meow!!!!!”

Amidst the ensuing laughter (mostly from Roxy), Ramona crept up behind Rose and tapped her shoulder. Rose glanced back, and heard her Aunt say, “Could I borrow you outside for just a moment?”

Out on the porch, Ramona folded her hands on the top of her cane. On her top hand was a  dark ring, set with a violet gem made to look as though nestled within a blooming flower; it caught the fading light of almost-sunset as she moved.

“I’ll not beat around the bush,” said Ramona. “Goodness knows, I’ve been away for too long as it is; the last thing we need is a final extended preamble. Rachel has told you about our family magic, yes?”

Well, that was surprisingly easy. After how long it took to have its existence confirmed, Rose had been expecting some extended dance of persistent interrogation would be necessary to coax the truth out of Aunt Ramona. “She told all three of us,” Rose said. “I suspect Dave’s inherited it, since he’s certainly prone to yelling at crows.”

“You have it, too,” she said. “Latent, but there. You and Dave have roughly the same raw power; Dirk has a tiny touch of it, not enough to be particularly significant, but he might be able to sense things if he were to focus. Roxy has a bit more, but still nothing compared to you and your twin.”

Rose tipped her head. “How do you know for sure that I do…?”

“The same way I knew you would recognize your guide,” she said with a dismissive gesture. “It develops into a knack with practice, or, if you prefer, a bit of training.” Ramona winked, showing a small smile. Rose’s mouth fell open. “Not yet, mind you,” Aunt Ramona continued, “We’ll need to wait for things to awaken on their own accord, first. But once they do, if you wish to develop them, I’d be happy to teach you how to best wield them. You’re at about the age where that’ll likely start up.”

Rose managed to collect some of her whirling thoughts; this was a lot all at once, but she managed to ask without stammering, “I thought that—I was lead to believe that the onset of these abilities usually happened when one was around thirteen?”

A shrug. “Not necessarily. It varies from person to person. Around sixteen is more normal, but it can be pushed to happen sooner with the pressure of certain…outside factors. Such was the case for myself, as well as, I suspect, your twin.”

More questions in their hundreds. Rose took a deep breath, and tried to refocus. “So. You’re offering, essentially, to some time in the future teach me everything you know about this…family magic of ours?”

“Maybe not everything.” Another wink. “Dave is…I suspect that our magic would not be as kind to him, for reasons I’ll very likely be elaborating on later, and it’s not actually a magic that’s dangerous to someone like him.  But you have very little that would prevent you from excelling, and I suspect that even if I don’t guide you, you’ll find your own way into trouble.”

“What kind of magic are you going to be teaching me, exactly?”

“A very good question,” she said. “I suppose the shortest summation I could provide is that ours is a magic of communion; we can forge communication with all kinds of beings beyond the realms of normal human awareness.”

“And birds.”

“Yes, and birds,” Ramona laughed.

“Speaking of,” Rose said, pulling another thought out of the whirlwind, “I need to ask about that crow you sent.”

“Oh, goodness, I didn’t send him,” Ramona said.

“No?”

“Hardly! I’ve never been able to control anything that one does.” For a moment, her eyes turned distant, as if looking at something Rose could never see, as she said quietly, “What a different place the world might be if I could…” She shook her head, snapping back to now. “No, that one’s always done as he pleases. He came to me, as it were, and asked for help.”

“He came all the way to you in France?”

Ramona leaned forward, conspiratorially, and said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s not exactly a normal crow. He has his ways.”

“…Ways you’ll be explaining to me sometime later, I presume?” Rose said.

“You may well be able to ask him directly,” she answered. “He’s not going anywhere just yet, and for all that he’s prone to mischief, he’s very much on your side. For now, let’s call that a first tip: his methods may not always be wise, but his intentions can be trusted entirely.”

Before Rose could answer, Mom called to the both of them that dinner was ready. Ramona gave Rose a knowing look, said softly that “this is just between us,” and headed inside.

Dave and Karkat were absent from dinner that night. Mom said that Dave had dozed off earlier, and didn’t want to leave the room; she brought the two of them their food, but otherwise left them alone.

Much later that night, Rose saw Karkat creeping into his room, with a look suggesting that he hated the very prospect of straying from Dave’s side for a second. He was awake the next morning well before she was, back at her brother’s aid as soon as he was able.

“Dude, I appreciate that we’re Bro-rails now, or whatever, but I seriously am not gonna be like bothered at all if you sit this out,” said Dave.

“Fuck you, I’m helping,” Karkat said, folding his arms. “And it’s pronounced moirail, dammit, Dave!” They’d been arguing like this for ten minutes, because Dave couldn’t stop being insufferable for two seconds and shut up and let his moirail take care of him without making yet another Human Sexuality Joke, apparently!! Rachel and Roxy stood by, silent and looking concerned and confused, while Karkat braced himself for the inevitable “but the GAY” response.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, whatever,” Dave said. “Seriously, though, like, I know you got issues seeing blood, and this is…it’s not bloody, but it’s pretty gross? It might like, seriously give you issues, man, I don’t wanna fuck you up here. Mom and Roxy can just deal with changing the bandages, it’s fine.”

Oh. So. So it wasn’t a…a ‘gay’ thing, Dave just. Actually fucking cared. That was…really reassuring, in truth. Karkat had been really worried that Dave might’ve just agreed to be moirails in the heat of the moment yesterday, that he’d said whatever it took to keep Karkat there in the moment. Sometimes characters did that in romcoms, and it was always so fucking miserable for the other party, to be taken advantage of like that, and Karkat had been scared,  because he wasn’t sure he’d be strong enough to call Dave out on it if that turned out to be the case—but. Maybe he really did care, then—fuck, they really needed to talk about this, at some point. For now, Karkat folded his arms and tried not to look like Dave had startled him. “I’m the person most likely to be around you most of the time, since Rachel and Roxy both have other shit to do,” Karkat insisted. “It makes perfect fucking sense for me to know how to change your stupid bandages. I can deal with it!”

He probably could deal with it. He was pretty sure. Rachel had gently herded Karkat out of the room to deal with this last night after dinner, but today was a new day and dammit, Karkat had moirail rights now, he was going to help take care of Dave! If anything, the idea of anyone else tending to Dave’s wounds made his blood boil a little, even though he understood now that with humans, looking after an injured party really was a group effort. They weren’t stepping into his duties in their culture, they were just being a good, caring family, and he was the clueless outsider here and needed to respect how they went about things. But, still, Rachel had said that it would be smart to have more than just her and Rose know how to tend to Dave’s wounds, so of course he was going to be part of that. Everyone on Alternia knew moirails looked after each other, he’d be a shitty moirail not to step up and help out!

And then Rachel started unwrapping the bandages, even as Dave tried to warn Karkat off one last time, and…Roxy gasped next to him, and Karkat felt his blood pusher do a fucking backflip.

Dave hadn’t been shitting around for a second. It was bad. The skin all across Dave’s left side and a fair way across his chest was a vivid red, blistered mess…

He had to turn his head away for a moment to swallow down the bile and panic that rose in his throat.

“You sure you’re alright?” Dave asked, eyes worried.

Karkat forced everything down, now, even if he choked on it, and snapped, “Never better. Quit asking, I’m taking care of you, not the other way around.”

Roxy snorted.

The process of changing the bandages and tending to the burns turned out to involve two towels to prevent the wounds from potentially leaking all over the bedsheets and Dave’s clothes (because having to change both of those as well two or three times a day would’ve just been obnoxious for all parties involved), careful cleaning of the wounds, and then the application of a medical salve of some sort. Rachel dealt with the big wound on Dave’s torso, and then let Roxy and Karkat deal with a smaller one on Dave’s upper arm (Karkat’s hand trembled the entire fucking time, no matter how much he tried to force it not to. He kept forgetting to breathe. It was red, so red, so fucking red—) which didn’t take nearly as long to do, it was fine, really, no trouble at all.

Dave grabbed Karkat’s wrist as he pulled away. “Hey, you sure you’re alright?” he said, and Karkat took a deep breath before answering.

“Yeah. No problem. I told you, it’s fine, so shut up and let me nurse your dumb wounded ass back to health.”  

Dave nodded and let Karkat pull away, which he did, while folding his arms to disguise his shuddering. As Rachel had Dave hold his arms up so she could help him put his shirt back on, though, Karkat stopped her.

“I think we missed a spot,” he said, pointing. Rachel looked at the point on Dave’s chest to which Karkat was pointing, and then back at him. “I’m not seeing it…?” she said.

“It’s right there! It’s bright pink, how are you not seeing it?”

A brief look of clarity crossed Rachel’s face. “We’re mammals, honey, that’s supposed to be there,” she said, resuming helping Dave back into his shirt, as if she hadn’t just casually tipped Karkat’s worldview on its fucking head.

“You’re WHAT??!”

“I’m surprised you two never had this conversation,” she said, grinning. Dave’s face was frozen in something mostly stoic, but staring wide-eyed at nothing with his brow furrowed. “Yeah, we’re mammals, bud.”

“Wait, are trolls not—“ Roxy started.

“Nope, they’re like, weird bug things,” said Rachel, finishing tugging the shirt over Dave’s head. “Except…not? Ramona explained this to me at one point, but I forget the details. You could probably google it.”

“Mammals!?!?” Oh, God. Oh, no—images of the great hoofbeast manservants employed by some bluebloods played unwantedly across his mind, despite his loudest and most carefully-written internal requests to please never do that, ever.

“Holy shit, dude, please don’t have a meltdown because you saw a fucking nipple,” Dave groaned. “Mine don’t even do anything, calm down.”

“Oh, sorry for reacting entirely appropriately to what is, hands down, the most devastating realization of my fucking life!! No sweat, just the sudden advent of the horrific knowledge that my new moirail does, in fact, share a significant enough number of traits with the horrific be-uddered milkbeasts beloved by certain fucking fetishists of a highblood persuasion to share a goddamned group name with! Sweet crotchblistering fuck, this whole fucking time?! What, do you do the freakish live birth thing, too?!!”

“That was my job, thanks,” said Rachel, still grinning. “All three of ‘em. Dave and Rose at the same time, even.”

Karkat screamed a cry of despair untranslatable into human speech, but which could be semi-accurately described as a verbal keyboard smash.

“Hey, Dirk, can you google something for me, since you got your laptop out?”

“Yeah, sure, shoot.”

“If trolls aren’t mammals, why do some of them have tits?”

Dirk nearly spat orange soda across his computer screen. Roxy looked right back at him and watched the thought process. Just let it sink riiiiight in. Because what the fuck. What’s even up with that, right? After a moment, he sighed and put down his drink.

“…If I get some weird computer virus from this, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” said Roxy, bouncing down next to him on the couch. Rose tried to look like she wasn’t also totally looking at the screen, and entirely failed. Girl could pretend to still be knitting all she wanted, she wanted to know, too.

“Oh, huh,” said Dirk softly after a few minutes of wrestling Wikipedia.

“Weeeeeird,” said Roxy.

“What is?” said Karkat, coming out of the hall. Dirk, with the speed of someone who’s had a lot of close calls from a very tipsy mom coming suddenly downstairs while this totally hypothetical individual was drawing something reeeeal weird with their fancy drawing tablet, closed out of the tab and pulled up the bunch of coding he’d been procrastinating working on before Roxy had asked her question.

“Nothing!” Roxy said brightly and probably real unconvincingly. Shoot. Rose went right back to knitting. “What’s up, man? Why’re you, like, out here?”

Karkat stared at the three suddenly super innocent-looking humans for a long moment, and then rolled his eyes. “Your witch aunt slash mother wanted to talk to Dave alone, for whatever reason, so you’re all stuck with me. So whatever weird thing you don’t want me to know about, you’re not going to keep it secret—“

“It was just a bit of harmless comparative anatomy research, that’s all,” said Rose, with a smug grin. “Since you were so intrigued by some of ours, we thought—“

Karkat glared at Roxy. “What, you told them about that?”

“She didn’t have to tell us anything,” Dirk said, picking his soda back up. “We could hear you. People in China probably heard your little existential crisis.”

“You’re the ones with fucking udders!” Dirk almost choked, and Roxy snorted. Rose blinked, and then pressed her face into her hand.

“We don’t…Karkat, not all mammals have udders, oh my God,” Roxy managed to get out between gasps of laughter.

At some point, Ray stepped in. She sat back for a bit, just watching them all laugh and snark at each other for a few more minutes. When things started settling into a natural pause, though, she cleared her throat.  When they all looked up at her, she said, “If it’s alright with you kids, I need to talk to Dirk alone for a minute.”

“Oh, Christ,” Dirk muttered. “Is it about school, or—”

“No, it’s not about school,” she said, “Although we’ll have to work that out at some point, too. You’re probably gonna need to take at least a week off, with that concussion, but this is…They already know about this.” Realization hit Roxy, and she winced, shooting Rose a pained look. Ray was picking her words carefully as she went on to say, “And it’s probably for the best that we talk about this without anyone else around, sweetheart.”

Dirk looked ready to protest again, but Roxy was already getting up. Rose was halfway out the door, tugging a still slightly bewildered Karkat behind her. Roxy rested her hand on Dirk’s shoulder for a moment as she passed. The three of them gathered out on the front porch, Roxy clicking the door shut behind her and immediately gluing herself to the window as best she could without totally giving away to either Dirk or Ray that she was absolutely watching. Like, she couldn’t help it, she was nosy by nature, but also she was just super worried about her poor cousin, this was gonna hurt like hell for him to learn about…

“What’s so important that we have to leave the room?” Karkat asked, and Rose and Roxy both shushed him at once.

“Remember how I mentioned yesterday on the way over that Dirk doesn’t know about Dave flatlining yet?” Roxy said, turning back to the window. Ray was sitting down next to Dirk, and it was a little tricky to see their faces from this angle, but Dirk mostly just looked amused if a little confused at the moment. Ray was talking really slowly and alternating between steady eye contact and looking hard at her own hands, which were fidgeting in her lap a whole bunch.

“Fuck, she’s just now telling him about that?!” Karkat said, and got two more shushes for his trouble. He seemed to get the message after that, at least, and switched to a whisper, which was still really loud but at least wouldn’t go through the damn door. “Fine, fine! I’m being quiet! But I don’t—how the fuck do you all just manage to keep something like that secret?! He almost died, and you’re all acting like nothing’s up!”

Roxy was watching Ray and Dirk, still—Dirk’s smile was starting to fall away, oh boy—but she could almost feel Rose’s eyes narrow at Karkat, oh geez.

“I know that this is a recent revelation for you,” said Rose, her voice calm in the way that back when she’d been in grade school had meant she was about to punch someone in the jaw, “But it’s been nearly two weeks since that happened. He’s going to be fine, so long as we tend to his wounds and he gets plenty of rest. There’s no point in working ourselves up into a frenzy over something that’s already been resolved. The only reason Mom is telling Dirk at all is because he’ll find out eventually, and she suspects he’s not going to take it well, so she wants to make sure he hears it as gently as possible.”

“Oh, and you did ‘take it well,’ is that what I’m supposed to assume?” Karkat snapped.

Rose snapped, too, but in a different way, sort of. She whirled on Karkat, practically baring her teeth, her face all snarled up like a wet cat.

“I heard it happen!” she hissed. Those were not words that are hiss-able, but she hissed them anyway, that was the only way to describe the venom in them. “I was sitting outside the damn room, I had to sit there and listen to him dying, don’t you dare tell me that I’m not reacting enough when I’ve been trying to keep myself from racing out of here right now to tear out that bastard’s throat with my own hands—“

“Guys, holy shit, shut up!” Roxy said, whipping around to face them. “Karkat, dude, my mom told you about why we’re staying calm in the car. I know you’re scared, but, listen, Dirk almost died out there too, and he’s always, y’know, blamed himself for Dave getting kidnapped in the first place for whatever dumb reason, so we all knew that this was gonna be extra rough for him, and that’s why Ray—aw, shit,” she said, catching a slight movement out of the corner of her eye and turning back just in time.

She could pick out the exact second Rachel must’ve broke it to him, because he instantly just froze right up. His face fell, just a little, the big dummy was still trying to stay stoic and keep it together, but she could see him crumbling under the weight of what he’d learned.

“Shit, yep, he’s not taking it well at all,” she said. “Aaaaugh, dammit, I should be there to hug on him—I know Ray knows what she’s doing, but, God, this hurts to watch.”

“You shouldn’t be watching it,” said Rose, even though she was pretty blatantly looking through the window too, now. Karkat spun around to look as well, and she saw his ears flick back and his face contort with all kinds of sympathy pains.

Dirk wasn’t doing a good job at hiding his thoughts at all, now. Ray was holding one of his hands tightly in both of hers, and as they watched, she reached out and held Dirk’s chin, still talking, but Dirk’s eyes were almost glazed over with a mixture of…God, shock, fear, pain, guilt, the whole works all bunched up in one big mound of awful. Roxy hadn’t seen the guy look that distraught since…God, probably the day Dave had been kidnapped, come to think of it. Probably already blaming himself all over again. Like a machine, he gently pushed Ray’s hand away from his face, and stumbled up onto his crutches, limping down the hall.

“Bet he’s goin’ to go talk to Dave,” said Roxy, shaking her head. “God, poor guy.”

Rose folded her hands and took a deep breath. She turned to Karkat, the anger completely gone from her eyes, and said, “The truth is, Karkat…none of us are taking this well.”

“It’s been far too long since I saw you last,” said Aunt Ramona, “I hardly recognize you, you’ve grown so much.”

Dave glanced down at himself. “Uh, yeah,” he said, “Yeah, it’s the growing that’s got me lookin’ different, sure,” he said with a bit of a forced grin. He actually really wished that Karkat coulda stayed, but, his aunt wanted to talk alone, sure, alright.

Something about her made him feel just the slightest bit nervous. It wasn’t like what he got usually with his nerves, it wasn’t that he felt like he was being watched, or like someone was gonna jump out at him from somewhere, it was more like…some instinct was telling him that this was someone he really didn’t wanna piss off. Like she could just wipe him off the face of the planet with a look if she really wanted. Which…hell, Mom had said she was a witch, maybe she could.

She didn’t seem like she wanted to, though. Mostly, she just seemed stiff; she’d had to sit down in the chair pulled up by the bed awkwardly, balancing her weight weird to keep it off one of her legs. So the cane wasn’t just for show, then. He could never be sure, with his fuckin’ dramatic-ass family, especially since this one wrote the weird wizard porn books, it’d be pretty fitting if she just had a big old cane just for the aesthetic.

It was definitely a witch aesthetic cane, that was for sure. Big old black thing, made of warped-looking wood that curved around itself. It’d pass for like, a fuckin’ wizard staff if it weren’t only cane-sized.

She chuckled at his half-assed joke, in any case. “The bruises don’t help matters, no.” Settling into the chair a bit more, she went on, “I hope settling back in hasn’t been too difficult, additional kidnappings and so on notwithstanding.”

“I mean, that’s kind of a big thing to be ignoring, but sure. It’s, uh…it’s not been easy, honestly, it’s just kind of…weird?” He swallowed. “I mean, honestly, I don’t remember a whole lot of living here.”

“But?” she said, apparently reading his damn mind. He hadn’t been planning on saying more out loud, but it kinda poured out all the sudden, like a faucet someone forgot to turn off and flooded the damn bathroom.

“But I mean, compared to where Bro wanted me to be and, uh, do, I do kinda…prefer it here. Like, it’s nice to not constantly have to be ready for a sneak attack, and not having to sleep propped up against the wall is rad, and I sure as shit don’t miss the Usuals, and…fuck, listen to me, Jesus, I’m sorry, I know I’m being selfish as shit here, but—”

“I disagree,” said Aunt Ramona. “I think all of that is a perfectly reasonable way to feel.”

“Like, he still…raised me, and shit, though,” Dave said, weakly. The grain silo was trying to fit through the pinhole again. He really wished Karkat were here, God.

Aunt Ramona snorted. “I suppose I technically have to agree with that,” she said, “But he did a poor job of it. You turning out as well as you have is, I’m convinced, in spite of him, not because of him.”

Dave shrugged, helpless. He couldn’t come up with words to argue, he just…felt that what she was saying was incorrect, somehow. Some part of it shouted it at him, but couldn’t come up with an actual rebuttal. It tugged the opposite way of the Big Thought, though, and Dave still couldn’t make that one happen, so he’d follow whatever opposed it for now.

His aunt sighed. “It’s alright if you don’t agree with me,” she said. “I know you’re going to need time. Ten years is a long time to suffer what you have, and it’s going to take a long time to unravel it all. Still, even if you’re not ready to hear us being critical of your father, then I hope you’ll at least consider the idea that you are allowed to choose who you want to live with, where you want to be. That is not selfish, it’s your right as a human being, and one you’re very brave in this circumstance for seeking out.”

Dave was really starting to wonder if she couldn’t read minds, or something. He tried thinking some really good jokes to just to test if she was poking around in his brain, but after a good twenty seconds of her not so much as twitching a lip in response to his rapier wit, he decided that she either had a poker face to rival Bro’s, or his thoughts were safe and she was just, like, a really good guesser.

Hearing her say that he was brave for wanting to leave, though…He’d not thought he needed someone to say that, but boy, it turned out he sure the fuck did.

“I guess,” he said, turning away and rubbing the back of his head.

Ramona smiled, and stood with the same stiff effort it had taken her to sit down. She rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll leave you for a while,” she said. “I’ve still got some unpacking to do, and so on. But it’s been very good to see you again, even if it’s not under the best of circumstances.”

Dave nodded. God, this was like dealing with Mom all over again, except being around Mom was starting to feel less and less awkward even without memories from before Bro took him, whereas this was right back to zero. She had a relationship with him that he didn’t remember at all.

Still, she seemed pretty alright, on the whole. Little weird, but alright.

She stopped for a moment at the door, and then turned back.

“Your brother’s going to be here in a moment,” she said. “I know I hardly need to say so, but…be gentle with him.”

“Uh…sure,” said Dave. Well, that had been…weird.

Dirk stumbled in a little bit later, sure enough, his eyes sorta hazy-looking.

“Sup?” Dave asked. Dirk…didn’t answer. He just walked over and sat down on the bed, reaching to hug Dave from behind, and as he pressed his face into Dave’s shoulder, things clicked into place.

Dave reached his arm around to hug Dirk back as best he could, and said, “Mom told you, huh.”

Dirk’s only response was a quiet, horrified sob.

Sometime later, the whole family plus Karkat was out in the living room, chatting about all kinds of shit, Dave wasn’t really paying attention. The girls were all clustered together around the kitchen counter, in any case. Sounded like they were maybe talking about one of Aunt Ramona’s books, but Dave was more preoccupied with ignoring the movie Karkat had insisted on watching with Dave on his weird troll computer (and boy, it was weird to think he was just…allowed to do this now. No loopholes needed, he was allowed to just. Watch a movie on a computer. Could use the computer himself, if he wanted. No more house arrest, no more Bro ready to kick his ass for even thinking the word ‘internet,’ it was just…fine). Really, what Dave was doing was kind of…keeping half his mind on Dirk. Guy had taken the news real rough, and had been pretty much silent ever since he and Dave left Mom’s room.

Right now, he was typing on his laptop, looking exhausted and otherwise unreadable. Not in a Bro way, though. Fuck, even if it had  been in a Bro way, Dave didn’t think he could be scared of Dirk, not after how scared Dirk had sounded. It was unreadable in more of a ‘straight up too worn out to experience any one whole emotion’ sorta way, which Bro definitely never had.

Dave wasn’t the only one paying attention to Dirk, either; Karkat was pretty equally distracted. He wanted to say something, it seemed like. After, like, half an hour of neither of them watching the damn movie, Dave rolled his eyes and nudged Karkat with an elbow.

“Dude, just talk to him if you got something to say,” he said, “I swear to fuck he’s not gonna bite.”

Karkat groaned, and paused the movie. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “I almost wish he would, it’d make this less embarrassing, but…fuck it, time to apologize for past me being a dumbass, I guess.”

Dirk looked up from whatever he was up to, one eyebrow raised. Karkat pressed his hands together, and took a deep breath. “Okay, so,” he said, “I…said some really fucking stupid shit, back when we first met.”

Before he could finish that thought, Dirk snorted. “Fuck, is this about the shit we said all the way back in Terezi’s apartment?”

Dave looked between the two of them, confused.

“Yeah, it is,” Karkat said. “Specifically, the part where I made a lot of stupid assumptions and shoved my foot down my gullet so far as to be able to shit toes before the digestion process has even had a chance to begin. It was stupid. I was stupid, and I’m sorry for having implied back then that you were in any way planning on bringing any harm to a guy that I now recognize you care about at least as much as I do.”

Dave snickered, and poked Karkat in the ribs. “Aww, you were worried about me all the way back then?”

“Fuck OFF, Dave!” Karkat snapped, accidentally drawing the attention of the girls. As he realized this, he got flustered, his ears flicked back, and he coughed into his hand. “Anyway, what I was trying to say is, that, just, look, you were right, this is where he belongs and I’m a dumbass and I’m sorry for misjudging you.”

“Glad to know it took this long to change your mind,” Dirk said.

“Dude,” said Dave, shooting him a look. Dirk looked up and heaved a sigh.

“I mean, if we’re both being honest,” he said, “I could’ve handled it a lot better, too. I didn’t really try to explain my position much. Of course you didn’t get it, you didn’t have the context.”

“I think I do now, though,” said Karkat, “and, yeah. You were right.”

“It probably was for the best that you didn’t come around right away,” Dirk said, turning back to his typing. “God knows, we’d be fucked over ten ways to hell if you hadn’t come here. We all needed some help to get this shit sorted out. Fuck, we still don’t really have any idea what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, you were also right about this family being a fucking mess.”

Small bits of stifled laughter split from several members of the family. Dave spotted Rose rolling her eyes, albeit very fondly. Dave felt his own laughter die down pretty quickly, though, his own brain apparently determined to make sure he wasn’t allowed to be happy for five goddamn minutes until he dealt with…the shit he was trying not to think about.

“I dunno if I do belong here, honestly,” Dave muttered. A whole lotta worried looks turned his way, and he held his hands up. Shit, he shouldn’t have said that out loud. “I mean, like, I don’t…I dunno if I belong anywhere, I…I like it here, and I wanna be here, and I really am not planning on trying to leave again, I just…” He shrugged. “I still feel like, I dunno, like he’s…like I shoulda tried harder, I guess? Since we’re…” Dirk had that look like he was gonna start a fight, and fuck that, time to pull another excuse out of his ass, uh… “I guess I also feel like I’m letting our uncle down by not…y’know, looking after his brother, I guess.”

The least his brain could do if it was gonna keep being weird about this shit was come up with words he could use to argue instead of shouting ‘no’ and sitting in the corner like the world’s most petulant toddler.

Ramona…paused. For a moment, there was a flash of almost relief in her eyes, like she’d been waiting for something. He’d been really expecting to be told a bunch that yes, this was where he belonged, and he’d have to nod along while his brain screamed, but instead, Ramona said, “So Derek did tell you about your namesake, then? I wasn’t sure if he would tell you anything. He so rarely talked about his brother after we…lost him.”

Dave shrugged. “I mean, I heard a lot just kinda in bits and pieces from him talking to Ben? Uh, Ben’s the one who told me the actual story, so.”

“What was it that they told you, exactly?” Aunt Ramona asked. Her voice was still light and casual, but there was a look to her eyes, almost like she already knew what the answer and just wanted to confirm it. Something about the look made Dave feel a little uneasy, which…was dumb, there was nothing to be nervous about, right? He’d never even had a test in a school, he’d missed that shit entirely, but he felt like this was what being put on the spot for a pop quiz in front of the whole class had to feel like.

“Well, uh, just the basics, I guess,” he said. “Ben told me about, uh, how he and Bro were, uh, partners, and how, y’know, went down fighting as the big hero and shit—“ and Mom drew a sudden harsh intake of breath and mumbled under her breath in Spanish, making something drop out from under Dave just enough that he stammered ever so slightly, “A-and that he and Br-he and Dad were real close.”

Ramona’s face was real serious now, but not surprised at all. Mom, on the other hand, seemed halfway shocked, the other half maybe disappointed, maybe furious. She had her face in one hand, shaking her head, as she said, “Derek, God damn it…”

Rose and Dirk turned towards each other, eyebrows raised in mutual confusion. Roxy pretty visibly had no idea what they were talking about.

“Is that…” Dave swallowed, hard. “Is that wrong?”

“Well, I suppose you could technically say that he went down fighting,” Ramona said, “But it really wasn’t much of a fight at all. It sounds, to be frank, like what you’ve been told is a mixture of half-truths, careful omissions, and outright lies.”

He had to actually reach his hand down to make sure the couch was still there. The floor just kept finding new ways to drop away from him.  

What the fuck. What…but why would Bro lie about—what?

Mom stood up, real sudden. “I can’t—I can’t be here for this,” she said, shaking her head more. “Ramona, I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with this, can you…?”

Aunt Ramona nodded. She really did seem like she knew this was gonna go down this way, somehow…“I didn’t expect you to. It’s quite alright, I’ll tell them.”

“Mhm,” Rachel said, and walked quickly down the hall, pausing only to hug Dave tightly in passing. Karkat gently reached out for Dave’s hand once she’d left, shooting him a look of concern.

Something was…building up in him, threatening to break, just from the idea that they’d lied about…It wasn’t a good feeling. It was hot, and sticky, and he tried to force it down, and succeeded for now, but boy, was that shit ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. But…but he couldn’t not hear the rest, now, he had to know. He stayed seated as his aunt limped over to one of the couches, seating herself with some effort next to Dirk, across from Dave and Karkat.

Dirk, seeming very confused, spoke up. “I mean, what little Mom said about our uncle seemed to match up with what Dave just said…? I kinda got the same impression, what are we missing here?”

Ramona settled herself more comfortably, leaning forward just a touch. “A great deal, I’m afraid,” she said. “This is, obviously, not a happy story, but it’s one you all deserve to know. These events, the invasion you were all born during and scarcely remember, should not be your burden to bear, but since your father especially, and, if we are honest, your mother and I as well, have made such long habit of trying to live in that past, you at the very least deserve to know the start of this conflict you’ve all been drawn into.

As such, I’ll start at the beginning…”

[proshipphoenix]

As a chronically ill and neurodivergent person, the reason people are pissed is that a lot of people on the “cripple = physically disabled only” side ARE saying that the ableism against visibly disabled people IS worse. I have seen SO MANY iterations of “neurodivergent people just feel anxious occasionally but I’ve been hospitalized fifty times and people shout slurs at me every time I leave the house and I’ll die before my thirties and you JUST CAN’T COMPARE THOSE.”

OBVIOUSLY you can’t compare those when you’re intentionally & disingenuously contrasting a dismissively benign stereotype of neurodivergence with an extreme stereotype of the worst of the worst of physical disability. You can’t compare fibromyalgia with cystic fibrosis either and they’re both physical disabilities. 

I’ve also seen so many iterations of “neurodivergent people can just recover but physically disabled people can’t therefore physically disabled people just objectively have it worse,” which ignores the fact that:

1. No, you can’t always recover from neurodivergence &

2. Even when you can, saying “you COULD just recover if you WANTED to, therefore why are you even complaining about the fact that your anxiety is so bad you can’t leave the house & you’re living in poverty. There’s nothing PHYSICALLY stopping you from leaving the house, so you can’t say ‘I can’t.’ You could if you wanted to. It’s all in your brain” is so unbelievably shitty I don’t even know where to start addressing it. Recovery is a difficult, intensive process that can require decades of effort, even for “benign” neurodivergencies that your side loves to stereotype like depression. Eventually it just becomes “actually, the fact that you haven’t recovered is your fault. You just don’t want to recover enough. Therefore any ableism you experience is actually your fault.” 

Cock-dealer, the person who rehashed the entire “abled neurodivergent people are INVADING OUR COMMUNITY” shit, said that the worst ableism abled neurodivergent people experience is “being forced to make phone calls.” (& I mean, the fact that so many operations require phone calls when emails or texts would suffice IS an accessibility issue, even for “”actually disabled”” people, so mocking people for complaining about that is shitty.) 

& also, a lot of people on your side aren’t saying “cripplepunk is for visibly disabled people,” they’re saying “cripplepunk is for all physically disabled people.” Which just renders the entire premise bizarre to me, because then there is no uniting factor. If it’s about how you’re visibly perceived, then no, it’s not for all physically disabled people. It’s for visibly disabled people. Just own that. 

My POTS is technically a mobility disorder - many people with POTS require mobility aids - but I’ve never been called slurs because of it. I could, as the example you all love so goes, escape a building on fire by myself. So am I a cripple?

In fact, the disorder that visibly affects my mobility the most & results in the most self-consciousness for me...is my dyspraxia, which isn’t even a physical disability at all. It’s obviously not “as bad as” as, for example, paralysis, but I have a noticeably awkward, shuffling gait & my movements are noticeably imprecise. Again, people don’t call me slurs, but...I just don’t agree that there is a distinct and obvious visible difference between mental & physical disabilities.  

When you think of autism, are you thinking of me, someone who can communicate relatively “normally” but is a little awkward, or my cousin, who is able-bodied but cannot maneuver through public areas by himself, cannot verbally communicate, & loudly & obviously vocally stims? He’s “visibly disabled,” just not physically so. People are probably rendered uncomfortable by his visible expression of disability. Is he a cripple?

I’m not saying “your side is being mean therefore your argument is illegitimate.” Hell, I agree that there’s nothing wrong with saying “these experiences are different from these experiences” & there’s nothing inherently exclusionary or invalidating about that. I’m saying you are approaching this discussion with drastically different assumptions about its nature, assuming it is in a lot better faith than it actually is. The ultimate premise of the discussion is, yes, that “cripple” is for visibly disabled people only. But the reason so many people are pissed is because the discussion has veered SIGNIFICANTLY from that premise & many people have no issue blatantly invalidating the ableism neurodivergent people experience to validate their experiences. They might say “we’re not saying we have it worse, we’re just saying they’re not comparable :)” but one post later they’re talking about how everyone sympathizes with people with depression & no one would ever be shitty to a depressed person for being depressed when that is most definitely not the case. & they’re also not discussing it from the visible vs. invisible angle, they’re discussing it from the physical vs. mental angle. 

At this point the discussion is not “visibly disabled people have different experiences with ableism than invisibly disabled people, whether they are mentally or physically disabled,” it’s “all physically disabled people suffer objectively worse than all mentally disabled people.” It’s not about ableism & it’s not about visibility vs. invisibility, it’s about a nebulous idea of “suffering.” So if you’re confused about why people are pissed: that is why. 

(Not to mention that the “we’re just saying they’re not comparable :)” is the rallying cry of oh, I don’t know, every exclusionist ever. “We’re just saying that the experiences of lesbians and bi women aren’t comparable :).” It’s ultimately not about whether they’re comparable, because the experiences between lesbians, or physically disabled people, or whatever, are only so comparable themselves. My experience with physical disability might be drastically different from someone else’s experience with physical disability. It might even be more similar to someone else’s experience with mental disability! It just feels as if no one is capable of just saying “they aren’t comparable” without it devolving into “...and we have it worse.” It’s basically a dogwhistle at this point.)

Again, peeing into the wind here but “all mental health disabilities are physical disabilities” is not the searing take you think it is.

(This whole thing is such a shame. I like vaspider 99% of the time. Caps locking at me about how I should experience two things I experience differently as the same or else I am trying to divide the community is the exception, apparently.)

[quakerjoe]

In case it wasn’t clear, we’ve now finished “Act I” of the Trump saga, and are quickly moving into “Act II.” Which means that if you have any interest in these issues you’re going to want to start paying closer attention, because events and their repercussions are going to really begin speeding up now. What precipitated this change? As usual, Trump did it to himself. This latest shitstorm began last week when Trump gave an interview to the NY Times in which, among other things, he speculated that he might consider firing Special Counsel Mueller. Writing for the lawfare blog, Benjamin Wittes referred to the Times piece as “…a chilling interview—chilling because of the portrait it paints of presidential paranoia, chilling for its monomaniacal view of the relationship between the president and law enforcement, and chilling for what it says about Trump’s potential readiness to interfere with the Mueller investigation.”(7) Then, multiple news organizations reported on Thursday that Trump had “shaken up” his legal team. (Translation: he fired a bunch of lawyers and replaced them.) CNN for example reported that, “Marc Kasowitz, Trump's longtime personal attorney who has been the lead lawyer on the Russia investigation, will see his role recede, according to two sources with knowledge of the matter.” (1) And in case it’s not obvious, “see his role recede” is classic beltway speak for getting sacked. At the same time word also spread that Mark Corallo, the spokesman and communications strategist for Trump’s legal team, had resigned. Other than stating that “I resigned yesterday,” Mr. Corallo was unwilling to give any additional information on his abrupt departure from Trump’s legal team. But according to the New York Times, “Mr. Corallo was one of several people cautioning against publicly criticizing Mr. Mueller.” Based on reports from both the New York Times (2) and the Washington Post (3), it seems increasingly clear that Corallo’s caution is about to be aggressively ignored. According to both the Times and the Post, Trump’s legal team is seriously considering multiple ways in which to undermine Mueller’s ongoing investigations, and some of those plans include disparaging Mueller himself. The Post for example reported that, “Some of President Trump’s lawyers are exploring ways to limit or undercut special counsel Robert S. Mueller III’s Russia investigation, building a case against what they allege are his conflicts of interest…They are actively compiling a list of Mueller’s alleged potential conflicts of interest, which they say could serve as a way to stymie his work.” As for the Times, they have reported that, “President Trump’s lawyers and aides are scouring the professional and political backgrounds of investigators hired by the special counsel Robert S. Mueller III, looking for conflicts of interest they could use to discredit the investigation — or even build a case to fire Mr. Mueller or get some members of his team recused, according to three people with knowledge of the research effort.” And if you’re wondering why so much effort is being expended to find “conflicts of interest,” it’s because this is one of the few legitimate grounds that an Attorney General can use to dismiss (=fire) a special counsel. Donald Trump may be politically incompetent enough not to care, but his attorneys know that he will need some form of credible cover for removing Mueller, and finding real conflicts of interest would give him that. Of course what Trump and his team consider “credible” is usually not what anyone else considers credible. In fact many congressmen are still not taking the idea of removing Mueller seriously, because it seems so far beyond the pale. Bloomberg for example reported that Republican Senator Bob Corker, when asked about this situation, stated that, “There is no possible way anybody at the White House could be seriously thinking about firing Mueller…I don’t even want to comment on that because that’s so far out of bounds it couldn’t possibly be a serious discussion.” (4) Unfortunately, while Corker’s statement is obviously true, it mostly indicates the he has not been paying attention to Trump. As the Bloomberg piece states, “Trump’s other precedent-shattering decisions have underscored that he doesn’t feel bound by Washington’s traditions, or a fear of the political ramifications.” Which is, in my view, letting Trump off too lightly. This is not about mere “Washington traditions.” On the contrary, Trump’s statements and actions have made it clear that he does not understand, respect or even care about the important boundaries intentionally designed into the legal framework of our government. Foundational structures and precedents such as the separation of powers, an independent judiciary, and an apolitical and independent law enforcement community - these are all an irrelevance to Trump. Speaking to this issue, Michael McGough, the senior editorial writer for the LA Times, stated on Thursday (5) that Trump’s insistence that he would not have picked Jeff Sessions to be Attorney General if he knew Sessions was going to recuse himself indicates several disturbing things about the president. First, it indicates that Trump appears to honestly have no idea why Sessions even HAD to recuse himself. Which itself only re-establishes Trump’s complete ignorance of the norms of American governance. Second, it suggests that Trump actually views the Attorney General as his personal lawyer, rather than the chief law enforcement official and lawyer representing the AMERICAN PEOPLE. As Dahlia Lithwick pointed out in a piece for Slate several weeks ago (6), Trump “has always treated lawyers as hired help.” Speaking about her own experience as an attorney before becoming a journalist, Ms. Lithwick recounted her dealings with numerous wealthy businessmen. She was shocked to discover that they often “…held a view of lawyers I didn’t remember learning about in law school: They believed attorneys were the help and that laws were problems that—with enough help and enough money to buy even better help—could be made to go away.” That, as anyone familiar with his history knows, is Trump in a nutshell. Lithwick postulates that Trump most likely sees no difference between the White House Counsel’s office, the attorney general, his divorce attorney, or the FBI director. In Trump’s view they all “work for him,” and therefore should just do whatever he tells them to do. Benjamin Wittes goes even further when he observes that Trump essentially feels “…that the FBI should be his personal force and that all of law enforcement should be about serving him.” (7) But of course things don’t actually work that way, and if Trump wants to fire Mueller without real cause he will not be able to do it by simple diktat. Instead he will have to decapitate the Justice Department by firing at least three (and probably more) of our nation’s top law enforcement officials. And that in turn will create a constitutional crisis so striking it may even wake slumbering Republicans. And to be clear, even that would not end the issue, because getting rid of Mueller would not stop the investigations. In order to accomplish that Trump would have to install an Attorney General who was willing to publicly obstruct a major, ongoing Justice Department investigation involving issues of national security. That is a pretty big ask, even for political sycophants. Washington is full of people seeking power, but it is not full of people who want their reputation publicly shit on for a lost cause. And really, how many people at this point would put their professional and personal future in the hands of Donald Trump, even if he can theoretically pardon them later? And speaking of pardons, keep in mind that any attempt by Trump to squash the investigations by handing out sweeping preemptive pardons would create tremendous political blowback. Also, there’s a real chance that it wouldn’t actually work that well. For one thing, the president cannot pardon himself. Let’s dispense with that fiction immediately. Also, the president can only pardon people for federal crimes. The president has no power to pardon people for state crimes. And we already know that New York state AG Schneiderman has been working hard on his own investigations. Other state attorneys general are also rumored to be working on similar cases. Trump cannot pardon his way out of those problems. Here’s another key point that is not often considered when it comes to the issue of pardons: people who receive pardons don’t retain the “right to remain silent.” That right exists because of constitutional protections against self-incrimination. If someone receives a pardon however, they can no longer be charged with any crimes related to that pardon. Which means that they no longer have any right to remain silent, and can be compelled to give testimony. If they refuse to fully and truthfully give that testimony, they can be jailed until they do. So anyone Trump pardons will find themselves very quickly sitting in an "interview room." And trust me, Paul Manafort sitting in front of a bunch of FBI agents with notebooks and recording devices is pretty much the opposite of what Trump is looking to accomplish. Back in the day, many of the men who served under Nixon did terrible things. But they were true believers. Personally, I guessing that Trump doesn't have a lot of those. Can anyone really picture Bannon, Kushner, or Manafort going to jail for Donald Trump? Umm…no. Those assholes will sing so loud the FBI will have to disburse industrial strength ear protection for their agents. Beginning this week, multiple Senate committees will begin investigating issues surrounding Russia’s interference in the 2016 election, the Trump campaign’s possible collusion in that interference, and other issues related to those events. In the meantime, Special Counsel Mueller has assembled a team of at least 15 top-notch investigators and prosecutors to pursue his investigations. And to be clear, the people Mueller has brought aboard are some of the best in the business. While it may be impossible to predict exactly how Trump will react to all of this, it’s not that hard to guess: badly. Just how badly he reacts will determine how quickly we go from Act II to Act III of the Trump show. It will also determine just how resilient our system really is. So this is where we find ourselves: due to what may very well be the greatest electoral mistake in American history, we now have a sitting president who does not understand or care about government. To Trump, and many men like him, the pinnacle of all American efforts is business. This is why Trump so often appears to think that all interactions, both foreign and domestic, are transactional. It is also why he unrelentingly assumes that all government agencies and agency heads simply have to do whatever he tells them to do. It’s also why he is struggling so hard to make the American government function like his own family business. First, because he begins with the assumption that business is always smarter and better than government. Second, because that is really the only way he knows or cares to function, and he's not going to change for something as unimportant as the United States government. Third, because his family members are just about the only people he trusts with his various “secrets.” But government is not a business, nor is it intended to be. A point that seems obvious, but remains oddly confusing to many people, is that governments do not exist for the same purpose, hold the equivalent priorities, or function with the same motivations as business. Trying to force the government to run as a business is like trying to force a hospital to run like a game show; it might be fascinating to watch the attempt, but in the end it will fail in a spectacularly ugly fashion. Also, you really don't want to be a patient during that particular experiment. "Government" and "Business" are different entities. They perform different functions for society and are kept separate for good reason. And quite frankly men like Trump are a large part of that reason. Even ethical and well-meaning business leaders, of which there are plenty, would have a serious problem trying to run the U.S. government like a business. When you instead begin with a businessman as unethical, self-serving, autocratic and mendacious as Trump, it is nearly impossible to avoid ending up with a form of governance that is both incompetent and dangerous. In short, it is simply not possible to run the United States government in this manner, and we are now witnessing what happens when you try. 1- http://cnn.it/2ufGvs6 2- http://nyti.ms/2uOQPKN 3- http://wapo.st/2upHMgk 4- https://bloom.bg/2tKVfgs 5- http://lat.ms/2vNNXu1 6- http://slate.me/2sYvqO1 7- http://bit.ly/2uGtbiJ

-by  Michael Arnovitz

[pendulumprince]

And on the new protag: let’s give speculation a try!

I’m super late to the party, but I’ve just been thinking about him. If any this turns out to be true, chalk it up to dumb luck.

From what we know:

Yusaku already looks like he’s going to be a joy forever. Aesthetically, I like him quite a lot—the smart bluish-black blazer, his bright green eyes, his quasi-aggressive stance, his furrowed brow. His hair is insane by most standards, but for a YGO protag it feels almost lowkey.

We only have one picture of him, but in it he gives off a very no-nonsense vibe, like he’ll fight you in the desert using nothing but a spoon and still win five times out of five. Okay, okay—he’s probably not that tough. I see the general consensus is that he’s either stoic and dismissive, or super timid. If he does turn out to be standoffish, then it’s definitely a mask. If you don’t want to be noticed, being perceived as mean is a good way to get people to steer clear of you. And if he’s just timid? That would be great, too. Given the confidence of the first three, and the (at times, false) bravado of the most recent two, to have a protag start off lacking in self assurance would be such a refreshing take.

But you know what really throws me about this kid? First episode, he “decides to give dueling a try”. Good lord, he isn’t a duelist! In a world that revolves around dueling… how?!

Well, there have obviously been non-duelists in previous installments. But never a protag. This is a first—even Yuma, despite his lack of skill, was a duelist in that first episode. And yet, our cotton candy dream boy may not be. I’m very interested to see where that goes, and what pushes Yusaku to finally start dueling.

Story takes place in a high school setting, and along with what he looks like, he has to be in the 15-17 age range—so for sure older than our previous two. Given all the setting hopping we did in Arc V, I think the setting in this new story will remain relatively consistent: school, the VR world (whatever that may be), the city he’s in, home. But if the VR world is anything like action fields are, then it really won’t feel like we have a consistent setting—which I would count as a good thing. ‘High school setting’ reminds me of GX, and if there’s one thing that fatigued me about that spinoff, it was it’s static setting (at least during seasons one and two).

Now, moving on to light speculation: 

I don’t think Yusaku is going to start out with any friends. Just like with dueling, I feel that the writers are going to have him start from zero and work his way up. In this scenario, his first friend will likely be the person who challenges him to a duel in episode 1. This duel will be 100% inconsequential and fun. Fair chance that this person will also become his ‘friendly’ rival, someone who will encourage him to keep at dueling because they recognize his talent for it, and he inspires them to do their best in turn.

Under no circumstance will this person be his ‘antagonistic’ rival. Given the nature of YGO I don’t think they’d give a friendless protag an adversary right off the bat. It also wouldn’t make much sense to expect a shy person to try something new because someone is antagonizing them for no other reason than to stoke their own ego. Bullies only inspire people to retreat further into their shells.

Now, if he does have friends? Only one. This’ll be a childhood friend, possibly with their families having ties to one another (think Yuya and Yuzu). This person will be his foil: outgoing to his shy, aggressive to his passive, ambitious to his laid-back (at least as far as dueling goes). If he already has such a friend, it’ll take something besides encouragement to finally get him to try dueling. No one changes unless they have to. In this case, he’ll likely be faced with some sort of conflict on episode 1—and whoever presents him with that conflict has a good chance of becoming his ‘antagonistic’ rival.

And speaking of that duel? Yusaku likely isn’t a duelist, but I fully believe he will have a deck on episode 1—and I think he will have had it for a while, to the point that he’ll have all of his trap/spell/monster effects memorized (so no Yuri versus Asuka hijinks). He just will have never played against anyone. Him having a deck and knowing it well will put him in a better position to win his first duel, which I think for someone as reserved as him is an absolute must.

Moving on to broader topics, this post does a better job at explaining the meanings behind Yusaku’s name than I could in a thousand years. But in short: his given name is made up of the kanji for “game” and “work”, while his last name is made of the kanji for “wisteria tree”

“Game” obviously refers to dueling, as it has for all the previous protags. “Work” is a big vague—but hell, so was “arrow” for Yuya, and in hindsight that can definitely be tied to him. The only thing I can think of with the present information available is that it’s meant to symbolize the effort he’ll put in to overcome his more conservative nature. Maybe putting himself out there—or rather, being dragged out of his comfort zone—will be a major stressor for him. Maybe social tasks that were a breeze for the previous five will be so strenuous that it will be equal to work in his eyes.

As for his last name? Wisteria trees have multiple symbolic meanings, many of which are rather positive. Some, not so much. But even given it’s most negative meanings—uncontrollable greed (voraciousness) and an inability to let go—it still isn’t quite as ominous as ‘sakaki’ was. We can talk about the negative meanings attached to wisteria if and when Yusaku begins to display them; but for now, I’d rather focus on the positive (a new one for me, right?)

Wisteria trees are associated with the celebration of youth, devotion, new beginnings, remembrance, and—this is the one I find the most interesting—longevity (wisteria trees can have unusually long lifespans; the oldest known wisteria tree is apparently around 1,200 years old). So make of that what you will. 

Now, moving on to full-blown, balls-to-the-walls speculation:

Given all that’s gone down with Yuya, it is very, very unlikely that Yusaku’s power (and you just know he’s going to have some power) is going to be tied to anything malicious. Power born of destruction and chaos can be revisited with protags seven and beyond (if we’re so fortunate) but not with number six. Not with Yusaku. It would just come off as repetitive and unoriginal.

Whatever power he has may be neutral, which would be an interesting concept to explore because it’s manifestation would rely solely on his moral alignment. But I’m going to go a step further and say that I think it’ll be benevolent in nature. And Yusaku’s power is tied to benevolence—as opposed to Yuya’s, whose power is malicious and destructive—then the writers could go one of two ways with it: either his mission to aide a larger benevolent force, or he is that benevolent force. 

Personally I favor the latter option, just because it hasn’t been done by the series yet. Of the previous five, we had three who worked with a ‘good’ entity (Yugi, Yusei, and Yuma), and two who possessed dark, god-like powers (Judai and Yuya). Just as we’ve never had a protag that’s worked to aide a malicious force (which would be so cray), we’ve also never had a protag who’s been the physical incarnation of a totally good entity. Yusaku is as good a character as any to have this sort of story told through.

“But PP!” you may say. “That’s boring! A protag with saintly powers would have arrested character development from the start!”

Yeah… not if he’s an asshole.

Well, maybe ‘asshole’ is too strong of a word. We don’t know much of anything about Yusaku outside of his reserved nature (and yet, look at the length of this post…!) But the point is, he may end up being a deeply flawed character, and part of his journey may be reconciling that with the nature of his existence.

How would he do that? This is YGO: he’d do it through his friends, and through communicating with people via dueling. (And other plot-specific ways, but I’ll need at least another sentence of series info before I can stretch that into an essay.)

And now that sure-to-be-incorrect theory is out there, on to my hopes and dreams for the sixth series:

May our young Yusaku be queer as hell. May he have a romantic two-boy friendship. Hell, let’s shoot for the moon—may he even have a canonical boyfriend.

Shit, give us queer characters in general. As much as I love Arc V, it had too much hetero ship teasing for my taste—and idk about y’all, but I’m ready to Make YuGiOh Gay Again. 

Also! Well written female characters! Who maintain their agency from beginning to end and aren’t revealed to be pawns of the Big Bad’s designs! 8)

And speaking of women: A FEMALE BIG BAD. A FEMALE SUPERVILLAIN. PLEASE. MY BODY IS READY.

A big bad directly tied to Yusaku would be hella rad (*looks pointedly at Yusho*)

Oh, and parents? Boy, do I love the Arc V parents! Let’s have some more parents this sixth installment! Good ones! Bad ones! Strict ones! Odd ones! Abusive ones! Adopted ones! ALL CANON YGO PARENTS COUNT AS LEGAL TENDER ON THIS BLOG, SO LONG AS THEY ARE NOT ABSENT OR DEAD.

Mmm, I always thought it would be interesting to have another protag with a brother or sister. Yuma had a big sister; maybe Yusaku could have a younger sibling? Or older—it doesn’t really matter to me, so long as they’re plot relevant.

A return to the previous summoning methods? Like, the plot doesn’t have to revolve around them like they did in Arc V, but to have them occasionally show up alongside the potential new summoning method would be A+.

Solid and consistent pacing. if Arc V has one major flaw, it is pacing. Hoping to see the new series succeed where Arc V fucked up.

And that’s it! Now, back to that other show. 

[teachanarchy]

Seventy years later and Nazis still haven't figured out how to be funny.        

Memes and the alt-right go together like peanut butter and jelly that's been spread into the shape of a swastika. Internet memes are, by and large, the currency in which these young nationalists trade, eschewing the stuffy, articulated treatises of Mein Kampf in favor of more virality-friendly catchphrases and image macros to be proliferated around image boards and subreddits.

Additionally, the movement is in and of itself a semi-self-aware meme that seems to only exist within the safe, anonymous spaces of the internet. Just as memes tend to be cringey and ineffective when taken offline, one of the alt-right's most publicized IRL events, the "DeploraBall" was widely regarded as a colossal shit show due to the physical and ideological infighting.

Shitposting for keks is also trickier to dismiss when done out in the real world without the mask of anonymity. White supremacist and human punching bag Richard Spencer, the poster child of the alt-right, has claimed his "Heil Trump" chanting at a post-election rally was done in the spirit of "irony." This jives with Spencer's calls for "peaceful ethnic cleansing" at the 2013 American Renaissance conference but serves to highlight the notion that darker machinations often lay beneath the group's claims of simply wanting to troll SJWs.

We've put together a field guide of some phrases and memes white supremacists share with each other so that, if you happen across one in the wild, you'll be able tell whether your old college friend, Gary, is simply a fan of 11th century history or secretly wishes to eradicate all non-whites.

Pepe the Frog

If Richard Spencer is the human mascot of this group, Pepe the frog is its meme version. Much has already been said about the amphibian cartoon's ascension from fringe web comic character to neo-Nazi mascot, including by the Clinton campaign.

Despite the disingenuous incredulity offered by the alt-right (and garden variety Trump supporters) after the ADL added Pepe to its official list of hate symbols, there is no reason to believe that anyone using the character today is at all unaware of the Nazi sentiments attached to it and should therefore be regarded as complicit in spreading said sentiments with his or her usage of the cartoon. Plausible deniability divorced itself from Pepe usage a long time ago. The swastika was once an innocent religious symbol too. People have a tendency to ruin nice things.

Cuck/Cuckservative

Another one that's been covered to death so we needn't spend too much time on it. Trump supporters have long called those they disagree with "cucks," because wanting everyone to have access to healthcare is apparently akin to letting a stranger fuck your wife.

The white-supremacy twist on this oldie but goodie is the additional fear mongering of the cuckoldry being carried out by a person of color. Louis CK became 4chan's public enemy #1 target for race-based cuck meming in 2014 by daring to have stand-up material that broached the subject of white privilege.

Be careful about accurately judging intent and seriousness if you hear someone use "cuck" these days. As "normies" gained familiarity with "cuck" as an alt-right insult, the term began its toothless third stage of life as lefties playfully and sarcastically insult each other with it à la the "thanks, Obama" meme.

Deus Vult

Screencap via YouTube user Starbot Dubs

Crusader iconography has long been tied to Islamophobia, so white supremacists didn't have to tweak much when they lifted this Latin battle cry from Pope Urban II's first crusade. Translating to "God wills it," deus vult re-emerged, after nearly a millennium of hibernation, in a 2015 YouTube video of Christian Syrians bombing ISIS. Since then, alt-right message boards have glommed onto the words, using them as if they were a divine permission slip for wishing death upon Muslims. Vandals even tagged the phrase on a mosque in Scotland in December.

As with Pepe, the window is rapidly closing on claiming innocence when using the phrase.

Moon Man

Borrowing the crescent moon 80s McDonald's ad character, Mac Tonight, white supremacists co-opted this wholesome fast food mascot (ironically based off of black music icon, Ray Charles) as a face for text-to-speech rap song "parodies" (that aren't worth linking to) which explicitly describe myriad gruesome scenes of murdering black people, while dredging up every epithet you can think of. It's like if Stephen Hawking's computer and Weird Al had a really racist child that had an internet connection but no creative talent.

This is just a meme meant to get a rise out of you, of course. There's no true animus there, right?

(((Triple Parentheses)))

Perhaps you've noticed a number of your favorite Twitter accounts surrounded by triplicate parentheses. This is the result of a concerted solidarity effort to take back and render ineffective an alt-right tactic of marking—starring if you will—Jewish journalists.

Conceived of on neo-Nazi podcast The Daily Shoah, these parenthetical "echoes" were written around the names of Jewish journalists and public figures when mentioning them on Twitter. The idea was to aid anti-semitic Twitter search efforts. Twitter has since updated their search function to drop the parentheticals, thereby rendering this hateful branding tactic pointless. You can still see it, as used in the video title below, as a sort of racist vestigial organ.

"Global Special Interests"

All you need to know is that when Donald Trump uses this phrase, a contingent of his base hears "Jews." So now you know to be a bit concerned if cousin Wendy starts peppering that into the family newsletter come Christmas.

Operation Google

We've all encountered that one person who feels personally slighted by his (yes, his) inability to publicly use the n-word while black people have carte blanche. 4chan, that shitty friend writ large, pulled a code word scheme straight from the KKK playbook after Google launched a program meant to filter out such obscenities in searches. Cries of "CENSORSHIP!" rang out, and the crafty teenagers quickly formulated a code of replacing filtered racial slurs with tech company names (Jew = Skype) and Fight Club references (trans person = Durden). The spurious logic behind this scheme was that if enough of them started calling black people "Googles" online, the tech behemoth would eventually have to censor their own pages. That never happened, of course. Instead, a couple dumb Tweets like the one below cluttered up Twitter for a minute.

WE WUZ KINGS

The Black Egyptian Hypothesis is a widely disputed theory that the Egyptian pharaohs (and citizens they ruled) were more dark-skinned than how we picture them today. Despite this being a fringe theory, the alt-right has adopted it as another weapon in their arsenal for denigrating black folk.

Typical Kings/Kingz/Kangz memes revolve around low-effort posts wherein the poster mockingly asserts that, were it not for (implied non-existent) white oppression, black people would be royalty.

Dindu (Nuffin)

Look for this phrase primarily in comment sections of stories about slain African Americans. "Dindu nuffin" (often abbreviated as "dindu") is a bastardization of "didn't do nothing," in reference to the claims of innocence that parents, friends, and community members make about the victims of unlawful police shootings.

Even in cases not involving police or criminal acts, black people, simply referred to as "dindus," are still the targets of alt-right memes. The presumption of guilt every time a black person is injured or accused of a crime is the small price these white supremacists are willing to pay for the opportunity to mock grieving mothers.

Free Helicopter Rides

"Death flights" were a common form of extra-judicial execution during the Dirty War in Argentina and following the 1973 Chilean coup wherein dissidents were flown over the ocean in an airplane or helicopter and pushed to their death. From 1976 onward, thousands of political opponents to Argentina's Admiral Luis María Mendía and Chile's Augusto Pinochet were murdered in this manner.

This wanton disregard for human life is hilarious to many in the alt-right. Starting in mid-2015, certain boards began suggesting progressive political opponents be given "helicopter rides."

Die-hard fans of this murder meme can even purchase whimsical "Pinochet's Helicopter Tour" T-shirts (which we won't link to) that will fit even a 3XL-sized Übermensch.