#but it was never meant to be that. it’s supposed to be a preventative measure and then a support. not a fallback

[finniestoncrane]

Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 1: A Bombshell, word count: 3.5k exposition time!! cooper's recent divorce has hit hard, personally and professionally. vault tec have made it impossible for him to find work in any movies so he's turned his talents to porn to make some money. as horrible as he thinks his day is though, his future is only going to get worse (reader shows up next chapter) request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: age gap reference, angst, oral sex, pornography

From the corner of the small, hideously decorated set, Cooper watched the skeleton crew work to clean things up after the last movie wrapped just an hour before. His skin began to crawl, a shudder rolling through his body, as he considered the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone take away dirty sheets or bring in clean ones since he arrived. 

And he was expected to fuck in these conditions. It was a living nightmare.

Trying to lighten his mood, he murmured what was supposed to be a positive sentiment.

“At least it’s not snuff. Way my luck’s going, wouldn’t that just be the cream on top of the pie.”

Cooper looked up to the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the bright studio lights which provided a familiar, albeit less high-end warmth than he was used to. He was working though, so he couldn’t complain too much. A paycheck meant he wasn’t out on the streets, the hot sun beating down on his face instead. And he had to face facts; the snap of some powerful fingers and he could be out on his ass at a moment’s notice, fired even from a gig like this. 

No prospects. Vault Tec had made sure of that not long after he’d confronted Barb. She’d gone straight to her bosses, that panel of cruelty he’d listened in on, and their retaliation, preventative measures to ensure they could continue on their journey of annihilation, had been swift and immeasurably evil. His reputation was ruined, the earth in which he’d grown and nurtured a career scorched, much like they intended to do with the rest of the world. Any upcoming opportunities, any interest that anyone held in him, gone. 

They’d been thorough, efficient. News reports, gossip between housewives, notes passed across the desk during auditions. They’d made sure he’d never work again, not in anything worth while, of course, holding his earnings hostage. And when he thought that was all they could take from him. His life, his money, his house, his wife. They had come for more. Armed Barb with the best lawyers money could hire and then offered him the worst deal. 

His silence in exchange for some brief, supervised moments with his daughter. Something about alcohol abuse, a half-truth at most, but enough to convince the judge. 

It felt cruel to him, that he was put in a position where he had to choose between Janey and the rest of humanity. A shitty thing to do to a man, that’s what he thought of it. And a shitty choice to make. And a shitty decision when he threw altruism to the side and secured the rest of humanity’s fate. He was just as complicit as they were, really, if he thought about it too hard. Which of course, he did. Each night as he struggled to sleep in his apartment. But whatever time was left, he reasoned that he might as well spend it being as happy as he could, even if that was only for one day a month when he was allowed to see Janey.

What was it? Two days ago he'd taken her to the zoo? So almost another month until he saw her again. A month of work. Blood, sweat, and tears. So much sweat.

He let his gaze fall down, taking in his body. Wrapped in a robe, nude underneath it, primed quickly by the makeup artists who seemed to only be making sure that his body hair was tidy and he wasn’t going to sweat too much during his part. Neatly trimmed pubic hair and strategically shaved nipples wouldn’t save him from that though. This was his third film, and each time his nerves, his guilt, his unrelenting shame as he drove his cock into the expert, very formal, professional cunt of whoever his co-star was, it was certain that he’d be sweating copiously only ten minutes in. 

“Coop? Hey, Coop! Howard! Keep your head in the game. Both of ‘em, heh.”

Now he was being bossed around by the lighting guy, someone whose name Cooper had forgotten already. The snorting laughter echoed in Cooper’s mind, bringing him firmly back to reality from his daydreaming. It was more mindless worrying than daydreaming, really, but it was the only reprieve he got these days, and now it seemed he couldn’t even find a moment of peace for that. 

Daydreaming suggested something positive, thoughts filled with desires or nostalgia for days gone by. But there wasn’t a single remaining vestige of his former life that he was happy to cling to, all of it tainted with soured memories and terrifying future prospects. And knowing what he knew, he still had to keep going. He had to pretend like nothing was wrong. A fake smile plastered on his face despite the mess that he was in. 

“Howard? Come on, man. Pull it together.”

The lighting guy was calling on him again, and this time he had the gall to look at Cooper with an impatient, furrowed brow. 

“You know they used to call me Mister Howard.”

“And they used to say I looked young and fresh faced, shit changes, man. You coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Keep your pants on… at least you get to.”

He knew he shouldn’t be so flippant, but his patience had worn thin over the past few months. Now that there was nothing to be charming for it was no longer second nature to him. He was rude, cold, and found he was losing himself. Deep down, there was a voice scolding him. Telling him to be thankful that when there were no more studios with their doors open to him, that he was at least able to find some places willing to hire. And while it was a lot less glamorous, he should still be grateful. 

But it was hard to feel that way when his new profession was clouded by his own insecurities.

Cooper was well aware that he wasn’t by any means experienced when it came to the world of sex. His first foray into anything of that nature was with his highschool sweetheart on prom night. An unfortunate experience that taught him nothing and ended up igniting the spark that ended that first love. Then there was Barb. He’d met her in college and they’d been together until their bitter divorce. A single one night stand between then and his current career, and that was his sexual history summed up neatly.

It always struck people as funny when they learned about his very short list of sexual conquests. He was Cooper Howard. Charming, charismatic, handsome, famous. A verified heart throb. But he was woefully unsure of what to do with that reputation, and always had been. While other stars would flirt with fans or interviewers or even directors to get a little bit more attention, Cooper was never able to offer anyone anything but a genuine and pleasant smile and maybe at a push, a mischievous wink to accompany his signature smile. He wondered how much of it had to do with the fact that he only had eyes for Barb, but even when she had pushed him to ‘play the game’ he’d still found himself unable to. 

Now, all of a sudden and based on a perception of him that was built upon years of good PR, he was thought of as some kind of casanova, and expected to act as such. He had to act like the kind of guy who charm the pants off a woman, with very little plot to back that up, and who could fuck for thirty minutes solid in front of a crew and without cumming too soon,

Interestingly, at least to Cooper, they had told him that would be the hardest part. Stamina. The suspension of orgasms. But he found it all too easy, mostly because there was never a point where he felt any kind of deeply sexual attraction to his co-stars. Much the same as his previous acting roles, he’d always viewed it as a job. It would be inappropriate to have any other feelings. The women he worked with now were beautiful, skilled, talented. But Cooper wasn’t in love with them, and he found that made it hard to coax an orgasm out of him. Luckily, that seemed to suit his new bosses pretty well. He was handsome, a known commodity, and could last a while before they worked him up to his big finale, even if they had to cut the cameras while they waited for him to get to it.

“Alright, Howard. Robe off, let’s see that cock.”

Sighing, his eyelids closing as he tried to separate himself from his actions, Cooper shrugged off the robe that covered his body, letting it slink to the floor and pool at his feet. Despite the heat, his skin still prickled as it was exposed. Nipples hardening, hairs standing on end. 

“Can we get a little enthusiasm, Coop? Like your other movies?”

Cooper muttered under his breath.

“You can get the same enthusiasm when I’m getting the same paycheck.”

“What was that, buddy?”

“I said, where do you want me?”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Ok, Phoebe’s gonna be on her back, that ok, doll?”

“Of course!” 

“Perfect… so, you’re gonna be here. We’re doing missionary first, then maybe we cut to some doggy style. Remember, eyes away from the camera, and make sure that whatever you’re doing we can see those genitals. They’re the real stars!”

This was his life now. His body getting first billing above his soul under whatever lewd title this was going to be given. 

“Mr Howard? I just wanted to say, I’m a huge fan. I watched your movies as a kid, you’re like, my dad’s favourite star.”

His co-star, Phoebe, if he remembered correctly, was laying on her back on the bed, waiting for him. Her big, green eyes were wide with excitement. She’d been a fan. And when she was a kid. Looking at her now, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed how young she was. Barely pushing her early twenties, fresh-faced, keen, full of hope. 

How would her dad feel about him now? Would she mention this? Talk about meeting Cooper Howard, but skirt around the exact details? Or would she brag? Maybe it was just him who had a disdain for this line of work. He certainly didn’t judge anyone else on the set. Only himself. 

“Uh… thank you, darlin’. Always nice to meet a fan.”

Phoebe giggled, a sweet sound that made his heart sink. She spread her legs wider, eyes flitting down to his cock which he was stroking slowly in a bid to get it stiff. 

“You ready to go?”

“I’m ready! Mr Howard?”

Cooper looked down in dismay, his flaccid member refusing to play along. A stubborn diva, it turned out. 

“Is… is there something wrong, Mr Howard? Is it me? I’m so sorry, you must be used to much bett-”

Cooper’s natural empathy, at least the last reserves of it, were pulled out of hibernation as Phoebe began to blush, embarrassed at what she perceived as her inability to turn him on.

“Oh, no, darlin’. This is a ‘me’ problem. You don’t worry about it at all, ok?”

He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, all lust evaporating as he comforted her, smiling back as she beamed appreciatively to him. 

“God damn it, ok, let’s get Harv in, he can do his scene with Phoebe, that ok, doll?”

“Oh for sure! I’m good to go.”

“Perfect, you’re an angel. You, Howard. We can shoot the exposition scene just now. Go to wardrobe and get your outfit.”

Oddly thankful, even though he was embarrassed at his inability to perform, Cooper headed to the small room where they held the small wardrobe for cast members. The exposition scenes were his favourite to shoot. Of course, they were poorly written, and his co-stars weren’t exactly professionally trained actors. But it at least felt like old times. Lines to memorise, a character to portray. And limited sexual encounters for him to fuck up.

Besides, it was porn, and he was the star. Which meant there was a lot more wooing. A lot more women, various actresses playing a myriad of characters, all of whom were seemingly desperate for Cooper’s cock, whatever role he happened to be playing. Once the exposition was out of the way, he had to fuck. But these scenes? He got to be enticed, which always made it a little easier on him. He might have even been looking forward to it today. A stroke to the ego, among other things. A boost to his confidence, and a little physical comfort to stave off the looming spectre of complete loneliness.

When he sifted through the rack and found his name on a plastic covered bundle, however, his brief glimpse of joy was stolen away. 

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. The deep blue shirt, bright, golden yellow detailing. And the hat. Not identical, but anyone watching would know that he was supposed to be portraying his old self. A cowboy, the Cooper Howard people knew and loved.

On the table behind him, he rifled through the ‘scripts’ until he found the one with his name scribbled on the top. Ten lines, some room for ad-libbing. All of it cowboy themed. Pulled directly from his movies, albeit changed a little for the sake of copyright infringement. 

He couldn’t do it. 

But then he remembered Janey. How badly he’d wanted to treat her, to spoil her. And how little money he had left after alimony. And how expensive the rent was at his new apartment, which was overpriced, disgustingly decorated, and didn’t even allow pets. 

Maybe everything would be ok in the world. Maybe he’d go on living, get to see retirement, see the world flourish, the wars end. Maybe, Vault Tec and Barb would see the light, change their ways. Maybe it was all for nothing. 

So maybe he better get his shit together and start making some money, so that what was left of his future wasn’t so abysmal.

“Put on a smile and go get your cock sucked, Cooper. Not the worst day in the world, really.”

WIth a sigh of resignation, he chose to listen to his conscience, the little voice that steered him in the right direction, and put on the suit. The material was a poor quality, some cheap polyester deal, ill fitting, too baggy for his frame. And the hat was clearly something from a cheap party supply store. But as he looked in the mirror at himself, he could push away the feeling of seeing a ghost and focus on the positives. He looked almost like himself again.

“Mr Howard? They’re ready for you.”

The polite knock and the soft voice of the only runner on set came through the door, and Cooper exited, surprising the young man in the corridor.

“Oh wow.”

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing, nothing. You just… you look like you did in your movies. I’m a little bit starstruck.”

“You gave me my coffee this morning.”

The runner looked to his feet, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah, but that was… now you look… y’know?”

Trying not to be impolite, Cooper pushed past him, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Back in what the director insisted on calling “the studio” despite it being a hastily fabricated sound stage in the middle of some tacky, shared ownership mansion in the hills, Cooper was met by a new woman who introduced herself as Veronica, before quickly telling him that everyone called her Ronnie. He smiled, clutching her hand between both of his in that confident way he used to greet fans, smiling at her as she bit her lip and smirked. It was a flirtatious look, one that gave him a bit of a boost as he subtly eyed her up and down and judged her silently.

“She definitely likes you… and she’s not too bad to look at herself. Look at you, seeing the positive side of things! Well done, Cooper. Well done.”

He made his way through the first few lines, trying his hardest to maintain a look of arousal as his co-star clumsily worked through hers, emphasis and inflections all over the place, the puns not quite hitting right the way she was delivering them. But he could forgive it all as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Well, I have to give you something for saving me from those bandits, kind sir… maybe this will be enough to repay you.”

She was adept at unbuckling his belt, repetition and muscle memory aiding her, and he could feel his erection stirring as she pulled his flaccid cock free from his pants and began to stroke it. 

“Now, ma’am… that won’t be necessary…”

Cooper’s voice trembled over his words as he took his semi-erect cock from her and began stroking it slowly himself to keep the erection building. 

“... I did what any good man would.”

“Then let me do what any good woman should.”

He cringed hard at the line, but luckily, the grimace was covered by his mouth dropping open as Ronnie took his cock in her mouth, sliding her lips over the tip with a gentle ease that made him forget momentarily how terrible his life was at that point. 

Her tongue slid over the tip, teasing over the slit and collecting his pre-cum with a satisfying moan that vibrated through him, tingling over the sensitive nerve endings. Cooper was able to sink into it, some of the muscles in his back loosening as he let himself go. Something so satisfying about the way she held him, one hand on his testicles, the other stroking his shaft as he lips puckered around his head. 

Cooper wanted to show her. Not that she was doing anything wrong, she was doing a better job than anyone else had. Ever. But he wanted to guide her, to ease her throat over his length, to breathe through her nose as he filled her mouth, to show her how he liked it. He kept himself to himself, however, putting his fingers in the belt loops of his pants so they couldn’t reach for anything before he could stop them, like the back of Ronnie’s head to down to her round, firm breasts, or even letting his fingers trail over her-

“Cut! For fuck’s sake.”

“Just as things are looking up…”

Cooper’s attention was focused on the director who sat lazily in his folding camping chair. All of him reacted to the interruption, the disruption of his genuine pleasure, finally, for the first time in who knew how long. Tense, irate. And not in the mood.

“Alright, alright… I thought this was gonna be a one take situation, but geez, Howard. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other with you! You got lines to be getting through, imbecile! How you got hired before, I’ll never know. If it wasn’t for that wife of yours, you’d-”

“Now wait just a damn minute!”

Cooper pulled away from Ronnie, his cock bouncing around as he stomped in a way that might have seemed comical to the crew if he hadn’t looked so intense, filled with complete rage as he shook a pointing finger at the director.

“I am sick of taking this from-”

Everyone was jolted into a panic as a rumble spread through the ground. One burst.

“Can’t be an earthquake…”

The runner had only just come into the room when everything in Cooper’s vision was blocked out by a bright, white light. A quick flare, like a firework, or a flashlight being turned on in a dark room. He could see it still, but smaller, and somewhere on the horizon, down in the city. 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Get down.”

It was perhaps the last truly selfless thing Cooper did. The glass landed on them, some people got splintered by the small shards as they fell to the ground. But they’d avoided the worst of it. And he didn’t need to help them. These were not people he cared for. They were people who were cruel, difficult, practical strangers. People who didn’t deserve what Cooper knew was coming.

He thought of that day a lot. Of how he’d had it somewhere in him, a long, long time ago, to offer himself or his wisdom in exchange for nothing, to people who these days he’d sooner shoot in the head before spitting in their cup. 

Bitterly, he indulged himself, hoping that at least some of them were suffering a fate worse than his, if such a thing actually existed. 

“Maybe the mutants.”

There was hardly any time this evening for him to satisfy his desire for revenge with fitful fantasies, however, because he was rudely interrupted by who he expected was yet another customer tapping on his shoulder. A new client who didn’t know the rules.

No touching before payment.

So he turned to politely inform them, and make sure they didn’t forget it next time.

[hussyknee]

International news outlets are predictably parroting whatever they see the government-run news media propagandizing, so the foreign commentators who have never met a Sri Lankan even by accident are announcing that we have elected a Marxist leader. We have not. It's a coalition of mild social democrats lmao. Even the main JVP entity hasn't really been Marxist in decades. It's all neoliberal hysteria.

Here's some necessary context for what's going on, and by far the best summation of the situation as it stands. I've highlighted the parts that the leftists of other countries will probably find salient and deeply relatable lmao.

It was always going to come to this. The first Sri Lankan election in generations where even a remotely leftist party stood a chance of winning was always going to end with an almighty Red Scare. So it is that the presidential campaign of National People’s Power (NPP) candidate Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) is inspiring lurid visions of an impending violent, dystopian regime, splayed across news and social media. This is the prophecy of the Sri Lankan elite establishment, a select cross section of the country’s businesspeople, policymakers, professionals, journalists and academics who have been proximate to state power, especially in the last two years. Scrutiny of them and their crescendoing hysteria reveals much about how power and privilege work in Sri Lanka, and what happens when their wielders are threatened. Mythmaking

The pre-election Red Scare is the culmination of a two-year-long project by the elite establishment to sustain the regime of Ranil Wickremesinghe. This project is founded on a number of myths which rewrite recent history, chief among them the idea that the Aragalaya suddenly turned violent due to its ‘infiltration’ by the NPP’s lynchpin party the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) and other leftists. This myth, just like the one that Wickremesinghe stepped in to become Prime Minister then President “when no one else would”, only serves the elite establishment’s attempts to justify and sanitise Wickremesinghe’s power-hungry scheming.

Wickremesinghe was the only person shameless enough to accept Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s offer to become Prime Minister without any conditions. Likewise, the question of violence only became a problem after Wickremesinghe used the Aragalaya to manoeuvre himself to the Presidency. As always for elites, the spectre of left-wing violence is more serious than actual right-wing violence. Thus, NPP politicians standing on the banks of the Diyawanna is apparently far more alarming than the security forces ruthlessly dismantling GotaGoGama and brutalising its inhabitants on the very same day Wickremesinghe was selected as President by Parliament.

In the mythologisation of Wickremesinghe, we are further meant to forget that he has presided over a striking series of rights violations and undemocratic measures. Recounted partially and briefly: arbitrarily detaining multiple Aragalaya activists; violently repressing numerous protests by student and trade unions; passing the Bureau of Rehabilitation Act and Online Safety Act; deliberately preventing scheduled local authorities elections; continuing to obstruct memorialisation events by Tamils; and the ongoing Sinhala colonisation of the north and east.

As Wickremesinghe completed his transformation from supposed champion of liberal democracy to illiberal autocrat, establishment elites, especially the self-styled liberals among them, found themselves tongue tied about these issues for more than two years. If Ranil Wickremesinghe violates a human right, does a Sri Lankan liberal make a sound? ‘Stability’ and ‘Recovery’

It is not that these establishment elites merely promote Wickremesinghe’s government; it’s that they have been deeply and intimately involved in crafting and enforcing its policies, whilst often passing themselves off as impartial commentators. This particularly pertains to the Government’s economic agenda, and the idea that it has created ‘stability’ and rescued the country from the abyss to lead it to ‘recovery’. From the start, ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ have been built on the backs of working class and poor Sri Lankans, who have literally paid for it with increased taxes, deteriorating public services and severely slashed welfare under the extravaganza of austerity mandated by the IMF.

The elite establishment’s espousal of this ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ turns on a rabid, evangelical belief in neoliberal economic ideology. This tethers the unconditional acceptance of the IMF and its dictates, with any deviation from them held as ruinous. Similarly, neoliberalism manifests as identity through a strict belief that all wealth and success within a capitalist economy is gained through personal virtue (discounting inheritance, aid or luck), and inversely, anyone who is unsuccessful must be lazy and stupid. Such thinking is an apt glaze for the naturally patrician worldview of most establishment elites’ social class.

As a result, establishment elites are indignant that working and poor Sri Lankans are not grateful enough for the ‘recovery’. In truth, the only real inconveniences they suffered were the fuel shortages and power cuts of 2022. So, they cannot and do not genuinely contend with suffering of many over the past two years—including the still unbearable cost of living, rising child malnutrition, falling school attendance and millions still disconnected from electricity to name but a few ongoing calamities. Consequently, working and poor Sri Lankans must be too stupid to understand the ‘recovery’, the necessity of the IMF’s ‘bitter medicine’ forced upon them and to even vote. In the same breath, of course, these elites ignore and obscure the fact that corporates and the wealthy—which is often to say they themselves—are spared any similar medicine, and get to freely evade taxes, enjoy generous state subsidies and concessions and hoard their wealth offshore.

Contours of a Scare

All this exposes such deep contempt by establishment elites for working and poor people. This is what fuels their wholesale disgust at anyone voting against Wickremesinghe, or not even settling for the Samagi Jana Balawegaya’s Sajith Premadasa (to the great dismay of many elites, the two could not set aside their blood feud and combine forces). Buried within this is a deep fear of a political reality they do not know and cannot control. Thus, the maniacal scaremongering about how democracy would be subverted by an AKD regime due to the internal intricacies of communist parties—as if the JVP and particularly the NPP qualified as such. (And as if Premadasa and the SJB, and especially the unelected, election-cancelling Wickremesinghe, were paragons of democracy.)

The Red Scare is also founded on bringing up the JVP’s violence during the two insurrections it led, particularly the second. Certainly, there needs to be a complete accounting for the horrendous violence the JVP instigated, which the JVP has failed to do itself. But it cannot be done in any honest sense by the elites who ignore or deny that the UNP government and its death squads (under Premadasa’s father) killed and disappeared far greater numbers of people than the JVP (by estimates of three to up to ten times as many), or that Wickremesinghe oversaw an actual torture camp.

In addition to these many hypocrisies, the Red Scare is also founded on the elite establishment’s striking political illiteracy. Words like ‘Marxism’, ‘socialism’ and ‘communism’ are thrown about with wild abandon without any serious evaluation of them against the NPP. Elites regularly conflate the JVP and Frontline Socialist Party, despite them actually being mortal enemies; and believe all trade unions are controlled in hivemind-fashion by the JVP, despite the wide range of trade union political allegiances. Acknowledging spiralling social deprivation in the country is “cosplaying poverty” and any critique of the government’s economic agenda and neoliberal dogma in general inspires a virulent derision for “commies”, in dizzying, barely-coherent invective and memes imported straight from the US and the gutters of far right social media. These ignorant, imbecilic displays would be amusing if they weren’t being bandied about by actual adult journalists, lecturers and professionals, speaking to the country’s depressing level of intellectual discourse. The Endgame

The real irony here is that the NPP does not warrant any of the elite establishment’s hysteria. Certainly, it stakes out an actual difference with the existing political hegemony by physically embodying change. AKD, just like his government in waiting, promise a halt to the endless game of musical chairs that characterises government-making in Sri Lanka. This contrasts with Premadasa and Wickremesinghe’s politics which evince more of the same, in the latter’s case even more nakedly and shamelessly with the most corrupt and criminal figures on offer. (This, too, is another inconvenient fact shrugged off by establishment elites as necessary realpolitik.)

Of course, many of those prospectively voting for the NPP to “give them a chance” reveal the Sri Lankan predilection to go with the ‘rella’ or wave. But embedded in there, too, is the idea that this chance is being given in desperation, against a political system which has brought them nothing but economic ruin. That system could not be characterised more effectively than by Wickremesinghe himself, who makes little attempt to hide his disdain for ordinary people.

Yet it’s easy to overstate such change. In substance, even a cursory glance at the NPP’s manifesto reveals not a plan to usher in full-throated communism but a milquetoast, deliberately vague social democratic program. Most tellingly, it promises to maintain the country’s economic settings, including the current IMF program, as well as its deeply majoritarian state structure. The establishment should in fact be thrilled that the supposed biggest threat to its existence accepts the very core tenets of its modus operandi.

What this also means is that if and when any substantive change fails to materialise for many people—particularly in living conditions, as will certainly be the case under continued adherence to the IMF program—any NPP government risks spectacular collapse. That will leave ample space for any new, reactionary force to step in, including Wickremesinghe who will be waiting, cockroach-like, or another dispiriting shuffling of the current deck. In such a scenario, the elite establishment could find multiple avenues to attach their hooks to, for they are nothing if not the most talented grifters.

This election is unlikely to spell a definitive end to the political establishment or the deranged elites who uphold it. But for anyone sickened by the elite establishment’s hypocrisy and degeneracy, one night of them losing their collective minds over the Red Scare they have convinced themselves can only be a fleeting, pleasurable treat.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

This Is Why Dictatorships Fail

April 10, 2025

He blinked. But we don’t really know why.

Whether it was the stock market cascading downward, investors fleeing from U.S. Treasury bonds, Republican donors jamming the White House phones, or even fears for his own portfolio, President Donald Trump decided yesterday afternoon to lift, temporarily, most of his arbitrary tariffs. This was his personal decision. His “instinct,” as he put it. His whim. And his decision, instinct, or whim could bring the tariffs back again.

The Republicans who lead Congress have refused to use the power of the legislative branch to stop him or moderate him, in this or almost any other matter. The Cabinet is composed of sycophants and loyalists who are willing to defend contradictory policies, even if doing so makes them look like fools. The courts haven’t decisively intervened yet either. No one, apparently, is willing to prevent a single man from destroying the world economy, wrecking financial markets, forcing this country and other countries into recession if that’s what he feels like doing when he gets up tomorrow morning.

This is what arbitrary, absolute power looks like. And this is why the men who wrote the Constitution never wanted anyone to have it. In that famously hot, stuffy room in Philadelphia, windows closed for the sake of secrecy, they sweated and argued about how to limit the powers of the American executive. They arrived at the idea of dividing power between different branches of government. As James Madison wrote in “Federalist No. 47”: “The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary in the same hands … may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny.”

More than two centuries later, the system created by that first Constitutional Congress has comprehensively failed. The people and institutions that are supposed to check executive power are refusing to restrain this president. We now have a de facto tyrant who thinks he can bend reality to his will without taking any facts or any evidence into consideration, and without listening to any contrary views. And although the economic damage he has caused is easier to measure, he has inflicted the same level of harm to scientific research, to civil liberties, to health care, and to the civil service.

From this wasteful and destructive incident, one useful lesson can be drawn. In recent years, many people who live in democracies have become frustrated by their political systems, by the endless wrangling, the difficulty of creating compromise, the slow pace of decisions. Just as in the first half of the 20th century, would-be authoritarians have begun arguing that we would all be better off without these institutions. “The truth is that men are tired of liberty,” said Mussolini. Lenin spoke with scorn about the failings of so-called bourgeois democracy. In the United States, a brand-new school of techno-authoritarian thinkers find our political system inefficient and want to replace it with a “national CEO,” a dictator by a different name.

But in the past 48 hours, Donald Trump has just given us a pitch-perfect demonstration of why legislatures are necessary, why checks and balances are useful, and why most one-man dictatorships become poor and corrupt. If the Republican Party does not return Congress to the role it is meant to play and the courts don’t constrain the president, this cycle of destruction will continue and everyone on the planet will pay the price.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

He blinked. But we don’t really know why.

Whether it was the stock market cascading downward, investors fleeing from U.S. Treasury bonds, Republican donors jamming the White House phones, or even fears for his own portfolio, President Donald Trump decided yesterday afternoon to lift, temporarily, most of his arbitrary tariffs. This was his personal decision. His “instinct,” as he put it. His whim. And his decision, instinct, or whim could bring the tariffs back again.

The Republicans who lead Congress have refused to use the power of the legislative branch to stop him or moderate him, in this or almost any other matter. The Cabinet is composed of sycophants and loyalists who are willing to defend contradictory policies, even if doing so makes them look like fools. The courts haven’t decisively intervened yet either. No one, apparently, is willing to prevent a single man from destroying the world economy, wrecking financial markets, forcing this country and other countries into recession if that’s what he feels like doing when he gets up tomorrow morning.

This is what arbitrary, absolute power looks like. And this is why the men who wrote the Constitution never wanted anyone to have it. In that famously hot, stuffy room in Philadelphia, windows closed for the sake of secrecy, they sweated and argued about how to limit the powers of the American executive. They arrived at the idea of dividing power between different branches of government. As James Madison wrote in “Federalist No. 47”: “The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary in the same hands … may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny.”

More than two centuries later, the system created by that first Constitutional Congress has comprehensively failed. The people and institutions that are supposed to check executive power are refusing to restrain this president. We now have a de facto tyrant who thinks he can bend reality to his will without taking any facts or any evidence into consideration, and without listening to any contrary views. And although the economic damage he has caused is easier to measure, he has inflicted the same level of harm to scientific research, to civil liberties, to health care, and to the civil service.

From this wasteful and destructive incident, one useful lesson can be drawn. In recent years, many people who live in democracies have become frustrated by their political systems, by the endless wrangling, the difficulty of creating compromise, the slow pace of decisions. Just as in the first half of the 20th century, would-be authoritarians have begun arguing that we would all be better off without these institutions. “The truth is that men are tired of liberty,” said Mussolini. Lenin spoke with scorn about the failings of so-called bourgeois democracy. In the United States, a brand-new school of techno-authoritarian thinkers find our political system inefficient and want to replace it with a “national CEO,” a dictator by a different name.

But in the past 48 hours, Donald Trump has just given us a pitch-perfect demonstration of why legislatures are necessary, why checks and balances are useful, and why most one-man dictatorships become poor and corrupt. If the Republican Party does not return Congress to the role it is meant to play and the courts don’t constrain the president, this cycle of destruction will continue and everyone on the planet will pay the price.

[orangezinnia]

ACGAS 2020 fic

wrote a little 1k introspection/angst drabble for Tristan! (ft. a worried Siegfried). it's supposed to be part of a larger fanfic, but i'm not sure if i'll get around to that, so i thought in the meantime i'd post it on its own :>

"Tristan," Siegfried's voice floats after him, and he nearly trips over his own feet trying to stop, ending up gripping onto the jut of kitchen-hallway wall. "Are you alright?"

And- it's different this time. He knows: If he says yes, Siegfriend won't ask again after this. He just won't. Those are the rules.

He might've, even just a year ago. Could have pulled rank with "I'm your brother, it's my job." Even "I'd have hoped you could stop acting like a petulant youth for just long enough to-!" But not anymore.

It's not polite, not coerced out of him by social convention. And it stopped being "casual" about two surreptitious interrogations ago. Tristan doesn't have to say yes.

Except for the part where he does, except for the part where he rips up his bed to look sufficiently lived-in for Mrs. Hall's suspicions, except for where it's that long-craved stretch of the year when the blue sky lasts all day and it's not even warm at night, then. Besides that.

Tristan could never stand walking past the infirmary. This is to say- within hearing range. At least 5 other people in his crew said the exact same thing, and at least 3 others would nod and hum whenever they did, but he, uniquely, hates himself for this.

One of his superiors- just the once, those one-times that the other party has certainly forgotten but you will never be able to shake off- noticed him speeding up as he needed to pass the tent, and their gazes met horribly, and the look he gave Tristan burned him hot with ever-shame. Very purposeful, personalized, it seemed, crafted just for him. A narrowing of the eyes, a small shake of the head.

Like a dog that's opened his mouth to bark again, reminding him sharply of his training. I know that you know how you should be better.

Not that they ever really saw action. This, at least, is the one thing he never lied to Siegfried about. But it WAS the desert, and it WAS animals, and things happen. Kicks, most often. Bites were the worst. Bites have a furative way of thwarting every preventative measure thrown in their path to become infected anyway.

It was just- the moaning. In a room of two dozen other beds, people are trampling over themselves to never be "that one". Theatrical, unnecessary, practically a melody. Which means the only ones to actually slip through are the real ones.

Sometimes quiet and thready, in time with every breath. Others, silent like death and just as pale, hours of this until a sudden howl. That loud spasming cry where he can't be sure if he only imagined the window panes trembling.

There was always at least one who was just: constant. That's the only way to describe it. Just constant.

And he never knew what to say. He never knew what the hell to say.

He'd smile while talking, a beautiful trait that he trained into himself because it had the great effect of making life seem to breeze past him- and something would turn in their eyes, a light goes off, and he knew. That was it. Could feel himself getting scratched off whatever list of people they had in their head.

He'd often plan his visits for just before shower time, for that reason. When he stepped out shaking and could tell himself it was just from the cold.

The sound of it. Someone should do a study on it someday, Tristan thinks: what the hearing of someone else's cries and screams does to the brain, to the neurons. Why his chest felt like the punched up cage of a badly startled animal, and the skin along his arms stirred itself into chills.

It still wouldn't excuse him, is the problem with that. He's a solider. More to it, he's a fully grown man. He should've been able to handle it. Should have even slowed as he rounded the infirmary, and soaked it in, and even always meant to do that in penance but never did. Because how selfish to say: you're suffering, and it's really rather intrusive to me, who isn't.

Siegfried was a solider. Older than him by shy of two decades. Siegfried would- be cowed, likely, yes, Tristan's not completely lost it. But he's not like Tristan. He wouldn't be content with standing there stupidly as he gets scratched off "the list". Siegfried can bear it.

But he can't help the feeling that rises- I know what it's like, I can't do that to Siegfried. He's not going to know what to do, and we're both going to shuffle in place feeling bad, and lost, and I'm going to hate him for it regardless how much I don't want to.

Yes or no, idiot. And quickly. Tristan presses his forehead to the cool paint of the wall, not exactly helping whatever case of "fineness" he's built.

It's so much easier to say yes when he knows someone won't believe him, will come back looking. When "Okay, then," means "Later, then" or "Good to hear," sounds like "You're kidding me", and silence is "I'm surprised you even tried that."

The dance of yes, yes, yes, until one is cornered and collapsed and can't is an ancient and sacred tradition- one that should be respected and obeyed and followed as closely as possible.

The thing is. Tristan has never successfully treated a rabbit on his own. Has never-once-not handed it off to Siegfreid, crowing, "there's nothing wrong with it, Sieg, I just can't see it, can't you?" and has never-not-once been right.

The plight of prey animals. It's more lucrative to hide that they're sick, to keep going and going and going, until you find them in a corner drooling and gone still and the vet informs you it's been too long.

The thing is: Tristan doesn't know what will happen if he keeps going.

"No," Tristan hushes out, "And I haven't been." Then, "It's fine, though. All good," and he pushes off the wall to rocket away up the staircase.

[darkonekrisrewrite]

Something I've noticed is that MHA and MLB (miraculous ladybug) is that they are similar in how their protagonists are blamed for the wrong things.

Like Deku constantly injures himself because no one taught him how to use his quirk, and is over a decade behind his peers, gets blamed for that. Or how the series seemingly gives him equal responsibility for him and Le Million not saving Eri right away, when he wanted to, Mirio overruled him, meaning he wouldn't get the support needed to push this and he's supposed to listen to his upperclassman.

Yet he isn't given any blame for his lack of critical thinking skills when it comes to heroes and morality. If they are a hero they must be good, and villains must want to be perfect heroes for the law, to be redeemable.

Endeavor says to his face that he only took him and Bakugou on to manipulate Shoto, after Shoto has told him he bought & abused his mom, and himself. Deku "oh it's so good that you are working on forgiving your dad," right in the same room as Natsuo who isn't. Then tells Dabi "Endeavor is such a good hero and mentor, you have no right to be upset"

Let me know if you want me to go more into the parallels of this

Yeah, Deku getting blamed for not knowing how to use his (very new) Quirk was wrong.

At that time, it made me feel bad for Deku, because anyone could see that those circumstances weren't really his fault.

It was the fault of UA and All-might for not giving Deku extra time and help in mastering OFA, even if there was some attempts at instruction, none of them ever cut Deku any slack for having completely understandable difficulties.

Not a very logical line of thinking...

The Eri situation was a little different because while Deku is supposed to listen to his senior for what to do, he did let a clearly scared little girl go off with overhaul, a man they knew was very dangerous.

Basically putting his orders above the little girl's safety, I didn't like that.

(Because Deku could have run off with Eri and Mirio could have taken overhaul out by himself if there was a fight.

Because if Mirio was able to fight for a while against overhaul in a fully enclosed space (something that heavily compliments overhaul's quirk), while he was quirkless...Mirio could have curb stomped overhaul while protecting any civilians that may or may not have been close.)

That was where my problem with Deku started I think.

Because Deku doesn't have anything to criticize about hero society or the victims it creates.

He says that he needs to extend a helping hand, not giving a single thought to the idea of preventative measures to stop people from falling to villainy in the first place.

And apparently, not giving them any real mercy or help either, other than a fist bump at their death.

All for the sake of protecting the "innocent" people who created the villains and who would have laughed at Deku's own suffering as a quirkless less than a year ago (canonically).

These are meant to be the ideals of the "World's Greatest Hero" btw...

So I guess it makes sense that Deku wouldn't be blamed or called out for this, since he's just doing what hero society needs to be "Normal" again.

Deku didn't even save the world technically.

Because if the same problems that created the Lov still exist, then all Deku really did was beat at a rising Ocean Tide, no different than what All-might was doing during his time.

As of yet, nothing has actually been accomplished or achieved.

All the endeavor and Dabi stuff ties into this too.

At this point, I don't think Deku will ever have any real negative feelings towards hero society, and thus never change anything.

(Despite all this, I'm still hoping shigaraki is alive and Deku conflicts with him more to prove me wrong 🤞🍀)

And yeah, more parallels would be cool 👍 thanks for the ask!

[delawaredetroit]

Hi! I love your BNHA analyses! But I do have to say one thing about the licensing exam.

Your points about Todoroki would hold up... If most of what the manga is trying to communicate about his character hadn't already been resolved.

Todoroki already learned a) not to underestimate his opponents and b) to respect his teammates and fellow hero students. He learned the latter during the Sports Festival when his move against Sero drained him and during his fight against Midoriya. Not to mention the incident with Stain showed him (through Ida's situation) the importance of relying on and trusting others. And for the latter, he learned during the final exam. He took charge, messed up, and had to face the reality that someone else (Yaoyorozu) knew better and that he had to follow that someone's lead.

These faults were already acknowledged and addressed. There was no reason to do so again during the licensing exam. In fact, I would argue that it kept his character stagnant. His character didn't improve from the remedial courses- only Bakugo's did because that entire arc was about him, not Todoroki- and was left out of a major arc. This is also supported by him and Inasa- the reason he failed- barely interacting during the remedial courses. The only reason he failed was so that Bakugo wasn't the only one to do so. Because Horikoshi can never let Bakugo be the worst or fail at something/face consequences on his own.

(I would also point out that the way he failed and what you listed had nothing to do with one another. The only reason Todoroki failed was because Inasa held a grudge. He didn't actually do anything wrong except for engage with him for a little too long. And who wouldn't? This kid he barely knew and doesn't remember him is attacking him for nothing. How is he supposed to do the task at hand when another participant- that would irl be a fellow hero- is purposely sabotaging him?)

I agree with most other things you say, but Todoroki failing was something that shouldn't have happened. He was already humbled and learned better

I knew one of these would end up in my inbox eventually after I wrote this post.

Shouto has had a problem with cooperating with others since the beginning of the manga. An established character flaw like that doesn't go away over night just because he starts to address it.

It's true that he learned not to look down on his peers in during the sports festival. And he was able to work with Izuku and Iida during the Stain Arc, but Izuku was one of the closest relationships he had and Shouto trusts him with his life. After much handholding and being told directly what he was doing wrong, he was able to work together with a classmate who deeply respected him (Momo) during his midterm.

That's improvement for sure. But it in no way meant Shouto had the ability to work with people he didn't see everyday or who were hostile to him in particular.

As I've said, Shouto likely would have failed the midterm if he had been paired with someone else who also had difficulty with teamwork like Bakugou. That's likely the only way Shouto would have learned this lesson early enough to prevent a failure at the provisional licensing exam.

2. Whether Shouto's character improved from the remedial course arc is a separate question. I'd be inclined to agree with you that that arc was mostly for Bakugou and Inasa's sake.

3. On the issue of the reasons I listed and the reason he failed having nothing to do with one another.

Shouto made a series of mistakes during the licensing exam.

First, he immediately rejected cooperation in the first stage of the exam and bulldozed through it without thinking about what the purpose of this test was and what they were measuring. Because he is quite skilled, he still passed the first round anyway. But since he didn't consider the big picture at all in the first half, it put him at a disadvantage in the second half of the exam.

Second, he stirred up conflict between the tests by confronting Inasa (this was unintentional obviously, but this was the effect of his behavior).

Third, he rejected cooperation with Inasa during the second phase of the exam from the second he appeared, though that was a mutual error for both himself and Inasa.

Fourth, he was significantly distracted by a personal matter and got into an argument with another hero in the middle of a fight with a villain.

Fifth, Shouto and Inasa almost severely injured a fellow examinee who was incapacited and was in need of help during a rescue exercise.

To some extent, it feels unfair because the HSPC changed the scoring of the exam to weigh cooperation more heavily after Kamino and because UA doesn't value this as highly (see Bakugou not failing after attacking his teammate in the midterm), but there is an internal logic to it. Shouto was lacking in a main skill they were testing.

4. On how anyone would react to Inasa's provocation

It's not that Shouto's reaction isn't understandable, but he was in a licensing exam to become a type of first responder. People say and do dire things in emergency situations, and sometimes they make it personal. Yes, he shouldn't have taken the bait and he should have continued to focus on the task at hand because that was his job in this exam. He was asking for a license to save people's lives, so more can and should be expected of him. What Shouto demonstrated here was that he prioritized arguing over a personal matter over rescuing the civilians in this exercise. Of course they were going to fail him.

Again, Shouto is one of my favorite characters in BNHA, but he earned this L.

[mania-sama]

Trick or treat!!! 😁

hello, dear! welcome to my humble abode! dig into this bowl to get some candy… ah! you’ve got a fanfiction line explanation! a rare gem indeed.

this excerpt is from if you need me, dear, i’m the same as i was:

He’s on the court before Sakusa is. He’s across the net before Argentina can celebrate their victory. He’s grabbing Oikawa’s shoulders tightly before anybody else can get to him. Iwaizumi stares into his estranged best friend’s glassy, confused, uncomprehending eyes. He’s shaking Tooru’s shoulders, desperate as he yells: “You are having a heart attack!” And Hajime is fifteen and three-quarters, learning emergency CPR for his new part-time job as a lifeguard. He thinks that it could come in useful. He thinks that saving people isn’t a job he would mind. And Hajime is sixteen, watching Tooru recover from his surgery, and he realizes he will never play professional volleyball. He wants to help people like Tooru forever — people who want to dedicate their whole life to a sport but have a body that strives to prevent their goal every step of the way. He can’t do that as a player on the court. And Hajime is seventeen, trying to convince Tooru to eat a sandwich even though he is adamantly insisting he isn’t hungry. He discovers sports medicine isn’t just about the physical ills and pains. To be a good athletic trainer, he has to see every aspect of a player’s well-being, and that includes their mental health. And Hajime is eighteen, standing alone in the airport and experiencing loss for the first time. In order for Oikawa to grow as an athlete, he has to cut away the weed strangling his roots. Hajime lets him without complaint. This is part of his new career, after all; if he helps athletes succeed, they would all, one day, leave his medical care. And Hajime is twenty-seven, losing his best friend for a second time at the end of the first set of chest compressions. At least three ribs have cracked under his pace and pressure. He pinches Tooru’s nose, pries his jaw open, and breathes air into his lungs twice. His ring and pinky finger automatically find his pulse point. Nothing. Seeing that no medical equipment has arrived, he starts the second set of chest compressions. Oikawa’s bones creak and give way under his desperation. He knows CPR like the back of his hand; if the ribs are breaking, that means it’s working. It doesn’t get rid of the panic and pain at the thought of how much damage he’s doing to Oikawa’s body. The paramedics are a second too late with their LUCAS device at the end of the last compression. He dives down for another round of mouth-to-mouth, recognizing, faintly yet viscerally at the same time, that Oikawa’s soft skin is pale and rapidly cooling. At the junction between his neck and jaw, Iwaizumi searches for a heartbeat. Breathe. Nothing. Breathe. Nothing.

this entire segment, as i intended, is meant to be read completely out of breath, gasping and choking on every single word. it’s meant to feel like the world is rushing and crumbling around you. it’s meant to be read at the speed of lightning, each word cackling and breaking. the periods in the paragraphs are merely suggestions; every paragraph starts with an and because the last sentence, the last paragraph never really ended.

it’s meant to be, in all intents and purposes, to be one continuous run-on sentence. unfortunately, that would be rather bad form for me as a writer. i don’t have the skill to pull it off just yet.

when you get to the “breathe. nothing. breathe. nothing.” it’s not supposed to be a gentle breathe. it’s supposed to be a gasp, panicked and hurting and desperate. it’s a cry, a sob of pain. medically, he’s doing a very measured recovery breath to force oikawa’s lungs into the action of breathing. mentally, it’s everything but measured. the “nothing” is crying. the actual sob with tears. nothing! he is screaming, knowing that his best friend is fucking dead, but he is saying nothing as he dives into another breath.

it should be read, more accurately, as: “gasp. please, please. don’t leave.”

and this all really stems from the line directly before this excerpt:

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi whispers, all of the air leaving his lungs.

everything just rushed out of him. he has nothing left. and then, the buzzer sounds with this:

Sixteen to fourteen. Team Argentina wins Olympic gold.

that’s the last line of clarity before everything shatters. literally, the sound breaks with the buzzer as the entire world falls away and rushes at the same time.

this is probably my favorite part of the entire fic, one of my favorite things that i have ever written to date. i put a lot of care into this. everything i wrote came from the heart, and i hope how i intended it to be read translated well.

[crisalidaseason]

Seventeenth entry: sometimes you can’t interfere.

There are things above your capabilities, like dealing with dick measuring contests. What are you going to protect your ward from? two guys hopelessly infatuated with her? It’s more fun to watch them embarrass themselves.

****

Protecting Violet Sorrengail was a challenging task. She had many enemies waiting for a split second to slice her throat, a few people in leadership who clearly disliked her connection to Xaden, cadets who thought she was undeserving of her dragons and life - as if she was not the embodiment of an honorable rider. She was also very dangerous to herself and her living meant keeping his own brother in the realm of the living.

Liam managed though, even liked it on some levels. Violet was a nice friend, offered great advice and had an interesting view of the world so Liam made sure to be a damn good shadow. He spotted stabby fuckers and old distrustful scribes from a kilometer away, kept her from getting in trouble when her tongue ran a bit too acidic for Aeto’s taste, he enabled all her asinine ideas - you try to stop Violet Sorrengail from doing something.

But whatever was happening between her, Aetos and Xaden was something Liam could not even begin to interfere with.

Xaden Riorson and Dain Aetos were fucking staring at each other like two teenagers who were love struck by the same girl. They were adults. Riders. Liam supposed that being stupidly infatuated with Violet was not necessarily the bad part - good for her, honestly, she was very pretty - but the two men could at least try to be less pathetic about it. Xaden liked to cover his dislike over Aetos on the Colonel but Liam knew it was fueled by his jealousy over Violet - which was so stupid because she was just as disgustingly obsessed over his brother.

Liam was torn between amusement and frustration.

“What would our objective be, Aetos?”

Mira Sorrengail’s voice finally broke the staring contest and Aetos returned his focus on the mock-Battle brief and the map in front of them “What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking a haphazard wooden structure? Or something more substantial?”

“Like they had time to build a fortress overnight” Ridoc mumbled beside Liam “It has to be wooden, right?”

“You are all so fucking literal” Mira groaned, clearly annoyed at them “Fine, let’s say they occupied a keep that’s already established. Stone and all”

“But the civilians didn’t call for help?” Quin asked “Protocol calls for a distress signal this far into the mountains. They should have lit their distress beacon, alerting patrolling riders, at which time the dragons on patrol would have told all available dragons in the area. The very riders in this room would have mounted first as the reaction force and the others would have been woken from their rests, allowing the riders to prevent the loss of the keep in the first place.”

The older Sorrengail scoffed “Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very…theoretical combat maneuvers. But things out here don’t always go according to plan. So why don’t we talk about all the ways things can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”

Liam refrained from looking at Mira directly, but he could notice the weight of a rider’s life on her words. There was a typical arrogance of someone who knew more than them, but also a genuine warning and moment of teaching.

“How many of you have been called out as third-years?” she asked.

Both Emery and Xaden manifested themselves.

“That’s not correct. We’re never called into service until graduation” Aetos questioned.

“Yeah, all right” Emery spat “just wait until next year. I can’t count how many times we’re the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency”

The squad leader seemed to pale at the information and Liam almost felt bad for him. It was not necessarily a secret that cadets were called into service, but it was a rather recent change. Too bad that they had no idea why. Liam doubted even the lieutenants in that very room knew of the real danger outside their wards.

“Now that’s settled. Catch” Mira threw them dragon models.

Liam caught his with expertise, running a finger on the chunky and simple carving.

“Yours are better” Xaden muttered.

Liam smiled. Of course they were better. He was proud of them - which reminded him that he still did not finish Andarna.

“Pretend Messina and Exal don’t exist back there, and we’re the only squad available to take back that keep. Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you’d use those powers in unison to conquer your objective”

Silence stretched for a few seconds. Liam waited for Aetos to speak but alas the man was fuming at Xaden. Emery was probably waiting on the first years to embarrass themselves and Quin was deep in thought. There was a frown on Ridoc’s face as he looked at Liam, running a hand on his brown curls in distress.

“But they don’t teach that to first-years” Liam countered to Mira, as neutral as possible.

He made the mistake of looking into the older Sorrengail’s face. Not that Liam felt necessarily intimidated by the woman, he could not afford to do so, but she had just as intense of a stare as her sister. The only difference was that Mira looked at him - and his relic - as if he was the danger. She looked at him and his proximity with her sister like something she needed to fix. Liam noticed, from his peripheral vision, as Xaden went rigid at the sight.

Fuck. That was not going to end well.

Clearing her throat, Violet shifted in her seat and leaned closer to Liam’s side. He glanced at her, expecting everything but finding her staring at Mira warningly. A very obvious message in her amber eyes. For a moment, the two sisters seemed to wrestle in silence - though communication was established within that simple share of looks - before Mira set her widened eyes on Liam again.

“They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you’re all busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during the Squad Battle, and it’s almost May, which means final War Games should be beginning, right?”

“Two weeks” Aetos replied.

But Liam could only think about how strange it felt to have Violet defend him - and Xaden by extent. It was not a bad feeling, just…strange. He always thought that loyalty was his mantra, the reason he continued moving and living - loyalty to his brother, his kin, his sister, his dragon. He was used to giving and receiving loyalty from a very specific set of people. There was something about Violet Sorrengail forsaking her blood ties for him - for them - that sent this constricting emotion down his throat.

Liam felt like fucking shit. Whenever he thought his guilt was under control, Violet had to unknowingly remind him how truthful and loyal she could be.

“Good timing, then. Not all of you will survive the games if you’re not prepared” Mira continued “This kind of thinking will give your squad—your entire wing—an advantage, since I guarantee your wingleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities”

Xaden, who was stoic and almost casual, did not say a word but had probably already assessed and positioned everyone.

“Who is in command?” Mira inquired “and let’s pretend that I don’t have three years of seniority on even the highest-ranked of you”

“Then I’m in command” Aetos replied, puffing.

“Our wingleader is here” Liam pointed “I would say that puts him in command”

And the words tasted of regret as soon as he uttered them because his brother’s face changed minimally - but just enough - promising the pettiest approach to that conversation. Liam had just catapulted another dick measuring contest.

“We can pretend I’m not here, just for the sake of the exercise. Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves”

Xaden- the little shit that the man is - draped his arms on the back of Violet’s chair in the worst casual demonstration of a claim. Which was also honestly pathetic because Xaden had made no moves - from what Liam was aware of - to finally quench the exhausting tension between him and Violet. That entire interaction was painful to watch to the point Liam wanted to laugh hysterically.

And to think Imogen and Garrick were missing that.

Violet whispered something under her breath - probably and conveniently chastising Xaden - until both of them decided that it would be very appropriate to stare at each other for a few seconds too long.

“You’re. The. Wingleader.” Aetos said between gritted teeth.

That was enough to break the absolutely weird and infatuated staring contest between Xaden and Violet. If they thought that exchange was discreet, they were both delusional.

“I’m not even supposed to be here” his brother said as nonchalantly as always “But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of War Games, you’d be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Tavis, which he’d get from me. You’ll be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing. Just pretend I’m another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos”

“Why are you even here? No offense, sir, but we weren’t exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip”

“You’re more than aware that Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated” Xaden replied

“Three days? You couldn’t make it three days?”

The air was already tense before, but it was about to snap any moment. Ridoc was almost convulsing while holding in laughter, Emery and Quin were simply annoyed, Mira’s left eye was practically twitching and the other rider’s were clearly amused.

And Liam? He was having a blast!

“It has nothing to do with him” Violet’s patience was nowhere to be seen as she practically slammed her dragon model down “That’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl”

She jabbed Xaden on the arm out of nowhere and his brother could do nothing but smirk knowingly. Something was really off with their interactions - more than usual.

“Of course you rush to defend him” Aetos countered, hard stare directed at his fucking childhood friend “Though how you can forget that this guy wanted to kill you six months ago is beyond me”

“I cannot believe you went there” Violet was astonished.

“Good job remaining professional, Aetos” his brother said “Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage”

“Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster” a rider said from the left.

Liam had to actively smother an ugly cackle.

“Enough!” The older Sorrengail raised her voice.

“Oh, come on, Sorrengail” the same rider complained.

Violet turned to stare at the man. And so did her sister.

“I mean…the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in ages”

As if tired of that stupidity, Violet adjusted in her chair with a determined look on her face “Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we’re dealing with infantry or gryphon riders”

“Good” her sister praised, moving her own dragon miniature “Now let’s assume there are gryphons”

Violet smiled in a way Liam knew could only be followed by verbal assault.

“You want to do your job? I mean, how you can forget you’re the squad leader is beyond me”

Liam swallowed another laugh.

“Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?”

“Yes”

“Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness” Aetos continued “And have you report back. Same with Liam. We’d use your farsight to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps”

Liam moved a finger, landing his dragon near Quinn’s and Mira’s

“Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate and the Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons” Mira declared.

“So much for blasting the whole place” Ridoc mumbled.

“You’re an air wielder, right?” Aetos asked Emery, who nodded “So you can shape your dragon’s flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians”

“Yes, but I’d have to be in the keep”

“Then you’ll have to get into the keep”

“You want me to leave my dragon and go on foot?” Emery answered to Mira.

“Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?” she argued “The real question is, how do we get you close enough without getting you killed? Since I’m guessing the others will be busy fighting off the gryphons that launch once the fireworks start”

“What’s your signet, Aetos?” Quinn asked.

“Above your pay grade” Aetos fired back “Any ideas?”

Liam shuddered at the mention of his signet. Creepy memory stealer.

“Sure” Violet said, still very impatient “You stop ignoring that you have an incredibly powerful shadow wielder at your disposal and ask him to black out the area so no one sees you land”

“You can do that?” Aetos seemed uncomfortable at the thought.

“Are you seriously asking?” Xaden questioned.

“Just wasn’t sure you could cover an area that—”

His brother barely lifted his hands and the entire room was swallowed in shadows. Fucking show off. His head was already bigger than his waist, but Xaden had a chronic necessity to assert power.

“Fuck me” someone mumbled.

“I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out” his brother explained.

Nobody addressed the power display and even Aetos seemed to lay low after that. His brother might be a show off, but he had always been good at making it intimidating.

“Good job” Mira said once their activity was over “Aetos, Riorson, and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed”

Liam smothered a wicked smile as Xaden’s face slightly fell into an annoyed look. Oh, how he wanted to be a little fly to witness whatever Mira Sorrengail was planning to say - the woman seemed ready to gut his brother like a celebration chicken.

“You think they’re in too much trouble?” Ridoc asked beside him.

“Definetly” Liam replied.

“Maybe Lieutenant Sorrengail can convince them to pull their shit together. I am honestly tired of it” Quinn said, disappearing into her own quarters.

It was definitely tiring to deal with the weird tension between the three of them, but honestly so entertaining. Though he felt a little bad because Violet seemed very annoyed at them.

“Vi and Riorson were acting weirder than usual, don’t you think?” Ridoc said once Liam closed their shared bedroom’s door.

“You mean their staring was more indecent than usual? Yeah”

Ridoc laughed loudly “Exactly! I thought I was intruding something”

Xaden and Violet sharing looks was something normal, but that instance was…too intimate. Almost as if they were sharing silent words. His brother would look at her as if waiting for a reaction, Violet did react as if something was actually said out loud.

Liam was becoming suspicious.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

[the-haunted-office]

It's a strange thing, walking up all these stairs and never feeling tired. Never running out of breath. Never feeling hungry or thirsty or any kind of fatigue.

Never reaching the end of the stairs, either.

Thursday had been at these stairs for at least the last two or so hours - by her estimate, which, admittedly, had never been her best skill, estimating things, that is, there's a very good reason why she never "eyeballed" recipes or tried to guess her clothing size without getting out the measuring tape - and not so much as a hint had made itself known to her. By her best guess - again, not her best skill - these stairs went on infinitely, which would not have bode well for either her back, knees, lungs, or her patience back in the living world.

In this world, though? This dimension? Whichever dimension she was in. Assuming it was anywhere but "The Narrative". In this place, everything felt fine. She felt fine, And she felt like everything was going to be fine. Even climbing these endless stairs was going to be fine. Sure, she might be climbing them forever, but it was all going to be fine, for one simple fact:

She was here, and not there.

She didn't hurt anymore. Her pain was gone. All of it. Not just the pain in her knees, her back, and her lungs. But the pain in her heart, her head, her soul. All gone.

Well. Not gone, but sort of... soothed. Like having aloe gel spread over it. Some kind of gentle touch laid over top of it saying, It's going to be okay. So long as you keep ascending these stairs, you will be okay.

And so, that is what she did. She kept ascending these stairs, in pursuit of that promise of no more pain.

She'd been in pain for so long. It had settled over her like a heavy blanket, weighing her down, preventing her from even getting out of bed on some days. Nobody seemed to notice. They only saw the happy, smiling Thursday. That's all anybody wanted to see. And what's worse - whenever anyone caught a glimpse of the pain beneath the smile, nobody seemed to care. They'd see it, but they'd all turned away. Even her closest friends would turn away. I didn't see that. Anyway, let's get back to focusing on me! You're my funny friend! You're supposed to be making me laugh, not worry about you! That's how it all felt to her, anyway.

None of them are here now, though. It's just her, this staircase, and no pain.

How are you... doing... Thursday?

Thursday looks up, and smiles. "Good. I feel good. Better," she says, and for once - perhaps for the first time in a long time - she means it. Actually means it.

Good... We are... pleased... to hear that...

Thursday doesn't answer. She just keeps walking, and smiling. This is nice. This tower. These stairs. The Narrative. How could she have ever thought They meant to harm her? To make her miserable?

How would you like... to stay here... with Us?

She stops walking, pondering over the question. Stay here? With The Narrative? What all would that mean?

"What all would that mean? If I stayed here with You?" she inquires, shifting her footing on the stairs so as not to slip on all the brick dust coating them.

You would become... a part... of Us... A part of something... greater than... yourself... but also... something... that is simply... yourself...

Thursday blinks. She definitely did not understand a word of that. Or rather, she understood the individual words and all their individual meanings. She even understood all the words put together and the sentences they formed. But the meaning that was meant to be conveyed there? Nada.

The Narrative must have seen this in her expression, because They clarified.

Thursday... do you really... not recognize... who you are... speaking to...?

She blinks again.

...Look outside... Really look... outside...

Having no choice but to obey, Thursday skips up the next few stairs to the nearest hole in the wall and pushes a few bricks out of her way, widening the hole a little more so that she can fit enough of herself out of it to get a good enough look. She briefly notices how the bricks she pushed out float there rather than falling in one direction or the other, but what really grabs her attention is not the bricks, nor the swirling rainbow, color-changing clouds, nor the finite needle of the tower threading the sky in both directions...

...but all the staircases... staircases everywhere... utterly filling the sky, everywhere, in all directions, up, down, sideways, in loops, inside out, in impossible ways she can't even describe.

And walking them, walking all the staircases... her... herself.

"What the fuuuuuck..." she mutters in breathless gasp to herself, taking it all in.

It's too much to be taken all in.

"Where..." she rasps, clears her throat, tries again. "Where are they- me- we- you know what, where is everybody going?"

Ascending... Becoming a part... of Us... Your Narrative... That is who... and what... you are... Thursday... And who... and what... I am... Didn't you... know?

"This-..." Thursday says, biting back her confusion and her brain exploding long enough to sit down on the brick dust-covered stairs. A minute ago she'd been feeling at utter peace. Now she was feeling in utter pieces. "...I need a minute."

Take your time... dear Thursday... We have... the rest... of... eternity...

[warriorofdragons]

Way To A Man’s Heart

Word Count: 1.5k

Cole wraps his arms around you and rests his chin in the crook of your shoulder, “MmHm! This smells good already!” You laugh as you continue to brown the meat in the pan, “Well, I know how much you love pasta.” It was date night and you were cooking Cole’s favorite food for the both of you at your place. “Have you ever made spaghetti for me before?” he asks. You’re thoughtful for a moment, “No, I don’t think I have. Usually you’re the one to cook pasta.” “Well, I do love pasta,” Cole chuckles in your ear. You giggle, “I’ve noticed.” You set the spatula aside for a moment and pick up another utensil and stir the pasta you’re boiling the next burner over. Cole sidesteps with you, still glued to your backside. You turn your head to look up at him as best you can, “Cole, if I trip-“ you laugh. “Well, I’ll be here to catch you, Sweetheart,” he says simply. You laugh again and set your utensil back down and then pick up one of your spices and season the meat again. Then you start to turn away from the stove, but Cole’s embrace prevents you from getting very far, so you gently pat his arms, “Okay, I’m going to need you to let go of me for this one,” you say. Cole relinquishes his hold on you and you turn towards your counter where you already have your other spices, a tomato sauce can, and a glass bowl waiting for you. You open the can of tomato sauce first and pour it into the bowl and then you measure out your spices and add them to the mix. Cole leans on the counter and watches you work, a lovesick grin on his face. You stir the seasonings together and then you take out a small cutting board from your cabinet drawer and grab a knife, “Hmm…Cole could you get me about a dozen Oregano leaves?” “Oh, sure,” he says striding towards the fridge and opening it. “Oh no, Cole, I meant from my Oregano plant, it’s in the windowsill,” you direct, pointing toward the other room. Cole’s eyes widen and he turns to you with a smile on his lips, “You’re growing Oregano?!” he asks both surprised and delighted. “Mmhmm,” you nod, “I need you to pluck them and then wash them for me, please?” Cole leaves the room to find your Italian Oregano plant and you take down a bowl and then fill it with cool water from the kitchen sink. Next, you turn the meat over and chop it into finer pieces and that’s when Cole returns with the requested Oregano leaves. “I don’t know why I never thought of growing my own Oregano myself, seeing as how much pasta I eat,” Cole says. “Fresh Oregano definitely makes it taste way better,” you say. “Oh man my mouth’s all watering just thinking about it,” Cole says placing his left hand on his stomach. You hold up the bowl of water for him and Cole drops the leaves into it. “Now, what am I supposed to do here?” he asks looking to you for instruction. “Just give them a rinse and swirl them around to make sure there’s not any dirt or anything on the leaves,” you say. Cole does as you say and then you take the bowl from him and drain the water and remove the leaves. Then, you place the leaves onto your cutting board and proceed to chop them into tiny pieces. Once you’re satisfied with that you brush them from your cutting board with the back of your knife into your sauce bowl and then stir them all together. You check to make sure your meat’s cooked all the way through and then turn down the heat slightly and stir in the sauce. You bring all of it to a boil and then turn the heat down to simmer and cover the pot with a lid. You check on your pasta again and it’s almost done.

“Want me to set the table?” Cole asks. “Yes, thank you, Cole,” you say. Cole takes some plates from the cabinet and begins setting a place for you both at your little table while you clean up your counter space. Cole also sets out a couple of glasses for you both and even fills yours for you after he asks what you want to drink from the refrigerator. You hear a subtle click and turn to glance over at him and realize that he’s also lit the candles on your table with his lighter. Your timer for the spaghetti finally goes off and you don the oven mitts and remove the pasta from the stove and then step over to the sink where you have a colander waiting. You pour the hot water out of the pot and into the colander until only the spaghetti noodles remain. Then you turn to look for a place to set the pot down, but find that you didn’t set a pot holder down on the counter yet. Cole sees your struggle and swiftly finds one for you in the drawers and sets it down in front of you. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” you say after placing the pot down and giving him a kiss. You turn off both burners on the stove and then set another pot holder down and move the sauce pan to it. Cole more than happily brings his plate to you and you fill it with spaghetti noodles. “Is that enough?” you ask. “A little more?” he asks. You give him another scoopful of pasta and then pour the sauce over the pasta. He returns to the table and then to your surprise brings you your own plate on his return trip to the counter. You fill your plate and set it back down in your spot and then you uncover the plate of garlic bread you’d made earlier and move it to the table between you and your boyfriend. You take your seat as Cole immediately digs into his spaghetti, twirling his fork in it and shoving it all into his mouth. You laugh and then take a bite of your own food. “Mmmhm!” he exclaims, mouth still full. He takes another huge bite before finally getting any actual words out, “Darlin’, this is so good! Your spaghetti’s even better than mine,” he praises. You blush, “I don’t know about that, Cole, you make some pretty good pasta.” “Mmm, I’m serious,” he says taking another bite. You giggle at him, “Slow down, Cole, you don’t need to eat so fast, there’s plenty more where that came from.” He continues to chew and even closes his eyes savoring it. And when he finally swallows and opens his mouth to speak again, “True, and this is so good I’m definitely going back for seconds.” You laugh, “That’s sweet, but you always go back for seconds.” “Only when it’s your cooking, Sweetheart,” Cole says. You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, your cooking And pasta,” Cole relents. You turn your attention back to your dinner and take a couple of bites of spaghetti  yourself before breaking off a piece of garlic bread. “It’s just you know what they say?” Cole says letting the question hang in the air. You look back up at him as you munch on your bread, waiting for him to finish. But you only find him smiling fondly at you with a soft look in his eyes. “No, what do they say?” you ask. “That the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Cole says sweetly. You smile and shake your head, “Oh, you,” you say and reach out across the table for him. His right hand meets you halfway and he takes your hand in his. You stare up into his eyes as his thumb strokes over your knuckles, you then lean forward over the table and Cole rises to meet your lips. You hum as you part from him and Cole settles back down into his chair. “Hmm, garlicky,” he says licking his lips. “Oh, sorry,” you say covering your mouth with your other hand. “Oh, Honey, you’re fine. In fact it’s reminding me that I haven’t had a chance to try the garlic bread you made yet,” Cole says. He then picks up a piece of garlic bread from the plate in front of you both and bites into it. “Mmm,” he hums in approval once again. You laugh lightly, “Well, I don’t know about food being the way to someone’s heart, just that I know you’re already in mine.” Cole gasps quietly and his face softens to a look of awe, before he smiles so wide it crinkles his eyes, “You’re in my heart too, Honeysuckle,” he says, “And it didn’t require you making me pasta.” “Although I’m sure it didn’t hurt,” you tease gently. Cole reaches up and cups your face in his hands and then he leans over the table and kisses you again.

[balkanradfem]

Sharing what I've learned in my neck (recovery) journey!

I've been trying out lots of exercises, and I mean, I've been through every youtube video showing any kind of neck-related thing. The most exercises hurt so much I would often end up curled up on the floor crying in pain after trying once, so I didn't want to try those anymore.

Then I thought that, since I've been eating very poorly this summer (bad garden year) I very likely am lacking some minerals in my body, and maybe that's making the pain worse. It actually is getting worse, I can't turn my head sideways anymore without pain. I watched a few videos on nutrient deficiencies, and decided that I probably lack magnesium, which helps muscles relax; my muscles are incredibly stiff and upset at all times. I also watched a video on how a person can end up paralyzed without enough b12, and I've barely been taking any, despite my plant-based diet, so I quickly got that too.

Then I saw a video on vitamin D deficiency, and I had, every single symptom, just all of them, spot on. So I got a packet of that too. And then next day I found a video saying that supplemental D vitamin is BAD and I need to get some from sunbathing instead. It's winter?!?? And I can't walk outside for long because of the neck pain??? Like what am I supposed to do about this.

I've also gone back to taking nettle infusions to get enough calcium! I was hoping supplemental vitamin D would help me absorb calcium, but we'll see about that, I guess? I'm so mad at all the conflicting information but I don't now enough biology to make a reasonable guess to what's right.

Okay so I also, finally, found some exercises that are meant for neck pain that don't hurt, and I'm sticking to them, I've done them twice and did not come close to passing out in pain so I'm just gonna assume these are correct and do them. I also found out that a specific pain I had in my back, for about 5 years now, is called rhomboid pain, and there are exercises to fix it! And I can do most of them. Which is amazing, I'd be happy to fix any type of pain right now.

I've wanted to go and do a blood test to see just what nutrients I'm lacking, but apparently you can only check calcium levels if your bone density is measured, and I know my doctor won't do that, and for lots of other stuff like potassium (which I lack for sure), the body maintains normal level even when you're extremely out, because it draws it out of your muscles and bones so you'd have normal levels in your blood because otherwise you'd die. So you can't efficiently check, you can only notice your body deteriorating from the lack of it. Fun!

Another 'fun' info I've found was about ibuprofen, I had to take quite a few because I was sick, and I'm not used to taking pain medicine, so I went to check what it does, and it's like, cool stuff, it prevents the creation of hormones that cause your nerves to be sensitive, and also those that cause inflammation, so you're basically less sensitive to all the pain going on in your system. However, those same hormones are responsible for creating a layer of mucus in your stomach, and you need that mucus, in order to be protected from your own digestive acid. Taking ibuprofen for 3-4 days will not do you harm, but if you take it for longer, or if you have a chronic stomach issue, it is very likely that you will expose your own stomach tissue to your digestive acid! Which will damage your stomach and hurt a lot. So be careful with the ibuprofen ladies! I know she's a good friend of yours but I never knew how serious it was to take it too often.

[goldenempyrean]

Paying The Price

〚 Day 5 - Preventative Measures (Not Taken)  〛

〚 Pairing - Sanvers 〛

〚 Summary - Alex ends up paying the price when she doesn't take preventative measures at work. At least she'll have maggie to look after her. 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

“Do you not think you should take a coat love?  It’s meant to get a little chilly later on according to the weather.” Maggie called out as Alex finished making her to-go cup of coffee into her flask, “Pretty sure its gonna rain too by the look of those clouds.” 

The agent shook her head and waved her off with a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine, I’m on roll to do a clinic shift anyway so it’s not like I’m gonna be out in the field or anything like that. I’ll just end up carrying it if I take it. 

That was true. The DEO had recently got wind of a small clinic on the east side of the city which was specially made to treat aliens and offer things like vaccines and just provide general care to those individuals which didn’t feel comfortable in a regular clinic. As such, when the DEO found out, J’onn offered to provide agents as a form of security there as well as to keep things in order. Alex liked her shifts at the clinic, after all, the waiting room chitchat often inadvertently provided inside knowledge to help with ongoing issues, not only that but the environment itself was warm and friendly and the people there seemed to trust her too – she’d even made some friends. 

“Alright then, have a good day at work darling.” Her girlfriend smiled, giving Alex a small kiss before she left, “Don’t forget you’re on food pickup duty tonight too.” She added playfully before beginning to make her own coffee, “I’m thinking pizza?” 

Alex smiled as she picked up her bag and turned to leave, “I won’t forget, don’t worry! Pizza sounds good, alright I’m gonna head off, see you later, have a good day at work babe.” She said before leaving the apartment and making her way out to her car. 

It wasn’t a long drive, about 40 minutes or so. When she arrived, Alex stepped out of the car and involuntarily shivered at the icy chill of the air nipping at her arms, maybe she should’ve brought a coat after all she thought, shaking her head with an eye roll knowing her girlfriend was right. At least she’d be inside for her shift though. As Alex walked through the clinic doors, she immediately noticed the bustling atmosphere. Aliens of various shapes and sizes filled the waiting area, patiently waiting for their turn to be seen by the doctors. It was definitely a lot busier than usual. 

As the agent made her way to the small security desk to clock in, she couldn’t help but inwardly groan at the sight of the other agent on shift. Agent Wilson was one of those guys who never failed to get on her nerves. Something about his cocky, nonchalant attitude always seemed to rub her the wrong way. 

“Agent Danvers it’s always nice of you to show.” He turned around upon hearing her footsteps approach, “I suppose you’ve got the delight of my company, how lucky.” The agent smirked before rooting around in his side pocket before pulling out black surgical mask and putting it on. 

"I'm here to do my job, just like you," Alex replied, choosing to ignore his sarcastic remark, "What’s with the mask?” Wearing a mask wasn’t required or was it advertised so she couldn’t help but question it especially considering no other agents had chosen to wear them in the past. 

  Agent Wilson chuckled condescendingly. "Precautions, Danvers," he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. "You know, to protect myself from any alien bugs. I don’t want my immune system being invaded by foreign bodies." 

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of annoyance creep up within her. She was well aware of the potential risks of working in close proximity to sick aliens, but she had always trusted her strong immune system to keep her healthy. She prided herself on being cautious and responsible when it came to her work, but in this instance, she had overlooked the possibility of catching something.  

"Well, that's your choice," Alex finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "But I'm not here to alienate anyone or treat them like threats. These beings are just seeking medical help, same as any human. And besides, I've been doing shifts here for months without any issues." 

Shaking off her annoyance, Alex walked past him and made her way to the clinic's staff room to change into her uniform, the clinic preferred them to wear their own brand of gear, just as an extra precaution which was understandable.   

As she made her way to one of the smaller lockers, she put down her bag and began changing. It was only then she noticed the slump attitudes of the attending staff. The ambiance of sniffles and coughing, like that of the reception, seemed to fill this room too and spotting one of the Doctors she was familiar with Alex decided to ask what was wrong. 

"Morning," Alex greeted with a friendly smile. "Is everything alright? I couldn't help but notice that a lot of people seem to be under the weather today." 

The doctor sighed tiredly and nodded, confirming Alex's observations. "Yes, unfortunately, it seems that there's a flu-like bug going around. We've been seeing an increase in patients with respiratory symptoms over the past couple of days. We're doing our best to provide care, but it's definitely keeping us busy." 

Alex's concern grew as she processed the information. "Is it affecting the staff too? You don’t look too good yourself Doc.” While most of the staff were aliens themselves and did have a little bit more protective, there was still a good number of human employees. 

Dr. Ramirez nodded again, a hint of weariness in their eyes. "Yeah, a few of our staff members have fallen ill as well. It's a bit of a challenge, this strain is appearing to be highly contagious, but we’ll get through it. We have some people on stand-by to cover if need be.” 

Alex's eyes widened a little. The flu was bad news, especially in a clinic where a diverse range of alien species sought treatment. She couldn't help but wonder if Agent Wilson's decision to wear a mask was more justified than she had initially thought. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Alex asked, her determination to assist in any way she could shining through. 

Dr. Ramirez's weary expression brightened a little at her offer. "Actually, there is something you could do," they replied gratefully. "Since we're short-staffed due to many doctors and nurses falling ill. If you could lend a hand with triaging patients and assisting in basic medical procedures, it would be a tremendous help." 

Without hesitation, Alex nodded, her sense of duty and compassion driving her forward. "Of course, I'll do whatever I can. Just tell me what needs to be done." 

For the remainder of the morning, she continued to help out where necessary, leaving security down to the other agent. It was definitely a lot faster paced but with her background in biochemistry she was well within her depth. By lunchtime it seems her efforts were paying off as the clinic seemed to slow down a little and she was given the go ahead to return back to her position. 

  As Alex made her way back to the security desk, she couldn't help but feel a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline and determination that had fuelled her earlier were slowly waning, replaced by a growing fatigue. She attributed it to the increased workload and the emotional toll of seeing so many sick patients. 

Agent Wilson looked up from his desk as Alex approached, his expression filled with surprise. "You're back already? I thought you'd be stuck over there forever, playing doctor." 

Ignoring his snide remark, Alex mustered a weak smile. "It was a bit chaotic, but we managed to get things under control. The staff appreciated the help." 

Wilson raised an eyebrow, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. "Well, I guess you're not completely useless after all." 

She huffed, shooting the agent a dirty look, “Look if you’ve got a problem with me, leave it at the door. Don’t bring that attitude into- wor- Hh'iishoo! Huh’tshoo!” She quickly bent to the side to catch her sneezes into cupped hands, sniffling at the feeling of subtle pressure rising in her sinuses. 

“I don’t think that’s hygienic Danvers.” He shook his head, as the agent went to go grab some tissues from a nearby box. 

She sighed, realising that Agent Wilson was somewhat right. Sneezing into her hands wasn't the best practice, especially considering the contagious nature of the flu-like bug going around. She quickly discarded the used tissues into a nearby bin and reached for a hand sanitiser bottle on the security desk, squeezing some onto her palms and rubbing them together. 

"You're right, my bad," Alex admitted, her voice slightly muffled by her stuffed nose.  

Agent Wilson's mocking wavered slightly as he observed Alex's tired appearance or maybe it was the fact that Alex Danvers actually apologised to him, "Wow, an apology from Danvers. You have a fever or something?” 

“Just leave it.” Alex's voice was tinged with exhaustion and frustration. She didn't feel like entertaining Agent Wilson's sudden concern. The fatigue that had settled over her earlier was now accompanied by body aches and a growing headache. She had been so focused on helping at the clinic that she hadn't noticed her own symptoms creeping in. 

As the day progressed, her energy waned, and she found herself struggling to focus. Her body felt heavy, and she was occasionally having to turn away to muffle raspy coughs into her elbow which only led to her throat becoming sore. But she tried to ignore it. She had blamed the AC at first, it was just turned up too high... yeah. That was it. 

But with each passing hour, her condition deteriorated further. The fatigue intensified, making it difficult for her to stand upright. Her head throbbed with every movement, and the touch of a fever began to set in, leaving her feeling alternately hot and cold, as beads of sweat lined her brow all-while chills ran up her arms. 

“Don’t you look healthy.” The male agent had commented snidely the next time Alex had learnt her head back against the wall. 

Alex's patience was wearing thin, and she shot him a glare. "I'm not feeling well, okay? So can you please just lay off with the comments?" Her voice was tinged with irritation and exhaustion before giving in to the burning at the back of her throat as she gave a few chesty sounding coughs into her elbow. 

Agent Wilson seemed taken aback by her response, his mocking demeanour fading momentarily. "Oh... I didn't realise you were actually not feeling good." he mumbled, his tone softening, “Sorry.” 

Unbeknownst to her, a kind-hearted doctor, Dr. K'ora, had been in earshot and had noticed the agents declining condition. She approached her with a warm smile, "Excuse me, Agent Danvers, may I borrow you for a moment?” 

Alex nodded, looking over her shoulder to confirm it was okay with Wilson and he waved her off. She felt a sudden tickle in her nose, a telltale sign that a sneeze was imminent. She quickly turned away, covering her face with her elbow, and let out a series of forceful sneezes. "Huh'kshhoo! Huh-choo! Huh'tshoo!" she sneezed, her body shaking with the force of each. 

Dr. K'ora  gestured towards a nearby tissue box, concern evident in her eyes. "Goodness, bless you. I think it’d be a good idea to let me take a look at you, Agent Danvers. You don't look well at all." The doctor commented as she escorted the agent towards a small side room. 

"Thank you," Alex said weakly, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "I didn't realise I was feeling this bad until now." She reached up to rub her temples, trying to alleviate the pounding headache that had settled in. 

Dr. K'ora placed a gentle hand on Alex's shoulder, her touch comforting. "It's not uncommon for people to push through and ignore their own health when they're focused on helping others," she said kindly. "But it's important to take care of yourself too. Let me check your symptoms and see what's going on." 

Alex nodded, grateful for the doctor's understanding. She sat back in the chair, allowing Dr. K'ora to examine her. The doctor felt her forehead, noting the warmth radiating from her skin, and listened to her lungs with a stethoscope. After a thorough examination, Dr. K'ora stepped back, a concerned expression on her face. 

"I'm sorry to say, Agent Danvers, but it seems you've caught the flu that's been going around," Dr. K'ora explained gently. "Your symptoms—fatigue, headache, body aches, coughing, and sneezing—are all indicative of the flu. It's important that you take some time off and rest." 

Alex's heart sank. She had hoped it was just a passing illness, but it seemed she was in for a rough few days. "I’m sorry, is this going to cause a problem with staffing? My shift isn’t due for end for a few hours yet.” 

Dr. K'ora smiled kindly. "It happens to the best of us. I will inform your superiors and arrange for someone to pick you up. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable here." 

As the doctor left to inform the necessary personnel, Alex settled into the small room, grateful for the opportunity to rest. She curled up on the examination table, wrapping herself in a blanket provided by the clinic. The fatigue weighed heavily on her, and her body felt achy and weak. 

Time passed slowly as she lay there, her mind wandering through a haze of fever and discomfort. She thought about Maggie and how she would react when she found out. She hoped her girlfriend wouldn't worry too much, knowing that she had a habit of being overprotective. 

As if on cue, a soft knock on the door interrupted Alex's thoughts. She weakly called out, giving permission for the person to enter. To her relief, it was a familiar face—Maggie. Alex's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her girlfriend, a mix of worry and tenderness evident on her face. 

“I heard you weren’t feeling well, poor thing.” She soothed, letting her hand come to rest over the warm forehead of the agent as she came to sit beside her. 

Alex leaned into Maggie's touch, finding solace in her presence. "Hey," she whispered hoarsely, a weak smile gracing her lips. "I didn't expect you to come all the way here." 

Maggie brushed a strand of hair away from Alex's forehead gently. "Of course I would come," she replied softly. "You're not feeling well, and I wanted to be here for you. How are you holding up?" 

Alex let out a weak chuckle, followed by a cough. "I've been better," she admitted. 

"You always put others first, Alex. It's time to let someone take care of you now." Maggie’s voice was filled with concern and affection as she offered her arms out to her girlfriend, pulling her into a warm hug. 

In that moment, Alex realised how lucky she was to have Maggie by her side. She buried her face in Maggie's shoulder, feeling a mix of gratitude and vulnerability wash over her. Maggie's presence provided comfort and reassurance, reminding Alex that she didn't have to face this illness alone. 

As they sat there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Alex's fatigue started to catch up with her. The weight of her eyelids became heavier, and her body begged for rest. Maggie sensed her exhaustion and gently guided Alex to lie down on the examination table, adjusting the blanket to keep her warm. 

"Should we get you home, hm?" Maggie whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "We can stop on the way and pick up some soup from that takeout you like, that might help you feel better. Whatever you need I’m sure we can get it.” 

Alex nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed. "That sounds... nice, but what about your pizza?" she murmured, already feeling the pull of sleep tugging at her, “’Mm tired Maggs.” 

“Pizza can wait, what you need is something easy right now. I know you’re tired baby, you can go to sleep in the car alright?” 

“Thanks.” 

Maggie sat by her side, gently stroking Alex's hair, a soft smile on her face. "Always, love. Now, let’s get you home.” 

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[snezfics-n-shit]

Sicktember (Belated) Day 5: Preventative Measures (Not Taken)

Fandom: Ace Attorney Characters: Raymond Shields, Gregory Edgeworth Notes: The thing about when we assume, is we make an ASS out of U and ME, and boy does Raymond Shields feel like an ass. To be more specific, he feels like a very itchy and miserable ass. Was this the thanks he received for helping Mr. Edgeworth so diligently? The universe is one big sadistic jerk! This is set during the summer vacation prior to the Class Trial. Miles is away at summer camp trying (and likely failing) to make friends for the sake of easing his father’s worries, which means Raymond is basically free to hang out at the Edgeworth house as long as he wants (Gregory gets lonely otherwise). 

“Yep, that’s definitely a fever.” Gregory frowned, not taking his eyes off the mercury’s position in the thermometer. “So I guess you never did have chickenpox, did you?”

“I thought I did at some point, I swear!” Raymond hardly ever raised his voice at Mr. Edgeworth, but he really needed him to know that he wasn’t intentionally lying when he made the initial assumption. "To be honest, I didn't really know shingles and chickenpox were related until you asked me if I had them before. You kinda put me on the spot there, Mr. Edgeworth."

"Well, I don't doubt for a second that you thought you already had it." Gregory sat next to Raymond on the living room sofa, careful not to disturb the blankets that were carefully tucked around his assistant to discourage scratching. "It's not really something you hear about adults getting, is it?"

"I only ever heard about how horrible it is to get it as an adult, and everyone was completely right!” Raymond whined. “Would you forgive me if I told you that if I knew I never had chickenpox, I would’ve stayed far away from you?”

“If I knew that, I would have made sure you stayed away.” 

“For some reason, when you say that, it stings a little.” 

Speaking of sting, that was ever so close to accurately describing the torturous itch that claimed every inch of Raymond’s skin. Why would it be so itchy if he wasn’t allowed to scratch? He was a grown adult and he could make his own choices… Maybe that was one of the reasons it’s worse for adults? 

Surely, that discipline that came with age meant he could get away with just…!!

Gregory quickly spotted Raymond’s arm wriggling under the blanket and made a firm throat-clearing noise to make it clear he wasn’t going to let that slide. 

“I will bring out the oven mitts,” Gregory warned, “and duct tape.”

“Your R2D2 oven mitts?” Raymond lit right up, probably negating any semblance of an ultimatum in what Mr. Edgeworth had just said. “Would you really duct tape them?” 

“Well, if you do want to wear them, I suppose duct tape won’t be necessary.” 

“You really are the best, Mr. Edgeworth!” If it weren’t already in Raymond’s nature to tear up in admiration of his mentor, Gregory might have been worried this emotional response meant his assistant’s fever was getting worse. In this case, however, Gregory took it as a sign Raymond would be fine, so long as he behaved. 

Gregory softly chuckled as he made the brief trip to retrieve the coveted oven mitts from the kitchen. 

“Alright, arms out.” Gregory instructed. Once Raymond had complied, Gregory slid the oven mitts on Raymond’s hands. “There. Now if you try scratching, you run the risk of disappointing R2D2.”

“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Edgeworth!” 

“Good to hear.” Gregory gently pressed his palm against his assistant’s forehead. “Now, get some rest, okay? I’ll be here if you need anything, alright.” 

Raymond eagerly nodded in affirmation. 

Mr. Edgeworth was just the best, wasn’t he?

[kaija-rayne-author]

And fun fact. The bootstrap concept is completely twisted in American culture. (Which, of course it is, Americans twist everything.)

The original is attributed to a 19th century physics textbook. It asked the question “Why can not a man lift himself by pulling up on his bootstraps?”

The phrase started to be used to refer to socioeconomic advancement not long after.

But it was a sarcastic response!

It was meant to be used as a way to say it's impossible to pull yourself up socioeconomically.

The term “bootstrapping” meaning “to pull oneself up by one's bootstraps.” was twisted in American mythos to be the exact opposite meaning of what it was supposed to be.

You cannot bootstrap yourself. You cannot easily lift yourself out of poverty in this world unless someone helps you. And it's incredibly easy to fall into poverty.

It's why we need social measures like UBI, universal health care, and well-funded social support programs. Especially during the covid pandemic, which is not over and never has been. Millions of newly disabled people are suffering. Previously disabled people have been basically told that we should be happy it's us dying because we had pre-existing conditions. An entire generation of children will be growing up disabled when they didn't have to. Disabled by a preventable illness. History will judge this time period harshly.

It's a completely false idea that you can bootstrap yourself. It's impossible.

And before people scream at me. I'm American, I can say whatever I want about my backasswards home country.

It's proven in many socioeconomic studies that it's nigh impossible to get out of poverty by working hard. It requires, in most cases studied, someone with more wealth and privilege to help. And we all know the wealthy only care about seeing who can hoard the most wealth. They have a list they compete to be on. It's grotesque in a world where even one child goes to bed hungry or one person dies because they can't afford their meds.

And I've worked so hard my entire life, 'bootstrapping' myself through university. Into a good career, into home ownership, into home loss because of the banking scams in the early 2000s. I've worked myself into becoming multiply physically disabled.

I did everything right, and I'm still poor.

I'm living proof it doesn't work, but the studies are out there too, if you want them. We know poverty needs help. We know UBI works, we know people are generally healthier under a decently funded universal health care model. We know these things, scientifically and academically.

But people seem to prefer to preach a bastardized, twisted saying of 'bootstrap yourself!' instead of working for change, or even working to understand why change is necessary.

The United States has always been a terrible place to be sick and disabled. Ableism is baked into our myths of bootstrapping and self-reliance, in which health is virtue and illness is degeneracy. It is long past time for a bedrock shift, for all of us.

Long covid has derailed my life. Make no mistake: It could yours, too.

[arena077]

The Hidden Danger You’re Overlooking – Fire Hydrant Pressure Test in Singapore Could Save Lives

In Singapore, they don't play around with fire safety, and they shouldn't. With building heights increasing and population densities as well, securing the safety of people inside grows more important by the day. But there's one much-underestimated part of fire safety that can potentially mean the difference between life and death in a real emergency: fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore. If that critical system crashes when it counts the most, the result could be catastrophic.

Why Fire Hydrant Pressure Test in Singapore is Important

A fire hydrant is one of the essential parts of every fire safety equipment, particularly for high-rise structures, industrial estates, and offices. It's meant to ensure a steady source of water is available to fight fires for the firefighters. If the hydrant fails to give the required pressure when there is an emergency situation, it will leave the firefighters scrambling to tame the fire with their lives being endangered.

A fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore checks for the proper working condition of the hydrants. It verifies that the activated hydrant delivers sufficient water flow and pressure, which is required for effective firefighting. Forgetting to conduct this test means that a fire hydrant may be broken or faulty without anyone being aware—something that could prove fatal in the case of a fire.

The Concealed Risks of Not Having Fire Hydrant Pressure Tests

Most facility managers or property owners assume that their fire safety systems are always in working condition, but without a fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore, one can never be sure. Fire hydrants can degrade over time because of environmental conditions, wear and tear, or even acts of vandalism. A hydrant can look good outwardly but cannot deliver the minimum level of pressure when put to the test.

Here are some of the hidden risks of ignoring a fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore:

Low Water Pressure: If the hydrant is unable to supply sufficient water to the firefighters, it will be difficult to put out the fire promptly, and there could be more damage or loss of life.

Blockages: Dirt, debris, or rust might have accumulated within the hydrant, creating blockages that deter the water from flowing freely when required.

Leaks and Damage: A minute crack or leak will go unnoticed without frequent testing, leading to major problems in an emergency.

Non-Compliance: In Singapore's fire safety law, fire hydrant systems are supposed to be regularly tested and maintained. Not doing so might attract legal action or fines.

Fire Hydrant Pressure Test in Singapore: What Does It Involve?

A Singapore fire hydrant pressure test is done by qualified technicians who carry out a series of tests to verify that the hydrant is running at maximum efficiency. The procedure involves:

Testing Water Flow: A technician will measure the flow rate to verify that the hydrant can provide enough water volume.

Pressure Test: The test will take a reading of the pressure of the water supply to verify that it is up to the required standards.

Checking Valves and Seals: The hydrant valves and seals are regularly checked for any possible leaks or defects.

Testing for Blockages: The hydrant is also extensively tested for internal blockages which may hinder the flow of water when required.

After the fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore is done, the technician will submit a comprehensive report, stating if the hydrant is in top working condition or needs to be repaired.

The Significance of Fire Hydrant Pressure Testing on a Regular Basis

Although it would appear to be a redundant activity, routine fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore is essential. Like any other fire protection system, fire hydrants need periodic checks to confirm that they are in working order when disaster strikes. Regular inspection and testing prevent sudden failure in the event of an emergency, providing property owners with confidence that their building's fire protection is functional.

Integrating Fire Hydrant Pressure Tests with Other Fire Safety Measures

When fire safety is considered, a fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore should not be performed in a vacuum. It is merely one component of a comprehensive fire safety maintenance program. An example is fire hosereel servicing in Singapore. Such hosereels are important for controlling small fires before they get out of control, and they are effective only through regular servicing and testing.

A thorough fire safety inspection should encompass both fire hydrant pressure testing in Singapore and fire hosereel maintenance in Singapore. Having both systems in optimal condition provides a more effective and synchronized response in the event of a fire incident.

How DrakoFire Assists in Maintaining Fire Safety in Singapore

DrakoFire is one such company that deals in fire safety products and solutions and ensures regular testing and servicing of the fire hydrant system as well as the hosereels. Their trained professionals know the importance of fire hydrant pressure tests in Singapore and provide services to make your building meet the most stringent fire safety protocols.

Conclusion

Singapore fire hydrant pressure test is one of the most crucial tests you can conduct for your building's fire safety. It's a tiny step that might be the difference between life and death in case of fire. Constant testing and servicing, together with other services such as fire hosereel service in Singapore, guarantee your fire safety system is efficient, compliant, and able to save lives. Don’t overlook the hidden dangers—schedule your fire hydrant pressure test in Singapore today and ensure that you’re truly prepared for any emergency.