#and the solution to an happy ever after is just: uniting war against those two. such a cop-out

[teddyonaboat]

I think the biggest problem I have with Arcane season 2 is how it ditched the strong characterization that made season 1 so good, how it kept flip-flopping a lot of character's motivations and lost sight of who they were, and completely disregarded the show's two most important characters:

Zaun and Piltover

[calpops]

midnight into morning | c.h.

You and Calum spend your first night and morning at home with your newborn daughter and she meets her uncles along the way.

3k words

dates with cal masterlist

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

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Midnight quickly turns into morning, Calum is tired but every time he closes his eyes fear strikes through him. You’re at his side, tucked under the covers but unable to sleep for all the same reasons. Your daughter Mila is quiet in her bassinet and from the slight glow of the moon peeking through the curtains Calum can see that her eyes are closed. It’s the first night she’s home from the hospital after seven days in the neonatal intensive care unit, only a week old and so precious and small it worries Calum to take his eyes off of her, to lose her for even a moment. He sighs and a sigh from you follows.

“Have you slept at all?” you ask in a thick and tried whisper.

“Maybe for a few minutes,” Calum responds but can’t be sure of it. The night is getting hazy as time passes.

“I can’t sleep either,” you admit.

It’s the first night back at home, the first night in your own bed and not an uncomfortable plastic chair and yet rest doesn’t come any easier than all of the nights in the hospital. Calum nods at your words, understanding without explanation why sleep evades you. It’s the same for him.

“I’m just so worried,” you continue and Calum knows you need to talk about it, to get some weight off of your chest. “What if something happens? What if we’re asleep and she’s not okay?”

Calum doesn’t have answers to those questions and they only present thoughts he’d much rather never have to consider. He feels himself getting choked up but he shakes his head and shakes away the fear as best as he can. He trails his fingers along your jaw, soft and reassuring. A thousand thoughts spin through his mind and rocks the foundation of the world he shares with you and Mila. He comes to an answer though he knows it’s not a solution that is feasible long term.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Last I looked it was almost four,” you answer and bite your lip, Calum catching the motion of worry from moonlight.

“You get some sleep. I’ll stay up with her,” he offers and not only sees but feels the disapproving shake of your head. “Sweetheart, one of us has to sleep. Your body’s been through so much. Mila needs you to be rested,” he adds on and knows the tactic is a little low but if you won’t sleep for yourself or for him the only other person you would do anything for is her. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

You give him a pout but he sees that you’re relenting from the tired look in your eyes and the way they can’t stay open any longer. You nod, beg for a kiss with a small noise and puckered lips and finally settle in to attempt to sleep when he gives you a peck. Calum stays by your side while you war with slumber, keeps a hand trailing up and down your back in a soothing rhythm and has his gaze pinned on the bassinet at the bedside. Mila has only stirred a few times during the night, to be fed and changed and soothed. Otherwise she’s slept and been sound. Once Calum is sure that you’ve finally drifted and the clock reads five he slips out of bed and rounds the corner to get to Mila.

Just the sight of her makes him smile, brings tears to his eyes and has him at peace with the restless nights. He would give up anything for her. Sleep. Time. The rest of the world. He wants more than anything to hold her but he doesn’t want to wake her.

He settles for something familiar, a soft fingertip trailing over her small hand. For seven days it was the only form of contact he had with her. She doesn’t flinch or react in any way, she stays still and calm. After a moment eyes that mirror his own open but she doesn’t cry. She’s secure with his touch and it warms Calum to know his presence keeps her calm. He looks over at you, finally burrowed under the covers and asleep, then looks back at her and reaches into the bassinet slowly and carefully and quietly. She fits so perfectly in his arms, her small body tucked into his hold with ease.

“We’re gonna let mommy sleep,” he whispers and presses a kiss to the top of her head as he strides out the door and for the nursery across the hall. “Would you like a good morning story, lovebug?” Calum asks as he settles into the rocker near the crib. He borrows your term of endearment for her, having heard you call her lovebug in the hospital.

Mila stays quiet and Calum takes that as a yes. As the sun comes up he reads to her about a bunny and once the pages come to an end he proceeds to talk to her instead.

“Your mommy and I used to read each other to sleep,” he says with a fond and far off smile as he recalls the gentle nights of whispered words. It was a tradition created when sleepless nights after breaking up and getting back together ensued. He sits and rocks Mila, tells her stories about you and revels in the warmth of her and the sun coming in through the window.

Just as the story of meeting you enters his mind and sits on his tongue your voice breaks the thought away.

“Good morning.”

Calum’s eyes dart up and find you standing in the hallway, pajamas a rumpled mess and hair in disarray but a more restful look in your eyes. He smiles, unable to stop himself, the mere sight of you enough to make him happy.

“How is she?” you ask when Calum stays quiet.

“Perfect,” he answers without hesitation, wanting to put any fears or questions at bay for you. “You could go back to sleep if you want. We’re good right here.”

You shake your head. “I’m awake now, I should probably feed her.”

Calum agrees with a head nod and laughs when you enter the room with outstretched arms and wiggling fingers in your anticipation to hold her. Calum understands the feeling of wanting her in your arms. Seven days without her makes every moment that much more important. He gives Mila one last kiss on the cheek before standing and gently handing her to you. He watches with caution and admiration as you settle into his place in the rocker with her in your arms. Mila makes the transition from him to you with such ease it’s almost startling how easy she is after so much turmoil.

“Do my sweethearts need anything?” Calum asks and plants one knee on the ground to be level with you and Mila and darts his gaze from you to her.

“Breakfast?” you ask with a little smirk and raised eyebrows. “If it’s not too much?”

“Nothing ever is, I’m on it,” Calum promises and rises from his one knee position.

He doesn’t forget to give you a parting kiss before heading for the kitchen. The house is quiet and calm and it’s such a striking contrast to the constant activity and anxiety of the hospital that it nearly winds Calum. He doesn’t even have time to get a pan out before a soft knock on the front door has him running off.

“I brought breakfast,” Luke says as a greeting when the door swings open. “Thought you guys could use a break, make things a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Calum says and means it, nothing but appreciation coursing through him at the thoughtful gesture. Calum takes the bag of takeout from his best friend and a sudden realization hits him. “How’s Duke? Do you want us to come get him?”

Luke waves off Calum’s question. “He’s fine. He can stay a while longer if you guys want time to get Mila settled.”

“That might be good,” Calum says and contemplates. He’s not sure how introducing Duke to Mila will go over but from his protective nature of you during pregnancy Calum has a feeling Duke will be nothing but a guard dog to Mila. When Luke lingers, eyes darting into the house Calum smirks. “Anything else?”

“Can I see her?” Luke finally asks and Calum huffs out a laugh as he expected that question as soon as their eyes met. Calum steps aside so the entrance is wide open for Luke.

“Come on in. She’s being fed right now,” he explains and sets the bag of food on the counter. “Want any?” he asks as he starts to unpack the near buffet Luke brought for only two.

Luke waves off the offer as Calum sets to plating the food and waiting for you to come out with Mila. When you do, with slow footsteps and an easy smile at the sight of Luke he lights up at the baby in your arms. Calum watches as his eyes soften and his lower lip juts out in awe. Mila is small in your arms, face buried against you with her eyes closed, tiny hand curled into a fist. Luke immediately stands from his seat and suppresses a gasp, or that’s what Calum believes the chortled noise is.

“Is that her?” Luke asks in a breathy and unbelieving whisper.

“No, it’s some other baby,” you retort with a laugh. Calum chuckles and grins when Luke falters for just a moment and then joins the laughter.

“She’s so tiny,” Luke comments as he stands from his position on the barstool. “Can I hold her?”

There’s a tense moment of pause where Calum watches your body language. You turn at an angle so Mila is slightly away from Luke. Your eyes skirt to Calum and show fears and anxieties as clear as day. You bite your lip and then frown.

“Do you have even a slight sniffle or sore throat?” you question, worries born of getting Mila sick and another hospital stay lingering deep inside.

Luke quickly shakes his head as he picks up on the meaning of the question. “I’m the pinnacle of health. I promise.”

Calum gazes at you as you begin to let your guard down and slowly nod. “Okay, but sit on the couch,” you suggest and Calum smirks at the momma bear protective instincts already coursing through you.

Luke agrees to that plan and Calum walks over to the living room with you and Luke. He settles on the couch and reaches out for Mila. You hesitate for a moment, needing to give her one last little squeeze and kiss before giving her up and it makes Calum smile as he’s already prone to doing the same thing. Mila stirs when handed to Luke, tiny cries falling from her as she makes the adjustment into a stranger’s arms. Calum flocks to Luke’s side, the one you’re not already on, and gently takes her hand.

“Hey lovebug, it’s okay, this is your uncle Luke, he just wants to hold you, it’s okay,” Calum whispers in as soothing of a voice as he can amongst her small cries. His heart hurts with every little noise that escapes her, his hand is soft on hers and his words are even softer. “It’s okay, we like uncle Luke, he’s big and goofy and loves you.”

You follow suit and whisper soothing words to Mila who’s cries begin to taper off. It takes another moment for her to become comfortable and trusting in Luke’s hold. Calum isn’t sure if he can attribute it to Mila trusting Luke or Mila trusting your presence and comfort. Either way he’s overjoyed that she settles in.

“We’re good now right?” Luke asks as he looks down at Mila, finally quiet and content. “You guys go eat, I’ve got her.”

You both hesitate as if waiting for Mila to decide she’s no longer okay but she stays calm and soothed as Luke rubs her back and coos to her. Calum releases a breath and heads for the kitchen with you but keeps his eyes trained on Luke and Mila. You eat breakfast in silence, merely observing and listening as Luke acquaints himself with your daughter. Calum can’t hold back his grins and snorts at Luke’s antics.

“Hi, how are you?” Luke asks in a baby voice as he shifts Mila so he can cradle her in his arms instead of against his chest. Calum gazes at the two with just as much fondness in his eyes as Luke has in his for Mila. “You know, I built your nursery and put your car seat in the car and even helped your auntie Mali pick out those cute little pajamas you’re wearing. And we got your things you’ll grow into; pretty dresses and cute little bunny slippers,” Luke continues, his words like business but his voice is higher pitched and more gentle than usual.

“What are you doing?” Calum asks around a bite of muffin.

Luke looks over at Calum from his position on the couch and Calum arches an eyebrow.

“Just pitching to her why I should be the favorite uncle,” he explains and doesn’t hesitate to turn back to Mila to continue talking to her as if she understands.

The interaction and explanation make both you and Calum laugh. You’re both hasty in eating the breakfast Luke brought for you, wanting nothing more than to get back to your daughter though with the way Luke holds her and speaks to her you’re not sure he’ll give her up any more willingly than either of you would. You end up back in the living room after eating and sit on either side of Luke and Mila, letting him have a little more time with her before swooping in to take her back.

“I can’t get over how small she is,” Luke says when you both join him. He has a light hold on her hand and smiles when her eyes meet his. “My pinky finger is bigger than her hand. Look at her. She’s tiny.”

Luke continues to fawn over Mila while you and Calum watch from your perches on the couch and while both of you would rather have her in your arms you don’t rob Luke of time with her. Only another knock on the door rouses both of you from watching them.

“I’ll get it, you make sure Luke doesn’t run away with her,” you offer and Calum laughs but sweeps a skeptical eye to Luke. There’s only a moment before Michael walks into the living room escorted by you and awe at your baby in Luke’s arms.

Michael voices his awe and Calum grins at the softness of his voice and eyes and picks up on the flinch of his arms as he also desperately wants to hold Mila. Luke doesn’t seem to get the memo, or completely ignores it in any case, and continues to hold her.

“Alright, my turn,” Michael finally announces minutes after taking a seat and trying to be patient, not one to hold onto subtleties for too long.

Luke shakes his head. “Get your own baby.”

“You get your own baby,” Michael says around a laugh at the staunch look of not giving up on Luke’s face.

“Maybe someday I will,” Luke mumbles and sighs, gives Mila one last little coo and finally relents.

The transition from Luke to Michael comes with a small fuss but you and Calum stay by her side until she’s settled. Calum watches his lifelong friend hold his daughter and feels overwhelming warmth and happiness radiate through him. Calum concludes Michael must be feeling the same as he gazes down at Mila with watery eyes and a gentle smile.

“I love her so much,” Michael says and a crack in his voice alludes to the emotion his words promise. “But I am disappointed I was the last one to hold her,” he adds on with a pointed and somewhat joking look to you and Calum.

Calum throws his hands up in the air in surrender and defense. “Shoulda brought us breakfast like Luke,” he jokes and shrugs, to which Michael narrows his eyes but laughs along. “Besides, my parents haven’t even met her yet. They’re catching a flight out tomorrow.”

Michael concedes his argument and jokes and settles into gently rocking Mila, holding her hand and getting himself wrapped her tiniest finger. 

“You guys gonna get any rest until then?” Luke questions in the vein of mentioning how tired you and Calum look but it’s only asked in concern.

“Maybe,” you answer and Calum catches the slight frown on your face.

“It’ll be easier when they’re here,” Calum says and rubs your back soothingly. “It’ll be nice to have them around during the nights.”

“Well, if you need any help you know we’re here,” Michael offers.

“I’ll take her anytime. Can’t promise I’ll give her back though,” Luke pipes in and smirks. “I am her favorite uncle after all.”

“Says who?” Michael asks and gives Mila a little tickle as if to earn affection and the coveted spot of favorite uncle.

“She did. We had a little talk before you got here,” Luke says casually.

You and Calum both laugh at the little argument that ensues and in the distraction swoop in and take Mila from Michael. You hold her and Calum holds you. Ashton and Mali let themselves in through the front door and as they join the group you both know your family will always be there for you and for your daughter.

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[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 2

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she’d been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Chapter 2 - Consciousness

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and broken bones, medical procedures

Read on AO3

~

It was the light of morning that caused my eyes to flutter open, the hardness of the tiled floor beneath slowly recognised in an increasing ache pulsing through my body.

I was slow to move, measured actions helping to bring myself into a seated position, arms shakily holding me up at the sides. Memories of the previous evening flooded back in swift succession, along with the pain of immense fatigue that always followed the act of letting the Force do my healing for me.

Did it even work?

My hand gripped the hospital bed that his body remained slumped on and I pulled myself upwards, feet gliding along the ground under my legs until I could stand. The scene before me was still shocking, even in remembering all that happened. Eventually, I noted the even breaths seeping in and out of the pilot’s chest.

He survived the night. Well done.

The numbers on the monitor confirmed what the voice had said. Heart rate steady. Oxygen levels optimum. Blood pressure higher than it had ever reached the night before. Looking over the battered and broken man, covered in dried blood that had spilled to the bed and floor, I felt a rush of emotion break free from its cage in my chest, unleashing an irrepressible urge to cry.

I sobbed quietly, knowing it was both relief and exhaustion that the tears crawled down my face. I wasn’t really sure why it hit me so hard. I didn’t even know this man, and somehow his survival at my hands was overwhelming, bursting at the seams with a happiness I’d never experienced for a patient before.

But then I recalled what I’d done to make it possible.

Fear struck like a spark in the centre of my chest, rippling its way through my veins.

There’s no way I could explain this as a simple act of medical miracle. He’d know. Then they’d know. And everything I’d built would come crumbling down. I’d have to find a new planet, a new home, build a new clinic, leaving everything behind.

I just wanted to heal people. I didn’t want to be a part of either of their worlds, and I didn’t want to d-

A croaky moan escaped from the pilot’s lips, his eyes moving underneath the lids, struggling to open. He groaned louder, and it became clear all too quickly he was starting to feel his extensive injuries. Panic set in, realising I hadn’t had time to give him any anaesthetic or pain relief.

This was going to be a rough wake up.

A piercing whimper bellowed from his chest, startling me into focus. With the trolley at hand I wrenched open the draws in search of anything with a pain-relieving quality and prepared the med-injector with heavy fluid. He’d already started to move his limbs, presumably in a way to understand what was happening, and another strained yell echoed in the room, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine. I jammed the needle into the IV cannula port, pushing in the medicine without much of a thought to appropriate dosage.

I just needed to stop him moving.

He began hollering even harder, tears welling in his eyes as he started to thrash against the mattress. Snatching at his wrists, I slammed them back down on the bed.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! I know it hurts but you’ve got to give the painkiller time to work. I promise it’s going to be alright!” 

His eyes flew open, an obvious distress burning from behind brown irises. They flickered over my blood-stained clothes, then locked into mine, pleading, begging for me to do something to take away the agony.

“I know,” I said softly, a more tender edge to my voice. “I know it hurts. I’m doing all that I can. Please just stay still. It will get better. Please.”

The pilot drew in a deep, haggard breath, his bottom lip trembling. Eventually his jaw clenched as our eyes remained fixed, a silent pact of trust hanging in the air. It took me by surprise, how easy it was to calm him, and I seized the chance to soothe him even further.

“My name is Alex, I’m a doctor,” I explained. “Your ship crashed just outside my clinic. You were hurt, badly. You fell unconscious and I brought you in here to treat your injuries.”

Such a simple explanation for the truly gargantuan effort I had performed.

I wonder if he’ll ever know how close to death he was.

It wasn’t the time to tell him now, not when he seemed so scared. There was some semblance of understanding in his features, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, only for his eyes to shut again as he withheld a pained cry. I released my grip from his right wrist, placing my hand in his to squeeze gently. An act of sympathy, something I had done many times for people in distress. Even the small movement was enough to make him yelp.

Kriff. I forgot his arm was broken.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. He was still wincing. “Let me try and fix that.”

It was obvious how wrong the angle appeared in his forearm, beginning to prepare more local anaesthetic into the injector handle. I shot the needle a few centimetres above the fracture, the pilot barely flinching. Compared to the rest of his injuries it would likely have felt like nothing at all.

“I need to set this okay? Your arm is going to feel numb in a minute or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His nod was measured, careful not to move anymore than he had to. I left him for a moment to find my universal cast and a sling, giving the injection a few moments to filter through his tissue and into the nerves. When I returned I could see some of the pain medication had already started to take hold, the sting of discomfort in his eyes beginning to waver, his muscles losing their tension and relaxing ever so slightly into the mattress. I prepared the cast, cutting the shapes out for his fingers and thumb, getting it ready for quick application.

“Poe,” he said slowly, his voice croaky and filled with restraint. “My name is Poe.”

I met his gaze again, trying my hardest to put forward an aura of confidence, even in my exhaustion. “Nice to meet you, Poe,” I smiled. With a lightened touch, a finger trailed softly down his right forearm. “Can you feel this?”

“A little,” he whispered. It was clearly hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s kind of… fuzzy.”

“Do you think I could try and set your arm now? I can wait if you prefer.”

“I can handle it.”

Underneath his lips I could imagine gritted teeth, clenching hard, bracing for the pain. It occurred to me then maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone.

Without another word I pulled the X-ray unit’s arm up towards his fracture site, hoping he didn’t notice the splashes of his blood smattering the machine. Pressing down on the image button revealed a better picture in comparison to the absolute mess his femur had been. Only his radius was broken, in an even line, no splintering to be seen.

Finally something easy.

With two hands around his arm on either side of the fracture, I poised myself for a quick pull and twist. Poe’s muscles tensed underneath my grip.

“Just try to relax, it will make it much easier,” I insisted.

He drew in a deep breath, and the tension released from underneath my fingertips. I’d learned in my experience not to tell patients exactly when I was going to perform something painful. Something about the surprise of it somehow made it hurt less. So with one fluid movement I pulled and rotated the bone back into place, knowing even before I shot the X-ray it would be aligned. Poe was crushing his eyelids closed, waiting for me to move again.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

His eyes opened, meeting me with a look of surprise. I’d already begun to position the cast, bending the malleable plastic to the contours of his limb.

“First try?” he marvelled. I nodded, while trying to rein in my ego. “Never had someone get it on the first try.”

I swallowed hard. “I, uh... I wasn’t so lucky with your femur.” I flicked through the previous X-rays, pointing to the multiple shots of my attempts to fix the break. His eyes widened, mouth in a small ‘o’.

“That was my leg?” he gasped, “And you put it back?”

Both of our eyes glanced to the wound on his thigh. It was closed.

But I didn’t put any bacta on it.

Poe’s disbelief distracted him from my own. What I’d done last night with my crude attempt at Force healing had managed to not only mend the life-threatening severing of his artery, but also somehow pulsed enough energy to knit his wound back together, leaving a sealed laceration where the deep hole had been. Dread filled me again, weighing down so forcefully I didn’t want to move.

How am I going to explain this?

“T-thank you. For getting the bacta into it so quickly. Must have some good quality stuff.”

Thank every particle in the universe. He suspected nothing.

I moved slightly to position myself in front of the trolley that stored evidence of the low quality bacta solution and salve I had used for his chest wound and burns, and feigned a smile of appreciation.

“Just doing my job.”

All of a sudden it seemed to hit him, the situation he was in. His questions came out in rapid fire, desperate for clarification.

“Wait, where am I? What happened to my ship? Where’s BB-8?”

He began to rise from the mattress, wincing at the many injury points as he pulled himself into an upright position on the bed. The quick movement evidently made him dizzy, as he pulled his newly casted arm onto the bed railing to stabilise a wobble.

“Woah, just hold on a minute there,” I snipped, doctor mode engaged. “You’ve still got some serious injuries that need time to heal. Nasty burns, a collection of broken bones and the remnants of a punctured lung. Now bacta can be a miracle cure but it still needs more time before you start moving around again, or you’re going to ruin all the progress I made.”

Poe looked as if he was going to argue, but as my eyes bore into his, he recoiled back into the bed, sighing from both the pain of movement and the lack of answers.

“I was in the middle of an important mission okay?” he stressed. “There are people who are waiting on me. I need to get a message back to the Resistance. To tell them I’m out of commission.”

I tensed. The thought of the Resistance coming here to pick up their injured pilot was enough to make my heart beat faster. Sure, maybe Poe didn’t suspect anything, but the likelihood of convincing force sensitive people like Leia Organa, or the scavenger girl….

Attempting to fool them into thinking I’d healed this man with a bit of brute force and bacta would be near on impossible. But I couldn’t prevent Poe from contacting anybody without arousing even more suspicion. I’d just have to go along with whatever he wanted until I could formulate some kind of plan.

“Alright, how about I get you my transmitter and you promise not to try and move until I say so?” I offered, the tone in my voice not really implying that no could be an appropriate answer.

“Sure thing doc,” he agreed.

Maker, I hate when people call me that.

I made my way over to my tech station, using the moment to give him a couple of the answers he’d been so desperate for. “You’re on a remote clinic on Raxus, about 3000 kilometres- uh… klicks, from Raxulon. Your ship… Well, I haven’t been outside since it exploded at my front door. And your droid unit… I haven’t seen.” I realised quickly how insensitive this information came out when I looked up from my rummaging to Poe’s horrified expression. He began to sit upwards again, giving even less care to his wounds, forcing me to rush back to stop him. “I haven’t checked outside yet!”

“Why haven’t you been out there?” he demanded, eyes flaming.

“Maybe because I was stuck in here saving your life? And how was I supposed to know you had an astromech droid with you?”

He huffed, seeing the logic in my question. “Can you please check if BB is okay?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious at how much emotion he was committing to this piece of equipment. All of the medical droids I’d come into contact with over the years were extremely flat personality wise. Intelligent and useful, but I’d never grown any type of attachment to them. Nothing like Poe seemed to have with this BB-8 droid.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go look for the BB unit. Just please stay in bed. And… prepare for the worst.”

Underpromise, overdeliver. One of the many phrases I’d recited during my medical training. I just really hoped the latter would be the case in this situation.

The latch of the clinic door closed softly behind me, the crisp morning atmosphere somewhat refreshing for a moment or two, until I shook myself into focus to assess the completely destroyed X-wing ship consuming my vision. With sunshine finally illuminating the environment, rolling green hills of the countryside extending beyond the horizon, I scanned the blackened metal skeleton of the ship, ashes smattered all over the ground, glass and electrical wires splayed everywhere.

Well, this doesn’t exactly ignite hope.

Walking around what was left of the X-wing, I examined the surrounding area for any trace of a droid - not just the shine of metal, but the possible tracks left by a robot who was looking for its master. I walked slowly into the field behind the crash site, my eyes surveying every bit of ground, hoping to see any metallic glint that might indicate an intact droid.

Since the clinic was the only building for a few kilometres, there was hardly another structure it could be hiding behind, or lodged in. I almost wanted to keep walking, washing my hands of all of this, so I didn’t have to go back and tell Poe his obviously beloved droid hadn’t survived like he did. But another ruined machine caught my attention.

My comm-tower was flattened into nothing - steel, wiring and black plastic flattened into an artificial pancake.

Kriff, more bad news for Poe.

With my only means of communication squished there was no way any of my tech could send a signal far enough to reach the Resistance, let alone the next village over. And now I would have to make the weeklong trek back to Raxulon to get another one.

This day is kicking my ass.

With a long sigh, I ventured towards the ruined X-wing, assuming if I hadn’t found BB-8 by now, it must have been pulverised by the explosion I narrowly avoided last night. I searched the hollow structure of the ship, hoping for any scrap of metal that could be related to the droid, but it was all so black, covered in soot and melted, everything beginning to mutate into some other portion of the machine. When I skimmed over what was left of one of the wings, there was still a rounded hole I assumed BB-8 would have been housed during flights. An empty hole. There was always a possibility the BB droid could have gone searching for help beyond my clinic, but again, there wasn't a trace of movement in the dirt track leading away to the nearest village.

I think it’s time to be the bearer of bad news.

I extricated myself from the mangled ship, looking back towards the front walls of my clinic, noticing now the remnants of the explosion that had left countless dark stains over the light blue paint, along with a few cracks and impact points where metal had hit the cement. The bushes I’d planted a few months ago in time for this planet’s version of spring had been scorched, most of the green overtaken by grey and black soot. On closer inspection, it became obvious one had been split in half, the edges of leaves opening up to a large gap.

I quickened my pace and kneeled in front of the jumbled shrub, my hands diving in to push burnt leaves out of way, finally discovering a large metal ball of orange and white leaning on the blue concrete wall. A little cracked and dirty, but seemingly intact.

Oh wait, where’s the head?

Scurrying around on my hands and knees, I felt around the bushes once more, moving along the line of the wall. The twigs were scraping against the skin of my arms, but I was too excited for the possibility of some good news that I ignored the sting they caused.

Unexpectedly my hand struck something hard, pushing the stiff lower branches out of my view to find a domed head dug into the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away some of the dirt, surveying for any obvious damage. Its antennae was crooked, a few deep scratches slicing the metal, but it all seemed fairly superficial. With the head in hand, I strode back to the body unit, beaming with the thought I could ease even a little bit of Poe’s worry.

My delight was swiftly dissolved when setting the pieces together. I’d assumed the magnet would hold and the droid would spring back to life. Instead, the head slipped straight off, sinking into the ground once more with a muffled thud.

Yeah, that seems about right.

*

“I have good news and bad news,” I declared sheepishly as I walked into view of Poe, lugging in a separated BB-8. His face burst into an illustration of relief, then confusion as his brain finally registered the image of his dear friend separated into two pieces, and lifeless.

As I placed the metal components onto the hospital bed at the side of Poe’s leg, he looked up at me. “This is the bad news right?” His hands tentatively checked over the BB unit, attempting what I had done not minutes ago, and watched the head piece slide back over the metal ball and dive into the mattress.

“Um… Actually… This was meant to be the good news,” I grimaced. “The bad news is that my comm-tower was completely flattened by your ship. None of my transmitter tech is going to be able to send out any messages until I can get another one built.”

Poe’s jaw clenched, and I only noticed now the dark stubble that glittered the lower half of his face.

“And when would that be exactly?” he queried sharply. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“At least another week if I left now. But I can’t leave you like this, you’re still in critical condition.”

It was obvious he was hiding his frustration, hands scrunched into balls. “They can’t wait that long.”

I scrambled at any answer that might settle him. “I mean, maybe some of the villagers could help, but there’s no guarantee-”

“Then get them to help!” he exploded, making me step back. At seeing the startled look on my face he softened, realising the severity of his demand. “I’m sorry, but this is just… so important. I know you’ve already done more than I could have ever asked of someone, but I still need more of your help. The fate of the galaxy depends on it.” His eyes glistened with hope, a silent plea, sending a cold wave of unease down my spine. He held a bandaged arm out, hand open, reaching toward me.

I didn’t want to be a part of this. It was exactly what I had run from for so long. Even now the immediate urge was to bolt out the front door, leaving behind this stranger who could unravel everything I’d built.

But there was something about the expression on his face, the desperation in his eyes, calling out to me. I was all he had right now. I was his only lifeline to put him back on whatever journey he had been travelling before fate made him, quite literally, crash into me.

“I mean, if the fate of the galaxy depends on it…” I mumbled, placing my hand tentatively in his. “Okay. I’ll help you get back home.”

~

Next Chapter

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[warsofasoiaf]

Its been awhile since you've done any character analysis on Fallout New Vegas, but would you be willing to go into one for some of the minor characters? I'm actually curios of your opinion on Silus the captured centurion and his motivations.

I’m more than happy to, although this won’t be about Silus so much as it will be about the quest Silus Treatment. It’s one of my favorite quests in the game, since it does a great deal just with dialogue and some creative use with the engine to create an engaging quest that showcases some of the failures of the NCR and the Legion. Given that the central theme is about picking a faction, warts and all, having a quest that puts the two main faction of New Vegas on full display is an absolutely good idea. The game is too old for spoilers, but it’s a long analysis so I’ll put a cut in.

Silus Treatment starts off simple enough, going to Camp McCarran, in the old McCarran International Airport, now the regional command post of Colonel Hsu. McCarran is not in a great spot when you first get there; there are periodic Fiend attacks, tensions in Freeside are causing havoc for NCR civilians, the overstretched NCR supply lines are making it difficult even for their central point of operations, and there’s a strong possibility that they’ve been infiltrated. It’s all Colonel Hsu can do to keep order and function in the base. Perfect protagonist fodder, in other words, for a nice quest hub.

It’s a tough needle to thread in any RPG to build a quest hub where there’s stuff for a character to do. If everyone is incapable of solving even the most basic of problems, it gives a great deal of quests for the player to do but it makes the quest-givers look incompetent, especially if the quest-givers are supposed to be capable figures in their own right. Conversely, if the NPC’s are competent, then the quests would be solved and that would close out on content for the player. There’s plenty of ways to settle this, and the devs do an adequate job here. The war effort means prioritization, and Hsu is dealing with being torn from both angles. He can’t just hunt down the Fiends, because he needs to organize patrols and deal with NCR settlers in the area. He can’t just pacify Freeside because it will engender hostility with House and so he’s delaying the order from his butcher superiors like Moore to go in with fire and sword. He doesn’t have a solution to the Kings but he’s trying to find one, which as far as writing goes is a good solution. Hsu is a decent man but overworked. He’s hoping that he can develop a solution in time before Cassandra Moore decides to pull rank and go on the warpath against all who oppose the NCR, which leaves a convenient spot for the player.

It’s this person that gives us our introduction to the Silus Treatment questline. Hsu has a valuable prize: Silus, a captured Legion centurion! Typically centurions always commit suicide rather than be captured to deny any useful intelligence to the enemy, so to capture a centurion alive should be quite a find. But it’s not going so well. Lt Carrie Boyd, in charge of base security, can’t get Silus to talk. Again, perfect quest writing to get the PC involved in the plot. Normally such a sensitive operation would never be given to an unknown civilian contractor, even for a bureaucratic mess like the NCR. Frontier desperation, hitting a wall via official channels, and the fact that the character is the protagonist in a sprawling open world help it pass ludonarrative muster.

Boyd is a real piece of work, she’s openly sadistic hiding beneath of veneer of civility. She considers the humane treatment of POW’s as an impediment, and so looks for ways around it. Notably, while she wants information from Silus to deliver to her superiors, she’ll settle for just having Silus beaten so bloody that he can’t speak anymore, calling it “entertainment.” This is a person who simply should not be in charge of interrogating a prisoner, she is neither humane nor effective at her job, but here she is by virtue simply of being the chief MP on base.

Not that Silus, the prisoner and the other side of this duo, is better. He openly revels in the barbaric practices of the Legion’s slavery system, even trying to ensure that the slaves can never achieve some level of comfort by tightening the collars and making it difficult for them to feel at ease while eating or drinking. Even if Silus is mostly saying those things simply to get a rise out of Lieutenant Boyd, he knows what the Legion is up to and enjoys it. Silus is arrogant to an extreme degree, he is filled with confidence that he can outlast any interrogation by the feeble NCR without giving up any intelligence, that he could easily escape NCR confinement and that he is so valuable to the Legion that following Caesar’s order would be a waste. Good fodder then, for the protagonist to bring him down to size.

Silus Treatment as a quest is relatively simple. Boyd signs off on the Courier beating the ever-living tar out of Silus and then steps out for a smoke, letting the player do whatever he or she wants to the prisoner. Silus, sneering, dismisses the Courier as just another piece of NCR trash, and it’s up to the player with how to succeed. Violence is always an option, you can beat Silus, and eventually gets something useful, that the base itself will be the target of Legion destruction. Silus admits that his fantasy of escape was always a fantasy, he was dead to Caesar just as surely as he as if he had committed suicide before capture. 

Yet if the Courier has points in Speech or Intelligence, he can completely upend Boyd’s methods and actually deliver a worthwhile interrogation. The first technique, with speech, uses an interrogation technique known as Pride-and-ego-down, where the interrogator routinely belittles and demeans the prisoner, usually their technical competence or soldierly qualities, in an attempt to get the prisoner to “redeem” themselves by explaining a piece of useful intelligence that would explain the deficiency as opposed to it just being a terrible personal quality. The Courier mocks Silus as a coward (bravery being a key soldierly virtue) and he defends himself by stating his bravery and that suicide is a poor death for a soldier of his intelligence and caliber, then saying how good a soldier he is for a “self-appointed megalomaniacal dictator.” Silus then spills that Caesar held his unit for three days because of “headaches,” in actuality, it’s Caesar’s brain tumor. The technique works to an exceptionally high degree, not only does Silus divulge that McCarran has been infiltrated as in the violence ending, but also that the Legion is suffering a crisis of command due to Caesar’s illness. The Courier gets a lot of useful intelligence out of Silus and doesn’t compromise the humane treatment of prisoners in the process. If it actually caused some self-reflection in Boyd, that’d be a complete win, but I suppose we can’t have everything.

My favorite option is the intelligence option, because the Courier goes full-on PSYOPS, posing as a Legion assassin sent to kill Silus for his failure to commit suicide on Caesar’s order. Silus denies it at first, but as the Courier continues to sell the performance, Silus begins to express real terror at the thought that the Courier is actually a frumentarius sent to kill Silus before he divulges anything to the NCR. The Courier fully sells the deal using Latin phrases as the language of Caesar’s elites. The Courier can quote Cicero, “legum servi sumus” - we are all slaves to the law, in what is perhaps a perfect example of Caesar’s philosophy of totalitarian obedience. The full quote "Legum servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus” - we are slaves to the law so that we might be free, means little in Caesar’s totalitarian state where all are subject to his whims and contingency plans for Caesar’s incapacity aren’t even considered. Of course, the Roman Republic was hardly a free state, but Caesar really takes the cake with his dictatorship. If Caesar’s dictum holds true: “Corruptio optimi pessima” - the corruption of the greatest is the worst outcome. how much worse is it when Caesar himself is corrupted? But totalitarians rarely raise the possibility that they themselves are corrupt, because the good of the dictator is the good of the state. After all, L'etat c'est moi is the dictum of any dictator, not just a Sun King.

Of course, fitting New Vegas, you can side with Silus, and facilitate his escape. There, you feign beating him to unconsciousness and slip him a silenced pistol, then Silus makes good his escape, killing the guard sent to bring him back to his cell and sneaking out. Of all the endings, this one isn’t as satisfying. Some of it, of course, is that you never interact or see Silus again, so there’s never any reward to the quest except for the knowledge that the base is infiltrated, which in the pro-Legion side of the quest I Put a Spell on You allows you to complete Curtis’s sabotage operation (and a far better Legion quest, in my opinion, with the NCR quest side being even better given the multiple outcomes), but also it’s not referenced again with Caesar. What would Caesar’s reaction be to the Courier springing Silus? He is quite fond of reciting a litany of the Courier’s accomplishments in Act 2 at Fortification Hill.

If I could improve Silus Treatment, I think I would have made it so the violent path wouldn’t have produced enough valuable intel, and the player needs to do some more detective work to actually get to I Put a Spell on You, or even being mislead by Curtis and becoming the unwitting patsy of the Legion. But overall, I think it was an incredible quest and a testament to the writing in the game.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[warninggraphiccontent]

16 July 2021

Food for thought

At last week's Data Bites, I noted how 'Wales' is a standard unit of area. This week, along comes a map which shows that all the built-up land in the UK is equivalent to one Wales:

The map is from the National Food Strategy, published yesterday (and the man has a point).

It has divided opinion, judging by the responses to this tweet. I understand where the sceptics are coming from - at first glance, it may be confusing, given Wales isn't actually entirely built up, Cornwall made of peat, or Shetland that close to the mainland (or home to all the UK's golf courses). And I'm often critical of people using maps just because the data is geographical in some way, when a different, non-map visualisation would be better.

But I actually think this one works. Using a familiar geography to represent areas given over to particular land use might help us grasp it more readily (urban areas = size of Wales, beef and lamb pastures = more of the country than anything else). It's also clear that a huge amount of overseas land is needed to feed the UK, too.

The map has grabbed people's attention and got them talking, which is no bad thing. And it tells the main stories I suspect its creators wanted to. In other words, it's made those messages... land.

Trash talk

Happy Take Out The Trash Day!

Yesterday saw A LOT of things published by Cabinet Office - data on special advisers, correspondence with parliamentarians, public bodies and major projects to name but a few, and the small matter of the new plans outlining departmental priorities and how their performance will be measured.

It's great that government is publishing this stuff. It's less great that too much of it still involves data being published in PDFs not spreadsheets. And it's even less great that the ignoble tradition of Take Out The Trash Day continues, for all the reasons here (written yesterday) and here (written in 2017).

I know this isn't (necessarily) deliberate, and it's a lot of good people working very hard to get things finished before the summer (as my 2017 piece acknowledges). And it's good to see government being transparent.

But it's 2021, for crying out loud. The data collection should be easier. The use of this data in government should be more widespread to begin with.

We should expect better.

In other news:

I was really pleased to have helped the excellent team at Transparency International UK (by way of some comments on a draft) with their new report exploring access and influence in UK housing policy, House of Cards. Read it here.

One of our recent Data Bites speakers, Doug Gurr, is apparently in the running to run the NHS. More here.

Any excuse to plug my Audrey Tang interview.

The good folk at ODI Leeds/The Data City/the ODI have picked up and run with my (and others') attempt to map the UK government data ecosystem. Do help them out.

Five years ago this week...

Regarding last week's headline of Three Lines on a Chart: obviously I was going to.

Have a great weekend

Gavin

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Today's links:

Graphic content

Vax populi

Why vaccine-shy French are suddenly rushing to get jabbed* (The Economist)

Morning update on Macron demolishing French anti-vax feeling (or at least vax-hesitant) (Sophie Pedder via Nicolas Berrod)

How Emmanuel Macron’s “health passes” have led to a surge in vaccine bookings in France* (New Statesman)

How effective are coronavirus vaccines against the Delta variant?* (FT)

England faces the sternest test of its vaccination strategy* (The Economist)

Where Are The Newest COVID Hot Spots? Mostly Places With Low Vaccination Rates (NPR)

There's A Stark Red-Blue Divide When It Comes To States' Vaccination Rates (NPR)

All talk, no jabs: the reality of global vaccine diplomacy* (Telegraph)

Vaccination burnout? (Reuters)

Viral content

COVID-19: Will the data allow the government to lift restrictions on 19 July? (Sky News)

UK Covid-19 rates are the highest of any European country after Cyprus* (New Statesman)

COVID-19: Cautionary tale from the Netherlands' coronavirus unlocking - what lessons can the UK learn? (Sky News)

‘Inadequate’: Covid breaches on the rise in Australia’s hotel quarantine (The Guardian)

Side effects

COVID-19: Why is there a surge in winter viruses at the moment? (Sky News)

London Beats New York Back to Office, by a Latte* (Bloomberg)

Outdoor dining reopened restaurants for all — but added to barriers for disabled* (Washington Post)

NYC Needs the Commuting Crowds That Have Yet to Fully Return* (Bloomberg)

Politics and government

Who will succeed Angela Merkel?* (The Economist)

Special advisers in government (Tim for IfG)

How stingy are the UK’s benefits? (Jamie Thunder)

A decade of change for children's services funding (Pro Bono Economics)

National Food Strategy (independent review for UK Government)

National Food Strategy: Tax sugar and salt and prescribe veg, report says (BBC News)

Air, space

Can Wizz challenge Ryanair as king of Europe’s skies?* (FT)

Air passengers have become much more confrontational during the pandemic* (The Economist)

Branson and Bezos in space: how their rocket ships compare* (FT)

Sport

Euro 2020: England expects — the long road back to a Wembley final* (FT)

Most football fans – and most voters – support the England team taking the knee* (New Statesman)

Domestic violence surges after a football match ends* (The Economist)

The Most Valuable Soccer Player In America Is A Goalkeeper (FiveThirtyEight)

Sport is still rife with doping* (The Economist)

Wimbledon wild card success does not disguise financial challenge* (FT)

Can The U.S. Women’s Swim Team Make A Gold Medal Sweep? (FiveThirtyEight)

Everything else

Smoking: How large of a global problem is it? And how can we make progress against it? (Our World in Data)

Record June heat in North America and Europe linked to climate change* (FT)

Here’s a list of open, non-code tools that I use for #dataviz, #dataforgood, charity data, maps, infographics... (Lisa Hornung)

Meta data

Identity crisis

A single sign-on and digital identity solution for government (GDS)

UK government set to unveil next steps in digital identity market plan (Computer Weekly)

BCS calls for social media platforms to verify users to curb abuse (IT Pro)

ID verification for social media as a solution to online abuse is a terrible idea (diginomica)

Who is behind the online abuse of black England players and how can we stop it?* (New Statesman)

Euro 2020: Why abuse remains rife on social media (BBC News)

UK government

Online Media Literacy Strategy (DCMS)

Privacy enhancing technologies: Adoption guide (CDEI)

The Longitudinal Education Outcomes (LEO) dataset is now available in the ONS Secure Research Service (ADR UK)

Our Home Office 2024 DDaT Strategy is published (Home Office)

The UK’s Digital Regulation Plan makes few concrete commitments (Tech Monitor)

OSR statement on data transparency and the role of Heads of Profession for Statistics (Office for Statistics Regulation)

Good data from any source can help us report on the global goals to the UN (ONS)

The state of the UK’s statistical system 2020/21 (Office for Statistics Regulation)

Far from average: How COVID-19 has impacted the Average Weekly Earnings data (ONS)

Health

Shock treatment: can the pandemic turn the NHS digital? (E&T)

Can Vaccine Passports Actually Work? (Slate)

UK supercomputer Cambridge-1 to hunt for medical breakthroughs (The Guardian)

AI got 'rithm

An Applied Research Agenda for Data Governance for AI (GPAI)

Taoiseach and Minister Troy launch Government Roadmap for AI in Ireland (Irish Government)

Tech

“I Don’t Think I’ll Ever Go Back”: Return-to-Office Agita Is Sweeping Silicon Valley (Vanity Fair)

Google boss Sundar Pichai warns of threats to internet freedom (BBC News)

The class of 2021: Welcome to POLITICO’s annual ranking of the 28 power players behind Europe’s tech revolution (Politico)

Inside Facebook’s Data Wars* (New York Times)

Concern trolls and power grabs: Inside Big Tech’s angry, geeky, often petty war for your privacy (Protocol)

Exclusive extract: how Facebook's engineers spied on women* (Telegraph)

Face off

Can facial analysis technology create a child-safe internet? (The Observer)

#Identity, #OnlineSafety & #AgeVerification – notes on “Can facial analysis technology create a child-safe internet?” (Alec Muffett)

Europe makes the case to ban biometric surveillance* (Wired)

Open government

From open data to joined-up government: driving efficiency with BA Obras (Open Contracting Partnership)

AVAILABLE NOW! DEMOCRACY IN A PANDEMIC: PARTICIPATION IN RESPONSE TO CRISIS (Involve)

Designing digital services for equitable access (Brookings)

Data

Trusting the Data: How do we reach a public settlement on the future of tech? (Demos)

"Why do we use R rather than Excel?" (Terence Eden)

Everything else

The world’s biggest ransomware gang just disappeared from the internet (MIT Technology Review)

Our Statistical Excellence Awards Ceremony has just kicked off! (Royal Statistical Society)

Pin resets wipe all data from over 100 Treasury mobile phones (The Guardian)

Data officers raid two properties over Matt Hancock CCTV footage leak (The Guardian)

How did my phone number end up for sale on a US database? (BBC News)

Gendered disinformation: 6 reasons why liberal democracies need to respond to this threat (Demos, Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung)

Opportunities

EVENT: Justice data in the digital age: Balancing risks and opportunities (The LEF)

JOBS: Senior Data Strategy - Data Innovation & Business Analysis Hub (MoJ)

JOB: Director of Evidence and Analytics (Natural England)

JOB: Policy and Research Associate (Open Ownership)

JOB: Research Officer in Data Science (LSE Department of Psychological and Behavioural Science)

JOB: Chief operating officer (Democracy Club, via Jukesie)

And finally...

me: can’t believe we didn’t date sooner... (@MNateShyamalan)

Are you closer to Georgia, or to Georgia? (@incunabula)

A masterpiece in FOIA (Chris Cook)

How K-Pop conquered the universe* (Washington Post)

Does everything really cost more? Find out with our inflation quiz.* (Washington Post)

[96thdayofrage]

September 11’s Never-Ending Story

Looking back on two decades of media self-censorship, scapegoating and stenography

Remembering the Last US Retaliation Against Terror

by Jeff Cohen (Column, 9/14/01)

“Outrage is the natural and appropriate response to the mass murder of September 11. But media should not be glibly encouraging retaliatory violence without remembering that US retaliation has killed innocent civilians abroad, violated international law and done little to make us safer.”

Nightly News Glosses Over Anti-Terrorism Act

(Action Alert, 9/27/01)

“The report–which ends by saying that ‘no one really knows how much authority the new security czar will really have’–suggests that to stay safe, Americans must surrender liberties without even pausing to ask which ones.”

When Journalists Report for Duty

by Norman Solomon (Extra! Update, 10/01)

“Restrictive government edicts, clamping down on access to information and on-the-scene reports, would be bad enough if mainstream news organizations were striving to function independently. American journalism is sometimes known as the Fourth Estate—but Dan Rather is far from the only high-profile journalist who now appears eager to turn his profession into a fourth branch of government.”

Retaliation: Reality vs. Pundit Fantasy

by Jim Naureckas (Extra! Update, 10/01)

“One non–Boy Scout the CIA worked with in the 1980s was none other than Osama bin Laden (MSNBC, 8/24/98; Atlantic, 7–8/91)—then considered a valuable asset in the fight against Communism, but now suspected of being the chief instigator of the September 11 attacks.”

Why They Hate Us: Looking for a Flattering Answer

by Jim Naureckas (Extra! Update, 10/01)

“Even before investigators identified Arab militants as the apparent hijackers, the media assumption was that the terrorists had ties to the Mideast. But rather than a serious examination of what political realities might contribute to an anti-American climate there, many media commentators offered little more than self-congratulatory rhetoric.”

Patriotism and Censorship: Some Journalists Are Silenced, While Others Seem Happy to Muzzle Themselves

by Seth Ackerman and Peter Hart  (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“War fever in the wake of the September 11 attacks has led to a wave of self-censorship as well as government pressure on the media. With American flags adorning networks’ on-screen logos, journalists are feeling rising pressure to exercise ‘patriotic’ news judgment, while even mild criticism of the military, George W. Bush and US foreign policy are coming to seem taboo.”

Us vs. Them

by Jim Naureckas (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“It’s still ‘us’ versus ‘them,’ in other words, and we are told to care very much when ‘we’ are in danger and are explicitly warned not to worry too much about ‘their’ lives. Saying that it ‘seems perverse to focus too much on the casualties or hardships in Afghanistan’ (Washington Post, 10/31/01), CNN chief Walter Isaacson even announced that the network would air some kind of disclaimer whenever footage of dead or wounded Afghans is shown.”

Are You a Terrorist?

by Rachel Coen (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“The legal definition of ‘terrorism’ is crucial because the USA PATRIOT act gives law enforcement broad new powers to be used against ‘terrorist’ individuals and groups. The American Civil Liberties Union (10/23/01) warns that this new definition will ‘sweep in people who engage in acts of political protest’ if those acts could be deemed dangerous to human life.”

‘No Spin Zone’?

by Peter Hart (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“FAIR activists sent hundreds of letters to O’Reilly after his September 17 program, urging him to consider the ramifications of his rhetoric–and the fact that bombing civilian targets and using starvation as a weapon are war crimes.”

As if Reality Wasn’t Bad Enough: Dan Rather Spread Alarmist Rumors on September 11

by Jim Naureckas in Extra!, 11–12/01)

“But is it really inevitable that anchors will pass on uncorroborated stories to the public—and portray them as fact, not rumor? For days, New Yorkers expressed surprise that the George Washington Bridge story was not true—victims of a needless panic that Dan Rather had helped to spread.”

Network of Insiders: TV News Relied Mainly on Officials to Discuss Policy

by Seth Ackerman (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“No experts on international law appeared, even though a lively debate among international jurists has been brewing since September 11 over how the United States could respond legally to the attacks. Very few university-based experts on the Middle East appeared. (The main exception was [Fouad] Ajami.) This absence contributed to the networks’ striking lack of explanation of what United States’ policies in the Middle East have been in recent years.”

The Op-ed Echo Chamber: Little or No Space for Dissent From the Military Line

by Steve Rendall (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“Whether the mainstream daily op-ed page was ever a true forum for debate or for ‘nontraditional voices’ is questionable. But during the weeks following September’s terrorist attacks, two leading dailies [New York Times and Washington Post] mostly used these pages as an echo chamber for the government’s official policy of military response, while mostly ignoring dissenters and policy critics.”

The New Blacklist: The Nation’s Largest Radio Network’s List of ‘Questionable’ Songs

by Tom Morello (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“When the horrible attacks of September 11 are used as a pretext for squashing the opinions of dissident artists, people who are not beating the blood-lust drum feel alone and isolated. It’s in times like these when we most need intelligent, thoughtful discussion and debates about the issues of the day.”

‘This Isn’t Discrimination, This Is Necessary’ (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“Leave it to Ann Coulter—whose racism was too much even for the Arab-bashing National Review—to reduce the pro-profiling argument to its fallacious core: ‘Not all Muslims may be terrorists,’ she allowed, ‘but all terrorists are Muslims’ (Yahoo! News, 9/28/01).

“That’s just wrong, of course, as Timothy McVeigh, the Unabomber and decades of clinic-bombing, doctor-shooting Christian extremists can attest. The fact is that ethnicity has never been a reliable indicator of who might be involved in terrorism, making racial profiling not only discriminatory but ultimately ineffective.”

Patriotic Shopping: Media Define Citizenship as Consumerism

by Janine Jackson (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“A number of pundits and politicians offered Americans a simple solution to the helplessness and anxiety they were feeling in the wake of the September 11 attacks: Go shopping!”

Covering the ‘Fifth Column’: Media Present Pro-War Distortions of Peace Movement’s Views

by Peter Hart (Extra!, 11–12/01)

“The distinction between ‘peace with terrorists’ and a peace movement rooted in justice and international law was blurred by the media in general, which rather than airing the views of anti-war leaders generally had pro-war pundits explain–and belittle–those views.”

Internet Samizdat Releases Suppressed Voices, History

by Jeff Cohen (Extra!, 12/01)

“A free press would be debating the issue of Washington’s relations with Islamist extremists in Afghanistan and elsewhere, and whether such movements are bred by US policy committed to suppressing secular reformers and leftists in Islamic countries. When the CIA funded the Afghan Mujaheddin in 1979 before the Soviet occupation, it hoped to destabilize a secular, Soviet-friendly government (initially led by Nur Mohammed Taraki and Hafizullah Amin), which supported land reform and rights for women.”

From Bozo to Churchill: George W.’s Post–September 11 Reinvention

by Mark Crispin Miller  (Extra!, 5–6/02)

“Countless leaders have been deified by national emergency, but few have been remade as quickly and completely as George W. Bush. In many cases, those who had misread him as a simple tool, braying automatically at his most trivial mistakes, now automatically revered him. Such converts suddenly agreed with those who had seen Bush’s flaws as signs of latent greatness—thitherto the notion only of a large plurality, but now the common wisdom.”

9/11 Anniversary Coverage Plans Fall Short

(Media Advisory, 8/26/02)

“Unfortunately, many media outlets seem ready to exploit America’s grief by replaying the trauma of the attacks, instead of honoring the date with a serious debate over where the country is headed”

Saddam and Osama’s Shotgun Wedding: Weekly Standard Beats a Long-Dead Horse

by Seth Ackerman (Extra!, 1–2/04)

“Hardline officials have spent the last two years leaking stories, writing op-eds, holding private briefings and making public insinuations, all intended to convince the country that Saddam Hussein and al-Qaeda worked hand in hand.”

The Media Politics of 9/11

by Norman Solomon (Media Beat,  3/25/04)

“On September 12, Bush’s media stature and poll numbers were soaring. Suddenly, news outlets all over the country boosted the president as a great leader, sometimes likening him to FDR. For many months, the overall media coverage of President Bush was reverential.”

A Record of Journalism in Crisis: Out of the Buzzsaw, Into the Fire

by Francis Cerra Whittelsey  (Extra!, 3–4/06)

“Not only was good reporting unusual and largely out of sight after September 11, it was also overwhelmed by the Bush administration’s public relations effort…. These journalists see themselves fighting an unrelenting public relations machine, whose effectiveness comes in large part from constant message repetition and automatic coverage of the president every day, even when he makes no news”

Gullibility Begins at Home: NYT Accepted False Reassurances on Ground Zero Safety

by Julie Hollar ( Extra!, 11–12/06)

“It’s not just the government that failed the workers and the public with misleading assurances; the New York Times itself must share that burden. Shortly after the attacks and into the ensuing years, the Times—as both a New York paper and a national paper—failed to mount a functional degree of skepticism toward city and federal government pronouncements about the safety of the air and dust around Ground Zero. They by and large dismissed fears of residents and workers about their safety—even as troubling studies and voices of dissent cropped up in the public and private sectors, and in other media outlets.”

The Media’s Mayor: Mythologizing Giuliani and 9/11

by Steve Rendall (Extra!, 5–6/07)

“[Jonathan] Alter dubbed Giuliani ‘the new Mayor of America,’ which soon morphed to ‘America’s Mayor,’ a moniker used by journalists as if it were a matter of public acclamation rather than a symptom of press corps hero worship.”

‘America Was Safer Under Bush’: Journalists Accept GOP’s Screwy Terrorism Scorecard

by Steve Rendall  (Extra!, 3/10)

“That George W. Bush kept America safer from terrorism than Barack Obama is a conservative article of faith these days—and corporate media seem little inclined to challenge the blatant falsehoods used to advance this childish GOP talking point.”

The Uses of September 11:To the Right, Terror Attacks Are Theirs to Exploit—or Dismiss—as They Like

by Steve Rendall (Extra!, 3/11)

“But the hallowed memory of September 11 is a conservative sham. While the attacks may be the gift that keeps on giving for GOP politics—when politically useful—the right frequently permits itself to diminish or deride the memory and symbols of the attacks for its own convenience.”

‘Waterboarding Worked’?: After bin Laden’s Death, Media Push Pro-Torture Message

by Peter Hart (Extra!, 6/11)

“Despite Bill O’Reilly’s assertion that his show was a lonely pro-torture voice, there were many media voices suggesting a reevaluation of whether torture should be an accepted practice for the U.S. government. Bin Laden may be dead, but the corrosive effect on public discourse of the “war on terror” lives on.

Losing the Plot: The Afghan War After bin Laden

by Jim Naureckas (Extra!, 7/11)

What was missing from these and most other corporate media discussions of bin Laden and Afghanistan was any recognition of the part that country played in the Al-Qaeda leader’s strategic vision. For bin Laden, the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan was not a threat to his plan for the triumph of his brand of right-wing Islam—it was the central element of that plan.

Fox’s Eric Bolling Fans on Terror Facts—Twice

by Steve Rendall (FAIR.org, 7/15/11)

“Glenn Beck’s temporary replacement in the 5 p.m. slot on Fox News, Eric Bolling, has started out with a bang. On the July 13 edition of his new show the Five, the host declared: ‘America was certainly safe between 2000 and 2008. I don’t remember any attacks on American soil during that period of time.'”

The Forever Wars: Media Enlist to Promote Unending Military Adventures

by Peter Hart (Extra!, 9/11)

“The shift from the US’s time-limited military adventures since the Vietnam War—in conflicts like Grenada, Panama, Somalia and Kosovo—to today’s seemingly interminable and endlessly multiplying military commitments is one of the most notable, yet little noted, features of the post-September 11 landscape. And corporate journalists seem all too willing to encourage Washington’s new ‘permanent war’ footing.”

The ‘Worst of the Worst’?: 9/11, Guantánamo and the Failures of US Corporate Media

by Andy Worthington  (Extra!, 9/11)

“On the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, media bear a large responsibility for having allowed cynical lawmakers to portray Guantánamo as a prison holding ‘the worst of the worst,’ despite so much evidence that Bush administration officials were lying when they first coined that phrase.”

Whistling Past the Wreckage of Civil Liberties: Watchdogs Slept Through a Decade of Rollback

by Janine Jackson (Extra!, 9/11)

“Media submerge the reality of the assault on civil rights every time they report the state’s overreaches as being about ‘terror-fighting tools,’ as the AP (5/26/11) described Patriot Act provisions. Under a system of civil liberties, people are regarded as criminals after being convicted of crimes—not deemed to be so beforehand to facilitate stripping them of rights.”

Richard Cohen Is Sorry You and He Got It Wrong

by Peter Hart (FAIR.org , 9/6/11)

“Someone who was really sorry for stoking war fever would be honest enough to point out that not everyone was on board. And of course Richard Cohen knows this—he was writing columns attacking those who weren’t ‘going along with it.’ As he wrote about Dennis Kucinich, ‘How did this fool get on Meet the Press?'”

‘Terror Returns’—but When Did It Go Away?

by Jim Naureckas (FAIR.org, 4/16/13)

“The fact that journalists assigned to cover this story could fail to remember that political violence has been part of the United States landscape for the past decade and more is testament to a narrow definition that dismisses right-wing domestic violence as not really terrorism—and to a will to believe, for partisan or psychological reasons, that George W. Bush ‘kept us safe‘ after 9/11. The reality is not so comforting.”

License to Kill: Little Scrutiny of Resolution That Greenlighted ‘War on Terror’

by Norman Solomon (Extra!, 5/13)

“While the Obama administration considers how to reorganize its war efforts, we should ask why the US media establishment took more than a decade to begin asking basic questions about the Authorization for Use of Military Force—and why the underlying premises of perpetual war continue to elude concerted journalistic scrutiny.

“The consequences of such media evasions have persisted in tandem with Washington’s political machinations. Rather than handling 9/11 as a crime committed by criminals, the ‘war on terror’ under the AUMF umbrella propelled US military actions that have killed hundreds of thousands in at least six countries.”

They’ll Be Watching You: Mass Surveillance Uses New Media to Track Every Move You Make

by Jim Naureckas (Extra!, 5/14)

“After the September 11 attacks, which reignited a xenophobic backlash against immigration, the Department of Homeland Security began recruiting local law enforcement agencies as the next front in the detection and apprehension of undocumented immigrants. What followed was a massive wave of deportations that increased under the Obama administration to over 2 million (Politico, 3/4/14).

“Like immigration, the ‘War on Terror’ is now being shifted to local law enforcement agencies who, in exchange for federal dollars, are deploying powerful surveillance tools with little oversight and applying these tools to everyday policing, not just ‘counterterrorism.’”

Forgiving Al-Qaeda in Pursuit of a New Enemy

by Jim Naureckas (FAIR.org, 3/18/15)

“There are indications (as noted by the blog Moon of Alabama—3/11/15) of a shift in the Western foreign policy establishment toward seeing groups like Al-Qaeda—that is, far-right terrorist groups who espouse a violent strain of Sunni Islam—not as the main targets of US military operations but as potential allies against the governments Washington has identified as more important enemies, namely Shi’ite-led Iran and Syria.”

NYT

Recalls Media’s ‘Journalistic Detachment’ Before Iraq War

(Extra!, 9/16)

“In his retrospective (7/19/16) on outgoing Fox News chief Roger Ailes, who lost his job amidst numerous charges of sexual harassment, New York Times media reporter Jim Rutenberg included this remarkable sentence:

It was Mr. Ailes who, after the September 11 attacks, directed his network to break with classic journalistic detachment to get fully behind the war efforts of the George W. Bush White House, which jarred the rest of his industry.

“Of course, Fox News was far from alone in abandoning ‘classic journalistic detachment’ (such as it is) in the lead-up to the Iraq War—the New York Times certainly not excepted. Times reporters like Michael Gordon and Judith Miller helped get the nation ‘fully behind the war’ with front-page stories touting ‘evidence’ of WMDs that did not exist, while others wrote ‘news analysis’ like ‘All Aboard: America’s War Train Is Leaving the Station’ (2/2/03) and ‘US Plan: Spare Iraq’s Civilians’ (2/23/03).”

After 1,379 Days, NYT Corrects Bogus Claim Iran ‘Sponsored’ 9/11

by Adam Johnson (FAIR.org, 7/6/17)

“In its reporting on a dubious lawsuit alleging Iranian meta-involvement in 9/11, the New York Times badly misunderstood the case and maintained for more than three years, in the paper of record, that the government of Iran ‘sponsored’ the September 11, 2001, attacks. The belated correction, issued late Wednesday night on two widely spaced articles on the topic, unceremoniously noted that Iran did not, in fact, help commit the 9/11 attacks.”

On 18th Anniversary of 9/11, Media Worry About ‘Premature’ End to Afghan War

by Josh Cho (FAIR.org, 9/11/19)

“The New York Times (8/2/19) gave a platform to retired generals Jack Keane and David Petraeus to lobby for keeping thousands of “Special Operations forces” in Afghanistan:

“US troops in Afghanistan have prevented another catastrophic attack on our homeland for 18 years,” General Keane said in an interview. “Expecting the Taliban to provide that guarantee in the future by withdrawing all US troops makes no sense.”

“The Times might have pointed out that the September 11 attacks were carried out by militants based in the United States and recruited in Germany.”

Actually, Giuliani Has Always Been Like This

by Ari Paul (FAIR.org, 10/10/19)

“Giuliani was heralded as a hero when the United States was desperately looking for one after the WTC attacks—despite the fact that his actions on the day of the attacks contributed to the deaths of emergency responders, and his insistence that the air at Ground Zero was safe to breathe without filtration no doubt led to the deaths of many more (Extra!, 11–12/06, 5–6/07).”

Krugman Recalls 9/11’s Silver Linings

(Extra!, 10/20)

“’Overall, Americans took 9/11 pretty calmly,’ New York Times columnist Paul Krugman tweeted on the 19th anniversary of September 11 attacks. ‘Notably, there wasn’t a mass outbreak of anti-Muslim sentiment and violence, which could all too easily have happened.’ Anti-Muslim hate crimes increased 17-fold after 9/11, the FBI reported (Human Rights Watch, 11/02)—but apparently that doesn’t qualify as ‘mass.’

“Krugman, after praising George W. Bush as someone who ‘tried to calm prejudice, not feed it,’ did acknowledge that he used 9/11 to ‘take us into an unrelated and disastrous war’—the almost 19-year-long occupation of Afghanistan, apparently, not qualifying as a disaster. Before alluding to Iraq, Krugman mentioned that in the wake of the attacks, “my wife and I took a lovely trip to the US Virgin Islands…because air fares and hotel rooms were so cheap.”

As Kabul Is Retaken, Papers Look Back in Erasure

by Gregory Shupak (FAIR.org, 8/19/21)

“In addition to the Taliban signaling that it could be open to extraditing the Al Qaeda leader in October 2001, according to a former head of Saudi intelligence (LA Times, 11/4/01), the Taliban said in 1998 that it would hand over bin Laden to Saudi Arabia, the US’s close ally; the Saudi intelligence official says that the Taliban backed off after the US fired cruise missiles at an apparent bin Laden camp in Afghanistan and a pharmaceutical factory in Sudan, following attacks on US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania attributed to Al Qaeda. The outlets thus failed to inform their readers that, had the US pursued negotiations for bin Laden’s extradition, Afghans may have been spared 20 years of devastating war.”

[butterfly-winx]

Eraklyon

Eraklyon is known for its riches, political intrigue and peculiar standing in the magical society. The lavish lifestyle of its inhabitants is supported by the ores and minerals hidden in the crust beneath the country, that has caused many an envious eye to be thrown at it.

Eraklyon is located on Manubra 47, a mid sized planet they share with 27 other countries spread over the continents divided from each other by unique freshwater oceans. Two of their most prominent neighbours are Nishii and the island country Callisto.

Eraklyon, like Magics has the means to supply basic amenities to its inhabitants free of charge, though on Eraklyon they do mean the barest necessities: shelter and water. Nevertheless those two taken care of the general stress level about self-sustenance among the low economical classes is staggeringly low compared to other countries of the Magical Universe.

Just like on Solaria, the favourite trade products are gems and minerals that they gladly share with their more famous business partner. A lot of jewellery is is made on Solaria, but mined in Eraklyon. Though semi- and precious stones may be what they are most know for, their other mining products such as oil and carbon gases is what gets them into tension with their neighbouring countries.

As nice as a life in such a well-off stable society sounds like, Eraklyon has never been the object of envy for most people who know what lies beyond the exterior. The country is almost always locked in war with one or the other bordering region in a never ending conflict over territories and mining rights on ground and on the colony planetoids. Borders have shifted considerably over the centuries, the people being displaced adopting a bi-lingual and bi-cultural lifestyle fluent in both Rak (the language of Eraklyon) and the other language of their residence. The instability this introduces had many people flee overseas to Callisto, or straight up just as far away as possible,  onto another planet.

The war at current times is tame. It has morphed, and had to because of the massive causalities it has reaped in the past. Neither Eraklyon, nor Nishii, the two main perpetrators in the fight, are technologically underdeveloped. They had the means to employ weapons of mass destruction against each other and not too long, only two centuries ago they did, nuking most of the people and inhabitable zones of the planet. Magic may not be able to solve all problems, but with the use of the nature core most life was salvaged, the only evidence of  it ever happening a scar on the surface that is slowly being filled by the seas. It was a grim reminder to the ruling class, that at the end of they are nothing without the people they are sworn to lead, serve and protect. The very ways of warfare had to be rewritten.

At this point, no one on Manubra 47 is allowed to hold an army at steady whose sole purpose is to lead wars. Military and its deployment are only permitted when the purpose serves the well-being of all people of the country, say an outside invasion or criminal activity, but never for the personal interest of the ruling classes. They are permitted personal protection units, but even those are limited in size. So the tension moved, the stress of being a casualty moved from the people’s shoulders with the war being solely confined to the royals and rulers themselves.

What began there is known as the Bello Sicarii, the personal war of assassinations, hits and extortion among the members of the royalty. This experience is what shaped Sky’s life growing up and necessitated employing Brandon as a body double for most of his life. It is not rare that it happens, because of the specific rules that further define the Bello Sicarii. In the first years, hits had an extremely high success rate, neither party really used to the new rules and the implemented security measures were lacking, leading to a much too frequent change of regents. That left countries destabilised and at the brink of another civil crisis that neither party on Manubra could afford. 

The new postulations drafted specified, that in order to retain a ruler for as long as possible, adults would be largely spared but their progeny would not. Children before reaching adulthood were fair game, as interrupting the succession line of a ruler carried almost as much weight as an assassination itself. After an heir has reached adulthood, matters would get much more complicated with the young royal being able to sign contracts, make diplomatic agreements and get entangled in business relations, as to such that their “removal” would have significant consequences for the planetary peace and economy. This is something frankly normal to Sky, but he is sweating up a storm thinking if he had to ever explain that to Bloom in the event that they got married and were thinking of having children. (This is also the reason why Bloom’s impersonation of Princess Varanda of Callisto passed for so long, since Varanda has truly never left the protective hideout she had been brought up in and no one off planet has ever seen her.)

Religion on Eraklyon is a double edged sword. Their main belief is a strong doctrine that aims to lead people down a very predestined, rigid path of moral righteousness. In doing so, painting one lifestyle as supremely right, it has the tendency to demonise anything else that deviates from it. Especially magic.

Eraklyon, like Earth, operates a split society where non-magic people and magic users and creatures live in almost separate societies with a hierarchy of their own. While non-magic Eraklyonites know of the existence of magic and do use it in certain amounts, they fear it more than they appreciate it. Especially witchcraft, which has become a notorious example of why magic is bad in the eyes of religious people. In ancient times witch covens liberally offered trade and magical problem solving to those who were willing to pay a certain price for it. It snowballed into a sort of worship that angered the rising power of religious folk, who protested this kind of exchange because of the missing toil in the magical solutions. In their eyes there was no moral lesson, no growth in allowing oneself to rely on spells and magic alone, so they despised the the craft so much that witches entirely left the planet at some point.

The religious doctrine permeates almost everything concerning social life. The rigidity of it demands clearly defined social classes that are largely kept separate, like castes. Elevating oneself is of course possible, so the spiritual leaders say, if only one behaves according to the path of the right. Otherwise every misfortune that happens to one is justly brought upon punishment. This idea is by the way remarkably at odds with the motto of the country that states, Imbalance is paramount for progress, as it keeps social mobility at stagnation.

Imbalance and asymmetry are also beloved design elements that set Eraklyonites apart from other cultures off planet. They are not as avant-garde as people from Zenith, but favouring rich hand-woven fabric, brocades, taffeta and silhouettes that remind of 19th century Earth fashion. No two sides of a building, dress, or haircut are the same but the overall picture is never off kilter, both sides of the design packing incredibly high detail density. For this reason clothing is still hand-crafted and is not a mass market product like in other countries or planets.

One happy thing though that everyone will be able to tell you about Eraklyon, is that they celebrate a lot. They have 18 religious and commemorative days that are bank holidays, but on top of that they also value birthdays very much. Every person automatically receives the day off on their day of birth and may request other ones off for those of their immediate family - meaning spouse, sibling, children, parents, even up to grandparents. Job applications in Eraklyon typically start with a big wall of birth dates requested to give the employer an idea of when one might not be available to work. For seasonal work, people are preferred whose family doesn’t have predominantly summer birthdays, just to make sure harvesting is done on time without Celebration Delays, as they call that.

Eraklyon is a core member of the Company of Light. Being constantly at war gave them the advantage of having armies at the ready to be deployed to protect people from the Ancestresses attacks, plus their experience in battle strategies has come handy more than once, latest in the fight against Tritannus. The people of Eraklyon are a proud people, infused with blind love and trust in their homeland despite its shortcomings. However, they offer the same fierce love and loyalty to all the people close to their hearts.

[makiema]

SnK 118 and Armin's role in the future

I know I'm a lot late in addressing this but when the chapter first released I had my exams and didn't really have a lot of time in hand to write a meta. Anyway, now that I'm free, I'd like to spitball some ideas about this particular panel which raised a lot of questions in the fandom.

What was the significance of Isayama including this moment from Chapter 90 and what exactly was he foreshadowing? Well here's my stance on this :

• Events of Chapter 90 : Let's revisit Chapter 90 and take a look at Armin and Eren's reactions and their eventual interaction when they reach the ocean.

•Armin :

Contrasted to everyone else just having fun, we find Armin staring hard at something. When he sets foot in the water, he is shown looking at something intently - a conch shell. Now, it may as well be coincidence and I'm just being pedantic but, the conch shell is symbolic of other things. The conch shell stands for control, harmony and overall coordination among living things in Hinduism and Buddhism. Apparently, deities holding the conch or being sculpted in a manner that emphasizes the concentric rings found in a conch, symbolize their hold on civilization which maintains stability and peace. Thus, a conch stands for order and implies proper functioning of civilization.

Armin is a character well known for being rational, logical and most importantly for being the one who is always looking for a truce. He wants to "talk", he is more than capable of making the most inhumane decisions but he's always wanting to "talk" things out first. He's the one always seeking a diplomatic solution. Him coming across the conch doesn't seem to be a mere coincidence. Also, not to forget that Armin is the narrator of the show. It is possible that he will be the one to restore order in the chaotic world of SnK once again. He may be one of the key figures in ending the war, working for peace and order in it's aftermath and then he narrates the story to the future generation.

Anyway, going back to Armin and the conch, we see the scene getting plenty attention even in the anime. They cut out Hanji holding a slime but they assigned a lot of time to Armin holding the conch. It may after all have more significance than is visible on the surface.

• Eren : When Eren reaches the ocean, we see him depressed unlike the others. The whole mood is melancholy because of Eren's overruling depression. He has just seen his father's memories, the cruelty of the world has been shoved into his brain and the disturbing images keep resurfacing. We see that happening when he attempts to cheer up Armin. Eren cannot be happy again, he cannot be freed from those memories unless he does away with the cruelty- that much is clear to him. That's why we see him saying - " If we kill them all, does that mean we'll be free?"

The ocean,or preferably sea, is more than often used in literature to epitomise hardships in life and the unfathomable human emotions that make it so complex. Here, the sea represents chaos, uneasiness and sadness for Eren. The people who think of him and his race as enemies reside on the other side of these unfathomable waters. Eren is at a loss and he fails to fathom their barbaric ways. There's no understanding between him and his foes (there cannot be any). He sees them as an impediment to freedom and feels impelled to kill them.

• Eren and Armin : We see how Eren and Armin find it rather hard to communicate. Or better put, they're not thinking along the same lines. It is not really possible as Armin has no clue about the cumulative weight that has fallen on Eren. He cannot grasp the strain of it all. There's clear lack of any meaningful interaction between the two of them. Eren is not interested in sharing Armin's enthusiasm upon seeing the ocean of his dreams. His voice is awfully impassive. What particularly catches my attention is how Armin is holding onto the conch shell and calling out to Eren to look at it but he remains unbothered. He just points at the horizon and talks about the enemy. Their thoughts are totally different and there is little to no connection.

If the conch shell is indeed representing order, then we can say that Armin wants Eren to take a look at it but, Eren is thinking differently. He knows there cannot be any order as long as the world isn't even willing to see Eldians as humans. Eren has seen what happened to Faye because of Grisha's immaturity.

The price that Grisha had to pay for freedom was this- the horrifying death of Faye. The world is cruel. It isn't willing to give room for deliberation. For now, Eren needs to eliminate his enemies to move forward. That much is clear and we see that happening with the Attack on Liberio. Eren had to wage war because he had to protect his friends. He knew very well that if the whole world went ahead with the idea of eliminating Paradis, there wouldn't even be an opportunity to propose a truce. It would be over. Eren had to be an agent of chaos out of necessity. That's why in Chapter 90 we see him indifferent towards Armin as well as the conch Armin is asking him to take a look at.

• Back to 118 : There's similar lack of communication between Eren and his friends. He has done his absolute best in trying to cut them off. But, given how dire the situation is his friends must proceed to aid him. Armin, when trying to make sense of Eren's behaviour, recalls Eren's words and says "No way".

Most of us interpret that as Armin's realization that Eren is actually going to trample on the whole world and therefore, he doesn't want his friends to have any part in it. But, that's not gonna prevail. Eren is not about to abruptly wreck the whole world with his Rumbling. In the long run, it'll just make the world even more apprehensive of Eldians and they'll continue to be discriminated against. Nobody knows better than Eren that one cannot rule with fear and oppression. Also, he is the one who absolutely detests the idea of toying with human life as normalcy, no matter the situation. It's clear in this panel.

It is unlike Eren to cause destruction just to show superiority of a race; it violates his basic nature. Eren did account for civilian casualties in Liberio but that was inadvertent. If he hadn't intervened there, the whole of Paradis would have been wiped off because they were simply not ready to defend themselves. He had to buy time, he had to act before it was too late.

However, things are different now with Armin coming back into action. The miscommunication between him and Eren that has been an issue will be resolved by Armin. Maybe that's why he's holding the conch, which stands for order and harmony. Isayama's purpose in including the panel could be more than just highlighting Eren's words rather, it throws light on Armin as it is essentially him reviewing his past. He doesn't know what happened to Eren at Marley- how he became empathetic toward his sworn enemies- but he does know that Eren will not hesitate to kill them if they stand in his way of being free. However, Armin is not about to let the world plunge into outright chaos with the rumbling. To make a show that Eldians can actually flatten the whole world will make things worse than ever. He will come up with a better solution, a solution that won't put the future of Eldians at stake AGAIN. He must be the one to bridge the gap between Eldians and the world using his diplomatic skills. Armin is the only one capable of bringing an armistice. He still has a card to play.

Also, it's highly likely that the devil is the ultimate villain and Armin will have to come up with a plan to defeat him in the end. Of course, Eren has to be the ace of Armin's plan. That has always been and that's probably the reason why Isayama shows Armin thinking of Eren. Armin still has a greater role to perform and that will most probably be him advising Eren in his battle against the devil. The devil or in that case whoever is pulling the strings seems way too crafty for Eren to deal with on his own. So, Eren will definitely have to depend on Armin to come up with a fool proof strategy in the final battle to save humanity. This could have been foreshadowed as early as in the serum bowl where Eren tries to convince Levi by citing all of Armin's achievements. He implores that it's not Erwin or him but, Armin who's going to save the world.

Was he just bluffing to save his friend's life or did these words carry a subtle foreboding of the future? Let me also stress on Floch referring to Erwin as the devil out of nowhere in the same scene. We know, in the end, Armin survives and Erwin is made to rest. Is it mere coincidence that the one tagged to be the saviour prevails and the one referred to as the devil meets his end or is it another indication to the course the manga will take?

The last thing I want to talk about is Armin's dream. His dream is to see the whole world. It was never just about seeing the ocean. He wants to see the "lands made of ice", "snowy fields of sand", etc.

Who's more convenient to bring peace in the world than someone who actually wants to see all of it? If the world plunges into chaos again, Armin's dreams will never come true. If the world continues to shun the Eldians, then Armin can never fully see the world in all it's beauty. Therefore, he has to be the one to unite it. Armin will intercede into any plans of outright wiping out another race and make way for pacification. He'll be the one to do away with all the warfare and discrimination. That's his role in the future; after all there's no one more apt.

[lizabethstucker]

The SFWA Grand Masters,Vol. 1

Edited by Frederik Pohl

Pohl has selected eighteen short stories and novellas written by the first five Grand Masters ever selected by the Science Fiction Writers of America:  Robert A. Heinlein, Jack Williamson, Clifford D. Simak, L. Sprague de Camp, and Fritz Leiber. A great debt is owed to Jerry Pournelle for this recognition of the best of the best and to Frederik Pohl for both introducing and reintroducing me to these authors in one handy volume.  Actually, in three volumes as I know there is one more to be searched out in the interlibrary world.

 Thanks to my library’s willingness to go out of state, I can read the first volume in this series, having started off 2020 with Volume Two.  Thank you also to the Woodridge Public Library in Woodridge, Illinois.  Now I need to find the third volume.  4 out of 5

We start out with Robert A. Heinlein.  I can still remember the first Heinlein that I read, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.  My memory is so clear that I can recall to this day seeing it on the library shelf when I was working through a list of Golden Age writers that my father thought I should check out.  I understand how controversial he is to many readers, but I always found that his stories were worth reading, even when some of the plotlines were uncomfortable (I’m thinking primarily of Farnham’s Freehold).  Even if I didn’t agree with his ideas explored in his books and short stories, they made me think.

 “The Roads Must Roll” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Future History 3) The United States had moved from automobiles to solar-powered people movers beginning when oil and gasoline were rationed during World War II.  It led to less pollution, a spreading out of the population from the congestion of the cities, and a working class who were ripe for agitation by self-serving megalomaniacs with self-worth issues like Shorty Van Kleeck.  It is up to Larry Gaines, the Chief Engineer, to stop the destruction and disruption of the roads.  Heinlein is remarkably prescient in this 1940 tale, predicting the congestion of the automobiles and their increasing dangers as well as the importance of solar energy.  It’s a shame such people movers, whether this style or high-speed trains are kept from actually being implemented.  It is also true that the disenfranchised can be easily manipulated.  Just look at our current political environment, not just in the United States and Great Britain.  A brilliant tale.  I can see the workers being militarized considering how a minor disruption, much less a major one, could not only bring the nation to a halt, it could have serious and deadly ramifications.  4.5 out of 5.

 “The Year of the Jackpot” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Statistician Potiphar Breen has been taking note of strange and unusual events, including a large number of women taking their clothing off in public.  Meade Barstow, the latest befuddled stripper, is seen by Pot.  Pot intervenes when the police arrive, offering to take care of her and see her safely home.  Instead, when she is worried about what her landlady will say, he brings her to his home so that she can put herself back together.  Meade agrees to answer his questions for his kindness.  Pot reveals what he believes the numbers are telling him, that the planet is facing something that scares him.  Intense, sad, and entirely too realistic.  The idea of cycles with world events both good and bad is all too true.  The gentle romance between Meade and Pot was a lovely addition.  Side note:  I was surprised to see the inclusion of transvestites in this story published in 1951. Heinlein treated the couple and the subject in a much nicer manner than I might have expected.  I wonder why they were included as they weren't truly needed, nor was the subject of needed for his argument.  Others could've sufficed.  This was a first time read for me, as is the next story.  4 out of 5.

 “Jerry Was a Man” by Robert A. Heinlein

 When Martha van Vogel accompanied her husband to a genetics lab that alters DNA to make workers out of apes and vanity pets, she was unaware of how the mutated ape workers were treated once they were no longer useful, that they were euthanized.  After raising hell, Martha is allowed to take one of the younger workers, whose eyesight had him put in the death pen, home with her against her husband’s wishes.  Refusing to look the other way, Martha fights all the way to court to not only get Jerry free of the lab, but to help keep all the others alive, leading to a precedent making court case.  This is an incredibly uncomfortable story on so many fronts.  I found it most disturbing that Jerry’s speech pattern is a caricature of poor uneducated blacks.  I understand that this was intentional on the part of Heinlein.  I’m hoping that it was to give his readers a unique viewpoint into their prejudices, especially considering that the story was copyrighted in 1947.  Especially with the return of black American soldiers from World War II to a country that still considered them as less than human.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Farthest Place” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Extract from Tramp Royale) This is non-fiction, an account of the Heinleins and their visit to Tristan da Cunha when the tramp steamer they are on makes a call there.  The island is in the South Atlantic, over 1500 miles from the nearest other community.  I may have enjoyed this excerpt, but in another context.  However, this is a collection of science fiction and fantasy. This particular piece really had no reason to be included.  I decline to rate it.

  “The Long Watch” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Lieutenant Johnny Dahlquist was approached by Colonel Towers regarding the danger of having politicians in control back on Earth, that the Guard should oversee keeping the planet safe.  Towers wants Johnny’s expertise as junior bomb officer in his rebellious group.  While Johnny saw his point about the instability of politicians in general, he couldn’t agree to use his bombs to make a point, a point that would lead to the deaths of innocent people.  He had to make the bombs unusable, then hold watch until a ship from Earth will arrive in approximately four days.   This story … Heinlein literally reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.  My notebook still shows the faint marks of tears. There are many types of heroism. John Ezra Dahlquist is a fine example of doing what is right even when others try to dissuade you.  (You should also look up Rodger Young on Google.  I was unaware of this Medal of Honor recipient until this story.)  5 out of 5.

  Next is Jack Williamson, another writer from the Golden Age of Science Fiction.  And yet, somehow, I never have read any of Jack’s works.  Based on these stories, that was a great crime.

  “With Folded Hands” by Jack Williamson

 (Humanoids .5) Poor Underhill is already struggling to keep his android business afloat.  Now a new company has suddenly appeared, providing slick new humanoids that are taking over the town of Two Rivers.  His new boarder, Mr. Sledge, claims to be an inventor.  The new humanoids are known by him and he appears to be frightened of them.  Williamson explores how actions, discoveries, and inventions meant to make man’s life better can sometimes serve to harm him.  The story, published in 1947, is even more relevant today considering the growth of A.I.s and robots.  This really is as much horror as it is science fiction, terrifying on a deep level for those aware how close we are to this possible future.  3.5 out of 5.

  “Jamboree” by Jack Williamson

 A robot self-called Pops is Scout Master of boys from birth to the age of 12.  Periodically it takes the boys to a Jamboree to meet Mother.  Younger boys can indulge in pink ice cream and gold stars plastered on their faces.  For the oldest boys, it will be their last Jamboree.  But one boy thinks there is a way to stop the cycle.  Another tale of robots making decisions for the good of mankind.  A very different take.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Manana Literary Society” by Jack Williamson

 (Excerpt from Wonder’s Child:  My Life in Science Fiction) Another piece of non-fiction, but at least it is about science fiction.  Once again, I find it out of place and will not rate it.  The selection is, however, a good look at the Los Angeles science fiction scene.

  “The Firefly Tree” by Jack Williamson

 Forced to move with his family to his grandfather’s farm, the unnamed protagonist is without friends, home-schooled, and lonely. Then he finds an interesting plant that his father calls a weed.  He is moved to save the plant from destruction and nurtures it until it grows into a tree. One night he goes out to find the tree covered with fireflies.  He begins to dream of them, hearing who they are and what they are there ready to do. Doesn’t Jack ever write happy endings? Any at all?  As a child who was a loner and lived in a neighborhood with no children near my age, I could relate to this young boy.  Truly engrossing.  3.5 out of 5.

  Now on to Clifford D. Simak.  I’ve read some of his short stories, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember much of his style or even whether I liked his works or not.  

  “Desertion” by Clifford D. Simak

 To explore the planet of Jupiter, men are physically converted into one of the more intelligent native species, the Lopers. The last five men sent out by Kent Fowler, the head of the survey project, haven't returned.  The exploration must continue, but Fowler can't face sending another man out to what appears to be certain death, so he decides to go in their place, accompanied by his elderly dog.  This was a beautiful story.  I wish it had been longer.  4 out of 5.

  “Founding Father” by Clifford D. Simak

 Mankind wants to spread out among the stars, to colonize other planets, but the amount of time that would need to be spent on a spaceship would be an issue.  Immortals have no problems with time per se, but the loneliness is another matter.  A solution was found, a solution meant to be a temporary fix.  But what happens with temporary when that is over one hundred years?  Whoa, this might’ve been short, but it was so intense, thought-provoking, and a bit sad.  Winston-Kirby will have some decisions to make regarding comfort or duty. 4 out of 5.

  “Grotto of the Dancing Deer” by Clifford D. Simak

 Archaeologist Boyd discovers a hidden fissure at his latest sight, one filled with fantastical and irreverent art.  He also finds something else, something impossible. And yet.  Another fascinating story with a deep well of sadness and depressing loneliness in a different way than the previous story.  4 out of 5.

  L. Sprague de Camp is a writer that I used to read quite a bit of, mostly his earlier works in short story collections.  And the Conan books he finished from Robert Howard’s notes and uncompleted manuscripts.  Frankly, I found de Camp’s renditions to be better written, although I know that is heresy for some.

  “A Gun for Dinosaur” by L. Sprague de Camp

 When a time machine is invented, one that can’t go back to a time more recent than 100,000 years ago, a big part of its users are big game hunters taking clients back to kill a dinosaur for trophy.  Rivers, of Rivers and Aiyar, one of those hunters, explains to a potential client why he has strict rules about who he’ll take back to what periods based on size and ability to use a particular caliber weapon. All I can say is poor August, braver than he thought he was, and how Courtney deserved everything he got and more. Entitled asshole.  3.5 out of 5

  “Little Green Men from Afar” by L. Sprague de Camp

 A non-fiction look into the persistent myths, legends, and outright lies that still garner hopeful believers, from flying saucers to the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis to cults.  I do like the five criteria given by Francis F. Broman regarding any and every story:  1) the report be firsthand; 2) the teller shows no obvious bias or prejudice; 3) that the reporter be a trained observer; 4) that the data be available for checking; and 5) that the teller be clearly identified.  I’ve enjoyed many a hour reading von Daniken and the various UFO books, but they have always clearly be put in the fantasy fiction category for me, fun if not taken seriously.  Again, no rating for a non-fiction piece in a fiction collection.  I’m particularly disappointed as de Camp is left with just two fiction pieces as an introduction to his works.  

  “Living Fossil” by L. Sprague de Camp

 Nawputta, a zoologist, and Chujee, his guide, are searching the Alleghany Mountains for interesting specimans and signs of the cities of Man, long extinct, when they meet a suspicious explorer.  They also stumble across something they didn’t expect. Cute.  Obvious, but still very fun to read.  3.5 out of 5.

  Fritz Leiber is the author of a favorite series from my early 20s.  While my father was devouring Conan the Barbarian, I was deep into Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.  Strangely enough, I don’t think I read anything else by Leiber in those days or later. So many books, so little time, so few selections at the libraries with whom I had memberships.

  “Sanity” by Fritz Leiber

 World Manager Carrsbury had researched and planned and schemed for ten years to understand insanity and to replace all the members of the World Management Service with his own people, all of whom had been trained under his exacting guidelines.  Just as he had directed the world’s citizens in what they could read, watch, drink, and do in their daily lives.  Or so he thought had been done.  Leiber’s look at sanity is fascinating and a bit disturbing.  Add a backdrop of world government and you have a thoughtful and frightening tale that resonates today.  4 out of 5.

  “The Mer She” by Fritz Leiber

 (Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser) The Gray Mouser was sailing home to Cif and Fafhrd, his holds filled with treasure and good as befits a successful merchant.  When he discovers a stowaway in a chest, he must fight his way through magic if he ever hopes to see his island home again.  It has been an extraordinarily long time since I’ve visited this series. The language is as flowery and somewhat archaic as ever, but I missed the boys working together.  It just doesn’t have the same punch without that.  3 out of 5.

 “A Bad Day for Sales” by Fritz Leiber

 Robie, the first sales robot, is on the street, but having a hard time making sales.  Then things get a lot worse.  Very short, very cute even with that "worse" part.  3.5 out of 5.

[zbickerstaff]

An Unpretentious Plan for the Future Betterment of the Human Race and Planet Earth.

                                                                              By Zach Bickerstaff

Clearly we are in trouble. I’m sure that few will disagree. Of course everyone has their own opinion of exactly what our problems are and many of these opinions conflict. But it is abundantly clear that the world has a great many problems upon which everyone can agree. I shall endeavor to concisely explain my long range plan to remediate these problems and endow the Human Race and Planet Earth with a long, prosperous, peaceful and happy future.

                                                                     The Problems

 More than seven billion people inhabit this planet. That’s enough people to fill up Yankee Stadium thirteen thousand times. If you snapped your fingers once per second seven billion times, it would take you 221 years, ten months. We haven’t stopped reproducing either. If anything, we are speeding up. By the year 2050 it is predicted that there will be close to ten billion people. The planet cannot stand up under such a biological load. Seven billion is bad enough. Can you imagine how much poop seven billion people produce? Climate change is a big concern despite the fact that many people deny that it exists. Many of the deniers are now coming around and are finding the courage to accept the fact that something needs to be done. People also argue about the causes of climate change but when you strip away all the scientific jargon and theories, what it comes down to is that there are just too many people on the planet – dirty, messy, inefficient people. The notorious garbage island in the Pacific wasn’t made by penguins and wallabies; it was made by human beings.  

 Environmental problems aside, the human race itself suffers greatly because of its own fecundity. A conservative estimate says that thirteen to fifteen percent of the world’s population is starving or undernourished. 3.1 million children die of malnutrition each year. Malnutrition is a terrible way to die. It’s not a quick death, it is slow and painful. Often parents will feed their children instead of themselves. When they die the children are orphaned and roam the slums, begging for handouts and searching garbage piles for scraps. Speaking of slums, overpopulation assures that there will not be enough wealth to go around. 36% of the world’s population, almost two billion people, lives in poverty. Vast slums exist in South Africa, Kenya, Mexico, Nigeria, Brazil and India. People live in run down shacks constructed from whatever they can get their hands on; pieces of cars and trucks, packing crates, driftwood, bamboo, palm fronds, etc. There is rarely any running water and sewers consist of an open trench flowing with human and animal waste.

 This “lack of wealth” or the unfair distribution of it is the root cause of war. Few wars have been fought over purely ideological issues. Acquisition of resources is far more often the case. In the 20th century alone an estimated 108 million people were brutally killed by war, far more were injured, and made homeless. Again, the root cause of this is overpopulation; too many people, not enough resources.

 So now we have identified the problem. So how do we solve it? The big problem is that this is indeed a very big problem. People tend to be selfish and very uncooperative creatures so they are highly unlikely to go along with any solution. The first step is organization. No solution is going to be effective unless everyone, or nearly everyone, goes along with it. The world is divided up into nearly two hundred different countries. You might think that the United Nations would be a good place to start. No. The UN has no teeth and can’t control nearly enough of the population to be effective with, well anything. When was the last time they stopped a war? There are many people who understand the value of a world government. Realistically, it’s the best, fairest form of government; everyone plays under the same rules, it’s far easier to track criminals who break the rules and it will make war unheard of. It will be much easier to disarm the population to prevent armed revolt, war and mass murder. The immigration problem will be solved because borders will no longer be necessary. Once this achieved, good, solid, enforceable population growth rules can be put into place and there will be nothing that those who do not have the courage to cooperate will be able to do about it.  

 Another very important problem that I haven’t spoken of is the loss of jobs to robotics. Granted, this has been going on a very long time. Surely you have heard the term “Luddite”. It comes from an English mill worker named Ned Ludd who destroyed a new automatic loom in a fit of anger in 1779. He was angry because the new machine had taken the gobs of several workers, including  his. Such a machine is a primitive form of robot.

 Technology is advancing at an alarming rate. Think of a job, any job. Within fifty years, a robot will be able to do it. Artificial Intelligence is even replacing artists. There are advanced programs that can compose music. One was programmed to compose in the style of Beethoven. It wrote a piano sonata and a panel of expert musicologists was tricked into believing it was an undiscovered work by the master himself.

 So, in the next hundred years or so the human race will be out of work. I seriously doubt that the robots will turn against us though, like in the Terminator film series, that’s just the stuff of science fiction. But it will be a very serious problem and the cause of much conflict; many people competing for a very few jobs. The solution is a government that will fairly and equally award what few jobs remain to those qualified and deserving and to divide up the wealth and distribute it equally to those who cannot be employed. The only other alternative is to outlaw advanced technology and / or provide “makework” jobs and that simply will not work over the long term.

 But this still leaves us with the problem that the population is growing and there are not enough resources to go around as it is. Remember, fifteen percent of the population is starving. The simple solution is to simply grow more food. But that’s not as easy as you might think. I well remember driving across the state of Texas, hour after hour. Texas is really big and there are vast stretches of open, undeveloped land. I kept thinking: “why does nobody live here? Why does nobody farm this land?” I soon realized that it was because there is no water – or nearly no water – just enough to keep cacti and sagebrush alive. There is certainly not enough water to sustain the huge, sprawling suburbs of the Northeast US and not enough water to irrigate anything but cacti and sagebrush. And that’s the problem on a global basis too. There is a lot of water on this planet but the vast majority of it is salty. Only 2.5% is fresh and only 20% of that is usable by humans, the rest is locked up in ice caps or is polluted.

 Even if we could figure out some way to feed a gianormous population of ten billion, that still leaves us with all the problems of garbage and human waste. Think about how much poop ten billion people produce.

                                                                            The Plan

 It’s obvious that we need to reduce the global population, not allow it to keep growing and try to deal with it. As I have stated in the preceding paragraphs, there are too many people right now, and we are looking toward the future – the far future. The long term goal is to have no more people on the planet than can live in comfort and relative wealth, be adequately fed and receive all the necessities of life; medical care, a fair government, diversity, inclusiveness and the freedom to feel safe from violence and intolerance. Experts differ in their calculations but the consensus is that the global population should be no more than two billion people.

 So what do we do with the five billion people who are dead weight? Well for starters, they would need to be moved around. With a global government it will be much easier to move people into more efficient and environmentally friendly locations.  Massive structures will be built covering square miles and rising a thousand feet or more. This might seem like it would use up land that could be cultivated but in reality it would free up cultivatable land by “putting everything in one place” - shops, theaters, hospitals, schools, recreation, sports arenas, etc. Perhaps a million or more people could live in one of these “mega-buildings.” In the United States, for instance, once the ideal population level is reached, it would only require approximately one hundred of these structures to be built and the entire population will be moved into them. All other buildings will be torn down. The mega-buildings will be built on land that cannot be put into agricultural use such as deserts, areas with poor soil quality and salt flats.

 Travel will no longer be necessary except between one mega-building and another. People and goods will travel through underground tunnels or on above ground monorails in environmentally friendly, electrically powered rail cars. However, such travel would rarely be necessary because everything one could ever want will be contained within the mega-buildings. This would free the land for agriculture, solar farms, wind farms and other types of environmentally friendly types of energy. Fossil fuels will be rendered obsolete. People will no longer need to own automobiles and will be free from the huge expense of purchase, maintenance and insurance. The carnage of traffic accidents will be a thing of the past.

 A birth control program will be established to stabilize the size of the population. Perhaps the best way to do this is to selectively administer certain chemical compounds during routine vaccinations which would prevent women from producing eggs and / or men from producing sperm. It would be simple and completely painless. No one would even know it had been done until they tried to have children. The selection process will be based on genetic characteristics in an effort to weed out the more troublesome aspects of the human condition such as genetic deformities, mental illness, intellectual disability as well as social issues such as diversity.

 An extensive education program will be established which will contain curriculum to be sure that everyone is made thoroughly aware of the necessity and importance of the steps being taken to save the Human Race and the planet. It will also be used to educate people of the evils of racism, toxic masculinity, misogyny and other destructive behaviors as well as wean the population off of superstitious religious beliefs which conflict with various aspects of the program such as birth control. To this end it would be best to remove children from their parent’s sphere of influence. Schools now provide most meals for children and supervise much of their activity. It is a few simple steps to modify the school system to keep children under the careful and nurturing supervision of the educational system all of the time. Parents would be allowed to visit of course but the object is to prevent them from teaching their children falsehoods and destructive behaviors such as the aforementioned religious superstition, intolerance, bigotry and racism. It would prevent parental child abuse. Alcoholic, uneducated, poorly educated and mentally ill parents are notorious for abusing their children. How many times have you heard news stories about parents doing unspeakable things to their children?

Once the above measures are in place, the population has been relocated and the land has been cleared, agriculture will switch to plant production exclusively, becoming sustainable and eliminating the highly inefficient, wasteful, inhumane and environmentally unfriendly production of animal products. Fishing will be banned so that the oceans can recover. This is not to say that everyone would be forced to be a vegan vegetarian. That’s just not practical and many people would balk at the idea. Plus there is the aspect that a vegan diet holds many dietary deficiencies. Vegans have to be careful to find alternate sources of protein and the vitamins and minerals which are usually supplied by meat, eggs and seafood. This is not something that you can expect a large population to do. Our global government will have detailed records on everyone; location as well as age, height, weight and health status. Based on these factors and the ability – or lack thereof – to contribute to society in a useful way, individuals will be carefully selected for humane harvest. With modern technology a human being can be compassionately and painlessly euthanized and the body can efficiently be processed into many different wholesome and palatable types of food. There is nothing gruesome or morbid about this. This is not the stereotypical, cliché cannibalism of the Donner Party, Hannibal Lechter and Jeffery Dahmer. For instance, the head and hands will not be processed. This is for two reasons. 1. To allow the next of kin to have a funeral with an open casket. The head and hands will be mounted on a dummy body. Afterwards they will be removed and cremated.  Burial will be outlawed; it is wasteful of valuable land which can be otherwise used for agriculture. 2. Many of the diseases associated with the consumption of human flesh are transmitted by brain and nervous tissue. The average human body contains between fifty and seventy five pounds of usable meat. A rate of one billion humane harvests per year will provide an adequate meat supply and pare the global population to an acceptable level within five or six years. This solves both the starvation and the overpopulation problem. It’s a win-win situation.  Obviously only mature people will be selected for harvest. No one will be eating little kids. A minimum age, say 35 to 40 will need to be established. Of course a few people may object to this but over time it will become routine and people will accept their fate. Once the global population is stabilized and clean environmental practices are established, the practice of humane harvesting could be gradually phased out and we could once again begin farming cattle, pigs and other livestock. But we must be vigilant and not let things get out of hand again. We must be strict but gentle. The educational system is key to shaping the thought process so that a tolerant, diverse population is maintained which has the courage to make this plan successful.

 Truly, we are in trouble and truly the plan I have set out here is neither that complicated or difficult. The outcome would be an Earth that could only be described as paradise. I have heard other plans. At best they are patchwork / Band-Aid solutions. Here is a plan that guarantees peace, sustainable, long term human happiness on a green, environmentally sustainable Earth.

[safestsephiroth]

do the total war games have any mods that bring back the in-depth trait systems for nobles that seems to have been removed after Medieval 2?

That was what made me love the games so much and them missing made the games feel more like board games and less like stories.

My best memory of the game was playing Brittania as the Norse.

Early on, I decided I had to pick one front to wage war and stick with it. I decided I’d start with Ireland. Ireland was small, isolated, wouldn’t be too hard to get involved with. I could ally with the Welsh and the Scots and the English, then bring down the Irish in a concentrated sweep. Having unified control of all Ireland would be a significant boon to my overall position, and let me have a place to fall back to in the event things got bad.

Well.

The scots, those bastards, betrayed me after forming an alliance. I had landed on the main isle and took a single city, and those bastards went full conquest on me in the North. It was a desperate struggle to hold anything.

And, to my dismay, this came right after I had fully invested into war with Ireland.

My King and his immediate nobles were stranded on Ireland, and I was forced to make the extremely difficult and unfortunate decision to disband my navy almost entirely so I could keep my finances above board. The English at this time were getting really uppity, and I realized if I put my King to sea he could well be killed by an English - or, god forbid, Scottish - raiding party. This could not be allowed.

And so, the lone General on the main isle was given an impossible task with insurmountable odds. He had a small army of elite soldiers straight from Norway, and he would be the advancing front of my army. Everything I got that wasn’t thrown wholeheartedly into the lagging defense in the North, trying in vain to hold back the Scottish tide, and everything that wasn’t sent to Ireland to maintain our foothold (lest those Irish bastards fortify the entire isle and make reinvasion impossible), went straight to this man.

History has lost his name. In this retelling, will call him: Karl.

Karl was, from the outset, in a bad situation. Severely outnumbered, with minimal support, his first objective became to acquire a castle capable of allowing him to replenish his losses. Fortunately, we were able to get troops across from the Isle of Man relatively easily, but these troops were highly expensive and my budget was dying. If I had lost my foothold in Ireland, my entire economy was doomed to collapse. Karl fought with care. He chose his battles well. He waited for the English and Scottish to war, assisted the English in a field battle, and split two cities between himself and the English. The English had a clear foothold into Scotland, Karl had a castle, and all was well.

Until one turn later.

Having sent his most damaged units back for repair, Karl was garrisoning this small castle with nothing but himself, a single unit of Housecarls, a single unit of crossbows, and two peasant militia.

The English came with a full stack of military might. To Karl’s two hundred, the English sent two thousand.

Outnumbered ten to one, Karl gave his men one final grim speech. He was committed to fighting his way to Valhalla. He was ready to die for his King, ready to die for the dreams of the Norse in Britannia.

Yet, something strange happened.

The English swarmed the walls, stormed the gate. The Housecarls thrust themselves into the gap, the peasant levees on the walls swiftly getting overwhelmed, the crossbowmen desperately firing at the endless horde of the English.

And then, just as the battle seemed lost forever, as the Housecarls fell to the last man, Karl charged.

One last glorious push, right?

But Karl had a reputation. Karl had butchered all prisoners he took, Karl had put down any rebellion with extreme violence.

The English saw Karl, the peasant levees in their thousands, they saw his standard. They were tired, they were desperate, and they were surrounded by the bodies of their friends and brothers, slain by the valiant Housecarls.

And they fled.

The English fled. The units in front routed, and those behind panicked and followed as well.

Karl and his bodyguard unit lost twelve of twenty-four men. The Crossbows fell to three. The Housecarls were eradicated to the last, as were the levees.

Karl personally captured 1200 fleeing Englishmen, including the enemy commander. His army killed another 400.

Immediately, Karl’s Dread skyrocketed - especially since he elected to execute every last treacherous Englishman, to teach their crown a lesson:

Never break an alliance with the Norse.

The English, for their part, flagged at the sight of Karl’s army. Swiftly reinforced, Karl hurried to repair the defenses, and all funding was diverted directly to the miraculous hero.

The English fell back as Karl advanced, taking two more English cities, fortifying them, garrisoning them and leaving them behind. Because Scotland had just turned down our final peace offer to them.

Karl’s eldest son took up the defense of these cities, and there were plenty of stories in their own right about him.

Meanwhile, in Ireland, the King and several of his closest family held out against wave after wave of Irish attacks. The battle was a war of endless attrition. The Irish were too numerous to conquer further, but we couldn’t let them just siege our city whenever they liked. Our economy couldn’t handle that. Instead, we occupied a fort nearby, and held stubbornly to it. Until one of my King’s nephews, one of the most promising youths in the royal family, fell ill - and grew mad. For fear of him spreading his stark raving lunacy to those around him, we gave him a Norse end - seeing the perfect opportunity when the Irish came to invade the fort with two full armies.

Hopelessly outnumbered, we withdrew the garrison. All save for a few peasants and this woebegotten nephew. In his final stand, despite being wracked with pain and tormentous visions, he fought as a true Norseman, and took the Irish down with him. He lost the fort - and was carried to Valhalla - but in the act, the Irish advance was crippled, and a counterattack led by the Crown Prince saw the rest of their army utterly annihilated.

The economy thusly protected, Karl advanced northward into Scotland.

At first, the Scots did not seem to take him seriously. The Norse were that tiny army of proud idiots they had bullied out of their castles for years. What threat was this man?

In battle after battle, Karl’s elite army of terrifying Housecarls sent the Scottish peasant armies fleeing in terror. Unable to resist their overwhelming charges, the fleeing Scottish were cut down and captured by Karl himself.

And Karl did not allow survivors. A Scot sent home was a Scot who would rearm himself. Better to thin their innumerable herd a battle at a time.

The Scottish sent armies innumerable at him. They sent their entire military straight for Karl, who was reinforced by his eldest son in a critical moment and turned the tide, eradicating the bulk of the Scottish army in a decisive battle and taking a key coastal castle.

And then, at the cusp of victory, Karl was met with what seemed a challenge straight from the Gods Themselves:

A Scottish hero had risen. With the unified Scotland behind him, and given an immense army on the spot - a timed event many may be familiar with, and may have seen coming - William Wallace arose. A leader of immense honor, able to maintain the morale of all nearby allies to an extreme degree, and an incredibly effective commander, Wallace brought with him several full-stacked armies. These were not mere peasants, either. Well-trained, professional soldiers.

Karl was forced to fall back to the freshly-taken castle. After evaluating the situation, Karl came up with a solution.

He would harry Wallace’s army, he would fight a retreating war, he would stymie them at every juncture. They would be allowed no reinforcements - by deftly maneuvering and cutting off bit by bit of Wallace’s army, then vanishing before the bulk could be brought to bear, he brought the Scottish juggernaut’s armies down again, and again, and again. He destroyed unit after unit, leaving no survivors, until the Scottish were left with only a hardened, elite core of professionals, fanatically loyal to Wallace himself.

The battle was imminent. Karl chose the time and place carefully. He lured Wallace forth, and sent a detatchment of his army to besiege a Scottish city Wallace had been pulling support from. Wallace turned, predictably, and Karl’s army lifted the siege - attacking Wallace from both sides, with reinforcements from a distinguished subordinate.

The battle was the closest Karl had ever fought. There were moments it looked like either side could win. The Norse casualties were not insignificant.

But the moment Wallace fell in battle, the outcome was already decided.

The Scottish were rounded up and slaughtered to a man. Grim work, but by now Karl had developed an obsession. He despised the Scottish. Loathed the Scottish. Was more than happy to defeat them in battle. His was a name of legend in Scotland, spoken in hushed whispers:

Karl, Bane of Scots.

His already prodigious military skills were further enhanced by his intimate knowledge of Scottish tactics, and with Wallace dead, nothing was left to stop Karl’s march. And march he did. He slew the Scottish King in the field of battle. He took city after city, putting down any resistance with overwhelming force. In the end, all that remained was the castle of Inverness.

By this point, the Scottish had resorted to appointing random guard captains as their nobility, so thin was their line. These guard captains fled - as any rational man would - but to no avail.

Karl, aged 62, laid siege to Inverness. The final Scottish stronghold. The end of his life’s work was in sight.

And then, in winter, he died of illness.

The Scottish were left with no time to rejoice in the death of their hated foe, for they had no break before a second max-size Norse army arrived. Led by Karl’s youngest son, who inherited his father’s ferocity and, at age 17, already had 6 Command and 5 Dread (out of 10), with an additional +2 to both against Scottish armies.

Inverness Castle fell to the Norse. Karl’s life’s work was finished. The Scottish were brought forever to heel. Karl’s son went on to put together a fleet whose size had never been seen before, and brought relief to his brother’s armies by invading London from the sea, razing the English capitol and bringing terror to their nation, teaching them what happens to the enemies of the Norse. Then he sailed for Ireland, and personally oversaw the full conquest of the Irish.

Karl’s legacy lives on with me a full decade later.

Total War made generals into units you choose an upgrade path for, now. It makes me deeply sad. Because I’ll never get another story like this again, and this? This is what Total War is to me.

[workingontravel]

If the borders refuse me, I refuse them

(You can read a Swedish translation of this text here.) I mentioned this project to a friend. She immediately said: You should talk to Ghayath Almadhoun. Ghayath Almadhoun is a poet whose poetry has touched me. He is also a poet working with several languages, living and writing in many places. Finding a time when we could meet was a challenge, due to his frequent travelling. I’m happy we managed. His account of travelling for work brings together the personal and the political, the funny and the sad, the historical and the present, in extraordinary ways.

Ghayath Almadhoun: I travel for many reasons that I hardly understand. Some of them started already in childhood. I was born in Damascus, with a Palestinian father and a Syrian mother, in the Yarmouk refugee camp for Palestinians. It was just tents when they founded it in 1948, but now it has become buildings, part of the city. The first questions in my life were: What are we? Why do they say that we are not Syrian but Palestinian? Why, then, am I not in Palestine? 

It was very difficult for my father to explain to a six-year-old why land in Asia provided a solution for the antisemitism and racism against the Jews in Europe. But later, things became even more complicated. I discovered that I am not Palestinian-Syrian. I am a Palestinian from Syria. The Palestinian-Syrians are the Palestinians who arrived to Syria in 1948, when Israel occupied eighty per cent of Palestine. As the United States, the Soviet Union and Europe all accepted this, the Arabic governments understood that the land that was occupied had become Israel. As a solution, they gave the refugees all the papers they needed. So those who arrived from Palestine to Syria in 1948 have the same civil rights as the Syrian people. But our family came after the occupation of Gaza, in 1967. When Israel occupied the Gaza strip, the West Bank, the Golan Heights from Syria, Sinai from Egypt and some parts of Jordan, the international community said: “This is occupation, and Israel should leave.” The Arabic nations then decided to not give any papers to these Palestinians in order to not provide any solutions for Israel. I found myself growing up without civil rights. I was not allowed to work. I was not allowed to take driving lessons. I was not allowed to leave the country, and if I did leave for any reason, I would not be allowed back. As we were not allowed to own a house, the house is in the name of my mother, who is Syrian. But if she died, the government would take the house and sell it. This, that I couldn’t inherit, was the thing that hurt me the most.

When I understood that I was already born outside, in exile, as they say, I became fascinated by the idea that there are no borders. If the borders refuse me, I refuse them. When I began to study, I also understood that my father was a poet. I began to think about poetry. I felt connected to many Surahs in the Quran, such as The Poet’s Surah, Surah 26. At the end of the Surah, it says:

“And the poets – the deviators follow them; Do you not see that in every valley they roam And that they say what they do not do?” Travelling is the reality of Arab poets, and poetry is very much connected to travelling in the Arabic tradition. Take the most famous Arabic poet El Mutanabbi. In the 800th century, he travelled, but most of all, his poetry travelled. If El Mutanabbi said a poem in Bagdad, the people in Damascus got it in a matter of hours by pigeon. From there, it went everywhere. His poem would arrive in Andalusia within a week. He himself came two months later.

So, I began to write poetry. My friends all went to Beirut, to Jordan or anywhere. They got invitations to go and read there. But I couldn’t travel, because I didn’t have a passport, papers or even an ID. So, the pressure began to build inside. This continued until I turned thirty, in 2008. Then I left the country. I made a sort of fake passport and went to Sweden. After I got a real Swedish passport, it’s: “Catch me if you can!” The travelling is also connected to my writing. For example, I could visit a place, read about it, discuss it and then I write a poem. I did it for example when Assad used chemical weapons on the suburbs of Damascus. Many people got killed in the first attack with the nerve gas sarin. There were 1,400 deaths, out of which 900 were women and children. I saw these bodies shaking. The pupils of the eyes go small. I started to think about chemicals. And I found that the first chemical attack happened in the city of Ypres in Belgium, on 22 April,1915. I went there for the 100th anniversary of that event. I visited 170 cemeteries. They counted 600,000 graves, and I visited all of them in two weeks. At one gate, they have written the names of all the dead soldiers no matter where they came from – France, England, Canada. They play music in honour of one of them every day and speak about what they know about that specific soldier. They had done this for eighty years without stopping for one single day. Even during the Second World War, they played every day. The problem is that they need 600,000 days to finish the names. I listened to such concerts for fourteen days. Then I wrote a poem that moves between the past and the present, Ypres, Syria and Palestine. Another time, I went to Antwerp to do research about blood diamonds. But during that month, thousands of people started to drown in the Mediterranean. So, my poem started with blood diamonds and ended with Syrians drowning in the sea. By the way, this is not political poetry, this is my life.

So, all in all: I travel in order to write. I’m making up for what I missed when I was without papers. I’m a travelling poet like in the Quran. And I’m born in no country, so I don’t believe in borders. But the main reason why I’m travelling like I have been doing now, 345 days a year and not even staying in Sweden for a full week, is another. When I came to Sweden, I accepted Stockholm as my city because Damascus was in the background. Every time I felt tired of being a foreigner, I remembered that Damascus was there, that one day I could go back and feel relief. In 2011, the Syrian revolution began. I really supported it, and it made my hopes of going to Damascus grow. But people I knew got killed, family members, almost all my friends. Cities I knew were destroyed. And the dictatorship won. The country was destroyed. My hopes of ever going back were lower than ever. Damascus disappeared from my background. Everything was shaken. Also, Stockholm didn’t belong to me anymore. What broke me was my brother. I lost him on 2 April 2016, killed by Assad. I was on tour: I was supposed to spend fifteen days in Holland. The second gig was with Anne Vegter, the poet of the nation. We finished our discussion. I went outside and I put the mobile on. Then my other brother called and told me. I disappeared from the universe for two hours. I woke up with people around me. We went to our friend’s house and I asked him to book me a ticket to Stockholm. The coming twenty-four hours were the most difficult in my life. While the plane was over Denmark, I understood there was something wrong. I wanted to tell the pilot to stop and let me off. Why was I going to Stockholm and not Damascus? Stockholm is even further away from Damascus. What is the difference if I cry in Amsterdam or if I cry in Stockholm? So I started travelling this way. As I see it, the best way to survive trauma is to be on the road. When you arrive, the problems will come. I noticed this in someone I know who was in Syria for four years during the bombings. He lost all his friends. People died in his arms. ISIS arrested him before he left the country. His trip here took eight months. All that time, he was doing ok. But when he got here, it took forty days and then the post trauma hit him. That made me even more scared. So, I began to ask myself: What will happen if I begin to travel and never let myself arrive? The panic attacks will wait for me to be settled. But what if I don’t settle? After the death of my brother I wrote a poem. The writing took place in maybe sixty places, twenty countries. If I would sign it with the names of the cities, that would be as long as the poem. What held me in this is that somebody else paid most of my tickets and travels. In this sense, I survived through poetry twice. On one hand, it’s about writing for survival; writing what hurts me on a paper. But then there are the festivals and the residences and the scholarships bringing me from here to there. Many of these festivals were shocked that I only needed one ticket. Germany pays my ticket from France. Belgium pays my ticket from Germany. Everyone pays only to bring me.

It happens that there are holes in the schedule, maybe even seven days empty. I fill these holes in order to not stay. I ask the festival to make my ticket longer and I pay the hotel myself before I go to the next festival. Or, if the ticket can’t be changed, I book a flight to the Arabic book fairs. In Arabic countries, the book fairs are two to three weeks long. And they schedule them in a systematic way, so they cover the whole year. Any time you want to go to a book fair in an Arabic country, you can. There are around 540 million Arabic-speaking people in the world, in 22 countries with 22 totally different cultures. So, when you go there to sign your book, there will be completely different receptions. You’re a star in Kuwait, they hate you in Libya, and you’re a bestseller in Iraq…

I don’t even remember all the places I have been to, I mix them up. The security personnel in the airport know me and say hello to me. Sometimes I see them in the morning. I go home to throw out the summer clothes and throw in the winter clothes because I’m going to the other side of the planet. Then I see them again in the afternoon. People understand after a while that if they are trying to stop me, they will lose me. If the train is fast and heavy, you should go with it, not stand in front of it. But the routine with friends is you go to their house, bring wine and cook and they come to you next time. When you are travelling again and again and don't have dinner with them, they are not your friends anymore, in a way. You lose your roots.

It is so good when you arrive in places like sunny California, cornfields and wine. And meeting people, discussing with them, having good food, having intellectual exchanges about philosophy, life, racism, patriarchy, everything I’m interested in. But physically it’s tiring. I have a theory I call The Pillow Theory. There are problems in life such as patriarchy, occupation, capitalism and the differences in the shape of pillows in the hotels. I’m fighting for the right of every person to have a size that fits them. Because of pillows and tiredness and lost friends, I’ve started to think I need a strategy to travel less. Also, my girlfriend is involved in this. Our idea is to let my mind think that I’m travelling though I’m not, by taking long residencies outside Sweden. So now I have a five-month residency in Amsterdam and after that a whole year at the DAAD Artists-in-Berlin programme, a scholarship. It works, in a way. When I went to Amsterdam, I started longing for Sweden as my country. Because I understood I would be away for long, I became homesick for the first time. And when I feel the thirst for travel I can make it subtler, because technically, I am already travelling. Through this, I started travelling less. Now, I travel only twice a month.

When I travel, I bring my laptop. They asked me in India what I would bring if the house were on fire. I said my laptop, because there is another house inside it. What is a home for a Palestinian born in a refugee camp if not language? It’s something I inherited from my father. He told me about paradise, the land of milk and honey. When I got my Swedish passport, I went to Palestine. There was nothing. No milk and no honey. It’s only in the dream of the Palestinians. The first time I went there, I was held six and a half hours at the airport. With all the happiness and sadness that I had about being there, finally the Israeli let me in. To this day, I never spoke with my father about that, because they threw him out twice, once from Ashkelon to Gaza in 1948, then from Gaza to Egypt in 1967, and he left his mother there. Until 2012 when she died, he didn’t meet her.

Home is connected to the mother tongue. I miss hearing my name. I used to say to God all the time that I miss Syria and Damascus here in Sweden. But when I asked God to connect me with Syria, he must have misunderstood me. Instead of taking me to Syria, he sent the Syrians to me.

[rachylou555]

Possibility by Rm #lexa

The universe has such beauty. I have spent so long exploring every part of it since the loss of my people and my home. Ever searching for something, anything that will make me whole again.

Earth, such an intriguing planet with a race called humans living on it's surface. I could see their demise if they carried on with their wars and fights over religion and land. Yet it was by the hand of an artificial programme, who deemed there were too many people, that destroyed the planet that they knew.

The nuclear apocalypse destroyed what civilisation was on the surface and I watch as ships with those choosen leave the ravaged earth for space.

I weep for what was and the loss of this wonderful planet. My emotions are too raw for me to travel away from this devastated world so I choose to hibernate and allow myself and ,hopefully, this world to heal.

How long have I slept?

The Earth is green, the air is breathable. Slowly from a ship a lone female figure emerges while others remain on board, watching and being held back by a male.

The female yells someting and Caos and euthoria ensue as everyone erupts from the ship. This is why I am awake. The sounds of their laughter vibrate through me and touch my soul.

I rise unseen and watch these humans run around and explore their surroundings. They are from the stars. A generation from those who left and managed to survive in space after the apocalypse.

I am happy. I spot one female who is not running around but looking at a map. For some unknown reason, I am drawn to her. A male appears and they start up a conversation. I usually listen to other life forms feelings for communication than their language, yet i am intrigued. I have to concentrate hard as it has been a long time since I have heard words spoken and the language is unique to me.

"... mountain"

I smile. This one, princess?, has a spirit of old in a young body. She is wise beyond her years but still learning her place.

I have an urge to follow and protect her. Feelings that I thought had long since died. What is it about this woman, why is she different? I do not know but I follow her every move.

There are times that I want to intervene and help princess, no her name is Clarke, but my people had laws not to intervene but observe other races and learn through them. My hands are tied by this law and I am forced to watch Clarke and her friends fight against those that have survived on the surface.

Yes, there are people who have survived. Even I am in awe at the resilance of this race.

Those that have survived are a viscous and aggressive people but I do not judge them for it as I can not fathom what they have had to endure in order to survive.

A war begins over who has rights to the land. Clarke unites with a male Bellamy in order to create cohesion in their group. The grounder's use basic weapons to fight while Clarke and her people have guns. Yet the grounder's are able to pick them off a few at a time. Clarke and her people use their ship to destroy their enemy. Only to find another enemy hidden, waiting in the shadows.

These new people, the mountain people, are friendly to Clarke and her friends but feeling of foreboding naws inside of me. Clarke seems to be wary of them too and searches for a reason,much to the dislike of her companions, as to why they are here.

Clarke being Clarke soon stumbles on the horrific truth. The mountain people are using the grounder's blood as a cure against their radiation poison.

I realise they will stop at nothing to cure themselves of and slowly start killing Clarke's friends.

I want to scream at the loss of the young adults who have had their lives taken.

Clarke somehow finds a way to escape and I am glad to follow her away from the horror that is going to happen inside the mountain.

A lot appears to have happened since we have been inside the mountain. More of Clarke's people have come to the surface. One of whom Clarke calls mum.

A grounder army has arrived outside Arkadia in retaliation for an injustice on an unarmed village. I follow Clarke to the leader of the grounder's tent. A commander who I have heard them speak of back before the attack on the first ship.

We enter the tent. It takes me a moment to realise that the strong young women, only slightly older than Clarke, is the commander. How can someone so young be in charge.

The commander speaks

"You are the one who killed 300 of my warriors"

Clarke replies

"You're the one who sent them to kill us"

The conversation continues and I have never seen such an interaction between two people. I feel their energy and their emotions and allow them to wash over me. My own emotions begin to join in this dance and I am full of euthoria.

Time goes by and both Clarke and the Commander, Lexa, attempt to work together in order to find peace and a way to defeat the mountain. I feel Lexa's emotions begin to grow. Adoration and respect for Clarke. I realise that both Lexa and I share this bond for Clarke.

They have their disagreements and one arises in the young girl Octavia. Lexa is concerned that Ocavia will betray her. Clarke stands up to Lexa on this matter and backs Lexa against a table.

Lexa's emotions wash over me with such force that I almost phase out of time. It is only my sheer will that holds me this moment. Lexa has never had anyone talk to her the way Clarke is talking to her right now. Her emotions are that of anguish, small amount of fear yet there is something else. A feeling that I thought had died, pure Love.

My emotions are released, mixing with Lexa's, which fills my entity up with a warmth that I have not felt for centuries.

I become enthralled and captured by these two powerful young beings who, I realise, must be lost soulmates finally other time finding one another again.

Clarke is upset and uncertain after she has confronted Lexa but she has a strong will and knows that what she said had to be said. Octavia is not a threat and killing her would cause more damage especially to Clarke's close friend and Octavia' s brother Bellamy.

Later, Clarke is asked back to Lexa's tent. She is apprehensive as to what will happen as am I. Lexa is apologetic and non aggressive. Clarke is soothed by her words and her change in manner seeing a new side to this strong independent woman.

Their exchange of words are calm and careful. Both explaining their thoughts and opinions on how their life is and should be.

Clarke finishes her response to Lexa's comment of life of a grounder and it's harshness. I feel her words and would wish them true for all this race. Life should be more.

Lexa moves into Clarke and kisses her. Their emotions, again, filling and mixing with my own. Never have I felt such raw passion. Then there is a feeling of confusion and slight upset from Clarke.

She has lost so much and been through a rollercoaster of incidences that have affected her. Yet she does feel something for Lexa.

I can not leave these two soulmates and follow their journey to the mountain. An end to which Clarke gains a hallow victory with the return of most of her friends yet I feel her soul shatter as she is betrayed by Lexa and then having to kill, again, in order to save her people.

I am overwrought with sadness and anger that I can not interfere and help with the burden that lays heavily on Clarke's shoulders. Clarke leaves her people in order to heal and attempt to find her way as she struggles with all that she has done since landing back on Earth.

I am in awe of this strong young woman and I begin to search through my memories and knowledge as to a solution against the laws that I am bound to follow. Yes, me race does not exist anymore and I could break the laws but there are consequences to that which are fixed in our DNA to stop us from doing so.

It is not long before Clarke is in danger. She is taken to a place, a city, called Polaris. Her hands are tied, she is gagged and a bag covers her head. Yet I can see who is waiting for her and I'm intrigued as to what will happen and why.

Clarke's reaction when the bag is taken off is just. The anger washes over me and it is not a warmth but a furnace. I can not feel Lexa's as Clarke's are too strong and I am trying not to allow them to overpower me.

Days follow and Lexa patiently waits to have a conversation with Clarke without her anger and hurt getting in the way. Slowly the begin to talk. Lexa very tentative at first to Clarke's feelings.

I feel Lexa's guilt and remorse for abandoning Clarke at the mountain and wish I could share this with Clarke herself.

Yet I needn't worry as the deep connection that I felt from their early interaction is still there.

Another threat arises challenging both these two friendship. A line has been set and Clarke has to choose whether to stay or go. I feel how torn she is in making a decision. Being at Polos and in Lexa's company has soothed her. She has not felt this calm and free in months. Lexa has taken over her thoughts and that first kiss plays on her mind more often now.

The time has come for Clakre to leave. She finds Lexa in her room. I feel their emotions and allow them the privacy that they deserve.

I wonder the corridors of the great tower. I do not really see them though as my thoughts are with the two women whom I have become attached to in a way that is almost foreign to me. I study my own feelings and realise, without knowing it, that I love them both. I no longer feel alone but apart of something magical.

I suddenly feel Clarke. She is scared. What has happened to make her feel this way. I go to her. I arrive at the same time as Lexa. A shot goes off and I feel both Lexa's pain and Clarke's.

My mind is blank. I can not think or see. The emotions, oh the emotions, are devastating and crushing me. This can not be happening. I watch as Lexa tries to calm Clarke. Clarke barks orders for cloth to stop the bleeding. I want to leave and go anywhere other than here yet I can not abandon them.

The wound is a mortal wound and slowly Lexa is lost. I scream my agony but only I can hear it. My own heart shatters into pieces along with Clarke's.

I watch as Titus, the flame keeper, removes something from Lexa's neck. A thought creeps through my head and becomes louder with each second. I can do something now. No laws would be broken.

I slip into the open wound on Lexa's neck and wait...

I feel her slowly coming round and hope that she will understand why I had to do, what I did.

Lexa

I awake to a room that is not mine.

I AM AWAKE?? But I died, didn't I? am I in the beyond? I have heard stories about when you die you go to a place of peace.

The room is large with white smooth walls which sparkle in the sun's light. Music drifts from somewhere unknown. The sound light and melodic. A breeze drifts through the open windows.

If this is the place of rest it has a slight beauty to it. An image comes into my mind. An image of a heart breaking into pieces. Tears fill my eyes and I am not ashamed to allow them to fall. I feel this loss as if I have been cut by a million swords. It hurts. This must be how I am punished for the wrongs I've done during my life. I live this heartbreak and will be haunted by the last image of that beautiful face.

"You are not being punished. It is the last memories you have. You are safe and well now"

Lexa looks around the room. There is noone there but her.

"Who are you, show yourself" she demands

" I am Kai, and I can not show myself as I am in you"

Lexa becomes aware of feelings that are not her own and the presence of another inside her.

"What have you done to me?" Lexa whispers

"I've done nothing. We are of kindred spirits you and I. I have come home"

"Am I dead, is this a dream?"

"No, you are not dead Lexa, I could not let that happen so I bound myself to you and have healed you"

"Why? What do you want of me?"

There is only one answer to Lexa's questions and I allow my emotions to flow along with my answer.

"Clarke"

Kai's word and emotions wash over me and through me. I realise that I was not alone in my love for this one woman and somehow the two of us are connected and bound by this love.

"Oh"

Is all that I can say for a minute whilst I process it all.

I should be scared, angry and hurt that an alien lifeform has invaded my body. Yet I feel at peace and unafraid by my new companion. I realise I can read her thoughts and she shows me nothing but love, compassion and adoration.

"Where are we?"

"We are not on Earth. Something happened. Prymfire is what it was called"

My aniexty rises and i have one thought. The only thought

"Clarke?"

" Before we left I reached out for her and she was safe and alive"

I let out my breath, of which, I did not realise I was holding until then.

" We have to go back"

"We will"

I suddenly feel Kai's tiredness wash over me. She has been hiding how much healing me has affected her. I am suddenly concerned with her wellbeing and that i could loss her if she does not rest.

"Rest Kai, we will find Clarke when you are well and strong."

"Yes, rest would be good. Lexa?"

"Yes,"

"The people here know of me and now of us. They are good people and peaceful souls. Listen and learn from them while I rest. You will love them as do I. We are safe here"

"Ok I will and Kai?"

"Yes my Lexa?"

"Thank you for saving me"

There is no spoken answer but I feel the love and adoration that Kai has for me which fills me with happiness and hope, no a knowledge, that we will see Clarke again...

TBC

[leiascully]

Fic:  Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part 5/5)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces My Struggle in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters:  Mulder, Scully, Tad O’Malley, Sveta (established MSR) Content warning:  canon-typical body horror (mentions of abduction, forced pregnancy, etc.) A/N:  I’m collecting all the related stories that go with Visitor/Resident under the title “All The Choices We’ve Made”, because it felt right at the time.  This story is an alternate My Struggle that reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.  

Part One  |  Part Two  |  Part Three  |  Part Four  |   AO3

It's not a surprise the next day when they emerge from the Hoover Building, where they've been supervising the setup of all of the new computers, to see Tad O'Malley's gleaming black limo.  The door opens.  They get in.  

"Glad we caught you, agents," O'Malley says with a grin.  

"We're not hard to track down," Mulder says.  

"It's the chip in my neck," Scully says dryly, and Mulder isn't sure he's ever heard her joke about it before.  But maybe she's spitting into the wind too, reminded of how whoever is behind all this has tampered with her at a molecular level.  He admits it is easy to direct (or misdirect) that frustration at Tad O'Malley.  

"Hi," Sveta says, waving at them from across the car.  O'Malley hasn't brought out the champagne this time, but she's clutching a bottle of Perrier.  

Mulder leans back against the leather seat.  The car certainly is plush.  The perks of selling out, he imagines.  

"I didn't think you'd come, Agent Scully," O'Malley says.  "After all, your work is so important.  So I took the liberty of coming to you."  He opens a small fridge concealed under the seat.  "Perrier?"

"Thank you," Scully says, accepting a bottle.  "What are you doing here, Mr. O'Malley?"

"Exposing a global conspiracy that's crushing the soul of America," O'Malley declares.  "Agent Mulder knows what I'm talking about."

"You're ready to make a move?" Mulder asks.

"The Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley with a world exclusive," O'Malley tells him.  "The story to end all stories."  

"Why don't you give us a preview?" Scully says, settling into her seat.  

O'Malley leaned forward.  "We begin with a war.  The Civil War.  The United States splits in two.  A new government forms.  They mint their own currency.  They make their own laws."

"They perpetuate the enslavement and genocide of millions of people," Scully murmurs.  

"That enslavement creates the haves and the have-nots.  And the halves begin to believe, to truly believe, that they are above the law.  That they can meddle with the fates and lives of people they start to consider subhuman: black, white, Native American, and everyone else.  An experimental program to create a better person through a variety of methods, including surgical intervention and selective breeding."

Sveta shivers.  Scully looks at her compassionately.  She reaches for Sveta's hand.  

O'Malley doesn't seem to notice their discomfort.  "The shadow government continues to exist after the war.  The genetic engineering of a superior human continues in the shadows of the shadow.  And they have other secrets."

"It all sounds like a ghost story," Scully says in that even voice that immediately sends Mulder into full alert.  "Designed to scare children."

"Children should be afraid," O'Malley tells her.  

"Everyone should," Mulder says, and he sees the shiver in her eyelid that means she's trying not to roll her eyes at him.  "It's a conspiracy bigger and more secret than the Manhattan Project, with tentacles reaching back into the very roots of America."

"The metaphor is mixed," Scully says.

"All the more apt," Mulder tells her.  "The Civil War set the stage and World War I gave us access to new technologies, but it wasn't until victories in Europe and Japan that the drama really ratcheted up for the rest of the world."

"Political and economic conditions became perfect for execution of the larger plan," O'Malley declared.  "The success of the program in the former Confederate states had spread to the re-United States.  Agents of the conspiracy, swearing their allegiance to President Grant, had infiltrated the highest levels of government.  World War I and World War II had weakened the European powers that might have held the US in check.  As it was, they were delighted to accept the offer of help from the United States, and if it came with a price, they were happy to pay it.  Their scientists began working with our scientists.  The project stretched those insidious tentacles to grasp the entire globe."

Mulder grins.  This is his wheelhouse.  Even as much as he's been jerked around and lost his faith, it's still exhilarating to put together the pieces of the puzzle he worked at for half his life.  "Paper Clip.  Experiments in the aftermath of the atomic bombings.  The crash at Roswell leading to cannibalized alien technology and cannibalized alien corpses, all resources that furthered the project."

O'Malley breaks in.  "The bomb was the latest threat of extinction, but not the first.  The energy of the explosions acted as transducers, creating wormholes that drew in alien ships just like the one that crashed at Roswell, ships that ran using electro-gravitic propulsion.  Sacrificing those alien lives with their extraterrestrial biology and their advanced technology delayed our self-immolation on the altar of democracy."

"World leaders signed secret memos directing scientific stuff of alien technology and biochemistry," Mulder puts in.  "All in the name of furthering the project, creating a new species that could survive alien invasion or whatever else might wipe us out.  Classified studies were done at military installations, extracting alien tissue.  S4, Groom Lake, Wright Patterson, and Dulce: all part of a network of black sites where tests were conducted using advanced alien technology recovered from the ships."  He glances at Sveta.  She has one hand over her mouth.  "Tests including human hybridization through gene editing and forced implantation of the resulting embryos in unsuspecting human subjects."  He swallows and tries not to look at Scully, but can't help meeting her eyes.  "Embryos with extraterrestrial DNA."  

Sveta gasps.  "Why do such a thing and lie about it?  Our own government?"

"Aliens aside," Scully says, "the American government has conducted experiments on unsuspecting populations as a matter of policy.  The Tuskegee Syphilis Study lasted for years beyond the point where they could have cured the patients.  The scientists in charge chose not to inform their subjects because they were African-American.  They let them die horrible, preventable deaths, claiming it was all in the name of science.  Genetic material was extracted from a sample of a tumor taken from a black woman named Henrietta Lacks and used without her consent or her family's.  Other people have been sterilized against their will, or stolen from their families.  I doubt we'll ever understand the full extent of the violence done to the indigenous peoples of the Americas."  She exhales loudly.  "While I cannot substantiate all of Agent Mulder's claims, I have found evidence of anomalous genetic material being implanted or otherwise introduced into the DNA of numerous subjects, including myself.  And you."

"What are they trying to do?" Sveta asks.

"That's the missing piece," Mulder tells her.  "We've learned so much, but some part of this eludes us."

"But it's not hard to imagine," O'Malley breaks in.  "A government hiding, no, hoarding alien technology for seventy years, at the potential expense of all human life and the future of the planet.  A government inside the government, secretly preparing for more than a hundred years for the long-awaited event."

"The takeover of America," Mulder says, feeling sick to his stomach.

"And then the world itself," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor.  "By any means necessary, however violent or cruel.  Severe drought brought on by weather wars conducted secretly using aerial contaminants distributed via chemtrails and high-altitude electromagnetic waves.  Perpetual war waged overseas, a drain on our resources and our energy engineered by politicians to create problem-reaction-solution scenarios to distract, enrage, and enslave American citizens at home with tools like the Patriot Act, the National Defense Authorization Act, and pure old-fashioned jingoism, abridging the Constitution and its promised freedoms in the name of national security.  Every dissident, every minority: a terrorist in situ.  Vietnam, but this time they're doing it right."

"Militarize the police forces," Mulder says slowly.  "Martial law.  FEMA building prison camps.  Mercenaries fighting under our flag, but not under our orders."

"The corporate takeover of food and agriculture," O'Malley says smugly.  "It's already begun.  Monsanto.  Dicamba.  They've got pharmaceuticals and healthcare in their pocket too.  An insurrection of men and women with clandestine agendas to dull, sicken, terrify, and control a populace already consumed by consumerism."

Mulder leans over to Scully.  "I didn't really like Wall-E," he whispers.  She shakes her head at him.

"A government that taps your phone, collects your data, and monitors your whereabouts with impunity," O'Malley says with a flourish.  "A government preparing to use that data against you when it strikes and the final takeover begins."

Mulder nods slowly.  There is a seed of truth in O'Malley's conspiracy-addled rant.  He's been seeking it long enough to know it when he sees it.  The nation is poised on a precipice.  All the rest of it is lies, smoke and mirrors, a way to turn the paranoid and the credulous into easy money.  But somewhere, under eighty mattress-thick layers of right-wing garbage, is a pea-sized truth, and he's the princess shifting uncomfortably.  

"The takeover of America?" Scully asks.

O'Malley leans forward.  "By a well-oiled and well-armed multinational group of elites that will cull, kill, and subjugate."

"Happening as we sit here in this car," Scully says.

"It's happening all around us," O'Malley tells her.

"It's been happening for years," Mulder murmurs.  "The other shoe waiting to drop."

"It'll probably start on a Friday," O'Malley says.  "The banks will announce a security action necessitating that their computers go offline all weekend."

"Digital money will disappear," he says.

Sveta looks startled.  "They can just steal your money?"  Scully squeezes her hand.

"While the banks are vulnerable,  they'll detonate strategic electromagnetic pulse bombs to knock out major grids.  Traffic lights, security systems, everything: gone.  Hospitals will be on backup generators indefinitely.  It will seem like an attack on America by terrorists or Russia."

"Or a simulated alien invasion featuring alien replica vehicles already in use," Mulder murmurs.  

"An alien invasion of the U.S.?" Scully says.

"The Russians tried it in '47," Mulder reminds her.  "Or they took credit for it, anyway."

"They'll take more than credit this time," O'Malley says.  "This goes worldwide.  Everything that has happened for the past seventy years has been engineered by this global conspiracy, these shadow players.  The structures they've built are designed to crumble, tearing America apart at the seams.  They'll build a new world on the ruins of our current one.  It will happen soon, and it will happen fast."  

Scully shakes her head.  "You can't say these things," she tells O'Malley.

"I'm gonna say them tomorrow," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor in his voice.  

Scully frowns.  "It's fearmongering, isolationist techno-paranoia so bogus and dangerous and stupid that it borders on treason.  Saying these things would be incredibly irresponsible."  

"I hate to say this, Scully, but if this is true, it would be irresponsible not to say it," Mulder says reluctantly.  

"If it's the truth," Sveta says, "you have to say it."  

"It's not the truth," Scully says.

O'Malley grins that smarmy grin.  "Agent Scully, with all due respect, I don't think you know what the truth is."

"The only thing I don't know is where you're taking us," Scully says, ice in her voice.  "Except on a wild goose chase."

"It's lunchtime," O'Malley says.  "I thought you might want something to eat."  

It's clear from the look Scully gives him that there is a long, long list of people she would rather have lunch with before she deigned to have lunch with Tad O'Malley.  In fact, it might be approaching seven billion people long.  

"I think what Agent Scully is trying to convey is that we've got to decline your invitation," Mulder says.

"You believe me," O'Malley says to Mulder with certainty.

Mulder looks at Scully.  She looks back at him, her eyes tight just at the corners.  "I might have, back in the day.  My doctor says paranoia is bad for me."  

O'Malley sits back, disappointed.  Scully's shoulders loosen.  She glances at him and there's something between approval and gratitude in her eyes.  He smiles at her.  

There's a pinging noise.  Scully checks her email on her phone.  Her brow creases.  She scrolls through something, then flicks back to the top and reads through it again.  "This is strange."

"What?"  Mulder leans over.  

"Sveta, the lab retested your samples.  A new tech was running the machines, and a number of test results were compromised.  In fact, they retested your samples twice to be sure.  Your DNA shows no anomalies."  Scully looks up.  "Whatever's been done to you, it had nothing to do with this project."

"Nothing?" Sveta and O'Malley ask at the same time.

"That can't be right," O'Malley says.  "Retest her."  

"I don't want to be tested again," Sveta says.  

"You're my evidence," O'Malley tells her angrily.  "You have to."

"She doesn't have to do anything," Scully tells him.  "She's under our protection now."

"We'll see about that," O'Malley says.  He presses a button.  The driver pulls over.  He opens the door.  "Goodbye, agents.  Goodbye, Sveta."

"What will you do?" Sveta asks him as she climbs out of the car.  

"I'll do what I do," O'Malley says.  "I'll tell the truth."

The car door slams shut.

Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley the next day is a runaway hit: high ratings, viral content, memes, gifs, and a media uproar.  "I promised you the truth today, but that truth has come under assault," O'Malley says, looking into the camera, and they roll footage of Sveta confessing to reporters, accusing him of telling lies.

"I am so sorry if I misled anyone," she says tearfully, wringing her hands in front of her.

"They get her?" Mulder asks.

"She should be safe," Scully tells him.  "They'll work on relocating her."

"Material witness?" Mulder asks.  "That's a bit of a stretch."

"It won't be by the time all of this is over," Scully says grimly.  "I went to the hospital to collect the samples and had our labs run them again."

"And?" Mulder says.

"Sveta and I share a lot," Scully says.  "Including anomalous genetic material."

"O'Malley must be furious," Mulder says, propping his hands on his hips as he thinks.

"Rumor is they're going to pull the plug," Scully says.  "No more truth, no more Squad."

"To his followers, that'll feel like a sign," Mulder says.  "A shot fired across their bows."

Scully shrugs.  "Damned if you do, damned if you don't.  Either we embolden a liar, or we enrage his base."    

"Politics have never been our strong suit," Mulder says.  "You know, there's something called the Venus Syndrome."

"The plant, the planet, or something else I'm afraid to ask about?" Scully asks.

"The planet," Mulder says.  "It's a runaway global warming scenario that leads us to the brink of the Sixth Extinction.  Those with the means will prepare to move off the planet into space, which will have already been weaponized against the poor, huddled masses of humanity that haven't been exterminated by the über-violent fascist elites.  If you believe in that kind of thing."

"Honestly, these days it sounds almost plausible," Scully tells him, leaning on one of the desks.  Whoever has funded the untimely revival of the X-Files has been generous: they have two normal desks and four standing desks scattered around the office.  It's much too flexible a workspace for two people.  

Their phones go off almost in unison.  They both reach for them.

"Skinner," Scully says.

"Skinner," Mulder confirms.  He reads the message:  Situation critical.  Need to see you both ASAP.  

They look at each other.  

"Scully, are you ready for this?" Mulder asks.

"I don't know there's a choice," she says, but she sounds fierce and proud.

There are wheels turning somewhere.  He can almost hear the gears of the world grinding.  They won't get caught in the teeth this time, won't get torn apart.  Whoever is behind everything they've been through will be exposed, finally and totally, brought to light.  They'll have to open the wound to clean it out, but that's all right.  They've finally learned how to heal.  He opens the door for her and they stride toward the elevator together.

[kristallioness]

Coming back to earth

Summary: Aang and Katara have to deal with citizens who aren't too happy with their new plan.

Word count: 1,548

Author's note: I felt really conflicted while trying to figure out what to write for this. From what we know so far, Katara was never officially a councilwoman, so it's hard to grasp something. I didn't wanna write an AU, so I only had one option that would fit: the timeline between the end of the war and before the founding of Republic City. Since this is the only time when Katara has been shown to participate in council meetings in the comics. I imagined that the story takes place at the same time as, or after "Imbalance", but since we don't know what's gonna go down there, I'm gonna make some wild guesses.

----------x----------

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Katara wondered as she and Aang exited the temporary building of city hall. Being back in the industrial city wasn't as pleasant as either of them had expected. The airbender entwined their hands and gave it a squeeze.

"I hope so. This is the most reasonable solution we've come up with so far."

There'd been countless conflicts between benders and nonbenders, some of which had turned rather violent. Hence a similar council meeting that was held in Yu Dao, where representatives from each nation were present, had just ended. Almost the entire Team Avatar had attended, except for Fire Lord Zuko, because a Fire Nation representative was already in town.

During the meeting, Aang had proposed a crazy idea, which no longer seemed as crazy once everybody had given it some thought. His plan was to unite all of the villages running along the west coast, where both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation citizens had already mixed during the past hundred years, and create a fifth nation, where benders and nonbenders from all over the world could live together in peace. Nobody would be looked down on for their ethnicity, their bending abilities or lack of for that matter. Most importantly, if Aang wanted to be able to stay together with Katara, it'd be a perfect place to live in for the two of them. It almost sounded like a dream.

Of course, not everybody saw it as a good thing. Rumours spread around town about the so-called "fifth nation" being formed. Two Earth Kingdom noblemen were sitting on a bench on the main street outside of city hall. From what other pedestrians heard from their loud conversation while passing them, they weren't pleased.

"Can you believe that? This is outrageous! They're just going to rob us of our land!" the bigger guy exclaimed, waving his hands in the air. His plump figure donned upper class Earth Kingdom attire. He'd been living near the booming town decades before the sacred land of the air nomads was overtaken by the refinery. Now his own land was about to be divided into half - one half remaining under Earth Kingdom territory, the other falling under this new nation.

"Those youngsters know nothing about politics. Who even put them in charge of such important roles in the first place?" the second nobleman asked whilst stroking his long grey beard. He was slightly taller and older than his companion. He considered himself an expert in politics due to having good relationships with other noblemen from Ba Sing Se, who kept him informed about the progress of events during the war.

The two noticed how the Avatar and his friend came out of the building where the council meeting was held. The noblemen slowly stood up from the bench, with the older one grabbing his cane so he could walk. The fat one adjusted his belt higher and blew on his shiny golden rings, wiping them clean against his robes before turning to his companion.

"Shall we?"

Receiving a confirming nod, they began heading towards the couple, to show them exactly what they thought of their new plan. Aang and Katara didn't suspect a thing while they continued their walk down the street. As Sokka would say, they were too busy 'oogying' around. As they walked past each other, the shorter nobleman earthbended a small rock right in front of Katara's foot, which forced her to trip.

"Ow!" she yelped and fell on her knees, but luckily managed to put her hands on the ground so she wouldn't fall flat on her face. Aang immediately knelt down beside her.

"Katara! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay.. I don't know what happened there," she said as she sat down and began dusting her tunic. Little did she know that, despite not being able to react fast enough to prevent her from hurting herself, Aang had sensed where the earthbending had come from.

He looked around and noticed the two men responsible walking the other way. They stared back and laughed at them, until they understood that the airbender had spotted them, after which they looked away and pretended like they hadn't seen anything.

"Hey! You two! Who do you think you are? You don't treat girls like that!" Aang shouted to them. He also earned the attention of other passers-by, who first looked at him, then at each other in confusion. The noblemen turned around and slowly approached Aang and Katara. The shorter one pointed a finger at himself.

"Who do we think we are? Shouldn't we be asking you that question? You and your little friends can't just come waltzing in here and divide up our land!"

"We aren't dividing up your land. We're trying to come up with a solution that'd make everybody happy," Aang said as he grabbed Katara's hands and helped her stand up.

"There is only one solution, Avatar. Send those ash-makers back to their homeland. These occupied lands that you're trying to form into this so-called 'fifth nation' are Earth Kingdom territory!" the taller nobleman added, tapping his cane on the ground.

"No, you're wrong. Now they're both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation territory. This is a whole new world we're looking at. Do you really expect us to order people to leave their homes behind? After they've lived here for the past hundred years?" Katara chimed in.

"Shut your mouth, little girl! I was talking to the Avatar."

"Excuse me!?" Katara exclaimed as Aang took a step forward.

"Hey! That's my girlfriend you're talking to."

"I don't care if she's your girlfriend. She's a simple rube from the south who shouldn't put her nose where it doesn't belong. This is our land and she shouldn't have a say in who gets to live here or not."

"She-"

"Oh, really? And who should have a say, then?" Katara interrupted before Aang could start defending her again, holding him back by laying her hand on his chest. She stepped right in front of the taller nobleman, crossed her arms and glared up at him.

"Only the honest Earth Kingdom citizens, such as ourselves, who've suffered the most because of this war. You southerners had it easy, living on your small iceberg in peace, cut off from the rest of the world. It's not like the Fire Nation came and conquered your land and claimed it as their own. We've had hundreds and thousands of families torn apart, troops killed on the front line. What's your small village done compared to that?"

Katara felt how every inch of her body became filled with rage after every selfish statement. She was so close to snapping because of his ignorance. She took a deep breath and spoke in a low, furious tone.

"You have no idea what my tribe went through during the war. All of our waterbenders were imprisoned. My mother died trying to protect me. Our men journeyed to the Earth Kingdom to help you fight against the Fire Nation. Women and children were left to fend for themselves. My friends had to leave their home behind and come here to make a living. My boyfriend's entire culture was destroyed, every one of his people were killed."

At this point, she raised a finger under his nose.

"Don't you dare compare your kingdom's suffering to ours. Even though my tribe is much smaller, that doesn't mean our suffering was, too."

Katara glanced at Aang, then took a step back and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. Her gaze remained fixed on his grey eyes, her face softened and she smiled a little.

"We're all in the same boat here."

"I highly doubt it. It's not enough that those ash-makers have stolen our land, our homes and our jobs, now you want to allow your snow savages to come here, too? I suggest you go to the nearest harbour, find yourself a boat and go straight back home to that icy inferno where you belong. You foreigners aren't welcome here," the short nobleman warned her. He spat in front of Katara's shoes before they both turned around to walk away.

She growled, her hand clenched into a fist and ready to bend the water out of her pouch, but Aang put a hand on her shoulder to return the favour. He held her back.

"C'mon, sweetie. Let's go.. those two aren't worth it."

He felt how her stiff body relaxed, her shoulders slumped. She let out a heavy sigh and nodded, allowing Aang to guide her the other way.

"Filthy peasant," the shorter nobleman muttered to his mate. Katara heard it and in a split second she summoned the water from her pouch into a whip and whacked it against the backs of their heads. The men cowered and rubbed at the painful spot, turning around in shock.

"That's for calling me a peasant, insulting my people, and my tribe," Katara said before she spun around and walked away.

"Don't ever talk to my girlfriend like that again!" Aang threatened them one more time, then followed Katara. The noblemen felt disgusted when they saw him give her a soft kiss on her cheek, their hands entwined as they headed their way.

[jadedbirch]

ARTIST CLAIMS ARE NOW OPEN!

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SUBMIT CLAIMS BY APRIL 23rd

1. Good ships scuttled on the deep

His fingers follow flecks of blood down to the point of his captain’s cheekbone. A thin pink scar, no wider than John’s fingernail, marks Flint’s pale skin. Flint’s eyes close completely. “I thought it was a welcome,” John says. Silver and Flint become lovers following the battle on Maroon Island. S4 AU with established silverflint relationship and some canon divergences.

2. Pray For The Wicked On The Weekend    John Silver spends his days in a faded green pickup truck filled with salt-loaded shotguns and silver and holy water on the back roads of the United Stated hunting monsters and demons and things that go bump in the night, and he’s fine with it, because it’s the easiest way to forget what he’s lost. But there’s something coming, something that he can’t face alone. So where else would he turn but the best Hunter the US has ever seen. Even if no one has heard from James Flint since Thomas and Miranda Hamilton went missing.

3. patron saint of lost causes

It takes two weeks to get Flint off Skeleton Island. Or rather--it takes two weeks for the island to let them go. In which Skeleton Island is a living character and brings a host of nightmares through the mist which force Silver and Flint to confront the dangers of their minds. Featuring surreal dreamscape horror as Silver literally battles figures from his murky, unnamed past and Flint moving through a river of blood and ghosts until he and Silver finally meet in the middle. Influences include Guillermo Del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth and The Devil's Backbone and Maria Luisa Bombal's work.

4. Let It All Unbreak You Post season four. Alone in taverns, at different points in time, Flint and Silver ponder what went wrong with their different relationships. They drink, remember and regret. They reflect upon the little they had together, and regret not making it work after the war with Madi or Thomas, while knowing very well that the very reason it all went wrong is that they had changed too much, had given each other too much, yet were not brave enough to admit it to each other when it was still time.

(Ships: Silverflint, flint x miranda x thomas, flint x thomas, silver x madi) (Angst, definitely not fix-it, no happy ending)

5. Pirate Sex is In Vogue

My fic is a modern AU primarily through email correspondence between Silver and Flint, although other mediums (such as texting and phoning) will be introduced as the story evolves. Silver is a crack erotica writer and Flint is the librarian who just wouldn't showcase his books at the Nassau Public Library, despite the insistence of the latter. They become unexpected virtual pen pals after Flint sends a heated rejection letter and grow closer through their correspondence, helping each other confront the inner demons of their personal lives. There will be polyamory, since Flint is involved with Thomas and Miranda by the time he and Silver fall in love.

6. Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a winter storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past. Whether landed in this place by fortune, or fate, or even divine intervention, he finds he cannot leave again without following this trail that leads from an old and half-forgotten tether knotted deep between his ribs to somewhere that feels familiar and safe, like home. The way won’t be easy; it’s paved with notable absences and painful unspoken truths, and there’s as good a chance as any that he’ll find a knife to his throat before he can so much as say ‘Long time no see, Captain’. Still, all roads do seem to lead to them baring their souls to one another in the dark, and Silver would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed it.

7.  An Epilogue

After the events of Treasure Island, John finds James and Thomas. There’s a gradual awkward descent to domesticity when pirates retire. Madi brings Jim Hawkins with her from London. This is the ultimate fix it where there are no unanswered questions and everyone lives happily ever after. SilverFlint, SilverHamilton, SilverFlintHamilton, SilverMadi

8. Stealing Hearts

A 1920s AU with Flint as a mob boss, fighting a corrupt police force/police system, and Silver as a thief who gets caught up in all of it.  

9. Space Raiders of Nassau

The space station Nassau is in open rebellion against the interplanetary Imperial Alliance.  Captain James Flint is in deep shit for rearranging the face of a fellow raider captain.  As punishment, Nassau's leaders assign an inside man to his crew, with a very convincing cover story (that they're married). Complicating things further is the fact that Flint's shifty new husband, John Silver, knows a lot more than he's telling about their secret mission. Their own survival as well as Nassau’s future depend on how successfully they can navigate the dangerous skies… and each other.  

10. The Pirate Captain's Wedding Once he has his hands on the thief Flint is willing to do whatever it takes to get the page from him. And then Billy & Gates say marriage is the only solution left on the table. Or rather matelotage – the time honored pirate form of matrimony. Billy says it’s the only way to regain the crew’s trust, by marrying one of them, and Gates agrees. For once Flint’s desperate enough to agree to it. He never expects to actually fall in love with the little shit. Canon-Era Season1/Season2 AU– with angsty developing feelings, public consummation, & There Is Only One Bed night after hot sticky sweaty night. 11. The devil's gotta' earn

Supernatural AU. James Flint has been a hunter for over a decade now and he knows people join this profession for plenty of reasons and few of those are happy ones. Some people just seek the thrill, some want to protect the so called innocent, some - like him - are out for revenge and John Bloody Silver apparently is just trying to get rich. [Borrows mostly from first seasons of Supernatural, little to no prior knowledge of this show required. Miranda lives, Thomas tragically does not. Lots of angst, few monsters of the week and a demon or two.]

12. touch me James is a widow, bartender and owner of the gay-bar “The Rainbow“. After Thomas' death it had been John who had lift him up. One day one of his usual dancers - because what is a gay bar without your occasional striptease - can't perform. John offers to fill the space and James has to face that John is more than just a friend. Slow burn and StripperJohn!AU

13. Adamantine Flame Flint is a forest god called The Flame and Silver is part of the cult that worships him that resides on the fringes of the underworld. 14. [Title TBD] Silver never met another werewolf before. Well, realistically, he knew he must have because he wasn't born a werewolf so someone had to have done this to him. But that didn't count since his memory of the whole incident was lackluster at best. He knew others had to be out there somewhere though and he wanted to find at least one, just to know he wasn't all alone. Flint was surrounded by werewolves all his life. Always part of a family, always knowing someone cared for him. Knowing he had someone to care for. The memories were as vivid as ever, of a time when he cared for someone. But they were gone and he knew he was meant to be all alone. 15. set my soul on fire

Nothing quite like getting out of prison to make a man feel like pulling off the biggest heist you’ve ever heard of. But he can’t do it alone - he’s going to need some money, a plan, a crew, and of course, his partner. His incorrigible, oral fixation-having, blue-eyed devil of a partner. Who is this smooth, seasoned con man with his eyes on the prize? James fucking Flint, naturally. And his partner? John Silver.Viva Las Vegas, baby.

16. cat dad

Modern au. Flint's life is fine. It's quiet and it's fine and he's fine. Well, except that his upstairs neighbor is a dick and his relationship with Miranda is strained and maybe quiet isn't all it's cracked up to be. But then a one-eyed cat enters his life and with it one John Silver. Flint's not sure how he feels about that, but he's working on it. Plot includes cat shenanigans, cooking, fluff, and feelings. 

17. [Title TBD]

A post-canon rendition of the Silver and Flint reunion wherein rather than seeking each other out the two are brought back together by outside forces. There’s a wedge of sour history and new lives built between them but love and desire become hard to deny when every path you set out on to leave someone behind sends you hurdling straight back to them. Treasure Island divergent/ignorant, though I pull some things from TI including the bird. (Includes SilverMadi and FlintHamilton as side-pairings, warning for canon Black Sails side-character death.) 18. The Spark

it's a Girl Genius AU

That's it, that's the whole shtick. It's basically the plot of the show, but clockwork-punk with mad geniuses (of course Flint is one), Urca being chock full of Aztec tech a'la Mysterious Cities of Gold, and dr. Howell and colleagues taking medicine to some quite Frankenstein levels - convenient with so many characters who should know better than to fucking die.

Also John Silver might be a construct.  The prosthetics are not nearly as complicated as in treasure planet, but at least one person has a gun arm? dirigibles are "Supposed Not To Be Invented Yet", but not for the lack of trying. Silverflint revolves around having "The Spark" and personhood and is shaping up heavier than i intended... luckily they will have plenty of people to set them to rights - i'm aiming for a happy polyfamily forming in the background.

19. he’s funny that way

1920s Atlantic City. Everybody knows the only way to leave crime boss Eleanor Guthrie's business is through a funeral - either delivering the sermon or laid out in the casket. Still, Flint leaves anyway, because he likes to make his life as difficult as possible. Case in point: his new partner, the scruffy, irate, one-legged racketeer with a pretty mouth, a quick tongue, and a rye recipe even Pussyfoot Johnson wouldn't spit out. His new partner's making sure he's not joining the church and taking a celibacy vow anytime soon - but will anyone be able to save Flint from his early - or long overdue - grave?

20. Ship to Wreck 

"I don't know if you've noticed, Doctor," Silver snaps, incredulous, "But every moment the Captain is unconscious in that bed is another step away from five million fucking dollars. As if that weren't enough, we're locked in a ridiculous show of force with a madman who seems keen on blowing us sky high unless we concede to his demands; we've got a crowd of men up top losing their Goddamned minds because they've been promised a fight that we cannot presently even hope to deliver; and--" Silver pauses, exhaling hard. "Actually, you know what? There is no and.  I’d say that’s about enough shit to make us all a little tense, wouldn’t you agree?" "Hm," Howell says, mildly. A post 204 fic in which: Flint gets a fever, Silver has a panic attack, and Howell gets a migraine. Includes, among other things--Silver trying and failing at playing nurse; Silver trying and failing at controlling his feelings; Flint being dazed and delirious and soft; some singing, some yelling, and heavy doses of mutual pining. Love, obviously, turns out to be the best medicine. 21. More Than One Odysseus

Reunion fic, about two years after 4.10. Quite a lot of talking and a little of the following: fishing, sex, hunting, bathtubs, Jewish surnames, books, stories and Terra Australis. Canon-compliant, not TI-compliant. A few animals killed (for food, not sport).

22. Seedlings

"If there's anything I can help you with-- Or if you'd like to order flowers for an upcoming occasion--"

"All right, honestly?" Handsomely disgruntled customer looked Silver dead in the eye and said, "I'm looking for a gift that says, 'You are making a dreadful mistake, and you will regret these actions for the rest of your days. Call me when you've figured out what a fucking hash of things you've made.'" He spoke the way some people chewed tinfoil.

Silver felt two things: lust like a plague of locusts, and the words 'uh-oh' waft through his brain.

On the second anniversary of the worst day of his adult life, John Silver─temporary florist, burgeoning gardner, and former thief─meets James Flint. It is only love at first sight for one of them. (Or is it?)

23. The Curse of Aeaea

Inspired by the connection between Flint and Odysseus: Silver and Flint find themselves dealing with a very Circe-like situation. Once the curse affects Silver, they have to figure out a way to end it or be trapped on an island that’s not on any map.

(Animal Transformation, Body Horror, Poor Coping Mechanisms, Circe’s Curse, Odysseus, Post-Season 2, Pre-Season 3)

24. With Strange Aeons Months after the disappearance and presumed death of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, Max smuggles Jack and Anne to Oglethorpe’s plantation. Thomas learns that not only do the three of them have a friend in common, but he is not the only one whose dreams are haunted by a strange city and a terrifying name. Meanwhile, Flint and Silver try to escape an island trapped in time, impossibly built and impossibly old. Along the way they’re forced question reality, each other, and themselves.

And in his house in R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. (Prior knowledge of Lovecraft is fun, but not required.)