#between us we have one and three-quarters masters degrees :)

[girderednerve]

okay not to do the grad student "i'm a thembo :)" thing but i spent like four minutes today with my coworker trying to figure out which way to turn a screw to loosen it. we were both like, "okay, righty tighty lefty loosey, BUT it's a circle?? so like, which way is it even going, like, if you think about it? like, if the top part is going to the left then the bottom part is going to the right?"

i think it would make more sense if we all called it like. widdershins. so you could picture what if you were the angel on the head of the, um, the screw, and you were doing, like, a little circle dance, actually wait you know what i may just be stupid

[newstfionline]

Monday, June 3, 2024

Most US students are recovering from pandemic-era setbacks, but millions are making up little ground (AP) America’s schools have started to make progress toward getting students back on track after pandemic closures. But improvement has been slow and uneven across geography and economic status, with millions of students—often those from marginalized groups—making up little or no ground. Nationally, students made up one-third of their pandemic losses in math during the past school year and one-quarter of the losses in reading, according to the Education Recovery Scorecard, an analysis of state and national test scores by researchers at Harvard and Stanford. But in nine states, including Virginia, reading scores continued to fall during the 2022-23 school year after previous decreases during the pandemic. Clouding the recovery is a looming financial crisis. States have used some money from the historic $190 billion in federal pandemic relief to help students catch up, but that money runs out later this year.

2,000 Sea Lions Make San Francisco Dock Their Home (NYT) The number of visitors to San Francisco has not rebounded to its prepandemic level—not among humans, anyway. Sea lions, on the other hand, are swimming to the city in higher numbers than ever recorded. This week, sea lion counters—yes, they exist—tallied 2,000 of the whiskered, blubbery creatures in the water alongside Pier 39 on the city’s northern edge. That’s 600 more than the previous record of 1,400 set in the early 1990s, according to Sheila Chandor, who has been the harbor master at Pier 39 since 1985. The marine mammals were initially drawn to a large school of anchovies just outside the Golden Gate Bridge, though it is not clear what has kept them around. Adam Ratner, a sea lion expert at the Marine Mammal Center across the Golden Gate Bridge in Sausalito, described the surge as “truly remarkable.”

Claudia Sheinbaum set to become president of Mexico (AP) Former Mexico City Mayor Claudia Sheinbaum holds an irreversible lead in the 2024 Mexico election that would make her the country’s first female president, according to an official quick count. The National Electoral Institute’s president said Sheinbaum had between 58.3% and 60.7% of the vote, according to a statistical sample. Opposition candidate Xóchitl Gálvez had between 26.6% and 28.6% of the vote. Mexico City’s central plaza, the Zocalo, erupted in applause and cheers early Monday morning as Sheinbaum spoke and pumped her fist before the crowd. “We women have landed in the presidency,” she said amid a roar from supporters. “We are going to govern for everyone.” Mexico now joins a list of 11 Latin American nations that are or have been governed by women: Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Costa Rica, Ecuador, El Salvador, Haiti, Honduras, Nicaragua and Panama. The country, with 129.5 million inhabitants and the second largest economy in Latin America, is known for its “machismo” and violence against women. But Sunday Sheinbaum broke through that longstanding ceiling in an election where the ruling party won by a wide margin.

US dampens criticism of El Salvador’s president as migration overtakes democracy concerns (AP) In 2021, the Biden administration turned down a meeting request with El Salvador’s president, Nayib Bukele, on a trip to Washington, snubbing the self-proclaimed “world’s coolest dictator” for fear a photo op would embolden his attempts to expand his power base. A little more than three years later, it’s the United States that’s courting Bukele. A high-level delegation led by U.S. Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas, and senior White House and State Department officials, attended Bukele’s inauguration in San Salvador on Saturday to a second term. The visit—unthinkable until recently—caps a quiet, 180-degree shift in Washington’s policy toward the small Central American nation of 6 million that reflects how the Biden administration’s criticisms of Bukele’s strong-armed governing style have been overtaken by more urgent concerns tied to immigration—a key issue in this year’s U.S. presidential election. The 42-year-old Bukele, who was reelected with 85% of the vote, has been wildly popular at home for his frontal attack on powerful gangs, which has converted what was once the world’s murder capital into one of Latin America’s safest countries. The improvement in public security is credited with a more than 60% drop in migration from the Central American country to the U.S. since Bukele took office in 2019.

Basic training in Ukraine is barely covering the basics, commanders say (Washington Post) As Ukraine prepares to mobilize tens of thousands of men to address a critical shortage of soldiers amid intensified Russian attacks, Ukrainian commanders in the field say they are bracing for most of the new troops to arrive with poor training. Ukrainian commanders have long griped about lackluster preparation for recruits at training centers. But with Russia on the offensive, the persistent complaints are a reminder that a newly adopted mobilization law intended to widen the pool of draft-eligible men is just one step in solving the military’s personnel problems. Ukrainian field commanders said that because training is so deficient, they must often devote weeks to teaching new recruits basic skills, such as how to shoot. With Kyiv’s forces critically understaffed and losing ground, the failure to provide adequate basic training for soldiers underscores the dire situation Kyiv is facing more than two years after Moscow’s invasion.

Russian Missiles Hit Ukraine’s Energy System, Again (NYT) Russian forces struck several of Ukraine’s energy facilities with drones and missiles early Saturday, in a major air assault that targeted cities across the country, including some near the borders with NATO members. The Ukrainian Air Force said that Russia had fired 53 missiles at its territory, that it had shot down two-thirds, and that some had been heading toward the western Zakarpattia and Lviv regions, which border Hungary, Poland and Slovakia, countries that are part of NATO. The Polish Army said its fighter jets and those of other allies had been scrambled to protect their borders in case a Russian weapon crossed them, as has happened in the past. The strike on Saturday was Russia’s sixth attack on energy facilities in Ukraine since March, part of a wider campaign seemingly aimed at cutting off power to swaths of the country and making life miserable for civilians.

A Chinese spacecraft lands on moon’s far side to collect rocks in growing space rivalry with US (AP) A Chinese spacecraft landed on the far side of the moon Sunday to collect soil and rock samples that could provide insights into differences between the less-explored region and the better-known near side. The mission is the sixth in the Chang’e moon exploration program, which is named after a Chinese moon goddess. It is the second designed to bring back samples, following the Chang’e 5, which did so from the near side in 2020. The moon program is part of a growing rivalry with the U.S.—still the leader in space exploration—and others, including Japan and India. China has put its own space station in orbit and regularly sends crews there.

North Korea sends hundreds more trash-carrying balloons to South Korea (AP) North Korea launched hundreds more trash-carrying balloons toward the South after a similar campaign a few days earlier, according to South Korea’s military, in what Pyongyang calls retaliation for activists flying anti-North Korean leaflets across the border. Between Saturday night and Sunday morning, about 600 balloons flown from North Korea have been found in various parts of South Korea. The balloons carried cigarette butts, scraps of cloth, waste paper and vinyl, but no dangerous substances were included, South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff said Sunday. In a statement on Wednesday, Kim Yo Jong, the powerful sister of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, confirmed that the North sent the balloons to make good on her country’s recent threat to “scatter mounds of wastepaper and filth” in South Korea in response to leafleting campaigns by South Korean activists.

After Biden’s Push for Truce, Netanyahu Calls Israel’s War Plans Unchanged (NYT) A day after President Biden called on Israel and Hamas to reach a truce, declaring that it was “time for this war to end,” Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu on Saturday reiterated that Israel would not agree to a permanent cease-fire in Gaza as long as Hamas still retains governing and military power. In his statement, Mr. Netanyahu did not explicitly endorse or reject a proposed cease-fire plan that Mr. Biden had laid out in an unusually detailed address on Friday. Two Israeli officials confirmed that Mr. Biden’s proposal matched an Israeli cease-fire proposal that had been greenlit by Israel’s war cabinet. The officials spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive negotiations. But the timing of Mr. Netanyahu’s remarks, coming first thing the next morning, seemed to put the brakes on Mr. Biden’s hopes for a speedy resolution to the war, which has claimed the lives of more than 36,000 Palestinians, according to the Gaza Health Ministry. “Israel’s conditions for ending the war have not changed: the destruction of Hamas’s military and governing capabilities, the freeing of all hostages and ensuring that Gaza no longer poses a threat to Israel,” Mr. Netanyahu’s office said in the statement released on Saturday morning.

[xiaq]

Woke up thinking about The Old Guard. Enjoy, I guess: Edit: It’s a whole ass fic now

Nile’s sword arcs out of her hand and onto the ground several feet away for the third time in as many minutes and she leans over to brace her hands on her knees, breathing hard.

“How are you so good at this?” she asks.

It’s a mostly hypothetical question. Hundreds of years of practice ought to make someone frustrating adept at swordplay.

“Ah,” Joe says, grinning, “while you were busy being heterosexual, I studied the blade.”

It takes Nile a second.

“Ok, wow. Shut up. You’re not allowed to quote memes at me, old man. “

“She is also not heterosexual, my love,” Nicky says from where he’s sitting in the shade with a book. His tone is lightly chastising. “You should not assume.”

“Oh.” Joe looks genuinely surprised. “I apologize. Are you not?”

“No? I’m bi.”

Joe considers this for a moment. “Bisexual?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Booker is as well. Though it took him a few decades to realize.”

“It took him a few decades to admit,” Nicky argues. “I think he realized rather quickly, sharing such close quarters with us.”

“Oh my god,” Nile says, straightening. “Were you two responsible for Booker’s queer awakening?”

Joe spreads his arms as if to prove his innocence—though “innocent” is difficult to pull off when one hand has a sword in it.

“Nicolò is very pretty and makes equally pretty sounds given appropriate…stimulation. I was not responsible.”

“You were responsible for the sounds,” Nicky says dryly. “And I recall several years in Malta where you had a predilection for nudity and Booker had a predilection for getting drunk and commenting on the unfairness of your ass. I do not think that was only jealousy, my love.”

“I do not recall this,” Joe says.

“I do,” Andy mutters.

She’s sitting on the opposite side of their little courtyard cleaning a rifle.

Nile hadn’t understood, at first, why the group was so adamant about renting a home with a private, stone-walled, garden. After sparring with them for a few weeks every morning, healing countless wounds, some of which might have been fatal for a normal person, she gets it now. And that’s aside from Andy’s fondness for dismantling and reassembling weapons while sunbathing. Privacy is important.

“Regardless,” Nicky says, “are we using queer, now, as a term? Is that no longer derogatory, Nile?”

“Mm,” Nile says. “I mean. It’s still derogatory when some people use it but it’s also been pretty widely reclaimed. There’s a whole like, genre of scholarship called queer theory, now. You can get a degree in it.”

“Interesting,” Nicky says, tapping his book against one thigh.  “We should go to college again. We haven’t done that in a while.”

Nile looks back and forth between them. “You’ve gone to college? Of course you have. Better question. How many degrees do you all have?”

“Andy has nearly a dozen. Mostly sciences, right boss?” Joe says.

“Three in biology,” Andy says, not looking up as she scrubs the bore of her 338 Lapua. “Two in microbiology, one each in chemistry, cognitive science, astronomy and astrophysics. One in ecology. And one in music.”

“Music?” Nile repeats.

“Not just music,” Joe objects. “A degree from Juliard. Have her play the piano for you some time. Or the violin.”

Nile feels a headache coming on. “And you two?”

“Joe has two bachelors degrees in studio art,” Nicky says, “a PhD in art history, a masters in art conservation, and a law degree. I have a bachelors in English, a PhD in religion, a doctorate in medicine, and a masters in medical ethics.”

“And Nico went to Culinary school twice,” Joe says proudly.

Nicky sighs. “Three times.”

“Ah, my heart. I apologize. Nico attended culinary school three times. But he only graduated twice.”

“What happened the third time?” Nile asks.

“We do not speak of it,” Nicky says.

“We could,” Joe suggests.

“Yusuf,” Nicky says.

Joe laughs. “Perhaps later. Again, Nile.”

Nile groans and retrieves her sword.

“Keep your elbow up this time,” Andy says, still not looking away from her gun.

Nile groans louder.

[anonthenullifier]

Tommy get caught making out with his girlfriend pls

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

———

With a soft click the last light on the main floor extinguishes, leaving Vision to bask in the serenity of lumenless solitude. It’s a simple joy he gets each night after the others are in bed. Satisfied with the main floor, he rises an inch off the ground, hovering above each step instead of touching it, ostensibly to keep the wood from creaking and waking either of the boys, but truthfully he finds it soothing. 

At the top of the stairs he glances to the right, checking that the doors are shut and the lights off, particularly the bathroom since Tommy has a habit of leaving everything illuminated. It is all blissfully shrouded in night. Vision’s lips curve ever so slightly up, the evening remarkably calm, no squabbles between their sons or unnecessary name calling. Even Tommy managed a mumbled Love you on his way up the stairs. It’s almost too calm. 

Vision shakes away the thought, not even certain where it came from, and begins to head towards his own bedroom. That’s when he hears a pathetic whine from behind, body whipping around until he spots the culprit. “Did he shut you out?” Sparky's ears perk up at the attention, little tail giving a forlorn wag. “That is an easy fix.” Vision hovers back to Tommy’s door and goes to open it, except the handle doesn’t move. “How odd.” They don’t have a locked room policy but neither of their sons has ever locked anyone (especially Sparky) out, likely because a locked door stands little chance against any of their powers. 

As if attuned to his own confusion, Sparky stares up at Vision, head cocked to the side in anticipation of his solution. He could easily phase the lock open, but privacy is a right he wishes to allow his sons. “I suppose you can sleep with us tonight,” the words are meaningless to the dog, head still held at an adorable forty seven degree tilt, one fine tuned to get treats and balls thrown. “Come along,” Vision nods towards the master bedroom, the joyful tapping of nails on the hardwoods hard not to smile at. When they get to the door, Vision sets a single cheeky ground rule, “Keep your paws off my wife, understood?” 

A little sniffle and wag of his tail accepts the rule and Vision opens the door, Sparky racing in and immediately leaping into the bed, trouncing across the duvet until he is laying with his head on Wanda’s stomach and paws on her arm. “Why hello there you handsome man,” Wanda pets his head and Vision provides a good-natured glare at the rule breaker who lacks any sense of regret, or so the lolling tongue suggests, “and hello to you as well Sparky.” Vision shouldn’t feel a sense of victory over a dog, but he can’t help it, especially when Wanda’s eyes alight in flirtatious glee that draws him to sit on the bed. 

“You can thank Thomas for our company.”

Her “Oh?” is cooed at the dog, who has flopped sideways for a belly rub, his back paws discourteously shoved into Vision’s pillow. 

“He locked him out.”

Wanda leans down so that her nose is almost touching Sparky’s as her fingers scrunch behind his ears. “That wasn’t very nice of him.” If one were to imagine the expression of a customer being pampered at the world's most luxurious spa, it would no doubt pale in comparison the overflowing exuberance on the dog’s face. “Probably safest not to be in there anyway.” 

The comment is said with an air of knowingness and a tinge of innuendo. Vision had not even thought about that possibility, truthfully he hadn’t even thought much of the door being locked but it’s likely not an unfair assumption, the boys are teens now, a time he has read is filled with raging hormones and exploration. Perhaps they’ll need to have another talk about boundaries if this becomes the norm.  For now he’ll simply not think anymore about it. 

“Sparky, may I,” he attempts to scoot the paws away from his pillow, but they spring back immediately, forcing Vision to lay down farther than he’d like from Wanda. “This is why he sleeps with Tommy.”

Wanda shrugs, still playing the role of world's best masseuse, “I’m comfy.” 

“That is a relief.” A throw pillow is tossed at his face with a flick of her wrist, except, having been married for so long and understanding the statistical patterns of her reactions, he is able to catch it, pointedly fluffing it before sliding it behind his neck. “Thank you, darling.” What he expects to see next is the purse of her lips, a sign she is striving not to laugh. Her lips are pinched together but there is no amusement to be found on her face, even her hand stalling in petting Sparky. “Is something wrong?”

A tilt of her head to the side sends his autonomic system into action. “Did you check the perimeter?”

“Of course.” He waits for more and when it stays locked behind her lips, he presses on. “Why?”

Scarlet wavers along the blanket, her fingers rising and falling like a puppeteer until she seems to reach a conclusion. “There’s an extra mind in Tommy’s room.” 

The locked door becomes menacing instead of a minor annoyance. “I will check the outside and you—“

“Inside, yep.” 

Vision leans back, phasing through the bed and the wall until he is eight feet above their deck. Through controlled trial and error he knows the best density for stealth, his molecules bursting into a frenzy until he is lighter than air. Only then does he dare fly towards Tommy’s window. It is wide open, concerning and not economical since it will increase their energy costs, not that it is a concern at the moment, but for later.  Window ajar. 

Door still locked. Confirmed second mind in his room. Not Billy. 

If Wanda recognized the mind, she would alert him. I will proceed inside. Vision breathes in, always wanting just a second to settle all raging thoughts, and then he phases into the room, Mindstone glowing faintly so as not to alert the intruder. With hushed breath, Vision inches forward, noting what appears to be Tommy on his side, pajama clad back facing him. 

Nothing seems amiss, other than the open window and extra mind. It is unsettling. Vision increases his auricular and ocular sensors as he continues to investigate, hands lifting into stance #5 of Natasha’s recommended hand to hand combat defenses.

There is a quiet smacking noise, a recognizable one though he can not place it, and then there is a...giggle, not belonging to his son. It is when he notices the splay of dark hair on the pillow that it all clicks. Oh. Vision begins to back up, not desiring to intrude further even if he also has this instinctive need to interrupt, but he quells that. 

I’m coming in. The three quarters of a second it takes him to process Wanda’s comment is half a second too long, his abort mission not arriving until after the door opens with a very noticeable click 

This is when everything erupts into chaos.

A pillow is thrown through his face simultaneously with a, “What the fuck, dad!” and what sounds like a shriek from Tommy’s bedfellow. Then a blur of green fills the room, Tommy grabbing onto Vision’s semi-transparent waist and hauling him towards the door, just as Vision’s politeness kicks in with a cheerful, “Terribly sorry for interrupting.”

And then they are in the hallway, the door shut behind Tommy, whose face is contorted in rage and breath is uneven. Wanda stands frozen, hands raised and shimmering, her eyes bouncing between Tommy and himself. Tommy only looks at Vision, voice shaking, “What are you doing coming through my wall?”

“Was that,” Vision mentally reconstructs everything as best he can, “was Lisa in there with you?”

All at once the anger is knocked off their son’s face and replaced with a completely fake innocence, “Who’s Lisa?” It doesn’t even take the entire time for Vision’s brows to rise for Tommy to realize the misstep. “I um meant, um,” 

Wanda doesn’t allow him to flounder, oddly. “Is she still in there?”

Perhaps it is the Young Avenger’s training on being interrogated or the fact Tommy’s thoughts are always racing away from responsibility, but he won’t even answer this question, “I don’t um know what you’re talking about.”

A deep, disappointed sigh comes from his wife before she wraps Tommy in red and drags him from the door. “I’m taking her home.” With that she disappears into the room, light peeking out from under the door and muffled words floating through the wood. 

All Vision can do is stare at Tommy, lost in what exactly to say in this situation. Unfortunately, Tommy doesn’t share the same hesitation. “You know Billy does this all the time,” the door to his twin’s room opens slightly, “he just can block mom’s powers from noticing” and then it shuts with an aggrieved click. Wonderful. 

“Um well,” Vision isn’t sure why he falters so gloriously, as a father he’s expected to handle these things and yet this wasn’t in the books he read while Wanda was pregnant nor in the literature on problem behaviors at school, “perhaps you help your mother take Lisa home and we will discuss this in the morning.”

-----

“I think we just ground him for a couple days,” the last word is muffled and more syllables than necessary, ending only when Wanda stifles her yawn. 

This is what she suggested before leaving to take Lisa home and what he has been mulling over until she returned. “But under what rule is he being punished?”

There is not actually any rule thus far uttered in the Maximoff household concerning sneaking in significant others. An oversight, clearly, and yet Vision knows that what happened is wrong, he just cannot find a suitable reason beyond that it feels wrong. “Curfew?”

This he considered. Unless otherwise specified, the boys must be back by 9pm on a school night and 12am on the weekends. “But he was home and we never explicitly specified that curfew applies to their friends or partners.”

Wanda does not suffer this sort of agonizing rumination, “He was hiding it, he knew it was wrong.”

A truth and annoyance because it’s not like they don’t allow their sons alone time when their significant other is over. He recalls and empathizes with the thrill of young love and the need for solitude. Which brings him to the next point of scrutiny, “But does it not feel hypocritical to punish him for this when we broke international law to do the same thing?” 

“I thought you said that was a false equivalency?”

It is, insofar as there are too many confounding variables for their lawbreaking tryst to be considered equal with the current indiscretion and yet…”Tommy will leverage it against us.”

“Good thing he doesn’t know how often we break compound PDA rules...”

Another hypocrisy if they hand down a harsh sentence. “Again, does it not feel incongruous to punish him when we commit the same offense? We did sully the billiard table last week…”

“That was fun.”

“It was.” The way she stretches out, head propped up on her hand and robe fluttering open along her thigh, he’d recidivate in a heartbeat. Which is why he stops his heart long enough to finish their conversation. “But how can we hold him to a higher standard than us, when we, as cognitively mature individuals act similarly? Authoritative parenting requires us to explain the logic of our punishments.”

Their eyes meet in joint contemplation, the weight of the topic forming endearing wrinkles on his wife’s brow. “You say we act similarly,” her voice is steady, distant as if it is hauling the reasoning in though isn’t sure it will make it, “but you always calculate our odds of being caught or harming someone else with our actions.”

It is a structural equation model he keeps to himself, one that even the thought of calculating sends electric thrills along his spine. “I do and we tend to have a threshold set of when it is and is not acceptable.” The billiard table, for instance, had an 87% chance of not being caught and, with proper sanitation, a relatively low impact on others. 

“Do you think Tommy put much thought into tonight?” Knowing their son the extent of effortful planning was likely how to get her into the house. “He seemed surprised when Lisa’s dad was furious.” 

Vision isn’t surprised at the man’s reaction but is perturbed that was not even a thought to Tommy. When entering all the variables into his model, Tommy had a dismal 10% chance of success and a rather high 87.5% chance of harming someone else. “How do we handle this alongside the accusation lobbed at Billy?”

Deviousness parts her lips, hair dancing along her shoulders as she nods, “I have a great idea.”

----

This formation, with mom and dad in the armchairs, hands linked over the chasm between the armrests, and Billy next to him on the couch is the formation of doom. The silence that lays heavy over the room is the warm up to the interrogation. Tommy braces himself for what’s to come. 

“Would you like to explain your reasoning for last night’s actions?” Dad is always so damn calm, irises not even budging to betray any sign of how bad this will go. 

Tommy knows there isn’t a right answer here, and honestly, he doesn’t exactly have a good reason and annoyingly Billy played dumb last night when he begged him for advice. Apparently throwing him under the bus was an asshole move. After the bad lie last night, Who’s Lisa a fantastic way to piss everyone off (especially Lisa), he defaults to short and sweet (fingers crossed) honesty. “Thought it would be fun.” It was, until dad interrupted. 

There’s no immediate response, not even a blink, the entire room focused on his continued idiocy. “I see.” That’s never what he wants to hear from dad. 

“You two have to understand that!” His arms sputter about, trying to drag their attention to what they all know. “At least I’m not breaking the law.”

Mom scowls. Shit. “Very different circumstances.” 

“Yeah, yours was way worse.” No no no, why can he not just shut up like Billy, that Grecian statue next to him, ramrod straight and eyes dead to the world. 

The shared look, one that means the infamous mind voodoo is at play, an entire conversation occurring between mom and dad that only he can’t access, assuming Billy is brave enough to tap into it. If he is, he’s not sharing with Tommy. “You are right.”

Wait…”What?”

Dad isn’t capable of something so casual as a shrug, but the leisurely blink of his eyes and dip of his chin is roughly equivalent. “We understand the reasoning. Your mother and I are intimately,” gross, “familiar with the thrill of skirting rules of affection.”

If this isn’t his punishment, heaven help him. “No details needed.”

Billy’s “Please,” is practically silent. 

Mom smirks and he fears the worst, until she speaks, “Which is why we aren’t grounding you,” hallelujah, “this time,” fair enough. “But going forward you can’t do this. Either of you.” 

An I hate you drops into his mind. Tommy tries to send back a No you don’t but Billy has already shuttered their connection. “Agreed, so…” Tommy stands from the couch, hands brushing away the discomfort of the meeting, “we’re good, right?”

Dad’s “No,” ties itself around his waist and yanks him back onto the cushion. “Given Lisa was not so fortunate in her punishment,” she’s been forbidden from seeing him again, but Tommy isn’t planning on abiding by that, assuming she wants to see him again, “I believe a long talk about respect for your partner and the need for consensual, in depth decision making when it comes to risk taking is in order. You both are still too young and cognitively immature to fully weigh impulsiveness and so we would like to walk through a variety of scenarios to work through this topic.”

He’d rather die. “Can I just be grounded instead?”

Scarlet outlines mom’s pupils as she stares him down, “No.”

Dad clears his throat, needlessly pulling a painfully thick packet of stapled papers from behind him. The transition into his academic voice is only the first sign that their torture will be unrelenting. “Scenario 1: you and your paramour are driving down the road when they suggest a rather risqué activity…”

Tommy accepts that today marks the loss of his soul and all ability to feel alive, all to the chorus of Billy’s reaffirmation in his mind: I hate you so much. 

[bagog]

What On Earth Has Happened

Hey, no story here, no experiments. Just a play by play of an awful year in my life. Please don't reblog. Trying to just get it down in one place for people who care about me. Long, sob-story beneath the cut.

Air - 'Things are looking up!' I had started to drift a bit from tumblr. The porno purge came and a lot of my friends trickled off the platform after that. I went back to school, attempting to score myself a Masters degree in something that would pay enough to get me out of Student Debt. I was doing great, picking things up fast. I got a new job at a company doing pretty menial work, but the people I worked with were great conversationalists. The work didn't involve dealing with customers at all, paid well, and was small and accomplishable tasks. Essentially I was being prepped to take a better position at the place once I had my Masters. Covid happened, then. Earth - 'The Whole World Sucks Right Now' My company was "essential," so I continued going to work, now on weird schedules. The company I worked for was profiting off Covid, all the while making fun of it as an overblown conspiracy, even as their own epidemiologist urged them to take better precautions. Work became hard to swallow. Water - 'When your lowest place could be lower' The apartment I shared with my boyfriend flooded. The lowest place in any sewage system is typically the bathtub, such that if it backs up, it does so into that tub. Our lowest point is the toilet. So the apartment flooded. Three times. Roots growing through the sewage outflow meant that, often, you needed to wait a solid hour between toilet flushes, or else the toilet would back up with such gusto the sewage would slosh down the hallway and into the living room. We mopped many times. The problem was finally fixed 8 months later, necessitating our having to camp because our house had no water. Fire - 'To destroy all you've done' One afternoon, I smelled burning. Going to our bedroom, I found our shelf a column of flame. I could barely breathe for all the smoke, but I managed to grab a blanket and beat the fire out. On the other side of the room, the pages of the books upon another shelf had begun to crisp from the heat, the blinds on all the windows were warped. The whole apartment had been about to go up. I'm kinda scared of fire now. Heart - 'When moving is too much to ask' Personal health sorta hit a new low. Migraines kept me out of work for two full weeks. I have seasonal foot pain, I always assumed from hiking for a living in my 20s. Turns out it was gout, all the while. Gout is exceptionally painful: it's like a messy pile of razor blades in the ball of your foot every time you step down. At work, I could barely stand. Walking from my car to the door became something I needed to psyche myself up for. Not a lot can stop a gout flare-up once it's in full swing, so I just had to wait it out. For a month. Two. Some of the worst sustained pain I've been in. Little did I know that, in January, come the kidney stones. Kidney stones feel awful. Feel like total shit. Gout and kidney stones are comorbid--brought about as a result of the meds I take to help me focus. So any day I don't drink enough water is a day when my kidneys or my foot just starts aching. But going back to September of 2020... Homophobia - 'goddammit' Finally things are looking better. I'm limping quickly again. Then I am called into the HR office. I am told that two sexual harassment charges have been brought against me. I'm told that one individual has alleged that I, while in the restroom, used a reflective toilet brush to attempt to peep him under a stall wall. I did not do this. I do not understand--reflective toilet brush?? wtf. The second allegation: I just straight up looked over a stall at a guy. I didn't do this either. I'm asked to defend myself, I ask who or date or time of day. I am given nothing. I remark that I don't think I'm tall enough to see over the stall, and I do not understand about the toilet brush. Of the ten minutes of the meeting, I spend 8 of them trying to get my head around how a claim about a reflective toilet brush has me here. "Would you like us to go now to see if you're tall enough to see over the stall? If that would help your defense?" says the HR head. "Yes, I

would," says I. We did not go. I am told that the accusers have no reason to be collaborating, or to even know each other made a claim. This is bullshit, because it was a company of 80 people, and only a quarter of those employees used the restroom where my alleged harassment was to have taken place. Before I am dismissed from work for the day to go home and wait to find out if I'll be fired or not, I march into the HR office once more and say "I hope none of this is happening because I'm gay." The HR head looks positively offended. I got fired cuz I'm gay. Next day I got a call. They'd come to the "objective truth" (that phrase is burned in my mind), and were terminating me. Apparently they discounted the toilet brush rumor, after all. But they really honestly believed I looked over the stall at a dude. Nightmare - 'No Fear One Fear' Let me tell you something: this is a nightmare. This is my honest-to-god nightmare. I've been terrified of getting accused of something in a bathroom since I was 11 years old. I am incredibly self-conscious and careful in public restrooms. To be fired? From a place full of people I like? And all of them will think I'm a pervert. My boyfriend worked at the same place. He would now have to work there every day dealing with people looking at him and wondering what he must think of his boyfriend. That sent me on a spiral. I'm still out of work, almost a year later. It would have been the worst mental health crisis of my life if it wasn't for my boyfriend, my support network, and the meds I've finally been able to get ahold of. Oh, also. My two accusers? Were roommates. HR knew they were roommates. They basically collaborated on a story to get me fired. The story circulating around the place (I still have acquaintances I talk to working there) has dropped the reflective toilet brush entirely. I guess they thought it was too unbelievable. So anyway, the people who accused me are now telling a different set of events than what I was told. Absolute horse shit. Tried to go to my city's human right's council to see if my situation warranted further attention. I gave my side of the story--including tales of the straight manager who had had enough harassment charges brought against him that he was no longer allowed to meet female staff--which indicated I'd been treated differently and wrongly. My old job made an impassioned argument that the committee violated their First Amendment rights(?) ('Freedom of speech' is the biggie with the First Amendment, for people who cba re:USA). I won the vote!! But one member of the committee was missing. So there weren't enough people for the vote to pass. Dismissed. We took it to the EEOC to make an official federal complaint. Just a week ago, an agent of the US Government patiently explained to us that these laws are literally designed to fuck over the worker and protect the employer unless they are epically stupid, and unfortunately, mine had not been epically stupid. So there's nowhere to go, no recourse to be had. It's over, I guess. Family - 'How to sum it up quickly...' My family hit me with the old soft-disown. No more calls, no more communication. They think they are loving me by not having contact with me. By depriving me of my family, they hope it will make me realize that the path I'm on is destructive, and I'll return to them living an upright life. No. I'm living an upright life, now. And if my family can choose to throw me away, then they are not a family I choose. Then my dad hit me back two months later, absolutely gaslighting me and pretending we never had the disown conversation at all. Reality - 'I don't know who I am anymore' I have trouble knowing what's real, anymore. Every message my dad sends on the surface seems loving and supportive and plaintive. I feel I must be the one in the wrong. I got fired for bullshit reasons. It doesn't feel real. "My family can't possibly have ceased contact with me: that's one of those things I know can never happen!!" But that did happen. So what else that feels real, actually isn't? I do

mean to be so dramatic, and I won't apologize for it. But I truly do feel like my mind has been pretty thoroughly unseated by the last year. Whoever I am, I'm becoming someone different. More distilled, at very least. I've discovered a lot of things about myself: trauma that has likely led to a lot of my mental health problems. Discovered I actually have RAGING ADHD, and it has robber me of a lot of things I wanted to do, and now is sort of consuming me completely. I'm looking for help. Trying to get better. Here's hoping. Every bold point above could be its own book, for all my thoughts about them. But enough of that for now. Love you. Thanks for reading.

[famouskittychild]

Cheeky Mandos - Five: Coming home

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Word count: 2828

Summary: They’re coming home! They’re coming home... a visit to home and facing some important questions.

Rating: M

CW: multiple references to sexual activities, relationship talk, references to polyamory (OC's parents) and open relationships, some angst, pining

Author’s note: Lots of pick-and-choose world building here. I mostly disregard / am not familiar with Legends except for the language, I love languages ( *insert Penny loves steak* gif here) and there’s barely any canon/also am not very familiar with whatever there is so I made up what I would like mandos to be; which is a very open and egalitarian society with a focus on family that comes in many forms (and is sometimes a single person with five tookas, other times it’s your three buir’e, your five vod’e and about thirty cousins.). Din is so alone and his covert has (had? :( ) to fight so hard to survive, I gave my Armourer a big, loving family and a community that fared much better.

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Series: Prolouge - One - Two - Three - Four (NSFW Din/Cobb special)

Cheeky Mandos - Five: Coming home

**

When you get back to your covert, you leave Djarin behind as soon as politely possible. You need your friends, you need advice, and you need company that isn’t confusing you.

You find your friends at Thlolla’s place; they have small ones so the rest gather at their quarters, scattering in the kar’yai’s couches and on pillows on the floor. You commed them before you got back. They would’ve gathered anyways for the occasion that you came home, but your message made sure that everyone showed up for at least a little chat.

They know what it is all about, of course. They know you well enough. They saw the shiny armour. It’s easier than putting two and two together.

“It’s basically like putting one and one together” Tav winks at you, and Hill’it smacks their back.

“You are so bad at math, that’s the only thing you could ever calculate” and you all laugh at that because Tav is terrible with numbers.

All the couches and floor pillows are occupied as your friends and some of their families lounge around the karyai of Thlolla’s home. You stretch out on the soft rug, resting your limbs on as many people as you can. You missed them dearly. Jama, who has your left leg draped over his knee, rubs your calf before speaking.

“So. What is your problem, mate?”

He knows you the longest. You lived at the same covert from the time you were entrusted with your own rifles, moved three times, and only separated years later after you both went through your verd'goten. His clan is the reason you still have the same accent as him when you’re tired or angry: that was the first time you were around more people than your immediate family.

You let your thoughts linger on the past because it’s safer than the present. Or the future.

“No problem. Just the usual ‘I’m an idiot, innit’ situation.” You pause, and try to swallow your regrets. “When was I good with choices?”

There’s a collective sigh and rolling of eyes, but you can’t help to feel that way and voice it. All your friends have found their places a long time ago. Some on their own like Haika; others have families, some with children like Thlolla does, or with partners of some kind. Except you. To-Ran, Tav’s foundling, crawls over to you and leans against your chest. They have been formally adopted by their current clan only recently and probably feels you are in something of a similar situation. You squeeze their shoulders reassuringly.

“Let’s be honest, hun” Jama says, “Neither of us has the burden you do. We don’t have to vanish off to space for weeks at a time, or if we have to, we can work together.”

That is the crux of the matter. Unless you get with another Armourer, your professions would pull you apart.

“I’m just thinking… maybe it’s because I was alone for quite a while now. I just latched onto the first person that came along and stayed for a bit.”

Hill’it pulls up an eyebrow before answering.

“Maybe you need a friend so you won’t feel so alone.”

There are small ones in the room hence the careful wording, but the adults understand the added meaning. They offer friendship, yes, but the definition of that word can vary. You aren’t sure how outsiders do it exactly - you have met people who have definitely had a more stricter separation between friend, person to have feelings for, and person to have sex with, than your people do. But they didn’t seemed to navigate things any better, so you stick with what you know and what worked.

But your people, at least those you know closer, tends to deal with problems head-on. You can’t fight well if your thoughts linger on problems in your private lives. You were thought early on to face your doubts and fears and anything that could be a distraction - and how that includes feelings and libido too. How people have needs for emotions, attachments and intimacy, that those varies, each their own way and degree. And that these are some of the things that can spur people to make rush decisions the most. You and your friends watched others make those mistakes and made some yourselves too.

Life thought you that if you have people around to talk to and to hug and to trust, you wont jump on a stranger you’ve barely met and feel attracted in some way just to fulfil those needs. You can wait until you get to know them, until you actually want them for themselves, and not just for the feelings or the intimacy, emotional or physical.

*

Hil’it is a good partner, familiar and fun, and tonight, extra caring. You wake up together sometime way before dawn, and the worry must still be on your face.

“Rivets for your thoughts?”

You sigh, and try to gather said thoughts. You remind yourself at another hard learned lesson: talking about a problem is often half the way of solving them.

“I’m just wondering… “ you start, than your words stuck in your throat.

“..what if it works out?” Hil’it smirks at you, lips pulled into a lopsided grin as they rest their head on their arm. You furrow your brows in disapproval.

“No, don’t try to derail the conversation. What if I say something, or do… and he takes it as an offence?” You stop their objections before they could open their mouth fully. “I’m serious. He was sent on this… mission. From high up. Pissing him off can have political consequences.”

“You mean that he could take your advances the wrong way and exact vengeance on your clan, or even the entire covert?” They look at you with an eyebrow raised. Put it like that, you know that’s not very plausible. “We are talking about a vod who was basically ready to enter your service and accept any of your terms, after seeing you for the first time three minutes prior when you said ‘hey I’m a wandering armourer, I visit some coverts sometimes’ - all so he can reach more of our people.”

“Yeah… he won’t turn on us just because I make him feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“Not very likely.”

You nod, glad you managed to voice your worries.

They lean their forehead to yours, and you share a breath, the tradition as old as the Creed. Hil’it than tugs on your arm, pulling you closer onto their chest. You scoot over and snuggle up beside them with your back to them, their arms around you and resting their hands on your chest. You sleep much better until dawn.

*

Three of your buirs live at a smaller enclave some distance from the main hub of the covert. You go over to them for breakfast after Hil’it leaves for her job early. It’s only Tis-buir who’s up, as usual, pattering about in the kitchen making long breakfast just as you expected.

He pulls you close and touches your helmets together. He didn’t need to wear his helmet in his own home, or even his armour, and definitely not at this early hour, but he got into the habit since you became a Master. His set was forged before you were born and you’re grateful that he’s still around, together with your other buirs. Every time you get home, they seem to look older and older though. You wonder whether part of your panic about relationships comes from the dread that they might not be able to give their blessings to you.

“How are you doing, ad’ika?” he asks, and the way he says it is always with so much more meaning than people usually throw that question around. When Tis-buir asks it, he means it. He wants to know if you have any fears, if something bothers you, if there’s something that made you happy but don’t talk about it because you think it’s too insignificant to talk about. You hesitate, and that’s an answer in itself that he understands. “That bad, eh?”

He chuckles and steps away, back to the steamer. He checks the rice cooking there before turning back to you.

“What is it, cyare? Pirates? More beskar thieves? Or that stowaway getting in your way while you work?”

Your helmet is on so he can’t see your face, luckily, and you’re quick to deny anything.

“No, it’s not that. It’s something more… personal.” You could just end the conversation, like you often do when you don’t want to trouble your buir’e, but you came for advice. You nudge yourself mentally. Better to spit it out - it’s nothing to be ashamed about catching feelings after all. Your buir’e told their stories enough times to know they have no problem hearing about the topic.

“Oh. So, it’s about a special person. And they are.. an aruetii?” He asks, and he keeps his helmet on still, to allow you to do the same. As much as you’d like to see his face, it’s better this way.

“No, it’s… he follows the Creed too.” You admit, and your stomach is doing a flip. It’s entirely different talking to your family about this. With your friends, they’d just say their opinion and you can take it or leave it. With your aliit, you want their approval.

Tis-buir nods slowly, weighing your words. Then he reaches for his helmet and takes it off, placing it on the shelf near the counters that is there for this purpose. He leaves his scarf on, the handwoven fabric soft around his white hair and beard. You may take off your own helmet now, and you do that, placing it on the shelf beside his. You turn your snood down from your head and fold it back around your neck. He’s smiling at you.

“Shall I put two and two together, or…?”

“Why does everyone want to do math around me all of a sudden” you mutter under your breath, turning your face away in embarrassment.

“Because your friends and us know you well enough, Buy’ce’ka” he winks at you while stirring one of the pans; he knows you met your friends last evening. Using your childhood nickname brings a smile onto your face. You took into your head to became an armourer the moment you touched your first helmet. You wore it all the time even though you didn’t needed to and told everyone who would listen that one day you’ll be making buy’ce’se, helmets, yourself. Even some of the tutors called you that instead of your real name.

You go to help with breakfast. It’s not the usual simple fare but the multi course, heart-warming, belly-filling affair for a special day. You remember with a sudden pang how Djarin is probably having ration bars on his own in a sparse guest room, or maybe some porridge if he remembers to go to the communal dining hall. You somehow hope he has company, even if he is fine with solitude. You are too, but you have all these people to recharge with. How alone is he?

You almost burn the mushrooms while getting distracted. You focus back on the food, and as the house slowly stirs awake, the members of your family show up one by one and greet you over stirring pots and chopping vegetables. When all is ready, Tis-buir calls to table and you move everything into the karyai. The heart of every home where most of life happens - eating, living, receiving guests, defense during a battle - is a spacious room, and you only half fill it.

It’s only your three buir’e who live here now, and one of your vod’e lives next door. She comes over with her riduur and their usually grumpy teen who fails to hide how happy they are to see you. You don’t even make an attempt to hide anything and after touching foreheads, you pick them up and give them a hearty squeeze.

“Ba’vodu! I’m not a child anymore to just pick me up like that” they grumble after you put them back down, and you pat the top of their head.

“You’re going to need to grow a little more, vodu’ad.” You smile at them, but they suddenly go nervous.

“Are you going to come home to my verd'goten?” they say, face solemn and showing them older than they are. You see this often: the fears of a foundling, someone who lost their roots once already. The little things that a person born into a mandalorian family would never worry about rear their head in them, and you hug them close.

“Well that’s an unnecessary question. Why wouldn’t I?!”

They make you promise to come back, and you let them make a reminder of the date and time in the form of a holo message on the comm of your vambrace. You have made their first helmet years ago and they barely can hold themselves back for a few minutes before asking about the possibility of vambraces. Their new pair, forged to include pieces passed down at both side of their family’s, are hidden in the house, finished months ago, waiting for them to prove worthy to receive them.

You wouldn’t miss the occasion for the world. You’ve been there for all your vodu’ad’s, the children of your siblings; and even some of your younger cousins and unrelated ade in your clan. As you eat with your aliit, your thoughts go back to Djarin again. He must be missing that foundling he was responsible for. Who does he have for family? He mentioned some friends who helped him through bad times lately. You hope he’s on the comm with them right now, using the covert’s better equipment to reach them after having to do with what the Brick has for weeks.

*

You spend the day chatting, visiting the elder of your clan and more family, and one of the old warriors of the clan too, to receive her last blessings. She might still be alive the next time you visit home; she might not. You are thankful for being able to say goodbye to her. You visit the Forge last, and help out with whatever work needs doing with the other masters, until it’s time to leave for the dock.

You almost start to make excuses to prolong your stay before steeling yourself. Twenty-four hours, a standard day, that was the schedule you agreed on with Djarin. Unless he comms you that something came up on his end, you’ll leave in the evening.

*

The first thing you spot in the hangar is the shiny armour. That suit looks good at every angle, at any distance. Than you feel your ears flush when a little voice says in your head how that might be partially because the person under it makes it look good. You try to shove the thought to the back of your mind.

As you draw near, you can see he’s talking with your elder Thrilla. Your heart does a double-beat as all your thoughts from before come flushing back for a moment. No. They must be talking about his mission, not you. And he’s basically clan-less, or at least elder-less. It’s good to see him seeking the guidance of an elder too.

He’s standing in that hip-twisty way you’ve seen him do, with one hand on his belt. It’s a strangely relaxed and playful stance from a person who’s usually as focused and sombre as him. Thrilla glances up at you, the black of her visor glinting in the blue and green helmet. Than she shoos you away with a barely visible battle sign, turning back to Djarin. You’re a bit surprised, but make yourself scarce. Than you spot a grey head near the cargo ramp of the Brick. It’s Kad, Thrilla’s riduur and a mechanic who had helped to rebuild your ship. You go over to greet them before getting on with the preparations to leave.

This time you two will be away for longer and will travel further away. The trail to known coverts had dried up, and from now on you will be going by uncertain informations and rumours. You have experience in that, but the fact that he used to be a bounty hunter should help. You often spend days just trying to pinpoint which spaceport, which town, which mountain or cave or farmstead is the one you are looking for. You hope his expertise will help.

Your hopes are proven right. He reduces the hunting time to hours, and you scramble to finish preparing your tools and equipment.

“Nice job, hunter” you smile at him. His helmet turns towards you and he nods.

“You’re welcome, armourer” and you hear the smile in his voice too. Than you mentally chase away the butterflies that suddenly seem to have taken over your stomach.

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[quillsink]

List of times Steuben is mentioned in John Laurens’s letters

Wow, what’s this? An ACTUAL HISTORICAL POST?!?

So, when I was reading through John’s correspondence, I found all these mentions of Steuben, so I started adding them into a doc and that doc got very long so I am posting my “research” *aggressive air quotes* here.

Putting this under a read more because it’s roughly 1900 words and kinda long-

“the pleasure of Baron Steuben’s acquaintance. Nothing that depends on me shall be wanting to make his stay in camp agreeable, and if he enters into service, to make myself useful to him.”

-JL to HL, 17th February 1778

“I have since had several long conversations with the Baron Steuben, who appears to me a man profound in the science of war, and well disposed to render his best services to the United States. In an interview between him and the general, at which I assisted in quality of interpreter, he declared that he had purposely waved making any contract with Congress, previous to his having made some acquaintance with the Commander in chief, in order that he might avoid giving offence to the officers of the army, and that the general might decide, in what post he could he the most useful. If I have conceived rightly of his character and abilities, he would make us an excellent quarter master general, in the military part of the department; his office being confined to the choice of positions, regulation of marches, etc. But as the civil and military duties with us are blended, he can’t be disposed of in this way; his being a foreigner, unfitting him totally for the latter. I think he would be the properest man we could choose for the office of inspector general, and there are several good assist ants that might be given him. I have the highest opinion of the service he would render in this line, as he seems to be perfectly aware of the disadvantages under which our army has labored from short enlist ments and frequent changes; seems to understand what our soldiers are capable of, and is not so staunch a systematist as to be averse from adapting established forms to stubborn circumstances. He will not give us the perfect instructions, absolutely speaking, but the best which we are in a condition to receive.

We want some kind of general tutoring in this way so much, that as obnoxious as Conway is to most of the army, rather than take the field without the advantages that might be derived from a judicious exercise of his office, I would wish every motive of dissatisfaction respecting him for the present to be suppressed.

The baron proposes to take the rank of major general, with the pay, rations, etc. He does not wish for any actual command, as he is not acquainted with our language and the genius of our people.”

-JL to HL, 28th February 1778

“The Baron Steuben has had the fortune to please uncommonly, for a stranger, at first sight.

All the general officers who have seen him, are prepossessed in his favor, and conceive highly of his abilities. I must tell you tho , by the bye, that Congress has mistaken his rank in Prussia. He was there lieutenant general quartier maitre, which in good English is deputy quarter master general. He had never any higher rank in the Prussian service, than that of colonel. But he was lieutenant general of the Margrave de Baden’s troops, after he had retired from the Prussian army in disgust, As far as my line can reach, I conceive the baron to be profound in the military science.

The General seems to have a very good opinion of him, and thinks he might be usefully employed in the office of inspector general, but I fancy is cautious of recommending it to Congress, as he might appear implacably to pursue a certain person to whom Congress gave that post. Now it is a doubt with me whether the gentleman in question was not virtually removed from the inspectorship by being ordered on the Canadian expedition. In that case, the difficulty would be obviated. The baron s own desire is to have for the present the rank and pay of major general; not to have any actual command, until he is better known, and shall be better qualified by a knowledge of our language, and the genius and manners of the people. Then, if any stroke is to be struck, his ambition prompts him to solicit a command.”

“With this you will receive a letter from Baron Steuben.”

-JL to HL, 9th March 1778

“The Baron Steuben has commenced the functions of inspector general. Several officers whose character and abilities give them influence, and are pledges of success, are to be nominated as sub-inspectors ; intelligent active men are appointed to each brigade to serve as brigade inspectors. The baron has given some elementary lessons in writing, preparatory to ulterior instructions ; and we hope by this institution that the important end of establishing uniformity of discipline and manoeuvres throughout the army will be accomplished.

This I communicate to yourself only, for I don’t know whether the general communicates this plan by this courier for ratification.

The baron discovers the greatest zeal, and an activity which is hardly to be expected at his years. The officers in general seem to entertain a high opinion of him, and he sets them an excellent example in descending to the functions of a drill- sergeant.

A French gentleman of the name of Ternant with whom I was slightly acquainted at the cape François, is arrived in camp, and offers himself as one of the sub-inspectors. His talents qualify him in a superior degree for the office. He has travelled so much as to have worn off the characteristic manners of his nation, and he speaks our language uncommonly well.

The baron is very desirous of having him as an assistant, and says he is persuaded he will be an acqui sition to the States. The only thing against him is, that he comes without recommendatory letters. The Congress have I think very wisely resolved against employing any more foreigners unless they are forced to it by the special contracts of their embassadors, or very pointed recommendations. On this account the General has, in order that the baron might not lose so good an assistant, put the matter upon this footing : that Mr. Ternant may exercise the office of sub-inspector without rank for the present ; and that when his practical abilities are as well known as his theoretical, Congress will determine a rank suitable to his merit. It is to be observed that he studied engineer ing particularly, and would have wished to join the corps here, but party differences were an invincible obstacle. He has not, however, confined his views to that branch of military science, but seems to be equally well instructed in every other.

If an exception to the generally established rule is ever to be made, I think it can never be with more propriety than in favour of a person who merits such qualifications.

The baron desires his friendly compliments to you. Apropos to him, his secretary, and a Monr de Pontieres have certificates signed by the president of Congress setting forth that they are to have the rank of captains.

I think they were not announced as such to the General. Baron Steuben s secretary is desirous of drawing his pay, and upon application to the General, who is not explicitly acquainted with the intentions of Congress in this matter, was required to draw on account. This has created some uneasiness in the Baron’s mind, and he wishes to know whether Mr. Duponceau is not entitled to the pay, as well as rank of captain.”

-JL to HL, 25th March 1778

“I must not omit to inform you that Baron Steuben is making a sensible progress with our soldiers. The officers seem to have a high opinion of him, and discover a docility from which we may augur the most happy effects.”

-JL to HL, 1st April 1778

“Apropos to spurs, I think in the present deplorable scarcity of good horses, it would be a very acceptable present to the Baron Steuben on the part of Congress to give him an elegant saddle horse. He is exerting himself like a lieutenant anxious for promotion, and the good effects of his labour are visible.

The General I apprehend is restrained from writing to Congress on this head till he shall be acquainted with the sentiments of the brigadiers respecting the Baron’s rank (but this between ourselves), as far as I can learn in conversation with those gentlemen, every one is convinced of his zeal and abilities, and thinks him deserving of the grade which he asks for.”

-JL to HL, 18th April 1778

“Yesterday we celebrated the new alliance, with as much splendour as the short notice would allow. Divine service preceded the rejoicing. After a pro per pause, the several brigades marched by their right to their posts in order of battle, and the line was formed with admirable rapidity and precision. Three salutes of artillery, thirteen each, and three general discharges of a running fire by the musquetry, were given in honour of the king of France, the friendly European powers, and the United American States. Loud huzzas!

The order with which the whole was conducted, the beautiful effect of the running fire, which was executed to perfection, the martial appearance of the troops, gave sensible pleasure to every one present. The whole was managed by signal, and the plan, as formed by Baron de Steuben, succeeded in every particular, which is in a great measure attributed to his unwearied attention, and to the visible progress which the troops have already made, under his discipline.”

-JL to HL, 7th May 1778

“The Baron de Steuben desires to be remembered to you. Some jealousies against him have occasioned him great trouble, and interrupted his progress in the military instruction.”

-JL to HL, 14th June 1778

“The Baron de Steuben has received a letter from Mr de Beaumarchais, which informs him that war is rekindled between the Russians and Turks that the king of Prussia is in Bohemia, at the head of 00,000 men, where he has already seized a fortified castle and two regiments, to show that he is determined to have satisfaction for the dismemberment of the electorate of Bavaria.”

-JL to HL, 15th June 1778

“Baron Steuben was order’d to form the broken troops in the rear.”

-JL to HL, 30th June 1778

“Genl Steuben, his aids and your son, narrowly escaped being surrounded by the British horse, early on the morning of the action. We reconnoitered them rather too nearly, and Ld Cornwallis sent the dragoons of his guard to make us prisoners. Genl Clinton saw the Baron’s star, and the whole pursuit was directed at him ; but we all escaped, the dragoons fearing an ambuscade of infantry.”

-JL to HL, 2nd July 1778

“Unfortunately there is a prejudice against foreigners in many of our officers. It is not without uneasiness that some of them see Baron de Steuben, who has certainly rendered us very important services, and who is without doubt as capable of commanding as any major general we have, appointed to the temporary command of a division in the absence of so many major generals.”

-JL to HL, 6th July 1778

Source - The Army Correspondence of Colonel John Laurens in the Years 1777-8

[parvuls]

fic: in the space between (1/2)

the astronauts/scifi au literally no one asked for.   a 3k ficlet of eric bittle thriving in places the world thinks he can’t -- in every single universe.

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

-

    FABER 15 AIR-TO-GROUND TRANSCRIPTIONS

  00 00 00 34 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Just letting you know your trajectory is headed straight into Driucs, Zimmermann. Over.

00 00 00 41 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. We copy that, Houston. Changing courses now. 

00 00 00 48 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Get on that. Things aren’t looking good ahead. Over.

00 00 00 55 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Can’t believe you don’t fucking trust this guy. He’s already tense as shit, Lards, you got nothin’ to worry about. 

00 00 00 57 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Over.

00 00 01 06 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Keep it clean on the coms, Faber 15. Administration is already on your case. Over.

00 00 01 12 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. You’re welcome to come shut him up. Over.

00 00 01 19 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Wish I could, Zimmermann. Change courses, now. Or I’m stealing a ship and coming to beat your ass. 

00 00 01 22 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Off record, Houston. Delete from written transcriptions. 

00 00 01 24 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Just get out of dodge, Faber 15. Over. 

00 00 01 30 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger. Trajectory adjusted, should be going around Driucs. Over.

00 00 01 36 CAPCOM L. DUAN

(Music: “It’s About Time”)

.

  Driucs is a ball of hot pink mottled with orange from the sandstorms raging on its surface. Shitty thinks that it’s pretty, wants to screencap the ship’s monitors so he can ask Lardo for a painting of it later. Jack thinks that it’s an unnecessary hazard ringed with a dense asteroid belt, and that all he wants to do is bypass it as quickly as possible without colliding with a mass of solid carbon.

“Chillax,” Shitty says to this, kicking his feet up to the control panel. His toes are edging the radar display, and Jack grinds his teeth, shoves them off without bothering to argue about it once again. He’s so tense that he doesn’t even comment on Shitty’s choice of socks; galaxy printed with tiny marijuana leaves, crisse. “Everything will be A-OK. Always fucking is, Jacko.”

Jack wipes his brow with the back of his hand, shifts his hold on the control wheel and tries to focus on getting them through safely. “You know I hate it when you’re being cavalier.”

The door to the flight deck slides open, and someone exclaims, “Oh, what a view!”. Jack doesn’t need to turn his head; Bittle walks up between the two piloting seats, leans right on the center panel to gaze up at Driucs through the big windows. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, ain’t it? We should make a stop there.”

It’s what he always says. Jack specifically asked Holster to keep Bittle in the sleeping quarters until they’re out of the Merudan System because he’s got no patience for this right now. “It runs a hundred and two degrees, Bittle. We can’t make a stop there.”

Bittle talks about everything like they’re driving Route 66 down to Arizona and landing on a foreign planet is just a stop at Wendy’s for a Vanilla Frosty mid-roadtrip. Some days Jack can’t believe NASA ever let him out of the Solar System; other days, he thinks that maybe they did this so he’d never come back.

Bittle either doesn’t notice Jack’s impatient tone or, most likely, chooses to ignore it completely. “A hundred and two degrees is just another hot day in Georgia,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Goodness, it must stop being winter in Canada sometimes, does it not?”

Shitty snorts. His feet are back on the panel again, scratching against each other absently. “I think he means a hundred and two degrees Celsius, brah.”

Bittle pauses, hovers over Jack’s shoulder for a moment. And then says, “Oh. Well, that is rather warm, indeed.”

.

  They picked Bittle up from a tiny space station right by Cleto, where they'd stopped for supplies. The order came from high up in Houston, and was very specific: Bittle was to join them on all ground missions until further notice, and was to lead all communication with nonhum species. They were provided with no background information or justification for expanding Jack’s crew, and Flight Director Hall hung up on Jack when he tried asking.

Bittle, the moment he stepped into the ship through airlock, pulled off his helmet to reveal a head of blonde hair and a radiant smile. His suit had pins of rainbows and bunnies on it next to the American flag, blatantly disobeying uniform regulations. He offered his hand for an enthusiastic handshake despite the bulky EV glove covering it -- without decontaminating first -- and Jack’s first thought was that all of it must be a joke. 

But it wasn’t. It’s been three months since orders came and no further notice was given. Instead, every day since has been filled with ceaseless chatter and pop music playing in the communal area and Bittle’s petulant morning complaints about intergalactic coffee being just not the same.

“You’re not even trying,” Shitty tells Jack nearly every night. He’s made a habit of crawling into Jack’s bunk since their first year on the same crew, gives bullshit excuses about how Jack keeps him warm in the cold, cold outer space. It’d be less troublesome if he at least bothered to put some clothes on to save Jack the uncomfortable conversations with Mission Control Center about workplace relations. “Do not motherfuckin’ lie to my face, Zimmermann -- you are not trying, you didn’t try once, Bittle is a tiny Southern bundle of delight and you’d like the shit out of him if you could get over your sorry ass and try.”

But Jack doesn’t want to try. Jack wants to get to his annual performance review and pass with spotless marks, which may as well not happen if Bittle insists on striking conversation with every nonhum race they encounter during the simplest of missions. Jack didn’t leave Earth to make friends, neither with crewmates nor alien species, and he certainly isn’t looking for friends who put his job at risk.

Shitty won’t stop pestering him about it, though, so Jack takes to pushing him out of the bed and shoving a pillow over his ears. It doesn’t make Shitty stop talking, but Jack is good at pretending to fall back asleep.

.

  Evor is five days’ flight past Dricus. Jack assembles a mission brief in the communal area the night before landing, gathers the boys around the large screens covering the rounded center of the ship. The screens are currently displaying all known information about the people of Evor, who are notoriously unfriendly and are especially inhospitable towards humans. There are reasons, Jack figures, but he never looked too deeply into it; he has no intention of contacting them at all.

“Mission goal is to extract soil samples from the mines on the mountainous side of the planet,” Jack says. The images on the screen behind him switch on voice command, are now a rotating photo of said mines. “It’s mostly unpopulated, so there shouldn’t be any run-ins with the locals. Mission estimated time is three hours on Earth clock.”

Ransom shoves his hand into the bag of chips balanced between Holster and him with a contemplating expression. “Sounds like child’s play. We all going in?”

“Yes,” Jack crosses his arms. He’s no doubt that any of the boys would like to stay behind and get a few extra hours of rest, but he doesn’t like taking unneeded risks. There’s strength in numbers, and he feels safer knowing that they have several eyes watching several backs out there. “Solid landing, no risk to the ship, no reason for anyone to stay here. Get your gear ready tonight.”

“Wait, Jack --” it’s Bittle. Of course it’s Bittle. Jack takes a deep breath and turns to him. He’s sitting in a single seat, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap. “Listen, I’m not sure it’s such a great idea.” Jack’s scowl must be deeper than usual, because Bittle cringes and hurries to explain, “I mean, no offence to your -- mission planning, or. You’re usually great at that. I just mean, the Evor people don’t like strangers, and they sure as heck won’t like us, and they’re a people of warriors, you know, like, they make their money off lending their fighting skills to other armies --”

“Is there a point to this?” Jack cuts him off. It’s not that he doesn’t think Bittle means well, because he’s not blind: Bittle is made of nothing but good intentions and sunshine demeanor. His tendency to babble on and on simply isn’t welcome during mission briefs. Too time-consuming. 

“Yes,” Bittle insists. He looks unhappy, a tiny furrow wrinkling at his forehead. “Going in with more than two or three men can be seen as a threat, and I just don’t think --”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack interrupts, “because if all of you will follow orders there’s no reason for us to come across them or stay on the ground for long enough to be perceived as anything but transients. Leaving crewmates behind is a risk that we won’t be taking.”

“But --”

“End of story, Bittle,” Jack says, and it’s louder, meaner than it usually would be. He can see Shitty frowning at him from the corner of his eye, can see Holster glaring into his handful of chips. He gets that they feel overprotective of Bittle, being the smallest and the newest, but if Bittle wants to be part of the crew he’s got to either get with the program or quit. Jack can’t lower his professionalism standards just because Bittle might be offended. “Any more questions?”

There’s silence, so Jack adjourns the brief and turns away. He can hear, muttered from somewhere behind him, “Yeah, what crawled up your ass?”. He chooses to ignore it and focus on turning off the screens, instead of giving it enough thought to start doubting himself.

.

  The worst thing is: Jack can’t figure out how the hell Bittle got there.

“I think he has a degree in like, sociology or something, man,” Holster told him a few weeks after Bittle had come aboard, while they were waiting outside the showers and listening to Bittle’s off-key rendition of a song that’d been in the radio maybe a decade before. “A master’s, I think, definitely no doctorate.”

Holster actually really liked Bittle, right off the bat; they all did, bar Jack, which just made the whole situation even more irritating. But they hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep that night and Bittle’s singing was truly awful, so Holster was probably feeling less kind than usual.

“Shitty’s got four PhDs,” Jack said, banging his head back against the wall, abstractedly thinking that a concussion might make the singing stop. “Ransom’s getting his second one now. While in space. You don’t think it’s fucked that some undereducated humanities kid from nowhere, Georgia is going through the cosmos like he’s on a third grade school trip?”

Because Bittle was terrible at physics, and he paled visibly whenever someone started talking about biomechanics, and Jack had once caught him snoozing while Ransom had been fervently explaining the primary composition of Krer’s atmosphere. The most insulting part of it all, probably, was that NASA used to demand a STEM degree to even qualify for a program, and Bittle barely had a dubious understanding of astronomy, while traveling space.

Of course, the moment the words were out of Jack’s mouth the singing stopped and the bathroom door slid open, Bittle standing behind it. He was wrapped in a towel, beads of water still lingering on his temple, dripping down his cheekbones. His face was red, blotchy, but the hard expression on his face made Jack think that the color wasn’t necessarily from the water temperature. 

“Excuse me,” he said, voice uncharacteristically cold. His shoulder knocked into Jack’s when he passed them, leaving behind a wet patch on Jack’s shirt. Bittle was small, and the door was adequately sized, and there were a good two meters between Holster and Jack, which left the obvious conclusion that it was most definitely on purpose. 

Holster followed his departure with bleary eyes, shifting the bundle of clothes in his hands guiltily. “I think he heard you, bro.”

Jack rubbed at the wet patch with his right hand. “No kidding,” he grunted, and couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

.

  Bittle seems wary from the moment they step foot on the jagged surface of Evor. Holster and Ransom force their way into the space by his sides, bracketing him like two towering bodyguards. They do their best at trying to get him to lighten up while climbing up to the mines; the crew figured out that they all played hockey at some point of high school, so Holster is animatedly explaining the rules of zero-G hockey, all of which he’s made up himself. 

“And sometimes we do full out matches when we meet other ships,” Ransom says, struggling with the unfamiliar gravity force to hoist himself up a big rock. “But a few months ago we were on Islikaru and there was this Russian crew, and this dude, Alexei, oh my god --”

A few small stones tumbling downhill bump into Jack’s boot, drawing his attention away from Ransom’s voice, and he mutes the coms to listen closely for any noises. There’s a rumbling coming from the other side of the mountain. It sounds like -- oncoming thunders, maybe, or a little like --

“Prepare for attack,” Jack turns the coms back on immediately, dives in front of Shitty to block the crew’s path up to the mines. Shitty stumbles, catches himself with one knee and both palms flat on the ground. “Abandon mission, now! Back to the ship!”

A dozen of Evor warriors descend from beyond the peak of the mountain, closing in on them faster than they can run. Jack’s crew doesn’t carry weapons. The Evor warriors are big, look like an odd mix of a gorilla and an elephant that’d be classified as some sort of reptile. Ostie de tabarnak, Jack knows next to nothing about them, and definitely nothing about how to beat them in a fight three-on-one. 

“We’d never make it back on time!” Shitty yells, clambering to his feet and shoving the rest of the boys back down the mountain anyway. He’s right, but Jack has no backup plans and less than no time to come up with any. This was not supposed to happen, there was no reason for this to happen. They’ve been on Evor ten minutes, not even that.

Bittle jumps from between Holster and Ransom, scrambling up to reach Jack. He grabs Jack’s arm, face white and rapid breaths fogging up the visor. His expression is just as terrified as the rest of them, but Jack has never seen him this determined. It makes his feature look sharper, less angelic. “Let me go talk to them! Jack, let me --”

“What?” Jack rips his arm away, tries to shove Bittle back towards the ship as fast as he can. “Bittle, are you insane, they’re coming to attack us --!”

“Because we seem like a threat!” Bittle yells. The volume of his voice catches Jack by surprise, gets him to stop racing down for a moment just long enough to remember that Bittle said the same thing at the previous night’s mission brief. That Bittle must be holding himself back from screaming, I told you so, and now look where we are. “Let me go talk to them, I can explain the situation --”

“No! They’ll attack you before you get a word out --”

“They won’t! I understand their culture, the way they work -- Jack, you just -- you gotta let me try!”

“You’ll die --”

“Oh, Lord, we’re gonna die either way, so what’ve you got to lose, Zimmermann? You gotta trust me to have your back! ”

Jack stops. His breathing is loud in his ears, heart pounding. Shitty, Holster and Ransom are ten meters down the mountain, staring at Bittle and he wide-eyed, waiting for a decision. The Evor people are fast, and they look furious; they’re ninety or maybe a hundred meters away, and closing the gap with every second. Jack swallows, tramps down the panic rising in his throat. 

“Go,” he says finally, voice gravelly. “Go, Bittle.”

Bittle gives him one last wild look, and runs towards imminent death. 

.

  FABER 15 CREW GROUND-TO-GROUND TRANSCRIPTIONS

  00 00 02 04 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, Faber 15, this is Houston. Over.

00 00 02 06 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, this is Houston. What is going on. Over.

00 00 02 09 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Faber 15, this is Houston. Answer me. Over.

00 00 02 11 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Goddamnit boys, what happened!

00 00 02 14 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Houston, this is Faber 15 returning to ship. Over.

00 00 02 17 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Jesus Christ, Jack. Tell me what happened.

00 00 02 21 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Jesus’ got nothing to do with this, Lardo. This was all Eric R. Bittle.

00 00 02 25 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Mission didn’t go as planned. Sending you a full report as soon as we’re back on board. Over.

00 00 02 29 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Roger. Tell me everyone’s okay, Zimmermann. Over.

00 00 02 34 SECOND PILOT B. KNIGHT

Alive and kickin’. Can’t get rid of us that easy. But seriously, tell whoever sent us Bittle that I’m getting them a fruit basket whenever I’m back on Earth. 

00 00 02 38 CAPCOM L. DUAN

Roger. I’ll tell them to expect that. Get that report done ASAP, Zimmermann. And never do this to me again. Over.

00 00 02 42 COMMANDER J. ZIMMERMANN

Roger, Houston. Out.  

.

  The boys all separate into their quarters as soon as they’re back in the ship, their postures slumping and their hair damp with cold sweat. Jack stays behind, twists the airlock chamber shut. It feels like his entire body is heavier than usual, and it isn’t because of the ship’s gravity. 

When he looks up, he finds that Bittle’s still there; there’s an uncomfortable pause when they both hesitate by the passageway. Bittle’s back is turned to Jack, muscles tense beneath the dark fabric of his undershirt, but his head is tilted over his shoulder, searching for Jack’s eyes. His face is closed off, looks as blank as it can get. Jack’s hands clench into fists by his side and it makes the rubber of the gloves creak. He works his jaw as he tries to find the right words to say.

“That was --” he begins, and then swallows with difficulty. Bittle doesn’t turn to fully face him, only lifts his gaze until their eyes lock together. There’s spots of furious red high on his cheeks, his mouth pressed thin. Jack has no idea how to translate this information into any sort of social clue. “You. Euh. That was good, Bittle. Good work.”

Bittle’s mouth parts, his eyebrows knitting together, but his chin drops down so his expression is hidden from Jack’s view before he can try to read into it further. His right hand, leaning on the passage frame and keeping him in the mid-motion of leaving, tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks, Commander,” Bittle says finally. His voice is steady, neutral. He’s still facing away. “Just doing my job.” 

He carries on walking away, then, like his pause in the passageway never occurred at all. The insulating door slides closed behind him, and Jack is left standing in his gear, staring at the white expanses of the walls. He has this sinking feeling that he made a critical misstep has no idea how to undo.

[harryspet]

everything he wanted | peter parker

[WARNINGS] aged up peter x named oc (but limited physical description), noncon/dubcon sex, oral sex (public?),unprotected stuff, jealous peter, cheating

This is my first ever challenge and it’s for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ ‘s What’s Old is New Again Challenge! I chose the prompt  “I fell off my pink cloud with a thud.” - Elizabeth Taylor. Roo has AMAZING dark fics so, if you aren’t already, please give her a follow and check out her works!

In which Mia’s wedding is tomorrow and Peter has the damning information to stop it from happening.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

Word Count: 3.4k

Mia was like family to Peter. He remembered the weekday afternoons when they’d get off the bus together and she’d watch him until his mother came home. They’d put puzzles together and make stupid videos of them lip-syncing to pop songs. She was a few years older than him, beautiful and charismatic so it was only natural that Peter developed a small crush on her. Well, small would be an understatement. But Mia had always belonged to someone else.

First, it was her parents that controlled her, forcing her to practice her dancing day and night while maintaining a 4.0 in school. She resented them for that but she’d never do anything but say kind words to their face. Peter was the only one who knew how she despised her dance competitions. Once she got to high school, Peter saw less of her as he was forced to face the challenges of middle school by himself. Then she met Sawyer and suddenly she didn’t need Peter to console her. He was only a boy. How could he understand the complex workings of a teenage girl?

Peter didn’t hate Sawyer but it was difficult to be cordial when he knew Mia was making a mistake. Becoming Spiderman gave him a distraction though and he craved that. It was the only thing that kept him from thinking about how Mia didn’t need him anymore. He was sure that he didn’t even cross her mind as she went off to college.

It took Mia a few more years to realize that Peter was a man. He was a freshman in college and she was starting her Master’s degree. She wanted to be an author and how perfect was it that Sawyer had just begun his big job at a publishing company. Even their careers were compatible except Mia wasn't writing. Couldn’t write. Couldn’t decide on what would make her unique and it seemed her career was over before it even began.

She solved her problem by getting wasted at Happy and May’s fourth of July barbecue, “Peter, could you take her upstairs to the guest room?” May asked him and he tried not to seem too eager as he nodded, “She needs to sleep this one off.”

He lifted the girl from her place on the couch with ease and she immediately began to wrap her arms around him. He could smell the alcohol coming off of her but he did not let it distract him from savoring her warmth. “Wait, I-I . . . I left my drink downstairs,” she mumbled close to his ear. Her breath tickled his ear and a shiver ran down his spine.

“No,” he spoke quietly, shushing her, “You’re done for the night, Mia.”

She whined.

He carried her into the guest room to tuck her into the bed. He should’ve left it at that. Should’ve. But he lingered. He had to. He was showing so much self-restraint just by not tearing off her clothes and ravishing her.

“I wish you were ... twenty-one. We’d have fun together…,” She smiled but her eyes were closed as she started to nuzzle into the sheets.

“I’m sure we would,” He should already be gone but he leaned over her body and began to caress her hair. He could’ve sworn he heard her purr as his fingers ran through her scalp. Down her shoulder and then down her arm. He had to stop himself before his hand got lower.

His lips pushed into a thin line of frustration as he looked over once more. He pulled at the comforter, covering her body, before slipping out the room. As he closed the door behind him, his hands curled into a fist.

+

No one else could but with his heightened senses, he heard the thudding from downstairs. He got out of bed, pulling a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, and slipped out of his room.

He found her in the kitchen, clad in a robe, and rummaging through the fridge. She hadn’t even noticed he was there until she shut the fridge door. Her eyes went wide and she almost dropped the three cartons of ice cream she was carrying.

“Some things never change,” Peter said, smiling at her. As he approached, she pushed his shoulder playfully. He was shirtless and her eyes seemed to wander but not for long.

“Shut up, four in the morning is the best time to eat ice cream,” He shook his head, walking around the kitchen island to grab two spoons for them.

He handed her the spoon from the other side of the island as she slid over the carton of cookies and cream ice cream. She remembered his favorite, “Are you feeling better? I thought you’d sleep until next week at least.”

Whatever grin that was on her face fell and she stabbed at her strawberry ice cream with her spoon, “I feel great, Peter,” and then she lifted her face to show him a fake smile. She was beautiful, he thought, even when she wasn’t being genuine.

“Really? Because I recall you best wasted before the sun even went down. I’ve never seen you drink so much … you used to say you’d never be someone who acts like that.”

“Well, I changed my mind. That was before I knew of the healing properties alcohol contains,” She stuffed her mouth with icecream and Peter assumed that the ice cream also contained her healing.

“You can tell me. You used to tell me everything, Mia,” He cocked his head to the side, trying to read her face. She sighed, leaning on the counter as she covered her face in her hands, “Is this what a quarter-life crisis looks like?”

He expected her to laugh, poke fun back at him but it took him only a second to realize that she was crying. He mentally cursed as he hurried around to her. “Mia, please don’t-” He placed a calm hand on her arm before she suddenly crashed into him, and he enveloped her in his arms.

“I’m a failure, Peter. I’m never going to be a good writer. I’m never going to be successful. School is a waste of time. I’m pretty much wasting everyone’s time. My parents especially. Sawyer. He wants to marry me but I’m nothing. And soon he’s gonna realize that and I’ll be alone. My parents won’t want me. And now Aunt May is gonna think I'm drunk. She’s never gonna see me like that girl I used to be. They look at Sawyer and they’re proud. They look at you and they’re proud. You saved the entire world for god sake. Why am I even here on this planet?” He wasn’t sure if she breathed through during her whole spiel. Her arms wrapped around his midsection and his hands caressed her back.

She cried harder into his shoulder.

“You’re not a failure, Mia. This is just a blip in your grand plan for your life. You’ll get through it and you will be a great writer. Even if it sucks, I’ll buy enough copies myself to keep you from going broke,” She laughed for a moment before going back to choking on her sobs, “I know your parents and I know Aunt May, they love you. Even . . . e-even Sawyer. That girl you used to be existed only to please others. Now it’s time to focus on you and what you want, no matter what they think. They’d never leave you. And even if you didn’t have them, you’d have me. No matter what.”

He gently pulled her from him, holding her face so she was staring into his eyes, “No matter what, do you understand?” She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.

That was the first time she saw Peter like that. Like a man. Emotionally intelligent. Strong and inviting.

She couldn’t stop herself as she leaned into him and kissed him gently. She pulled away, her eyes wet and wide as she realized the mistake she made. “Peter-” He didn’t let her dwell on it long because he was pulling her in and smashing his lips onto hers.

They melted together. She needed to feel better, feel love and feel like she was needed. He needed her and she was everything he ever wanted. His hand found her waist and pulled her lower body even further against him.

He lifted her quickly and set her on the kitchen island, spreading her legs and setting himself between them. “You’re so beautiful,” He breathed into her ear, leaving a kiss there, then on her jaw and then down her neck. She only moaned in response.

Her robe was already slightly open, revealing her bra. Peter’s hand fumbled with the string and it fell with ease.

“P-Peter, I don’t think we should,” He understood that she needed to pretend that she didn’t want this. Peter only smirked, placing a kiss on the skin of her breast before his fingers found the fabric of her panties. She grabbed his shoulder and he finally looked at her. Really looked at her, “Peter, this changes everything.”

She was just scared, he thought, of what they could be. “I know,” He stated concisely, “But this is what I’ve always wanted, Mia. You’re what I’ve always wanted. I love you.”

Mia knew it was wrong but she said those words back, knowing his “I love you” meant something completely different than hers.

Peter urged her to rest back as he lifted her legs onto the counter and slowly slid off her panties. At that point, she was free for him to devour, and his head slipped between her thighs. Right there on the kitchen counter.

She came once. Then again. And another for good luck, Peter thought.

They were interrupted, though, by a tired voice calling from upstairs, “Peter! Mia! Are you guys eating ice cream in my kitchen this early in the morning? You two aren’t kids anymore, you know?”

No, they certainly weren’t.

+

“You look great,” Sawyer complimented, giving his fiance a little spin as she twirled in her soft pink dress. It was strapless, accentuating her breast, and flowed down to above her knee. It was something her future mother in law had picked out and that she absolutely adored, “You should wear it to the movie premiere.”

Right, the movie premier. A year ago, she was completely at rock bottom but things were so different now. She had made an amazing friend, ten months ago, an extremely accomplished writer who’s already had three of her novels adapted. The woman had been reading her work and critiquing it but she insisted that Mia had talent. Raw talent not many people could harness.

She could get a book deal one day and, with a blurb from such a famous woman, who knew how successful she could be.

Mia looked again in her mirror and she loved what she saw. Sawyer, the rock on her finger, her new mentor, and this dress. She pecked his cheek and he continued to button up his dress shirt. Brunch was happening soon and tonight was her bachelorette party. Tomorrow she’d be a married woman and she finally was proud to be someone Sawyer could love.

She was running a brush through her hair when Sawyer suddenly got a call. He smiled at her as if to say he was annoyed to be getting a call from work the day before his wedding, and she returned it.

Sawyer was doing very well at his job too. His father described him as “practically running the place only after two years”. And he was always sweet to her. Someone who paid attention to the small things. Completely devoted.

Everyone they met had always said, even though they were both young, they could tell Mia and Sawyer were meant to be together.

After deciding her hair was as perfect as it was going to get, she left the bathroom. Their hotel room was gigantic, a presidential suite that they’d come to consummate their wedding. After that, they were jet setting across the world for three weeks. She was the most excited for the three nights in Paris.

As she stepped into the master bedroom, her heart stopped as Peter entered the room. He shut the double doors that connected to the living room, clad in his spider suit except for his mask. His eyes finally met hers and he looked her over as if he was an addict and she was his fix, “You look gorgeous,” He said, solemn because he knew that dress wasn’t for his eyes.

There was no way he walked through the front door. He must have come in from the balcony.

“Where’s Sawyer?”

Peter’s eyes darkened at the mention of that name, “Busy,” He stepped further into the room, admiring all the beautiful details. He threw his masks onto the bed and sighed.

“Peter, please-”

“I didn’t kill him, okay. And he won’t remember a thing,” Peter wished he could kill him. Sawyer was the reason that he couldn’t have Mia. Her eyes were wide with fear, “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

There were dark circles around his eyes and his bottom lip was bleeding, “Why are you here?”

“For you, Mia,” Peter spoke as if his intentions were obvious, “I don’t want you to marry him. I want you to choose me.”

“The wedding is tomo-”

“I know,” Peter slouched onto the bed, his palm on his forehead, “I was going to let it happen. I was this close to letting you ruin the rest of your life.”

“Peter, what happened with us was a mistake,” And she twisted the knife further into his already bleeding heart, “I thought my feelings were obvious when I ended things last year. I love you, Peter, I do. But you’re like a brother to me.”

He moved his hand, turning his head toward her, “What is it you want me to do? What would make you say no to him?”

“Nothing,” She spoke through gritted teeth, “Now, leave. You can’t just show up here like this the day before my wedding!”

Peter sat up on the bed, his fiery gaze burning holes into her, “I don’t want to threaten you, Mia.”

“Then don’t,” Mia’s lips trembled as her eyes narrowed on the door. Her phone was on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. If she yelled for help, maybe some housekeeper would hear.

Peter noticed. Of course, he did, “Mia, don’t-” She had already decided to make a run for the door but as soon as she got close, his webs had covered both the door handles.

She looked towards the balcony doors and, he was too quick, those doors were snapped shut too. As if he were reading her mind, a web shot out to grab her phone, before slammed into pieces on the door behind her. “You’re insane!” She screamed as she began pounding on the shut door.

He was standing now but still close to the bed, “Don’t you think Sawyer deserves to hear about last summer? I mean, yeah, we ate ice cream but I also tasted a lot other sweet things that night,” She felt her heart stop, “May will kill me but she deserves to hear about it too. It was her kitchen counter, after all.”

Mia froze, and tears stung her eyes, “You can’t, Peter,” She faced him, “You can’t.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” He was with her, wiping her tears a second later, “I won’t. I won’t. But we do things on my terms.”

She stared at him, a sad and incredulous look on her face, “I can’t cancel my wedding, Peter. I can’t do that to Sawyer.”

His eyes went black like a flip had been switched, “Then give me everything else.”

He grabbed her, lifting her before bringing her to the bed. She landed with a bounce, attempting to crawl away before he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, “I’m sure you don’t want to be tied down with webs, Mia, so I wouldn’t fight this if I were you.”

With her legs hanging off the bed, he reached for her dress. “P-Peter, please be gentle,” She begged, struggling against him.

“You had your chance for that,” He pulled down the top of the dress, revealing her breast, before resorting to ripping it down the middle in order to get it off. Her bra and underwear were small obstacles as well.

This wasn’t him. He was a sweet, caring boy but she had made him a monster.

He threw the material to the side before raising his right arm. A holographic keyboard floated around his forearm and with a few taps, his suit began disappearing scale by scale. “Get on your knees,” He commanded and she stared, dumbfounded. Staring over his naked torso, she realized he was even more muscular than the year before. Before she could open her mouth to protest he said, “Now, your fiance is right out that door. Don’t make me wait.”

She hesitated again and his bare hand snapped around her neck, dragging her forward until she was forced to her knees. Until she could feel the full force of his powers and realize she was helpless against him. Against his love for her. She couldn’t stop him, she knew that “This. Isn’t. You,” She gasped for air.

“Do I look like an illusion, angel?” She didn’t answer and he slowly let go of her throat, “Touch me, start with your hands.”

She scowled up at him and he shot her a warning look. One that said, I have the information that could ruin your life. Burst the bubble around the perfect little life you created.

So she did. She held his length in his hand, stroking up and down slowly. It didn’t take long for it to grow harder in her grasp. Tears still in her eyes, she pushed on. She wasn’t guilty last year but she was now.

Peter groaned, ordering her to look at him every time her face fell. He loved the feeling of her hands around him and the sight of her on her knees, “Very good, angel,” He praised, a sinister smile on his face, “Now, open your mouth.”

For a moment, a brief one, she thought he would be gentle with her since she was complying. She was wrong because as soon she opened her mouth, he shoved his length inside. She choked, saliva beginning to run down her chin but this only seemed to encourage him.

Her hands pressed against his rock hard thighs as she tried to gain some control. He only pushed away from her hands and held her head tighter. He bunched up the locks of her hair and pushed her head forward. In and out and then over and over again. Her eyes stung even more now

She swore a growl rumbled through his body as he thrust into her mouth. The desire he had for her was carnal and, at his mercy, she wasn’t sure how she’d turn out after he was done ravishing her.

“Good girl,” Peter grunted, “That’s it,” He pulled away from her mouth, a trail of saliva dripping from her mouth down to her thighs. Peter relished in the idea of waking up to a sore throat tomorrow and having to think of him as she said: “I do”.

Besides that, the greatest satisfaction would come from finishing inside her.

Mia understood she was coming next but, as Peter forced her to stand and pushed her onto the bed, she expected some sort of warm-up. Instead, he simply spread her legs, crawled on top of her and pushed inside of her.

He gripped her thigh with one hand and the other rested beside her head. With him pressed against her, she had no room to escape the full force of him. She came quickly, faster than she expected, but the pressure inside her seemed relentless. He seemed to find the right spot every time.

She cried out before she could bite down on her lip to silence herself. It only made him thrust harder, deeper and faster. He kissed her, deeply, and took in the moans that were being forced out of her, “You’re mine,” He grunted, “Say you’re mine. Tell me you love me.”

Another orgasm was already approaching for her and, despite all that had happened, she wanted it, “I-I’m yours,” She breathed, knowing that was what he wanted all along, “I love you.”

She’d never belong to her husband. Not when Peter would be there to claim what was his at any moment he could. 

That was all he ever needed and, with those words, he buried his face into her neck and finished deep inside her.

Peter swore she’d be the only girl he ever loved.

+

Hopefully you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading and if you’d like to read more then check out my Perer series called “Little Doe” ! My requests are OPEN

Also, if you’d like to be added to a Peter related taglist then leave a comment or send me an ask!

[dwellordream]

“If girls’ private schools encouraged an intimate atmosphere of nurture, sociability, and fun, much coeducational public schooling retained its competitive practices and was more challenging. Opponents of coeducation argued that the presence of girls feminized and compromised the secondary curriculum. But evidence suggests the contrary: that expectations of male achievement raised the stakes and the competition for girls.

As it was put in an 1841 article in Ladies’ Repository, in many young ladies’ seminaries ‘‘the girl is excused of strict scholarship. . . . She works to disadvantage. The mind itself has not been educated.’’ In contrast to girls educated at such ‘‘finishing schools,’’ the author argued, ‘‘see here and there is one who, we may say, has been educated—who has studied like a boy’’ and you will see ‘‘equality of attainment with any male youth of like years and pursuit.’’ 

Encouraging a girl to study ‘‘like a boy’’ was seldom the goal of the citizens who sponsored secondary schools; coeducational secondary schools which taught ostensibly parallel classes for boys and girls did not always deliver classes of like intensity to both. And sometimes, especially in the earlier days, there were different requirements for girls and boys. …Public schools sometimes attempted to soften lessons for girls so as to address the concerns raised by the debate over emulation.

Nonetheless, in comparison, the point seems indisputable. Girls studying in coeducational secondary schools were more likely to participate in a competitive and meritocratic form of schooling which rewarded and encouraged individual achievement among both girls and boys. Such schools published class rank and scheduled public exhibitions. Evidence from the few coeducational private boarding schools suggests that this might have been the case for both public and private, day and boarding schools. 

Coeducation in practice in the nineteenth century included various arrangements governing the schooling of girls and boys together and apart. The word itself was of American origin and set up an implicit contrast with the tradition of same-sex schooling in Great Britain and in many parts of the American Northeast and South. Common grammar schools united boys and girls in the same classes under the same roofs, and many secondary schools adopted a similar model. Yet the ‘‘coeducating’’ of boys and girls in secondary schools, and sometimes even in grammar schools, generally involved some separation of boys and girls, by administrative order. 

As we have seen, some high schools, particularly in the Northeast, went so far as to conduct parallel classes for girls and boys, using gender as a principle for dividing students into different sections for as long as they could. Gradually, however, throughout the country, school districts bowed to economic realities and chose to educate their boys and girls together, offering a common curriculum and a common standard for success. For those attending the new public high schools, which became increasingly common in the Northeast at midcentury, coeducational schooling meant attending schools which enrolled more girls than boys. 

The actual ratio varied from school to school. Where the public high school served as a college preparatory school for the affluent native-born, the numbers of boys tended to increase. In less affluent or immigrant communities, boys instead would leave school to take jobs, and high schools would sometimes graduate two or even three girls for every boy. The underattendance of boys at high schools was a cause of regular lament by all, including girl students who were left without escorts after school social functions. Yet it presents the historian of gender with some interesting questions. Some of them are simply statistical. Did girls excel and win honors proportionate to their greater attendance at high school? Did they excel at greater rates than the statistics might predict? And if so, why? 

Girls and boys attending public high schools shared a liberal curriculum, competition, and grades. Unlike female seminaries and convent schools, which taught ornamental and domestic arts alongside more traditional liberal studies, the public high school at midcentury and after did not offer a gendered curriculum. Instead, it taught a classical or liberal curriculum, rich in history, moral philosophy, mathematics, Latin, Greek, and French. Botany, chemistry, and physical sciences were also often taught. Girls and boys took these classes either together or in separate tracks, a significant commonality in a world otherwise stratified by gender. 

Increasingly toward the end of the century, citizens and educators came to question the usefulness of this classical learning to boys and girls attempting to make their way in the working world. And when high schools responded, they brought the gender segmentation of the workforce into school. Commercial subjects supplemented liberal studies, and educators provided manual training and home economics to prepare boys and girls for the future. Even then, though, high schools retained an important core of liberal studies, which established common ground between boys and girls, as well as across classes. In high schools, girls and boys studied together and competed to master abstract subject matter which neither sex could lay special claim to. 

In studying North Carolina’s African-American community in the 1890s, Glenda Gilmore has noted the significance of its leaders’ dissent from the Tuskegee program of agricultural education and manual training advanced by Booker T. Washington. She sees their defense of a classical curriculum for the children and grandchildren of slaves as significant resistance to attempts to create a separate caste in this country under Jim Crow.

Classical education was similarly important for girls, for it offered a common ground on which to compete and succeed beyond the hierarchy of gender. The practice of recitation, saying one’s lessons orally, was not initially designed as a competitive practice. It was simply the most convenient way to test rote memory, the common style of teaching and learning in most grammar schools in the nineteenth century. Yet recitation meant that all would know when a student succeeded, and when one failed. 

More deliberate was the spelling bee, a competition that was both a game and a pedagogy. Some schools held public examinations, which elevated the pressure to ‘‘know one’s lessons’’ to a higher degree. Almost all schools scheduled exhibition days in which students read or recited pieces to the general public and received awards. (In fact, the decision of the cloistered convent schools to bar the public from the awarding of prizes in the mid–nineteenth century was a cause of conflict with parents.) The consequences of such a system for teenage girl students, as for boy students, were that strong students thrived while weak ones foundered. This is an obvious result, of course. Yet in the world of Victorian gender relations, what is significant is that girls and boys were playing fundamentally the same game, both competing in the rough meritocracy that such competition encouraged. 

At least initially and sometimes later as well, they were not equally comfortable with that competition: domestic culture discouraged self-promotion in girls, and successful girls were sometimes abashed and embarrassed. Sometimes, too, parents did not notice, honor, or encourage girls’ school accomplishments. …But within the universe of the schoolroom and at schoolwide ceremonies (neither insignificant for a peer based social world), girl scholars were encouraged and rewarded for achievement—for scoring high, for spelling well, for accomplishments of both mind and habit. They felt the sweet rewards of victory in conquering rivals, earning respect, and taking as prizes a seat at the front of the room. 

These school rules made the institution unique within a woman’s life as it extended from cradle to grave. Not in the family or the workplace or the halls of government did females and males share so similar an experience. Even within the church, where souls were ungendered, women did not preach, sit as deacons, or otherwise live out their identities as equal competitors for eternity. 

Coeducational grammar and secondary schools made all kinds of distinctions, and even those who encouraged girls to compete might in the same breath warn against it. Yet medals were awarded and reputations made in coeducational high schools. Of all the unequal institutions, such schools were the least unequal, and thus must stand as both an important harbinger of the future and a transformer, gradually, of their present.

Girls outnumbered boys in school. Barring other factors skewing accomplishments, girls could thus be expected to outnumber boys on the honor rolls. All things being equal, girls should have been salutatorians and valedictorians and honor-roll students in percentages similar to their representation in the class. In fact, though, girls tended to do better proportionately than boys. Statistics on one school, the high school of Milford, Massachusetts, reveal that between 1884 and 1900 girls represented 64 percent of graduates, a ratio of nearly two to one. But girls accounted for nearly three-quarters of those graduating in the top ten places during the late century.

When valedictorians and salutatorians were designated, beginning in 1889, 86 percent of those so honored through the next decade were girls. Girls’ tendency to dominate the academic ratings was an accepted part of the school’s culture and can undoubtedly be explained in part by Milford’s policy, probably followed by many other schools as well, of granting honors on the basis of scholarship and deportment together. 

Deportment grades measured decorum and tractability; both by socialization and reputation, girls could be counted on to turn in higher performances. Usually there were a few male standouts, but sometimes it was a clean sweep. In the class of 1887 at Milford, for example, boys were completely eclipsed. The class began with an equal number of boys and girls, thirty-one each. By the end of the four year span, though, the numbers had been dramatically reduced to twelve girls and five boys.

The student newspaper announced: ‘‘The girls claim the first ten in scholarship and deportment. In attendance three girls are perfect and in deportment eight; of these, two have the honor of being perfect in both.’’ The article ended by noting, ‘‘These are facts of which they may well feel proud.’’ The reference here is a bit unclear. Perhaps it was referring to the individual girls who had triumphed, each of whom should feel proud. But a more plausible reference is to girls of the class as a group, all of whom, the article suggests, might take pride in their sex’s collective sweep of graduation honors. 

How much of girls’ success can be attributed to their greater skill at achieving perfect conduct? For girls, for whom ‘‘being good’’ was a high priority, school offered any number of ways to fulfill that mandate. If being ‘‘perfect’’ simply required getting to school every day, or behaving once in school, it was certainly doable—a gratifyingly concrete measure for an otherwise elusive moral status.

Almyra Hubbard, a schoolgirl diarist in Hayesville, New Hampshire, wrote in 1859 of her discovery of this back door to school achievement. She knew that she worked hard; her journal, a school assignment itself written faithfully in a careful hand, indicates as much. Yet she did not get top grades and did not seem to be one of the handful of students she mentioned in February who would need to draw to see who got the first seat in the class. She could, however, make sure she got to class—a trip that took her an hour and a half when she walked it—and she seized upon this route to class honor. 

One day, she wrote in her journal, ‘‘There are but few scholars here this afternoon. The room is quite still.’’ The quietness was not just a result of how many were there, but who was there: ‘‘As a general thing the noisy ones do not venture out in unpleasant weather.’’ Almyra Hubbard was both quiet and present, even when her classmates were fair-weather scholars.

When she attended her great uncle’s funeral in April, it was the first time she had missed school in a year and a half. In May the school principal adopted a new rule which advantaged Hubbard, ‘‘by which any one who is absent cannot make up her lessons.’’ She imagined, ‘‘It will cause some of the girls to be a little more regular in their attendance at school.’’ One key component of school success, as Almyra Hubbard had discovered early, was simply the ability to meet school demands for the regular habits of industrial discipline. 

Girls outdid boys in this arena so regularly that when the Milford paper in 1890 reported on two students with perfect attendance throughout their high school careers, it featured what was newsworthy: ‘‘Wonderful to relate, one is a boy!’’ Not all girls had stellar grades in deportment. A consistent problem for boy and girl students both was ‘‘communication.’’ Students in many schools were forbidden to talk among themselves between classes and expected to be quiet most other times, an expectation which few could meet. The entire first-year class at Milford High School in 1865 was called to the teacher’s desk and scolded so that they nearly all cried, Annie Roberts Godfrey reported. 

Godfrey was in the second-year class, and was also called up, where she ‘‘acknowledged that I had communicated but would try to improve. I did not cry.’’ The next year, though, Godfrey’s problems with communication meant that her deportment grade was very low—‘‘only 78, lowest in school, I fear.’’ We have no records for how Godfrey fared at graduation, but clearly convent schools were not alone in attempting to impose serious constraints on student sociability during school itself. It was an innovation in 1894 when Salem High School instituted a ‘‘whispering recess,’’ which allowed students to talk softly between classes. 

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[localaakash]

Is Hotel Management is a good career option?

Hotel management is a branch of the service sector that generates more job opportunities and revenue than any other. Hotel managers are educated in business, human resources, and customer service. Hotel management is not as simple as you may believe; it is a challenging career in which you will encounter interesting individuals and intriguing opportunities. Both men and women can enrol in the hotel management program.

A bachelor’s degree in hotel management prepares students for management roles in the hotel business as well as related fields such as retail, banking, and insurance. A postgraduate degree in hotel management can lead to a variety of job opportunities. In semester 3, students can choose between human resources management and sales and marketing, as part of the postgraduate program’s built-in specialism.

Anyone considering a career in hotel management should keep the following factors in mind.

Confidential communication skill

One of the most important factors for organizational success is communication. To engage with new people and have an interest in meeting them, it is necessary to have a healthy and confidential relationship. This is a field that necessitates this consideration.

Patience

When dealing with people in the hotel management field, the most important thing to remember is to be patient. It will come in handy when you are confronted with unreasonable demands and impossible expectations. In such cases, the best thing to do is to pay close attention to the customer and have a calm, confident demeanour. People who do not behave in this manner may find difficulties in this industry.

Dealing with an uncomfortable situation

As a hotel manager, you’re likely to be in an area with a variety of individuals and their awkward situations. You’ll need skills to deal with these situations and people effectively.

Having a pleasant and presentable demeanour

As a hotel manager, your outward behaviour, such as the way you speak, stand, and present yourself, is quite important. You must be approachable. Before enrolling in this field, think about the following points.

We feel that the above-mentioned considerations are taken into account by anyone serious about entering this field of study. This means that anyone who meets the eligibility requirements can enrol in this field of study.

Let’s have a look at some of the prerequisites for hotel management.

What are the prerequisites for a career as a hotel manager?

It is common knowledge that any course has prerequisites that must be met before enrolling in the course. The following are some prerequisites for obtaining a hotel management degree.

The minimum requirement for the Hotel Management program is a 10+2 diploma. Students can also choose between a certificate, diploma, and degree programs.

For the final selection of students for the hotel management course, a group discussion and an aptitude test are held.

A certificate course might last anywhere from six months to a year, while a degree program lasts three years.

An entrance test is performed every year in April to select students for government institutions and institutes.

Hotel Management courses

Students fascinated by Hotel Management have lots of options when it involves courses. Hotel Management courses are available at the undergraduate yet postgraduate level. Plus, not only there are degree courses but also various diploma and certificate courses additionally.

Before choosing a hotel management course, students should make sure that they meet the eligibility criteria for that individual course. Not only this, but students should even have an understanding of what the course curriculum will include and why they’re taking over that individual course.

Certification Hotel management course After Grade 10

Certificate in HouseKeeping

Certificate in Hotel and Catering management

Certificate in Front Office Operation

Diploma Hotel management course After Grade 10

Diploma in Hotel Management

Diploma in Hotel Management and Catering Technology

Diploma in Food and Beverage Service

Diploma in Front Office Operations

Undergraduate degree Hotel management course After Grade 12

BA in Hotel Management

Bachelor of Hotel Management

Bachelor In Motel Management and Catering Technology

BBA in Hotel Management

BSc in Hospitality and Hotel Administration

Postgraduate Hotel management course

Masters in Tourism and Hotel management

Masters in Hotel Management

MBA in Hotel Management

MBA in Hospitality

Difference between Hotel Management and Hospitality

Don’t get the terms “hotel industry” and “hospitality industry” mixed up. While many people believe the two terms refer to the same thing, there are some distinctions between the two.

Hotel management is solely concerned with hotels, and job opportunities are limited to those in the hotel industry, including managerial positions in rooms, housekeeping, and operations. Hospitality management, on the other hand, is a broad term that encompasses a variety of industries such as restaurants, bars, cafes, travel and tourism, events, casinos, and so on.

What you should know is that it is the hotel manager’s responsibility to guarantee that the hotel is always warm and friendly, making us feel at home, and offering services that exceed the expectations of the guests. Hospitality is the term used to describe the interaction between the host and the guests.

Why Hotel Management is a Good Career Option?

Hotel management is one of the most dynamic, fast-growing, and demanding professions in the twenty-first century. You need to comprehend the explanations before deciding on a career in hotel management. For travel-obsessed graduates who want to start their careers in India and abroad, Hotel Management offers exciting options. Students are drawn to this field because of its numerous advantages.

More diverse and wacky work prospects emerge with each new technological innovation or guest experience. There are even impending economic changes, but the hotel sector has always demonstrated a high level of resilience in its operations. It’s even managed to stay afloat while other industries couldn’t keep up. Numerous top-tier universities offer you aim degrees in hotel management.

If you’re thinking about pursuing a career in hotel management, consider the following reasons to do so.

Fast-growing industry field

According to the business world, the hotel and the tourist industry is growing at a pace of 7.5 per cent, and according to a forecast by KPMG, this pace will climb to 16.1 per cent by 2022, with the hotel industry earning around rupees two thousand seven hundred and ninety-six thousand corrodes. So dismissing this industry as a viable choice is out of the question.

A wide range of Job Opportunities

The first thing that comes to mind is where can I get a job once I finish my degree, therefore we looked at all of the career opportunities and divided them into five groups.

Typically, you’ll find work at a huge hotel chain, such as the Taj group of hotels, Hilton Marriott over constantly, and so on.

You could work in a chain restaurant, a quick food restaurant, or a resort or a club.

The merchant navy and cruise ships are two places where hospitality graduates from hotel management often find work.

Railways, the military forces, tourism boards, banks, and other government institutions are all places where you can work.

Flight kitchen’s and Hospitals

Another aspect of hotel management is that it is a key employer. They, directly and indirectly, employ 48 million people in India, accounting for 8.27 per cent of the entire workforce. So, what are the reasons why we shouldn’t undertake hotel management or why you should choose hotel management as a career?

A Sufficient wage

Historically, salaries in the hotel, travel and tourist industries have been lower than in other businesses. Nonetheless, there are a plethora of reassuring jobs in these fields that can be financially rewarding. If your hotel company provides excellent guest service, the top-performing employee gets rewarded handsomely. They will provide you with competitive starting packages, frequent wage increases, bonuses, and other incentives in exchange for providing excellent service.

Life long career and work abroad

Another benefit of this field is that you can jump between segments, so the career for hotel management graduates is frequently recruited by other industries as well. Because the skill that you are learning is all about customer service and interaction, industries that will gladly hire you to include aviation, tourism, retail, banking, insurance, and many others

Hotel managers who work for chain hotels have the opportunity to attend work-related seminars or work in different chains around the world. Hotel managers who want to relocate to another country may be given the option to do so while keeping their current job.

Apart from the perks listed above, hotel managers have the option to work in five-star hotels. As a hotel manager, the more experience you have, the more prospects for promotion into higher management roles you will have. Take business or management courses to get the most out of these prospects.

Job Satisfaction

As a hotelman, your job is about people and you, therefore, must be a nation person. You aim to make sure that each guest’s stay is as pleasant as possible while the very best standards of customer service are met. briefly, it is your job to form people happy. Knowing that this has been successfully achieved through regeneration and good reviews will bring you an excellent sense of job satisfaction and can spur you on to realize even better results.

A new day brings a new challenge

There are no two days alike in the hotel industry. Every day, you’ll meet new people and face new difficulties, so the chances of a hospitality career becoming monotonous are slim to none.

Training programs

Few renowned hotel chains like the Taj, Oberoi offer their training program which offers the proper confluence of classroom studies and job training experience. After completion of the program, students are appointed at the junior management level. this can be a substantial boosting factor and advances your career by five to seven years.

Hotel Management in India

According to a report by rating agency ICRA, the Indian hotel industry will likely see just a marginal revenue growth of roughly 7% in 2012–13, due to the uncertain economy affecting demand. According to the report, the hotel industry hit new lows in the second quarter of 2012–13, with declining RevPARs and rising electricity prices reducing operating margins, which, combined with rising fixed costs (interest and depreciation), resulted in numerous players incurring net losses.

Hotel management courses provide students with a variety of opportunities in the hotel business. Hotel management students can find excellent prospects in both the public and private sectors, thanks to the growing demand in the business. Hotel management courses are available at the undergraduate, graduate, and diploma levels in India. Tourism Studies and Travel and Tourism Management are two of the most popular specialities. In the discipline of hotel management, interested people might pursue an undergraduate, postgraduate, or diploma program.

Hotel Management career with Nowadays Technology

We can’t consider job advancement without being tech-savvy in today’s knowledge economy. Technology has guaranteed that the hotel and tourism industries are never short of fresh and innovative job opportunities. A computer user, U/X designer, Cybersecurity specialist, designer, or social media manager are all possibilities.

The traditional job possibilities of the past have been supplemented by a slew of new ones. Furthermore, many technological occupations pay exceptionally well. So, if you’re a tech-savvy hotel management graduate, you’ll be able to look into a variety of technical positions that could help your hospitality career take off. From engineering to food and beverage; from housekeeping to front-of-house management; from pilots to cruise directors, and the list goes on. The numerous job possibilities available in hospitality and tourism make it one of the most rewarding professions.

As a result, hotel management remains a good job choice for college students, as graduates can choose from a variety of job routes within the industry. Furthermore, technology and innovation are only going to make things better for individuals interested in working in the hotel sector. As a result, hotel management is an excellent career choice. There is a lot of hostility around hotel management jobs, which has gotten worse as a result of the COVID outbreak. However, rest confident that the hotel and leisure business will continue to be one of the fastest-growing businesses, providing employees with endless prospects.

Source: https://aakaksharmahdev.medium.com/is-hotel-management-is-a-good-career-option-fa042673f842

[red-talisman]

Snippet from the guardian lion!JC fic I’m apparently taking more seriously as a thing. Unbetaed, CQL canon, set between the end of the war and before Phoenix Mountain during Lotus Pier’s reconstruction. CW for a brief moment of WWX’s worsening mental health.

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The world underneath the surface of the river is cold and quiet. The weight of Jiang Cheng’s body only exists in relation to the force of the currents, turning and twisting with impartial strength around him. Surrounded by the lengths of the lotuses and the struts of the wooden walkways extending into the water, his vision is reduced to shifting degrees of shadow with occasional flashes of sunlight, but the pressure of the moving water is reassuring somehow, helps his mind go quiet enough that he can sense the flows of spiritual energy around him.

If I were the first character anchoring an array, where would I go? he thinks to himself, and twists his body between several rows of wooden supports until he finds what should be one of the edges of the main courtyard. He pops up for a few breaths of air, holds onto the last one, and then ducks back under the water, walking his hands above his head along the underside of the courtyard’s foundations until he finds one of the main beams. Reaching into the satchel slung around his chest, he pulls out a metal plate that Wei Wuxian had prepared, presses it against the beam, and seals it there with a flare of qi before walking himself back up to the surface for more air.

He repeats this process eight more times before swimming back towards the main walkway and hauling himself up onto the boards with a rush of water and a groan.

“Out of practice?” his brother grins down at him.

“Go fuck yourself,” he pants.

“It only took you, like, three whole shichen.”

“I’m putting poison in your dinner.”

“Pretty sure Old Man Shen wouldn’t have taken as long as you did.”

“So much poison. You’ll die in agony.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips quirk. “Tried that. Didn’t stick. C’mon, Shijie’s waiting.”

That evening, long after dinner when all the workmen had left and the staff and few disciples had been instructed to stay elsewhere, the three of them stand in the center of the courtyard in a triangle, each within arm’s length of the other two.

“All right, any questions for this master before we give it a try and see whether or not it blows us all up?”

Even Jiang Cheng can tell he’s nervous, which is ridiculous because his dumbass brother wouldn’t do anything that would actually put their home at risk, and he rolls his eyes. “Stop fidgeting. If you said it’ll work, it’ll work.” The look on Wei Wuxian’s face makes Jiang Cheng flush, cough, and grumble, “C’mon, let’s do this already.”

“A-Xian, are you ready?” asks Jiang Yanli.

“Yeah. Yeah, all right.” Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath. “On three. One…two…three!”

The three of them inscribe qi talismans on the air and, in perfect sync, slam them into the ground with the flats of their palms.

Later, when the lights of the array have faded, the three of them sit or sprawl in varying degrees of disheveled and stare at each other.

“It worked,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Fuck, it actually worked.”

“A-Cheng, how far did it go?” Jiang Yanli demands breathlessly.

“All the way to the primary piers in the east and west and up to the main gate,” Jiang Cheng manages to reply after a few seconds of trying to stem the ghostly ringing of bells in his head. “About a quarter of the way into the river itself. It felt…perfect. It felt perfect. Shit, Wei Wuxian, it felt perfect.”

“Let’s see anyone try to take Lotus Pier again,” says Wei Wuxian, and bursts into laughter that echoes over the courtyard, running higher and shakier until it cracks into a wail that will haunt Jiang Cheng’s nightmares. It doesn’t stop until he and Jiang Yanli have both thrown themselves on top of him, doing their best to hold him together when he still refuses to tell them why his cracks are only getting worse.

______________________________________________

(And then in post-canon someone tries to fuck around and find out with Lotus Pier and WWX finds out that JC never changed the secrets of Lotus Pier’s protections, meaning he’s had full access all this time and still does, and Jin Ling has been taught them, so JC, WWX, and Jin Ling are able to activate the array together and it’s Very Emotional because this is their sister’s son and ~family feelings~, etc etc.)

[randomeditscreates]

The Force Awakens Breakdown

So I know no one gives a shit about my opinions on movies and my last post about the sequel trilogy [ST] But honestly I want to continue talking about these crap movies. So now that we got that through, lets start.

1) Jar Jar Abrams start this movie by basically ripping off the concept of the OT [Original Trilogy] The First Order [The empire] has taken over with a dark side user [Kylo Ren in this one, and Darth Vader in the OT] with a more powerful dark side user in the background pulling all the strings [Snoke and Creamy Sheeve respectfully] With an opposing side that happening to be small in numbers, [The Rebels and The Resistance(What they're resisting, no fucking clue, but it sounds nice)]

2) Rey Palpatine (I refuse to use the other name) is the protagonist of this story, and just so happens to live in a desert planet, you know like Luke. And happens to be the most laziest character Jar Jar and Kathleen Kennedy ever created. She's kind, and friendly and her only flaw is that she doesn't have any family. She's a scavenger, yet has so much proficient in the force, you would think she's been training for decades. She has great skill in flying ships and fixing them, that you would think, it would at least be a throwaway line. But nope, she has no reasoning for knowing how to fly or fix ships and the only reasoning we really have is that, Jar Jar wanted it, so he put it in. And throughout this movie and following ones, she picks up skills like their pokemon cards because fuck hard work. Now Rey pisses me off, not just because of her lazy character, but because during all the movies, nothing ever fucking happens to her, she doesn't get hurt to an extreme degree like Finn, She doesn't go through a huge revelation, all that happens is that Rey loses Han (someone she barely knows) then she magically beat Kylo,( who if you don't remember has years even decades over Rey in training) and then decides to find Luke. And that leads to the third problem...

3) The movie is too full. for being a movie that is 2 hours and 16 minutes, yes I fucking looked it up, this movie seems to drag on and not develop any of their concepts. Because while I fucking agree that Rian Johnson left fucking nothing for Jar Jar to work with, at least his story had some character development, and yes it dumb and breaks the world but I'll take what I can get. All the main characters in this movie all ends up the same as they start off with. Rey is a happy and kind character with no past, turns to Rey is a happy and kind character with no past and force abilities. Kylo Ren is tangled up Christmas lights drenched in yogurt and acid, and turns into a tangled up Christmas lights drenched in yogurt and acid, who ends up Killing his father. But if you remember is haunted by that death by TLJ [The Last Jedi] Poe Dameron is a self assured Spit-fired Pilot and ends up a Spit-fired self assured Pilot who's Not dead. Even the characters who do get develop, Finn and, oh my god, it's only Finn, get's completely rewritten in TLJ and gets the story arc redone just terribly. We can't even talk about Han, Leia or even Maz, because Han doesn't change and then dies, Leia doesn't get enough screen time to show anything about this character, and Maz is supposed to Yoda in a yellow and female clothing, and they do shit with that too because it leads to this..

4) Maz Kanata and holy fuck, she's literally the reason Han is dead. Maz yells very loudly to the entire cantina that Han Solo is here, which leads for the First Order to be notified. She somehow has Luke's lightsaber [It doesn't get explained, not even in the later movies] and somehow Rey is drawn to it, and leads to Maz giving advice, but you know the shitty type because it ends with Rey running away in the forest for her to get caught by Kylo. She tells Finn that he shouldn't leave, and that it turns makes him severely injured. And if you don't remember she does the same to Han, and he ends up dead. And her cantina gets fucking destroyed after being their for centuries, yet she couldn't give a fuck. and it shows the true issue, Jar Jar and Kathleen Kennedy in extent doesn't give a fuck about characters and just wants to to get from point A to point B with a lot of flashing lights.

5) Han Solo: Character Assassination. A character who developed into a man who was ready to risk it all for the rebellion. A character we loved in the OT is now broken down into his New Hope person all over again. Who apparently has scammed everyone in the galaxy? Um, Jar Jar, I know it might seem strange to you, but a smuggler needs people who trust him to get jobs and therefore receive income. But I guess I shouldn't expect much from the same man that think a Smuggler would want to be easily known or recognized. Also Leia and him are either broken up or divorced and that makes me feel really happy to know a couple that I loved are no longer together and one of this dead. Because Han Solo is just there for fan service and to shoot his gun, because that's what he's here for to go pew pew. Oh and to die, that what all the OT fans wanted, One of the main three characters killed by their own child.

6) Subtle doesn't exist in this movie, everything is given the delicacy of a hammer. We find out that Kylo or Ben, (I really don't fucking give a shit) is the son of Han solo, by Snoke just saying, the droid is in the possession of your father Han Solo, like no shit I assumed that when you mentioned the Millennium Falcon. Who would you think I thought Kylo was the son of, Chewbacca? Finn's story arc is the only one that makes you think, and brings a new aspect to the movies, and to the Stormtroopers. I just fucking wish we could do the same for the others Stormtroopers, because the other are killed with no regards that most of them, as Finn states were sold into this at a young age. Good job Resistance for killing all these people who was forced into this with no regards. How does a series that came like a decade before you (Star Wars: The Clones War Series) manage to develop the concepts that stormtroopers or clones are not mindless drones better than you. (The Rookie episode in the first season helps flesh out all the clones and they only have 25 minutes per episode, get you're shit together Lucas Films) And these are only the examples I could think of, off the top of my head.

7) Rey is a great example of Sexism, but instead it goes the other way around then usual. All the male characters are laughed at and or ridiculed, but all the females are perfect and don't need to change. One of the last scene is a great example of this, Kylo Ren, the one with years of training and two powerful masters who trained him, gets beat by Rey, someone who has no skill with a lightsaber and didn't even know she could use the force until Jar Jar decided to pull it out his ass. Even Finn who has at least close quarters fighting skills under his belt couldn't beat Kylo, and has to be saved by Rey. Now I will admit to being a feminist but Kathleen version completely differs from mine. Because while I believe both men and women are both capable of reaching the same level of skill, Kathleen think women should be able to do incredible things without working for it. And it clear by her stupid "The Force is female" Like shut the fuck up, the force was never given a gender, why the fuck are you doing it now? I also found out that most of the Crew in Lucas Film, happens to be female. and it's clear who's doing that. Again I am a feminist but I hate when people just have diversity for the sake of diversity instead of the person's capabilities. It's very vindictive of the Feminist movement, The Black Lives Movement and LGBT+ agenda as well, as we're trying to make people see them as just like everyone else which they fucking are (I will not stand for any form of bigotry and if you don't like something simply because of someone's race, gender or sexuality, you are shit human being) , they just so happen to not be a straight white man. And that they have the same struggles as everyone else. Also we already had strong female characters in the series without the big emphasis on the fact that they have a vagina. As from the basis, Star Wars was never about gender and because of this we got fully developed character we could relate to.

Now Dishonorable Mentions

A) This movie is fucking 2 hours and 16 minutes long, yet it feel so unfinished

B) Jar Jar Abrams deep seated love for mystery boxes and how it get more screen time then the actual Character it involves (Rey)

C) The movie could've been great, they're was definitely potential but it was dwarfed by mystery boxes and Visuals

D) Rey is not a Mary Sue in this Movie, she becomes one by the end of TLJ but she's not yet. So I guess it one positive.

E) Jar Jar inability for world Building, and doesn't even fucking tries to explain how the First Order even began to rise.

F) Poe Fucking Dameron, and the amount of time that is dedicated to him. I love him but come on, just make it someone like Han, as it could bring up the relationship between him and his son, which could then bring more emphasis when we reveal their relationship. But no lets bring up a character who we all assume is dead until about the end. And then does absolutely fucking nothing.

G) And Lastly when we see Han die, we don't get a scene of any of the characters we give a fuck about and who knows Han mourn his death, instead we just have two characters who had about 15 minutes of screen time with Han, and Chewbacca. And it doesn't get better because Rian Johnson decides in the second movie that we don't need a scene of Luke mourning over the man who fought side by side with him and is his Sister's husband. No Instead we get a scene of him drinking tit milk.

So that's it, well for now, I'll make another post for this if I have any more issues. But that it for now. I would also like to make it damn clear now, as I'll probably continue this, that me tearing apart a movie is based soley on the technical aspects of it. And that if you enjoyed this movie, you are entitled to it, but you cannot defend this movie's writing , because as I hoped I made clear, the writing is very much shit.

[gayenerd]

Another old article saved in a Word document, which I can only find behind a paywall now (but I linked it in case someone does have access to a subscription)

Green Day Rising Metal Mike Saunders, Bam, 28 January 1994 Popcore Ascending? Or Is That Just The First Phase Of 'The Greatest Band In America'?

'We were down in Irvine and Mike was having a pillow fight outside with his girlfriend. He was running away from her, and at the top of his stride he turned around, right into a horizontal beam five feet off the ground – Vhoom...Out cold. So that suggested the concept of ...misery.'– Billie Joe

WHERE IT all it the brick wall for me personally was 11th grade carpool. Four high school boys jammed into a VW bug, or worse, with the AM radio on for about 20 minutes en route to Hall High, Little Rock.

It was the season of the great Bubblegum Wars, that pint in time where the underground FM vs. plastic AM trench wars had reached the point of no return. Kids vs. pigs, rednecks vs. longhairs. Combat was the order of the day, even in music.

In the fall of 1968, the musical lightning rod was 'Chewy Chewy' by the Ohio Express: 'Turn it off' and 'Turn it down' were the majority opinions. I was for sure the only one going 'Turn it up!' The same routine was repeated just a few weeks later with the Archies and the 1910 Fruitgum Co. (the later with the classic top-five hit 'Indian Giver'), and it seems like ever since that point in time 'pop' has been a derogatory term. Something less than…what? 'Rock'?

What does this have to do with Green Day? Well, it’s like this: There’s this real lame tag – 'popcore' (say it once and erase it forever, pul LEEZE) that was kicking around for a while last year and was affixed to the East Bay trio’s style of music. Aw, hell, they’re just a great rock band.

If Santa came and went recently and there’s still no Green Day in your house, here’s a shopping list: 39 Smooth (Lookout!), Kerplunk (Lookout!), and Dookie (Warner Bros./Reprise). Forty-eight killer tracks by this country’s greatest band and, considering that only in the preceding 12 months did its members start to hit drinking age, possibly just the beginning of what could turn out to be an amazing career.

Proof is no farther away than the band’s new album, Dookie, its first for a major label, but proceeded by two LPs and three 7-inch EPs on Berkeley’s Lookout! Records.

Anyone who’s seen the threesome knows they can play like gangbusters; the difference between a tiny indie-label budget (try about $3000 for all 34 Lookout! Tracks combined) and a major-league endeavor is that for the first time you get proof 10 times over on tape. So you get raging guitar sounds and cracking snare rimshots that explode like the early who. Even the band’s chronic shortcoming – weedy studio vocals – has been corrected to an encouraging degree.

"Yeah," volunteers 21-year-old lead singer/guitarist Billie Joe, "for my vocals we used a Beyer microphone, which was used on some of the early Elvis Costello stuff. I’m really happy with the way it came out."

The entire album is a veritable role model for any guitar-heavy rock band. Says producer Rob Cavallo: "In the case of a raw, live-sounding record like this one, what I try to do is capture on the listener’s speakers the whole left-to-right stereo spread – what we heard in preproduction, listening to the band blast away in their practice room. The key to this, in Green Day’s case, is that they have such a focused idea as to what they sound like, and they’re great players in that style."

Specific elements of Dookie’s production style include a live rhythm guitar on every song, singletracked lead vocals only, and all vocal harmonies done by the second-stage voice, 20-year-old bassist Mike Dirnt.

Warner Bros.’ hands-off role, a characteristic of the company in the wake of its Mudhoney "creative control"-type underground signings, was crucial in shaping such a record. "Warner Bros. stayed out of the way and let us do exactly what we wanted to," says 21-year-old drummer Tre Cool. "All I can say is if you can get on Warners, you are one lucky son of a gun!"

The inclination to make a guitar-heavy record was present from the get-go. "I definitely wanted to get a bigger sound," recalls Billie Joe, "something with more meat to it." Which is achieved, in parts thanks to a borrowed vintage 1972 Marshall head hooked up to the same blue Stratocaster Billie Joe’s been battering since he was 11.

The wall of guitar sound was achieved with a live track and just one more rhythm guitar dropped in. "We had experimented a bit on previous records, stacking guitar tracks to try to get a thicker sound," recalls Billie Joe. "But this time with just the two rhythm guitars; we got a better distorted sound."

Like any other trademark-sound band, it’s the deviations on the record that are most interesting. We’ve got three here: 'Pulling Teeth,' 'When I Come Around,' and the album’s first single, 'Longview,' 'Pulling Teeth' leaps out of the album like a K-Tel cut buried in a techno set; it’s the tune Dave Edmunds never had to break his career Stateside. Tight harmony vocals frame a straight guitar-heavy country-rock melody with a conciseness worthy of the masters. Not one wasted word or second.

"We were down in Irvine," recalls Billie Joe of the song’s lyrical genesis, "and Mike was having a pillow fight outside with his girlfriend. He was running away from her, and at the top of this stride he turned ground – vhoom…Out cold. So that suggested the concept of…misery."

'Longview' hits a whole opposite style. It’s something you might imagine as a late’70s FM track, with a loping dumbo beat ("a rumble," suggests Dirnt) not too far off Tom Petty’s 'Breakdown', Lyrics about nothing, really-killing time, punching the cable remote, getting high. A two-chord riff to nowhere, then a basic garden-variety three-chord chorus. The trick is that the whole darn song is a hook. Simultaneously the dumbest and catchiest Van Halen guitar licks panning across the speakers.

"In a way, that song was cheap self-therapy for watching too much TV," recalls Billie Joe. "It was another case of writing about whatever mood I’m in."

Especially near to my heart (I’m from the South, y’all ) is 'When I Come Around,' an unintentional dead-on-evocation of Lynyrd Skynyrd at its top-40 hookiest. With a lazy turnaround beat like 'Sweet Home Alabama', it’s just about five degrees westward of the slightly ‘70s ballads 'Christie Road' and 'No One Knows' from the earlier Kerplunk album.

"On that one, we weren’t thinking country rock, but rather something that had a groove to it, almost like you could imagine having a martini and listening to it at the same time," explains Dirnt.

See, 80 percent of Dookie is in the trademark Green Day raging pop-punk. It’s this deviant 20 percent that makes one suspect they can pull off almost anything they want out of the trash-dump of earlier under appreciated rock styles. A mainstream audience could forge a very, very interesting alliance with this group.

Of the trademark pop-punk onslaught, averaging an airtight two minutes, 30 seconds apiece, 'Basket Case' and 'Sassafras Roots' are two of the strongest numbers. 'Basket Case' was about a friend who’s pretty loopy,' explains Billie Joe, 'but a bit about myself as well – like seeing your own trails in other people where it’s been taken to a total extreme. There are a lot more songs on this record that are about other people’s experiences, even though I might still be singing in the first person.'

The recording of Dookie went fairly fast by industry standards, the music and vocals finished last summer in three and a half weeks (at Berkeley’s Fantasy Studios), followed by an initial mix. The band then headed out on 40-date fall tour with the veteran LA punk band Bad Religion, which enabled them to come back to the project with a clean set of ears. The entire album was remixed with engineering whiz Jerry, Finn who paid special attention to the record’s amazing bottom end. At that point, the band’s 'creative input' reached its most extreme.

"We all three sat there for 10 days straight, 15 hours a day, and listened to every minute of the remixing sessions," recalls Tre Cool. Which is just short of four working-Joe (like me) work weeks without a day off.

Dookie is one of the rawest melodically oriented rock records to show up on a major label in the last zillion years. Usually when bands go from an indie to a major label, the result is a slicker product.

"When I listen to bad rock music occasionally, I just wind up going, ‘What the hell were these guys thinking of?" agrees Billie Joe.

I speculate that there have now been entire generations’ worth of bad drum sounds committed to record. "Huge room sounds on the drum with shitloads of reverb," responds Dirnit. "Flanged drum rolls," adds Billie Joe.

My favorite, rolls across the chromatic-tuned rototoms, comes in a close second.

While most bands with almost 50 tracks into their recording career hit the point of labored songwriting (that old saw about a band’s first album being its best), that hasn’t been the case with Green Day. "Actually, I think I was more comfortable with my songwriting on this record than I ever was before," insists Billie Joe. "I had a real good handle on what kind of melodies and hooks I wanted to come up with. Didn’t rush myself, just let them come out naturally. It was the previous time out, on the songs on Kerplunk, that I was consciously trying to outdo my previous songs."

The variation from Green Day’s uptempo style, now comprising a good one-quarter of the band’s most recent two albums, will continue. "We definitely are going to continue to expand the scope of our material; we don’t want to get into a rut where we rewrite Kerplunk or Dockie over again," explains Billie Joe. "There’s a lot of musical tastes that run through this band."

I did my homework on the band’s "song-about-girls" label (a tag, Dirnt complains, 'we got caught up in') going back to January 1992’s Kerplunk and assigning topics to each song. The tally was girls, four; mortality/meaning of life, three; neurosis/insanity, one; one novelty song; and alienation, motivation, and coming of age, one apiece. Dookie is more of the same, with topics ranging all over the map, the median perhaps being the pissed-off frame of mind of 'Chump' and 'F.O.D.' The girl-songs ratio is down around 30 percent.

The "girl-songs" tag must have sprung from what was the band’s classic 1990 debut, 39 Smooth, written and sung by Billie Joe and Dirnt at the ripe old ages of 17 and 16. A good 70 percent of the album’s songs related to the opposite sex, with the lead off track, 'At the Library', ranking as perhaps the best song ever written by a high-schooler.

One facet of a Green Day performance that’s impossible to capture on paper is the continuous bantering and riposting between the band and the crowd, much of it hysterical.

"It’s all part of making our audience feel like they’re at home, communicating on an eye-label basis," offers Billie Joe.

"See, before a show we’re usually making fun of each other – making a mess by playing baseball with apples or whatever, meeting new people who are funny and have jokes we haven’t heard – so we’re totally stoked by the time we get onstage," elaborates Tre.

It’s safe to say that after two trips to Europe, half a dozen ('at least') full American tours, and over four years of nonstop gigging, performance anxiety does not figure into this band’s equation. "We never have a list, we just make it up as we go," explains Tre.

I offer my theory that no matter how many fans a band has, there are five times as many people who think they stink, and 10 times as many who don’t care.

"I would see it as three different sections: the people who really like you, the people who really hate you, and the vast majority who are totally oblivious," muses Billie Joe.

The vast size of the record industry contributes to making yesterday’s barely gold act today’s 'Who?' (think Britny Fox, Vixen, and a half-dozen gold Loverboy albums). Indeed, if everyone who ever made fun of Motley Crue videos were assembled in one place, we would surely fill the Oakland Coliseum.

Speaking of videos, the world doesn’t faze our subjects – not yet anyway. "We’ve never done a video. They’ve got us scheduled to do one, so for now we think videos are cool," laughs Tre.

"We’re probably shooting the video in our house," adds Billie Joe, the "house" being what appears to be a subterranean Berkeley abode, complete with a tiny band-practice room; it’s not squalid, it’s absolutely slacker). "So…we figure our video concept will be kind of ‘Looks That Kill’ meets ‘Hot for Teachers’ meets 'Rock You Like a Hurricane'," quips Dirnt.

Given the absolutely superb quality of the band’s Warner Bros. debut, the only mystery is that a major label bidding war on Green Day took so long to materialize.

"Warner Bros. was the label initially considering the band," recounts band co-manager Jeff Saltzman. "But it was when Geffen and Sony/CBS jumped in with serious interest that Warners got serious about picking up the band."

Green Day never would have gotten so much done so fast, however, without the astute ears of Lookout! Records’ president and perpetual talent scout, Larry Livermore, who sent the band into the studio two months after first seeing the trio to record an EP called 1000 Hours, which was followed by the 39 Smooth album, which was recorded at the end of 1989 for less than $500.

"I knew Al Sobrante (Green Day’s drummer through mid-1990) from Isocracy, so I knew about his new band, Sweet Children [renamed Green Day six months later]," recalls Livermore. "My band, the Lookouts, were playing a house party up in Mendocino County, February 1989, so I invited Al’s band up to play also. I was so impressed with the band and their attitude, playing just in front of 15 people, that I hooked up with them immediately to record for Lookout! I never had any doubt about their potential, musically. I thought they were great the first time I saw them."

© Metal Mike Saunders, 1994

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 6

[I love these dorks and I’m glad I finally got to write them having a fairly proper conversation in this verse. Two dumbasses “bonding” the best way they know how.]

VEGETA

"I don't need an escort. You know I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," Nabooru informed him for the fifth time in an hour. She leaned down and plucked a gold tube from a lower shelf, turning it over between her fingers and examining it. Vegeta glanced at the tag: lip color. If this trip accomplished anything, it would end her whining about running out of makeup. "Epecially if I have to listen to you sigh or see you roll your eyes every time I enter a new shop. Why don't you go enjoy yourself? These are your days off, too."

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearby wall. One of the few in the cramped store devoid of product. At least the other patrons knew to give them a wide berth, and if they didn't, a displeased glare sent them on their way. "Quit saying that. For the last time, it's not a matter of your ability to take care of yourself. The worst that will happen to you on one of these resort planets is you'll go broke from gambling and wasting your money or drink yourself to death, and I couldn't care less if you do either of those things." He huffed. "I'm here to make sure you don't get lost or do something stupid."

It wasn't a complete lie. More commonly referred to as pleasure planets, these particular prospects in the Cold Empire were set aside specifically for commerce, recreation, and leisure, especially for soldiers and others employed by the Cold family. Cut into sprawling districts--business, recreation, lodging, and headquarters--it was easy for even those familiar with the ins and outs of the hubs to wind up turned around and in a less than optimal situation. Protocol for who could set up shop was loose, the vetting process quick and simple with few questions asked for lack of time. While he had surmised Nabooru was intelligent, strong, and savvy enough to avoid too much trouble on her own, inexperience in navigating the finer and more nuanced aspects of resort planets would be her downfall. The last thing he wanted was to clean up her messes on top of the trouble Nappa and Raditz would no doubt cause in the next three days.

"Mm, so you just have nothing better to do, huh?" She popped the lid off the tube and observed the blood red shade revealed. "Three days of endless liquor and sex isn't your thing?"

Vegeta grimaced. "Tch. Obviously not. I have standards unlike the other two."

"Following me around while I shop is a better option?" she asked, hint of a smirk on her lips.

"Yes," he replied bluntly. She tossed the tube into her basket resting over her forearm and moved on to the next shelf. He followed. "You've seen how they get. It's deplorable."

Nabooru lifted a bottle of what he guessed to be a perfume of sorts and lifted the nozzle to her nose. She sniffed and it immediately crinkled at the bridge, her expression one of disgust. He mentally thanked her for not spraying to test it; if she looked about to retch, his sensitive nose would have him seeking refuge in the crowded streets. 

"Mm, they remind me of my best friend back home. She liked to spend her free time similarly, and tried to drag me along with her more than a few times." 

She blinked and realization flashed across her features, followed by a frown and a hint of regret in her golden eyes. Her attachment to her home world was still far too fresh, he noted. The wound had yet to scar over. Memories still made her long for what she could no longer have. Vegeta could relate to some degree, and the pesky what if thoughts still plagued him from time to time concerning his planet and race. He pushed them away as quickly as they spawned; he had no room for such sentimentality, and the sooner she realized the same, the better off she would be.

"What do you like to do for fun, anyway?"

Vegeta's gaze shifted over to the woman when addressed once more. She had moved to the next section, the action escaping his notice while he considered how her emotions would hinder her performance. "Fun," he repeated with a snort. "As if I have time for fun. At least not by most people's definition of it."

"Try me. And I did ask for your definition of it. It's not embarrassing or something, is it?"

"Of course not," he growled. "The only fun I have typically is in training or finding some poor sap on base to spar, and even then I can only fit in a few hours at best between missions and preparing for them."

Nabooru laughed softly and added another item to her basket. "I never thought I'd say it, but we actually have something in common, Vegeta." She winked from behind the orange glass of her scouter and sauntered up to the counter, unperturbed by the grunt the four-armed cashier gave her. "I hardly ever wanted to do anything that wasn't related to my training or combat. It's where I thrived and felt most alive. Even when I was injured, I was reading about other styles or strategies, observing the others while they trained, or trying to sneak a session or two in without anyone noticing. Like you, I wish I had more time for it…you guys weren't kidding when you said we stay busy."

"Hmpt…" Vegeta watched her complete the transaction with the clerk, the process of paying with her credits sticking after he impatiently taught her in the last store. He kept it to himself, but he could respect that in her. If it stuck in a new environment, she could prove more useful to him than he imagined. And with a perhaps similar soreness toward Frieza and the empire as his that could potentially grow with time…

The pair left the shop and returned to the streets, squeezing past milling passerbys and other shoppers hurrying to find the best deals. Distracted by hoots and hollers meant for the Gerudo and discouraging the annoyance with a snarl, the Saiyan nearly collided with Nabooru's back when she halted suddenly, a display in the window catching her eye. 

He cursed under his breath and followed her gaze to understand what she found so interesting as to nearly cause a collision. On the other side of the glass was a hodgepodge of weapons on display, some he recognized from conquered planets and others foreign and strange. He snorted when he realized where her focus lay: a pair of curved blades resting at the hips of a gaudily dressed mannequin. 

"Swords, woman? You don't need them."

He didn't miss the twitch of her fingers at her side. The tense of her jaw and fire in her eyes. "I know that. Before I learned to use ki, swords like this were my weapon of choice, and--" She cut herself off, shooting him a glare. His smirk widened. "I didn't expect to see something like them here, that's all."

Despite her ill temper, she returned her gaze to the swords. Likely considering purchasing them just to spite him, if Vegeta had to guess. Or lost in memories of her past. Perhaps he would have enjoyed time with Nappa and Raditz if she was going to be bogged down by her damn emotions.

"You can create those with ki."

"What?"

The words left his mouth before he realized he vocalized them, and her confusion proved contagious for a moment. "Ki swords. I've seen it done." He folded his arms. "Why don't you try to figure it out? They would be far more effective than those."

She observed him with narrowed gaze for several seconds before humming and returning her attention to the blades. "It would take quite a bit of control to make them hold their shape. I would want it to look right and not just be shapeless," she mused, raising her hands and flexing her fingers and curling them back into her palms. He saw her eyes shift back to him in the reflection of the glass, suspicion apparent in her pursed lips and hooded eyes. "Why would you suggest it if you think weapons like that are stupid?"

Vegeta scowled, his tail tightening around his waist. "Anything to get your mind off a home you'll likely never see again. It's a waste of your time and energy. A weakness you can't afford," he hissed, ignoring her flinch and the glare that followed. "Besides, if it's a style you're used to, it will only make you more effective in battle." A smirk curled his lips. "And watching you slice people in half might be entertaining. If you're up for the challenge of mastering it, that is."

Nabooru remained silent for a beat longer, chewing her lower lip in thought or perhaps as a measure to keep her from picking a fight with him in such a crowded area. Not that he wouldn't welcome a brawl. Finally, she turned on her heel and began her procession up the street again, spine rigid and chin aloft in stubborn defiance. "Maybe I will. And I'll do it better than anyone else has before me."

"Right. I'll believe it when I see it," he said with a snort.

Nabooru shifted the bags on her arm, but kept her back to him. "I'm going back to my room." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and twisted her head to the side to meet his gaze. "I don't need an escort for a nap, do I? Unless you know some soothing lullabies to sing for me."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Go. You're beginning to annoy me anyway."

"We're on the same page then."

He didn't get a chance to sling any clever retorts back at her as orange energy enveloped her as she took off into the sky, leaving the Saiyan amongst the rabble and agitated. And, even as he headed off himself and locked himself away in his own temporary quarters, he couldn't shake it with any amount of pacing or idle research on his scouter. With Nappa and Raditz, he decompressed within moments when they pushed his buttons. But Nabooru seemed to possess a particular knack for getting under her skin. But why? Was it that her power was similar to his own? Him being unused to his subordinates speaking to him as she did? Should he teach her a lesson? Would that do much unless he outright killed her? Was it worth the effort when, deep down, he knew she hadn't done anything especially egregious to warrant the harshest of punishments? Not that he needed a reason to kill anyone. Frieza would likely shrug it off himself. But she had proven herself an asset, powerful and efficient. Capable of completing whatever task she was given despite her moral hang ups to them. Was his agitation worth ridding himself of her, then, when she could aid him in killing Frieza?

His grip on the windowsill tightened and he grit his teeth. The fur on his tail stood on end. Damn her. She danced on the fine line between insubordination and compliance, being a nuisance and a competent warrior, too well.  Flawed, but too valuable for him to kill. If he could find some reason that she deserved it…

Vegeta shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. He crossed the room to his bed and stretched out on it, closing his eyes. He hated it, but wasting his time searching for reasons to off the damnable woman was counterproductive. If they existed, they would show up on their own. Or she'd wind up dead on some mission or incur Frieza's or some other general's wrath. For now, he would take advantage of the extra firepower in his arsenal. The decent conversation and wit she offered when he humored her or bothered to listen in on conversations with the other two. The break from staring at eye sores like Nappa and Raditz day in and day out…

------------

His nap lasted little more than a few hours, a call from Nappa checking in waking him from his fitful slumber. After reprimanding the general for it and listening to his drunken attempt to assure him that he and Raditz were doing just fine and had caused "absolutely no trouble whatsoever, not even a single brawl that definitely didn't end in at least two casualties and several injured," Vegeta ended the call and buried his face in his pillow. Sleep had done nothing for his mood. If anything, it left him more sour than when he drifted off. 

The prince growled and punched the mattress next to his head, springing from the bed when he surmised sleep would only continue to evade him. A glance out the window as he tugged his armor violently back on over his head revealed a darkening sky, meaning most would be shifting from the commerce and resort districts to seek out more lively entertainment. He considered joining the rabble or tracking down Nappa and Raditz for a split second before deciding against it, the thought of large crowds a less than stellar situation to be in in his mind. Though, remaining cloistered in his room sounded just as unappealing. 

Deciding a physical check on the other two Saiyans would at least occupy him for a time, he refit his scouter to his face and tapped the button to perform a scan. Sure enough, he pinpointed their scouter models in the entertainment district and, just as he was about to pin the location in his tracker, the scouter pinged a third location in one of the few unincorporated areas of the planet just outside the resort district. Nabooru's. His eyes narrowed, and his tail lashed against the mattress behind him. In the time he slept, she had left her room down the hall to venture off on her own. For what, he couldn't fathom. But finding out sounded better than dealing with the crowds and his drunken cohorts attempting to secure a bed mate for the night.

Vegeta exited the hotel and traced the signal of her scouter and power level to an island in the only prominent body of water left on the planet. He slowed his flight and descended, finding her seated along the shoreline with her back to him. Orange light flickered in front of her and held her focus, masking his landing and approach. As he strode closer, he noted how the sphere of ki at the tip of her index finger wavered as it shifted shape, elongating before sinking back to its original shape. He smirked to himself.

“I see you took my advice.”

Nabooru straightened her spine in a jolt and twisted around, the energy dissipating with the inward curl of her finger. "And I see you followed me again. Couldn't stay away from me, huh?" She turned back toward the water, an unsettlingly still reflection of the sky above. She rested her palms behind her and leaned back into them. "Are you that bored or did you need something? I was kind of hoping to be alone if I'm being honest."

He observed her back and his usual glower settled back into place, the fleeting thought of drowning her momentarily appealing. With her ponytail tossed over her shoulder to the front, he noted she had removed her armor and found it lying in a pile with her boots, leggings, gloves, and scouter off near a rock jutting out of the island’s surface. Vulnerable he couldn’t help but think. He found it odd that, even now, she didn't’ scramble to pull it back on and remedy that in the face of a potential threat. That she could stand to appear even remotely weak in the presence of another, friend or foe.

To spite her, Vegeta shifted to stand beside her, planting himself firmly in place at her side. He was in no hurry to locate the other two, and he hoped she might pick a fight with him if he remained. Physical or verbal, it didn't matter to him. He unfurled his tail from his waist, allowing it to stretch and sway contentedly behind him.

Time passed at a crawl, the sky above them and its reflection in the water a smattering of twinkling stars on black canvas and the planet's two moons now visible in crescent phases. Nabooru remained silent and near unmoving save for a change in position to extending one leg outward and bringing the other knee toward her chest despite his obvious refusal to leave her alone. He chanced a glance over and found her staring out at the water once more, gaze distant and mind obviously elsewhere. He might as well not exist to her from the look of it. His patience waning, his tail exemplifying such with more aggressive and punctuated arcs near his calves, he opened his mouth to degrade her, only for her to finally speak up.

"It's funny, you know," she began, gold eyes never leaving the overly still surface of the lake. Vegeta closed his mouth, lips set in a tight line and gaze narrowing. "I never cared too much for rank or my titles back home. Outside of wanting to be part of the Elite, I wasn't looking for a more formal leadership position. But...outside of missing my home, my people, I think I almost miss them more."

The Saiyan remained silent, uncertain if she addressed him at all, of what to say in general, or if he wanted to entertain a conversation like this with her at all. It edged toward too personal, blurring the lines of leader and subordinate that he was already struggling to keep clear with her. Still, he couldn't deny the curiosity he had concerning her. Nappa had clued him in on bits and pieces of her background, what little bit she shared with him while they trained. But, unless Nappa held out on him, Nabooru had proven scrupulous, smart about what she did and didn't reveal. The months of servitude to Frieza apparently wore her down and made her careless, as she seemed keen on continuing. He did, however, discreetly switch off his scouter and hoped her voice was low enough that her own couldn't pick it up. Habit, he surmised.

"I was second in command of my people and if I had been born in a different time where we didn't have a king, I might have been leader. I was engaged to our king and set to be queen someday, even if it really was just a title and wouldn't have changed much in the way of my duties. I was the best warrior we had produced in decades or longer. And I had worked hard to earn all of it. But now…" A slight twinge of pain twisted her features and she pulled her other knee up to join the other. She draped her arms around them. The pain dissolved and her brows lowered, frown deepening and the initial sparks of anger flared in her eyes. "All of that was stripped from me. My name, my titles, even my race known for being powerful warriors...It all means nothing. I'm nobody here. I have no identity any more. It's something I never knew I would miss since it never felt all that important to me..."

That he understood. Better than homesickness. Definitely more than her moral hang ups. He still clung to his title of Saiyan Prince despite the lack of power it held. How those above him used it to mock him rather than a sign of respect of his station. The prince of two meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it was his title. With little left, he refused to dispose of it or let anyone else forget it. Saiyan still meant something among their peers. Most soldiers understood the might of the Saiyan race, how powerful and ruthless a single warrior could be. But Gerudo warrior, elite, leader, whatever...she was right to say it meant nothing there. Her home planet had only been recently discovered. Her people, while he could give her the benefit of the doubt in their skills as warriors, did not have the notoriety of his race. She was utterly alone and truly a nobody, forced to start over and prove herself once more to likely never advance higher than she stood now.

Nabooru suddenly twisted, face tilted upward to meet his gaze. "How do you do it?" She asked. He couldn't miss the hint of desperation in her voice. "How do you...how do you keep going? You've lost so much too, and yet--"

He cut her off with a raised hand and a stern glare. He aimed his index finger at her scouter. Energy shot from his fingertip, and the device exploded in a burst of glass and plastic. He rolled his eyes in light of her protests. "You'll get a new one back at base. Accidents happen. You never know who could be listening, and I'd hate for you to incriminate yourself so soon."

He removed his own scouter and crushed it in his fist. Paranoia, perhaps, since he had cut its power at the beginning of her rant, but he knew Frieza and his goons had higher access to scouter feeds. He didn't know if that extended to ones powered down somehow, but he didn't trust that they didn't.

"I was young when my planet was destroyed. I hadn't built up quite the…attachments to it in the same way as you, I suppose," Vegeta responded, folding his arms over his chest. For him, he never got the chance to fall in love with his planet or form bonds with his people as a whole or even individuals. A prince of seven, he knew little past the walls of the palace personally, save for what his parents, Nappa, or other tutors told him. It did not free him from longing for it, for what could have and should have been, but such thoughts angered him more than saddened him. Rage simmered over the injustice of it, of everything he endured over the years, and all that came to matter to him was revenge. For the abuses, the disrespect, for robbing him of everything he was promised. Placing him in such a position where he felt powerless. Weak and a slave to a tyrants whim. The tyrant he knew destroyed his home and people. Meteor his ass.

"I focus on my goals." He eyed her, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge to her. What pieces he could chance slipping her without sending her running to Frieza, hoping for some sort of promotion if she rat him out for his dream of treason. She had shown her power, a modicum of usefulness that could prove useful in an alliance. But her loyalty had yet to be truly tested, his hard won trust yet to be earned. Thus, he settled on a vague truth: "You've no doubt seen how myself and my cohorts are treated for our race. I focus on showing them how grave a mistake they make underestimating Saiyans. Of underestimating me. I want them all to fear me the way they feared our entire race for generations."

"Not exactly concrete but...a commendable goal, considering. I don't blame you." She snorted. "You know, Zarbon told me to stay away from you three on my first day if I knew what was good for me. Like it would tarnish my nonexistent reputation or something."

"Tch, of course he did. And now you have no choice. How ironic," he drawled, teeth clenched and tail lashing twice behind him.

Nabooru extended her long legs out in front of her and rested her hands on her knees. She gazed out at the water in silence, watched some small, aquatic creature break the surface of the lake, spin in midair, and disappear once more. Finally, she looked back up at him, the ghost of a smile on her full lips. "For what it's worth, I am glad for that. I've met some of the others, seen how their squadrons operate, how ugly they are, inside and out, and even on the worst days of dealing with you three I'm glad for it. Maybe it's just our similar warrior spirits, but you three feel...familiar in some ways. It's a small comfort."

"I didn't realize you were such a suck up." While too emotional for his tastes, at least that perhaps meant she would continue to mesh well enough with them. Cause little more drama than the usual shenanigans Nappa and Raditz got up to. "Are you done being sappy? It's making me sick."

She laughed and rose to her feet, stretching her arms skyward and lengthening her body. "Honestly, I only said any of that because I figured you wouldn't listen anyway." She strode over to the pile of her belongings and picked up her armor. She pulled it on over her head and adjusted it for comfort. "I wanted to let that out, and at least with you standing there I would feel slightly less insane than talking to the water."

"Hmpt. I shouldn't have. All your whining gave me indigestion." His tail swayed with docile calm behind him, despite his words. 

"Aw, your poor thing. Want me to make it up to you?" She pulled a burgundy stocking up the length of her leg to her thigh, and his mind betrayed him with more lewd insinuations behind the suggestion. He turned his attention back to the water, glad another creature hopped out of itto mask the sudden movement. The cursed warmth in his cheeks. 

He chanced a glance back to find her tugging her gloves on. "You said you like sparring. How about it? I'm not really tired enough to go back to my room yet."

A spar. He berated his perverted notions. He unfolded his arms and cracked his knuckles, tail returning to its position at his waistline. "Fine. It's the least you can offer for making me suffer." His smirk returned. "Just don't cry when I kick your ass again since you want to be so emotional."

It was Nabooru’s turn to roll her eyes. “Same goes to you. Nappa says you’re a sore loser.”

“I don’t know how he would know when I never lose.”

“Oh? So I get to take your loss virginity, huh?”

Vegeta growled, but he couldn’t deny his excitement in the wake of a spar. The adrenaline beginning to surge through his veins as he remembered their first. How she had only improved since then. 

“Shut up.” He hovered over the surface of the lake, arms folded. “Let’s see if you can back up all your talk.”

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Were Jews Ever Really Slaves in Egypt, or Is Passover a Myth?

Where is the real proof – archaeological evidence, state records and primary sources?

Josh Mintz / Jewish World blogger April 11, 2017 (originally published March 26, 2012)

Here’s a question for you: what do actor Charlton Heston, DreamWorks animation studios and Former Prime Minister Menachem Begin all have in common? Well, they’ve all, at one time or another, perpetuated the myth that the Jews built the pyramids. And it is a myth, make no mistake. Even if we take the earliest possible date for Jewish slavery that the Bible suggests, the Jews were enslaved in Egypt a good three hundred years after the 1750 B.C. completion date of the pyramids. That is, of course, if they were ever slaves in Egypt at all.

We are so quick to point out the obvious lies about Jews and Israel that come out in Egypt – the Sinai Governors claims that the Mossad released a shark into the Red Sea to kill Egyptians, or, as I once read in a newspaper whilst on holiday in Cairo, the tale of the magnetic belt buckles that Jews were selling cheap in Egypt that would sterilize men on contact – yet we so rarely examine our own misconceptions about the nature of our history with the Egyptian nation. We tend, in the midst of our disdain for Egyptian, anti-Semitic conspiracy theories, to overlook the fact that one of the biggest events of the Jewish calendar is predicated upon reminding the next generation every year of how the Egyptians were our cruel slave-masters, in a bondage that likely never happened. Is this really so different from Jaws the Mossad agent? The reality is that there is no evidence whatsoever that the Jews were ever enslaved in Egypt. Yes, there’s the story contained within the bible itself, but that’s not a remotely historically admissible source. I’m talking about real proof; archeological evidence, state records and primary sources. Of these, nothing exists. It is hard to believe that 600,000 families (which would mean about two million people) crossed the entire Sinai without leaving one shard of pottery (the archeologist’s best friend) with Hebrew writing on it. It is remarkable that Egyptian records make no mention of the sudden migration of what would have been nearly a quarter of their population, nor has any evidence been found for any of the expected effects of such an exodus; such as economic downturn or labor shortages. Furthermore, there is no evidence in Israel that shows a sudden influx of people from another culture at that time. No rapid departure from traditional pottery has been seen, no record or story of a surge in population. In fact, there’s absolutely no more evidence to suggest that the story is true than there is in support of any of the Arab world’s conspiracy theories and tall tales about Jews. So, as we come to Passover 2012 when, thanks to the “Arab Spring,” our relations with Egypt are at a nearly 40 year low, let us enjoy our Seder and read the story by all means, but also remind those at the table who may forget that it is just a metaphor, and that there is no ancient animosity between Israelites and Egyptians. Because, if we want to re-establish that elusive peace with Egypt that so many worked so hard to build, we’re all going to have to let go of our prejudices.

Josh Mintz is completing his degree in International Relations and Middle Eastern studies.

https://www.haaretz.com/jewish/were-jews-ever-really-slaves-in-egypt-1.5208519

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Doubting the Story of Exodus – Los Angeles Times