#cradle of civi

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Hektor Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843-1902) Dance among swords, 1881 Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[sociallyanxiouscryptid-writings]

Found Part 2

Civilian doesn’t like trouble, but they also don’t like dead bodies, and the body they just found is very close to being dead.

Part 1

CW: medical care, waking up somewhere unfamiliar, flashbacks, discomfort with body, loss of people, vague suicidal idea, I’m not sure what else so please let me know.

~

Villain woke to an overload of sensations. Hot and cold, numb and agonised. His mouth was dry and his stomach panged both hungry and sick, and worst of all he felt scattered, his mind here and there, unable to settle itself inside his body and connect the dots together.

Opening his eyes was impossible, so he took a moment to calm down, to breath, to remember where he was and-

Where was he? More importantly how was he even alive to wonder that?

As Villain became more present in his body he could feel the firmness of bandages around his limbs, cradling the pain just a little, something soft and slightly too warm draped over him. He can’t be home, that was no longer a place that existed, but then where?

Slowly, painfully so, Villain forced his eyes open. The world blurred and spun at first and it took everything in him not to retreat back into unconsciousness. He blinked until he could see the off white ceiling above him, the top of the couch that he was laid on. His brows knitted together and he lowered his gaze as much as he could down to his body. His movements were fumbling and it was an effort to grab the blanket on top of him and pull it off. It didn’t up being more of a drag, his arm simple collapsing back down with the cloth in its grasp.

Looking at his own body was uncomfortable, each bruise, each cut bringing back a flashing memory with it. Villain took in a breath, looked back up at the ceiling.

It was then a faint sound came into his awareness. He didn’t know what it was at first, some time of inconsistent tapping. The frown creased his features again and he turned his head, an exhausting motion, and looked to the rest of the lounge room.

A couple of metres away a person sat in an armchair, their feet propped up onto the coffee table and a laptop balanced in their lap.

Villain’s body reacted on an instinct that was cut short with agony. He tried to shoot up, and was choked by his ribs screaming, the stitches on his torso pulling. Villain gasped, coughed, regretted everything. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Civilian said, not looking up from their computer.

Villain did not listen, why would he? He kept trying, pushing through the pain and not getting very far. Civilian sighed, closed their laptop and placed it on the coffee table when they stood, before striding over to him.

“You need to lay down,” they said, reaching out to push on his shoulder.

Villain snatched up their wrist.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” He snapped, trying once again but they reach out with their other hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder. If he were in any other state, he had a mind to break it.

“I’m the person who saved your life,” they said, effortlessly pulling their wrist free and used both hands to ease him back down. “And if you undo all my hard work I am going to be very upset.”

Villain fumed. He had no strength to fight against them as they forced him back down and the sheer audacity made his jaw tighten.

“And who exactly would you be,” he ground out.

Villain didn’t try and get back up, but not because Civilian told him to.

“My name is Civilian,” they said. “You’re in my apartment, I found you outside in the alleyway.”

No matter how hard he tried Villain couldn’t remember how he got there. Everything was mostly a blur of panic and pain and so much blood. He had honestly prepared himself to die that day, had thought he had.

Villain focussed his attention on to Civilian, eyed them over, the lack of fear, the concern.

“Do you know who I am?” Villain asked.

“Yes,” Civilian said.

Villain’s brows rose, then knitted emotions shifting and twisting.  

“And you helped me? What kind of madman would do that?”

Civilian shrugged. “You were hurt, you needed help, not much more to it then that.”

“You expect anyone to believe that?”

They crossed their arms.

“It’s not a lie,” they said.

“So you just help war criminals?” Villain said, “is that what good Samaritans are these days?”

“Technically helping a person regardless of who they are is in fact what makes a good Samaritan, however that’s not what you are saying.”

Civilian stepped back until they sat on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t exactly call you a war criminal either, that would mean we are at war.”

“Aren’t we?” Villain asked.

Civilian eyed them, shrugged.

Despite Villain’s distrust they could see no lie in them, no mask to find a crack in. This person, however unlikely, helped them purely because they could and that boggled Villain a little.

“Then I assume the heroes are on their way here to collect me?” He said, poking and prodding.

Civilian scoffed at that, a bitter distaste in their expression that surprised Villain.

“I wouldn’t call those oafs for a lost puppy. They’d probably kill it trying to find it.”

Villain subdued a laugh, both for his ribs and reputation.

“So what then, you just plan on nursing me back to health and sending me on my merry way?”

Civilian narrowed their eyes.

“You’re sounding like you don’t appreciate the fact that I saved your life. Would you have rather I left you to die?”

Villain did not answer. No, maybe, no of course not but where did that leave him? Alone and incapacitated in a city not his own, his organisation in tattered scrambles if not all but destroyed by now. How pitiful is that? Alone and taken in by a random stranger, stuck and helpless.

Civilian sighed, “look, obviously something horrible happened to you and you’re stressed and scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Villain said sharper then intended.  

Civilian looked at him with an expression soft and serious. One that looked knowing, like it could see through the layers of masks and glamour he had over himself, right into the terrified little core. His smile faded, jaw tightened.

“I’m not scared,” Villain repeated a little less convincing. “I can come back from this.”

“I’m sure you can,” Civilian said. “But before you can you need to rest and heal. How about we take a break from this interrogation and get you some water and food?”

The sensations of hunger and thirst and bodily exhaustion re-emerged with a vengeance and Villain felt dizzy.

“If you let me, I will help you sit up.”

Villain repelled at the thought.

“I don’t need your help.”

“It’s that or I help you through a straw.”

Villain liked that less.

“Fine,” Villain said.

Civilian got up off the coffee table and step forward, ever so gently grabbing Villain and helping him into a seated position. It took time and effort and many sharp breaths from Villain, but they eventually got there and Villain felt dizzy, as if sitting on top of a sky scraper rather then a couch. And it only got worse when Civilian’s hand left his side, like the very ground itself was opening up and swallowing him. Villain took a breath, closed his eyes.

“You ok?”

Villain opened his eyes to Civilian standing in front of him again, a glass of water in their hands. He opened his mouth to speak but the words tumbled together as his entire attention span zeroed in on the glass. Civilian helped bring it to his mouth while Villian mostly just held onto it pretneding he was strong enough to hold it up.

The water stung against his lips, but the cool sensation against his raw throat made up for it. He downed the glass, some of the dizziness easing, a small amount of relief spreading through his body. Civilian went and refilled the glass and Villain drank that one almost as fast.

“That’s all I’m giving you for now, don’t want to overdo it.”

Villain wanted to disagree but what power did he have in that moment to change anything? Civilian could do whatever and he would have no choice.

“Is there anyone I can contact for you?” Civilian asked as they returned to the lounge room.

Many names and numbers came to mind, but as each appeared Villain crossed them off. Dead, gone, betrayed, dead, dead, dead. Villain reached the end of the list, not a single name left.

“No,” Villain said. It came out quieter then he wanted, but in that moment he couldn’t care less.   

Civilian watched him, and Villain wanted to think his face was a blank slate, neutral or stoic anything other then what he knew it was. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” Civilian said.

Rage flared. “I don’t want your pity,” Villain snapped.

“You don’t have it,” Civilian snapped back. “You have my sympathy, or empathy or whatever, I can’t remember which is which. Losing people hurts, its simple fact.”

Villain’s instinct was to cross his arms, put up a shield and ignore the statement but he couldn’t and that left him feeling exposed.

“Who are you really? Is this some sort of ploy by the Heroes?” Villain said. He looked around, “put me in some dingy apartment to lower my guard or whatever.”

Civilian raised a brow. “Would that work?”

Villain glared.

“I am not in the mood for games.”

“And I am not playing a game,” Civilian said. “Look this isn’t the most convenient thing for me. I didn’t plan to have a homicidal asshole in my apartment but here we are, you can either accept my help or drag yourself out the door because I am not picking you up again.”

They stood and, before Villain could snap something back, went into the kitchen. Villain heard the fridge door open, the crack of a container before being shoved into a microwave.

They were right, he needed help and he couldn’t even leave by himself if he wanted to, which he did. He had no one to turn to, heroes hunting him and nothing but a random civilian who had the heart to not let him die. Perhaps, just for a little while, he will put up with this pathetic situation.

Civilian walked back in once again, still looking a little sour but none the less they plucked a cushion off the arm chair and shoved it into Villain’s lap before placing a plate of food on top. The smell of food made his mouth water instantly and it took everything within him not to shovel the steaming pile into his mouth. Instead, he looked up at them.

“What is this?”

“Reheated chicken and vegetable bake, you need to eat.”

“It smells awful,” Villain said even though it absolutely didn’t. It smelled like the best thing he had ever smelt.

When Villain looked up Civilian was trying to cover a smile, failed, and instead turned and disappeared behind the couch again.

Villain poked at the food with the fork, shifting it around watching more steam roll out. He stabbed a piece of chicken, raised it up to blow on it. The motion hurt but not nearly enough to deter him from the food. Even a bite of chicken made everything feel a little easier, like he was a little more alive.

The rest of the night went awkwardly. Eventually Villain had to lay back down, the act of sitting too much of a strain, and he had regrettably denied help, jarring his ribs on the way down. It took a good few minute for that spike of pain to subside, for his breath to come back fully.

Civilian checked his wounds later, their hands gentle and skilled. A random stranger who had taken first aid classes, how convenient.

 ~

Part 3

 Tag lists

@waddlethepenguin

If you want to be added to the tag list or any other tag list including my Masterlist, please let me know. 

Sorry if my writing isn’t as good at the moment, brain doing the brain things 

[milfstalin]

did a few revisions to my off the cuff essay

The failure to organize is both a tactical and a moral one:

The failure of the American labor unions to call a general strike on behalf of Palestine or to meaningfully impede the U.S.-Israeli arms dependency speaks to the disorganization of the “left” (that is to say, a vague alliance of communists/anarchists/trade unionists/progressive factions) in general, with the most militant actions carried out by the anarchists being essentially acts of vandalism and occasional logistical disruptions but without real impact to the overall functioning of the military-industrial complex, with segments of the trade union movement taking imperialist bribes to betray their fellow workers across borders, with the student movements and encampments bound to the seasonal cycles of university schedules.

As of one year since the start of Al-Aqsa Flood, a tactical, catastrophically successful strike to revive the movement for Palestinian statehood and to curb Israeli expansion into Palestinian lands, an attack that was planned to take advantage of U.S.-NATO distraction in the Ukraine and to disbar Saudi-Israeli normalization, now today the Harris-Walz campaign is running on a platform that in many ways is identical to the GOP’s platform, that promises the very same flow of U.S. arms and intelligence to the settler-colony that the Trump-Vance campaign promises. With regards to imperialism, the two parties are exactly the same; they wish to reproduce it.

U.S. war goals for Israel and West Asia:

The U.S. never intended for a ceasefire in Gaza. It sees the genocide as a golden opportunity to eliminate Hamas, the main militant resistance group against continuous Israeli oppression. “Ceasefire now” has become the “Defund the police” of 2023, a slogan overused and co-opted and defanged entirely. That the U.S. has also quietly encouraged Israel to invade Lebanon and extend the Palestinian genocide to them, in order to dismantle Hezbollah as both a political party and as a military force, is unsurprising.

In short, the U.S.’s goal in West Asia is to have Israel win the war and exterminate its enemies- from the organized parties who launch rockets at the colonial outposts to the Palestinian and Lebanese families who are crushed under buildings- this is an entire population that has been marked for liquidation regardless of their actual actions. That is because the alternative to Israel winning is Israel losing, and losing absolutely up to a complete collapse. Losing Israel means losing the most sophisticated U.S. military base on earth. Israel is a projection of imperial power, as well as a cudgel to use against the people of the region and a brandished weapon and thinly veiled threat to ensure the smooth flow of oil. It is a constant pressure exerted against U.S.-client states: behave, or Israel will do to you what it did to the Palestinians.

Iran, after waiting precious months and showing far more restraint than it had any right to give to buy time for a ceasefire deal, has now decided to up the ante and respond to constant Israeli provocations and to enter the field in support of Hezbollah, who despite Israeli decapitation of its top leadership in apocalyptic bombings and terrorist attacks like the supply-chain-attacked pager blasts remains coherent as a party and continues to fight. Even in Gaza, Al-Qassam fighters continue to emerge from rubble to attack platoons, the West Bank with its ad hoc militias remains vibrant with resistance, and the Yemeni Armed Forces have refused to give on up on Palestine even despite U.S. attempts at bribing them with everything they want.

The U.S.-Israeli response to humiliation on the battlefield is to bomb hospitals and schools and to slaughter the civilians instead in a vague hope of dismembering the popular base of the resistance, which is really just a pretext for genocide. But, the popular cradle of armed resistance, just as it was in Vietnam and Algeria, consists of civilians who are forced to take up arms and fight against the imperialist invaders who wish to control and exterminate them. Each person killed results in ten more people picking up the gun to avenge the fallen. The only solution to end the violence is to end the colonial-imperial oppression.

Criticism of electoralism and the CPUSA:

The CPUSA, for all its cadres have done in their communities, has thrown its weight behind the Democrats in fear of the boogeyman of Project 2025, which the Dems have made no promises to counteract. The CPUSA occupies an ineffective place between militant communist party and electoral worker’s party, rendering it ineffective at both and stranding it in no man’s land in terms of communist tactics. Line struggle within existing communist parties and dealing with their historical baggage may be an alternative option to organizing our own, but with a leadership as ossified as the CPUSA’s it seems pointless. Bringing back the revolutionary line might as well take as long as starting anew.

All this, while Palestine and now Lebanon are subjected to genocide, while the media smears and defames the factions who try to stop the genocides. The PSL went for the moonshot in their own presidential campaign, but they were subjected to the same marginalization that has afflicted third-parties, like the Greens ,as well as reckoning with their own institutional failures to even protect their own members.

In short, 2024 is an election between two colors of genocide without any third option. And even if the PSL or Greens could win the presidency, they would find themselves immediately devoured by Capitol politics and either eliminated or absorbed into the bourgeois class that sponsors the mainstream parties. If there is to be engagement with liberal electoralism, it must proceed in an organized, clear-minded manner, with attainable goals in mind, with concessions given over from the bourgeois parties before electing them to power. And these actions must be understood as only achieving a narrow window of political possibilities without changes to the underlying system of capitalism-imperialism.

Imperialism and organizing in the imperial core:

So, if we divest from engaging with the electoral process and the liberal parties and look to politics outside of formal politics, what do we do instead? The U.S.’s wealth and power come from the dollar and from imperialism; the exploitation of overseas labor means that the bourgeois do not have to listen to the demands of U.S. labor; in fact, the current labor unions bargain for scraps of the super-profits reaped by American corporations by their leveraging of “comparative advantage” i.e. socioeconomic underdevelopment due to historical colonialism and imperialism.

Why do we have access to cheap bananas year-round? Who grows and picks the coffee that ends up in Starbucks $6 lattes? How come we don’t have to worry about currency exchange rates or whether our savings will be devalued for reasons out of our control? These interrogations of our supply chain are essential to understanding how imperialism works to benefit a narrow sector of global workers at the cost of deprivation of the rest.

And yet, despite the massive benefits reaped by companies and the small luxuries given over to the working class American people, there is still homelessness, underemployment, healthcare debt, and all of the other ills that emerge from a society organized around maximizing profit and not fulfilling the needs of people. All this occurs on a background of settler-colonial genocide and continued indigenous extermination, and continued white supremacy and racial hierarchy. That there are some people who live significantly worse lives in the U.S. than others is as true as the fact that all Americans benefit from imperialism with or without their consent.

Because imperialism makes it that domestic labor can be bribed or ignored, we must focus our attention to breaking the chains of imperialism itself. The American political economy is an ideological battleground unto itself, with anti-Zionist and anti-imperialist movements and states smeared as irrationally evil and anti-human, with the consent manufactured for war that is natural for a bourgeois government that wishes to perpetuate the current world-system of massive inequity and exploitation and furthermore crush all opposition to it. The western imperialist proclaims cultural progressiveness and ideological supremacy, that it values women and LGBTQ+ people by bombing the places where they live and raping and looting the resources of their country, as if that was a valid excuse for genocide in the first place. Furthermore, one only needs to look around at home to see how much the U.S. actually values those groups.

Because even with imperial benefits the masses of American workers are still subject to capitalist exploitation, and that this exploitation plays out unevenly, based on racial and gender lines, we must organize to care for each other and to build dual power, that is to say, build a people’s power that cannot be taken away after a bad election cycle and eventually, a proletarian party to surpass and do what the existing ones cannot. The working class is not a homogenous one, and the differences in the masses can and has been exploited by bourgeois forces to great effect, but every worker anywhere shares the very same basic conditions for survival and therefore has a stake in the abolition of capitalism anywhere. When capitalism is overturned, only then can true attempts at reparations and societal justice be made at both the domestic and the international level.

Furthermore we must counter-propagandize against the bourgeois media who beat the drums of war, not with anti-war platitudes and liberal arguments, but from a materialist, anti-imperialist framework and with the goal of turning the imperialist war into a class war. Iran, China, and Russia are not threats to the American proletariat- in fact, they have revolutionary history and traditions that we may learn from. We know our enemies and they are not across the ocean; the enemy is the bourgeois right at home who defiles stolen lands and permits genocide everywhere and reaps profits from the labor of the worldwide working class. To destroy the American bourgeois is to free the world entire. That is the historical mission of the American working class.

[ussjellyfish]

Tag Game: First 10 Lines Challenge

I was tagged by @divinemissem13 and @lorcaswhisky, thank you!!

1. golden hour - Una Chin-Riley/La'an Noonien Singh | gen (200 words)

La'an prefers to stretch before her shift, working out any of the kinks of her muscles.

2. tolerance - Una Chin-Riley/La'an Noonien Singh | teen, (200 words)

La'an does not think it is particularly noteworthy that she has a high tolerance for pain.

3. home port - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak | teen, (859 words)

Becoming herself again was heavy.

4. uncharted flight paths - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak | mature (1735 words)

Laira - even teenage Laira - picked up on things too quickly for them to keep lying to her.

5. legends of the space lanes - Laira Rillak & Jett Reno, Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak | mature (1074 words)

"Look, I don't know who you are, and I appreciate that you're Starfleet, and that's exciting, I've always wanted to see a Starfleet ship, but I don't know why you're being so formal and why you're calling me ma'am, is that a Starfleet thing? You call all civies ma'am?"

6. partially digested organic matter - Laira Rillak & Zora, | teen, (1608 words)

Spill sensors were a sensible precaution.

7. Rigellian silk has many useful properties - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak, | teen, (300 words)

"You're bleeding again."

8. the Mighty Trij offers you congratulations - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak, | teen, (300 words)

Michael straightens her dress uniform collar, cradling the bottle of springwine to her chest.

9. kidnapping isn't what it used to be - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak, | teen, (300 words).

"Are you going to tell them how doomed they are?" Pelia asks, brushing dirt from her sweater.

10. if you were here, you'd approve - Una Chin-Riley/La'an Noonien Singh | teen (100 words)

"The Gorn are relentless, you can't turn your back on them." 

I seem to start with dialogue or a scene setting thing, which makes sense. I like to start with something short, and usually I go back and see if it needs to change, often I just keep it. Starting with dialogue is great when I can.

Tagging - @onmytallesttiptoesspinningspinning, @thewitchofelpis, @sadmushroomgoblin, @moomkin77, @concentfortea, @bessemerprocess, @elephant-in-the-pride-parade, @lenfaz, @an-inky-fingered-lass, @astrotrek86 if any of you fancy it.

[wonderswritings]

When Worlds Collide 2: I've Lost Myself

Summary: In the past year, you’d suffered more than you’d ever could’ve imagined. Now, after a relative moment of peace, it seems trouble has started once more, and you’re dragged into it. The multiverse is real, and with it, possibilities of a new life. 

Warnings: No Way Home Spoilers, Multiverse of Madness Spoilers, Angst, Lost Memories, Unrequited Feelings, 

Pairings: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader (nicknamed Mel read book 1 to find out why)

AO3

When Worlds Collide Masterlist

When he’d returned to his world, he was back in his apartment, and even though nothing had changed, everything had changed. He had changed. He had a new outlook, and it was all because of her. YN Mel Stark. The fiercely loyal girl who did everything she could to save Peter. Her Peter. The multiverse is real. There are other hims out there. Other worlds. He still couldn’t believe it. But he knew it was real because he could still feel her lips against his. He could still feel the warmth he felt when the burst of her powers had surged through him. And he could still see her, even if it was a week later and she wasn’t physically with him. Currently, he was swinging though the city, dropping down into an empty alley. He changed into his civi clothes, flipping his hoodie up as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, walking out of the alley. He walked down the street that led to the one place he dreaded, following the all too familiar path. He came to a stop, flipping his bag in front of him and pulling the flowers out, wincing slightly as he set them down in front of the stone.

“I’m sorry they’re smushed, Gwen.”

He grinned slightly as he sat down, nodding.

“Though, it’s par for the course, isn’t it?”

There was a soft breeze, causing him to smile softly.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last came. It uh- it’s been hard. But so much has happened. The multiverse is real. I went to this other world and I met other ‘mes’. I- I also met someone. She- she’s really sweet and protective and powerful.”

He chuckled, nodding.

“Like, super powerful. Her world is so different from ours. They’ve got wizards and witches and aliens too, apparently.”

Peter sighed softly, slightly grinning.

“I was- I was happy for the first time in a long time. And it sucks, because she’s not going to remember me should we ever meet again. But I- I hope we do meet again. I- I’d really like for you two to meet. The girl who made me happy and the girl who showed me how to be happy again.”

Peter looked up when the sky turned a dark reddish color, slightly making a face when there was a loud thundering sound.

“What the-”

He jumped up when the red faded into a flash of purple, a surge of familiarness hitting him. Peter looked around, making sure there was no one else around as he slipped his hoodie and sweats off, pulling his mask over his face.

“Sorry Gwen, I’ll be back. I promise.”

Peter swung through the city, gaining on the ever growing bright light when it disappeared, rain starting to fall, growing harder as he dropped onto the sidewalks, looking around. His spidey sense was silent, which caused him to be more on edge as he walked down the street, looking down each alley he passed when he heard it. If it wasn't for his enhanced hearing he would’ve missed it, the soft broken whimper. He followed it to a back alley, keeping his guard up when he heard it, the faint thumping of a heartbeat. He followed it as it grew louder, coming to a stop when he saw her, choking out a shocked gasp as his eyes widened under the mask.

“Mel?”

He dropped to his knees next to her, his hands hovering over her, hesitant to touch her. His heart sped up when he heard hers slow, ripping his mask off as he cradled her face in his hand, lightly tapping her cheek with the other.

“YN, YN please. Open your eyes.”

He tapped her cheek a little harder, his breathing growing frantic as he started to panic.

“Please, YN open your eyes. Please.”

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he started to shake her.

“Mel, please.”

Peter jumped when she gasped, her eyes slamming open, glowing. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, whispering her name. 

“Mel.”

The glow of her eyes pulsed before it faded, her eyes closing once more.

Peter was pacing back and forth, his mind racing. She was here. Here with him, laying in his bed. He had questions, the main being how was she here? But since he’d brought her here, she’d yet to wake, the steady thump thump of her heart the only thing keeping him freaking out more than he already was. He couldn’t risk taking her to the hospital, even if every part of his being wanted to, at least that way she’d get the proper care she needed. But she didn’t exist here, no record of her anywhere and that would cause questions, questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. He fell back onto his couch, leaning his head back as he rubbed at his temples, sighing.

“Oh man.”

He jumped when he heard a thud coming from his room, jumping up and running down the hall, throwing his door open, his eyes wide.

“YN?”

He stepped further into his room, looking around. The sheets on his bed were strewn about, the only sign that she’d been there.

“YN? YN where are you?”

He took a deep breath as he scanned the room, looking for any signs of YN. He started to panic, his breathing growing heavy. Was it even real? Did he just, imagine it? He moved to his bed, sitting on the edge of it, his head in his hand as he sighed, running his hand through his hair, catching a glimpse. He let his hand fall down as he leaned up, breathing a sigh of relief.

“YN.”

She was sitting in the corner, her knees pressed against the side of his desk, his hamper shoved in front of her. He stood up, walking towards her. She flinched, huddling closer to the wall, causing Peter to lift his hands, speaking softly.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

He moved so he was kneeling in front of the hamper, keeping a small distance between it and him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, promise.”

He lowered his hands when she stopped shaking, jerking his chin towards the hamper.

“Can we move this? I just want to make sure you’re okay, that you’re not hurt.”

She watched him, staring him down before she slowly nodded. Peter offered her a small smile as he gently reached towards the hamper, moving it out to the side.

“There you are. What do you say to getting out of the corner? It can’t be comfortable.”

She slightly nodded, causing Peter to smile as he stood. He held his hand out towards her, offering her a soft smile as he nodded. She looked at his hand, slightly making a face before she slowly reached out, placing her hand in his. He was careful as he helped her stand.

“Good?”

She nodded, causing Peter to nod back as he turned, gently leading her back to his bed. He helped her sit down, his eyes widening when he saw the dried blood at her hairline. Without thinking he reached out, jumping as she grabbed his wrist, stopping him from touching her. He looked down at her, seeing her eyes glowing. She shook her head, letting his wrist go, dropping her hand back to her lap.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Peter shook his head, reaching towards his nightstand for the first aid kit as he knelt in front of her. She watched him as he set it on the bed next to her, flipping it open. He looked up at her, lifting the alcohol wipe.

“Can I?”

She nodded, Peter offering her a small smile as he reached up, gently wiping the blood. Peter caught her wringing her fingers together. He cast her a curious glance, causing her to take a deep breath, looking down at her hands.

“Do you- can you tell me who YN is?”

Peter stopped what he was doing, slowly looking back at her.

“What?”

“You- you called for YN. Who is that?”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, tears stinging at his eyes. He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“Uhm, yo- you are. Your name is YN.”

She made a face, slightly tilting her head to the side.

“YN. My name is YN?”

“Yes.”

Peter took a deep breath as grabbed a bandaid, opening the wrapping before he gently pressed it over the cut.

“Do- do you know who I am?”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she watched him start to clean up.

“No. I- I’m sorry.”

Peter looked back over her, shaking his head.

“Hey, no, no. It’s okay.”

He took a deep breath, glancing over at her.

“Do you- what do you remember?”

She sniffled, shaking her head.

“Nothing. I don’t remember anything.”

Peter fell back so he was sitting on the floor, his eyes wide as he looked up at her, muttering.

“Crap.”

Caps Tags

Everything Tags:

@jedi-dreea 

@scarlett-witchhh

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[riseofthecommonwoodpile]

We laid on the mattress and tumbled to sleep. Our eyes align, swaddled in our civies, cradled in our dungarees.

But you, my brother in arms, I'd rather I'd lose my limbs than let you come to harm.

[enkhanthor]

LEGACY HISTORY CHALLENGE - AGRICULTURAL AGE (NEOLITHIC AND EARLY SIMVILIZATION)

*Note: English isn't my mother language and I’m not an expert in idiomatic expression. So if you find any errors or something weird, please forgive me and let me know on “ask me” if you want.

Tradução para Português aqui.

INTRODUCTION

Around 12,000 years ago, geological and astronomical events such as the younger Dryas impact caused profound climate changes, leading to global warming, rising sea levels and enabling the development of agriculture. Man ceased to be a hunter/gatherer and began to settle in settlements, becoming sedentary. The first cities, ceramics, the calendar, coins (initially clay chips) and later, writing appeared.

The oldest city in the world is believed to be Çatal Huyuk in Anatolia (Turkey) dating to 7,100 BC, although older settlements such as Tell Abu Hureyra already denote the existence of Pre-Pottery Neolithic communities of Natufian culture in the Levant region and northern Mesopotamia between 13,000 and 9,000 years ago. These were probably seasonal settlements of semi-nomadic hunter-gatherer groups who practiced rudimentary agriculture and domestication of animals, while Çatal Huyuk was a more sophisticated town of around 10 thousand inhabitants, with a sewerage and rainwater channeling system. Their houses were about 25 m² (269,0977 ft²) in size and were built adjacent to each other with openings in the roof, accessed by stairs. The city had no walls, sidewalks, streets, market squares or cemeteries. Their dead were buried under the floors of houses. Art was very important to the local population. Mural paintings and several animal sculptures were found, mainly bulls and women, probable symbols of fertility. One factor that may have favored the establishment of a matriarchal culture is the city's location on the migration route between northern Mesopotamia and the European continent. However, as men spent more time at home and cities emerged, social relations began to change, forming the basis for the patriarchal society that was established since antiquity. The man's space was defined as public, while the woman's became private. Marriages began to be frequent and women became a bargaining chip.

In Anatolia, the first major constructions also emerged, the Temple of Gobekli Tepe, dating from 9,500 BC, and astro-religion (a set of mythological beliefs based on the observation of the sky and constellations). It is speculated that there was a religious belief at that time, which originated from syncretism all the gods and myths of antiquity. In this way, there are parallels between Ea and Chronos, Zeus and Thor, Ra and Apollo, Ishtar, Astarte and Aphrodite, Hermes and Thoth, Enki/Enlil and God/Devil, Jesus Christ and Krishna and several narratives that talk about a great flood in different cultures.

It was formerly believed that agriculture spread from three centers of expansion: Mesopotamia, Egypt, and China. Today, Harapa (India), Central America and New Guinea are added. The earliest known civilization flourished in the fertile crescent between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, where, around 5500 BC, the Ubaid culture developed through the fusion of the three cultures: Samarra (fisher-hunter), Hassuna (practicing irrigated agriculture) and Halef (shepherd potter nomads), later becoming Sumer. The Ubaidians founded the city of Eridu in 5400 BC in southern Mesopotamia and are probably responsible for the oldest metallurgical processes known from copper smelting. Genesis also mentions that the Garden of Eden would be located next to a river that would divide into four, two of them identified as Tigris and Euphrates. This could mean that there was a place of peace and tranquility in this region attributed by the Hebrews as the cradle of humanity. New research has also found submerged ruins that suggest the existence of even older civilizations in Duarca (India) and Yonaguni (Japan), but little is known about these archaeological remains.

The rules I wrote are for the Neolithic and early pre-Sumerian civilization in Mesopotamia because of the archaeological records. I tried to have a base that had sources to research or at least a speculation of how people lived. Another point is that I wanted to diversify the ethnic groups. It is worth remembering that Prehistory in Mesopotamia ends with the invention of writing around 3500 BC, while in Europe it lasts longer. Stonehenge, for example, dates to 3100 BC to 2000 BC (about 6 millennia after Gobekli Tepe).

Being based in Mesopotamia also means some problems. Doesn't have custom content for Sumeria (I'll need to make). I am inspired by Morbid Gamer's Ultimate Decades Challenge and playing 10 thousand years considering every 4 Sim days as 1 human year would be crazy. So I'll adopt the human-based Sims lifespan only when starting historical records. Prior to these records, the Bible and the Sumerian King List suggest that men lived for hundreds of years. So, consider that your Prehistoric Sims lived thousands of years and ancient Sims lived longer than current Sims. I have established each Sim day as 1 year of Antiquity. The amount of generations after completing the basic tasks of this Age is optional and you can also disregard this calendar suggestion.

RULES

1 - Gradual progression:

The main rule of this Era is:

1.1 - Changes should happen slowly, gradually and look like progress is being made. No more sleeping in a cave with furs one day and the next day in a brick shed with elaborate clothing and jewelry. Let your Sims conquer things slowly.

2 - Heir, Matrimony, Maternity and Primogeniture

2.1 - The Sim that starts this Era would be the youngest after the Founding Matriarch of Prehistory completed the life cycle. If you've played multiple generations in Prehistory, you can choose another descendant, as long as he's of the Matriarch's blood lineage.

2.2 - The first heir can be a woman, but the next ones will all be men.

2.3 - If you have The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle expansion pack, the "Free Love" action plan is prohibited.

2.4 - Female sims must marry young (teens in the game). Yes, they can marry with elders.

2.5 - It would be nice for men to marry young, but it's not mandatory.

2.6 - Beauty is not fundamental to marriage, fertility yes. Young women with wide hips are preferred. But if your Sim doesn't find their spouse attractive (Wicked Whims or Wonderfull Whims attractiveness system), you can marry them anyway.

2.7 - Marriages can occur by exchanges. I'm not considering the dowry, but the exchange for some more expensive item you need or want.

2.8 - Your Sim can have more than one wife. This rule is valid for women also until the day marked as 2300 BC in the Sim Calendar (see item 4). Polyandry was outlawed under the penalty of stoning around 2300 BC in Sumer.

2.9 - In Simvilization, women must have aspirations of being a Superparent or a Big Happy Family and being mothers. They can have other aspirations and do business with other Sims (through the store or sales table) only when widowed or old (adult), in the absence of a husband.

2.10 Every time a Sim gets married (male or female) roll a D100. If you roll 100, that Sim is infertile and will never be able to have children. Check the option in the CAS so that he cannot have children.

2.11 - If the Sim's wife is infertile he cannot get a divorce.

2.12 - If you use Wicked Whims, Wonderfull Whims or Pregnancy Overhaul you cannot use contraception. I didn't adopt the rule of always “try for a baby” instead of “woo hoo” because surely there must have been methods of preventing pregnancy in the old days, although not as effective as the modern ones.

2.13 - Homosexual relationships gradually begin to be viewed with prejudice. These relationships must be hidden. I'm not sure if this is true for all of Sumer, but it was true for the Hebrews (Bible). So the foundations must have started with marriage.

2.14 - If your inheriting Sim dies, the Legacy passes to the firstborn child.

2.15 - If the heir's eldest son dies, the Legacy passes to the next eldest son.

2.16 - If all of the heir's sons die, the Legacy passes to the closest male Sim.

2.17 - If all male Sims descended from the Matriarch die, the Legacy passes to the eldest daughter or closest female relative, assuming the husband will plan her estate. Upon the death of that female Sim, the Legacy passes to her firstborn male child. If the husband has other children, with another woman, these are not considered, as they are not descendants of the Matriarch.

2.18 - Use rules 2.16 and 2.17 with wisely. A female Sim close to the main family is still more important than a male Sim descended from the Matriarch in a distant world. If you don't have contact with the male Sim's family branch, Legacy passes to the female Sim.

2.19 - If your legacy Sim dies without completing an Age task, the next Sim who takes up the Legacy must carry on that task. The previous heir's skill progression doesn't count. If the heir dies with gardening level 9 and the new one has only 2, you will have all the skill progression effort again.

2.20 - The second son or another male Sim can compete with the heir Sim for the Legacy. A fight must ensue. The loser dies or is exiled. The winner must continue the tasks, applying rule 2.19.

2.21 - I'm not considering the regent yet. In some cases, when the mother is a widow and the heir is a child, a regent (the uncle or second husband of mother) may be appointed to complete the tasks of the Age. But I don't know if this is suitable for this Age or just Roman Empire and Middle Ages. It is more likely that this wasn't important until there was a great accumulation of simoleons. Perhaps, if your family becomes exceptionally rich… Use this idea wisely.

3 - Aspiration and Sim Skills - Agriculture Expansion, Object Crafting and Animal Taming

3.1 - Your Heir Sim must have the Freelance Botanist aspiration and the Super Green Thumb reward trait to complete the Agricultural Age.

3.2 - Your Heir Sim must reach level 10 in Gardening skill.

3.3 - Complete the Harvested Interest achievement.

3.4 - Have a plantation with all plants in your world. It must not be an organized plantation. Just a bunch of plants that grow where you planted them and shouldn't be moved in build mode. You can organize the crops after completing level 10 gardening.

3.5 - Plants with insects cannot be cared for and must die. No pesticides.

3.6 - It is not allowed to buy seeds by the gardener. No buying on phone and computer too, please.

3.7 - Your Sim can travel to another world to gather herbs, fruits and vegetables, but he must stay outside for days with his campfire and tent. Only for worlds with similar climates. If your Sim lives in Willow Creek, he can travel to Newcrest, Windembug, and Henford-on-Bagley. If he lives in Oasis Springs he can travel to Del Sol Valley and Sulani. Granitte Falls are equivalent to the mountains and can be visited by everyone, but Selvadorada isn't.

3.8 - After you reach level 10 in gardening, you can acquire wheat with this branzelotus mod if you want. It's like your Sim traded with merchants.

3.9 - Your Heir Sim must have Handiness Level 10 to purchase the Sales Table (as if your Sim crafted it with Woodworking Skill) which is equivalent to starting business transactions and currency (see item 5).

3.10 - If you have The Sims 4 Cottage Living expansion pack, I recommend using mods to replace the cow with a goat and the llama with a sheep.

3.11 - To own any farm animal (The Sims 4 Cottage Living required), bee box (The Sims 4 Seasons required) or insect farm (The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle required), your Heir Sim must have level 10 Fishing and Gardening skills and enough money (see item 5).

3.12 - Polemic - Exception to rules 3.9 and 3.11 - You can also exchange the sales table, a farm animal or some item by giving one of your daughters in marriage. This rule will apply to almost any object for many Ages to come, especially the poorer your Sim.

3.13 - Sims can have candle fabrication skill. In the Neolithic your Sims remain in the dark if they don't create their own candles. You can only purchase one permanent candle (lighting session in Buy Mode or custom content) for each Sim who reaches Fabrication skill 10. All other candles must be crafted. This rule applies to your main lot, other lots can be customized with permanent candles.

3.14 - All past Age skills are allowed: Gymnastics, Singing, Dancing, Animal Training, Painting, Cooking, Fishing, Charisma, and Mischief. If you have The Sims 4 Outdoor Retreat game pack, you can have herbalism too.

3.15 - Skills from mods consistent with the Early Simvilization are allowed: honey production, cowplant farming, for example. Cowplant farming requires level 10 gardening skill and obtain a base game cowplant through fishing or grafting.

4 - Worlds, Weather and Sim Calendar:

4.1 - Choose a world to settle in. Henford-on-Bagley represents Great Britain; Windemburg, the Rhine region of Germany; Newcrest and Willow Creek, Western Europe; Tartosa, the Mediterranean; Oasis Springs and Strangerville, Egypt. In the absence of a suitable world, Mesopotamia can be represented by either Oasis Springs or Sulani.

4.2 - I suggest you stay away from the roads or use a mod like Timeless, always covering modern items with stones with the help of tool 2.6.2.

4.3 - In the Neolithic seasons lasted 7 days, completing 1 Sim year, this will allow the creation of the Sim Calendar.

4.4 - You can set the start of the calendar in the spring of the next year, after you reach level 10 in gardening skill.

4.5 - The Calendar marks the Start of Early Simvilization. The Sim year has 28 days and is divided into p1, p2, p3, p4, p5, p6, p7 for spring, v1, v2, v3, v4, v5, v6, v7 for summer, o1, o2, o3, o4, o5, o6, o,7 for autumn and i1, i2, i3, i4, i5, i6, i7 for winter, where each number corresponds to the day of the week. On the front put the year number. Thus, 1p1 equals the first day of spring in year 1 and 25v5 equals the fifth day of summer in year 25. Follow the calendar tab of my spreadsheet to understand better. Each Sim day at Start of Simvilization equals 1 human year. So at this stage the challenge runs faster than the Ultimate Decades Challenge, considering that events are occurring faster in Sim History than in Human History.

The day 1p1 equals 3500 BC, which date we will establish as the invention of proto-writing in Sumer (although the Ubaid period started in 5400 BC):

4.6 - As time goes by, build lots in your neighborhood and populate them with random Sims from the game (duly customized) or descendants of other families.

5 - Lots, Money and Bills

5.1 - At the start of Agricultural Age you can now build a rustic shelter. Suggestion: a simple square block with holes for ventilation or just a hole in the floor. Over time and as you earn money, you can add windows, thatched roofs and improve your shelter.

5.2 - At the beginning of Simvilization, money matters. From 1p1, you must zero your family/group money. To do this, have handiness level 10 and buy a sales table (The Sims 4 City Living, The Sims 4 Jungle Adventure or The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle required). Now, press shift+c, enable testingcheats.true and type money 0.

5.3 - After purchasing the sales table, the Sim can no longer sell items from their inventory. You always need to sell the item to another Sim that your Sim can interact with (Yard Sale).

5.4 - To sell items in construction mode, you need to have a store (requires The Sims 4 Get to Work). Unless you know an easier way to sell these items to Sims your Sim interacts with.

5.5 - You cannot sell your harvest. Just pick the fruits and vegetables for your own consumption and sell some through the sales desk.

5.6 - You can ignore bills, always paying and discounting the amount through cheats, as if you had never paid bills. Look at the family/group simoleons before paying the bill. Pay the bill. Press shift+c, enable testingcheats.true and type money observed value. The amount paid on the accounts will be added.

5.7 - The lot you live on does not belong to you, it has no land value. You simply found unclaimed land and built on it. This means that when you leave, you must deduct its value from your initial money. In the same way, when changing lots, you don't have to pay for it. Press shift + c, enable testingcheats.true and use the command FreeRealEstate on.

5.8 - Own the “Off the Grid” and “Simple Living” lot challenges (Simple Living requires The Sims 4 Cottage Living). Again, you can only remove “Off the Grid” if you use a custom content stove because the game interprets the stove as electric. Therefore, prefer barbecue grills.

The rules below apply to Mesopotamia, not Europe:

5.9 - Polemic - You can create a lot that will serve as a house of pleasures. This lot can have a bar, dance floor and music. Female Sims who don't have a husband and the means to support themselves can be dancers and join "the oldest profession in the world". These types of environments cannot be frequented by married women and daughters of patriarchs. The women of the pleasure houses also cannot live with other women from outside, they are unfortunately not well socially accepted. (This case is not sacred prostitution allegedly practiced by Sumerian priestesses in temples.)

5.10 - You can create an Astro-religion temple. The Gods are based on the constellations and forces of nature: Sun God, Moon Goddess, Thunder God, and The Watcher from The Sims Medieval.

5.11 - Other lots allowed as the Simvilization progresses are restaurant (requires The Sims 4 Dine Out game pack), market community lot (requires The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle) and stores (requires The Sims 4 Get to Work), duly customized.

6 - Build Mode Objects and Custom Content

6.1 - All stone and skin items from the past Age are allowed.

6.2 - You can use the woodwork table to craft objects. Destroy in-game items and exchange for custom content items, then these items will be free (you can add your value to the family/group money through cheats). Prefer rustic objects at the beginning (tree benches, for example), but objects with metallic connections (nails) are allowed at the EarlySimvilization.

6.3 - To have a bathtub you need to create it on the woodwork table. Delete it from the game (since you can't sell it in construction mode) and replace it with a more suitable CC.

6.4 - You can have a grill and stove with custom contents.

6.5 - Refrigerators to preserve food are still not allowed. You can have one just for cooking because the game requires it. You can only store fruits and meat (mod olde cookbook v.0.3) as if they were dried fruits and salted meat. Uneaten food must sit out of the refrigerator and spoil (except in winter in places where it snows).

6.6 - Scatter Lump of Clay around the lot to pretend Sims are molding pottery. You can discount the value of the Lumps through cheats and sell them on the sculpture model at the sales table. Mud is free, ready-made pottery is worth something.

6.7 - The Sim can have a loom.

7 - Create a Sim Items

7.1 - Fur clothes with leather or metallic parts are now allowed.

7.2 - The snowtato loom is a computer in disguise. You can increase writing skill with it. As you level up in writing, you can change your skins for clothes that appear to be woven or made of wool and cotton. One piece per level.

7.3 - In some warmer regions, women can only wear skirts with their breasts uncovered and, over time, cover them up more. Despite that Sims can no longer walk naked, or shower in the rain near other Sims.

Leaves or Skins? - only consider the first few minutes of video, not the most elaborate outfits.

7.4 - Transition from disheveled hair to neater hair or hairstyles.

7.5- Transition from mandatory to optional body hair for women.

7.6 - Men should still have a beard, except for beardless teenagers or future Egyptians.

8 - Birthdays, Life Expectancy, Deaths and Illnesses

Living in Simvilization made life easier for the Sims, but not so much. No more the devastating danger of starvation, animal attack or homelessness, but now there are plagues, attacks by bandits or other rival cities and the misery of wars and social inequality. Of course, there are always good Sims out there to help those in need, just as much as there are evil ones. Life expectancy has improved compared to prehistory, but remains aggressive.

At Early Simvilization you must change the life stage duration in the MC Command Center settings, based on the life expectancy below:

8.1 - From day 1p1 of the Calendar, make the modification bellow considering normal and short life time (MCC cannot modify the short life time, if you want to play in the short life time, you must play in normal mode with the change indicated for short):

8.2 - Always grow the Sim one day after his birthday or let him grow alone (you can remove the forgotten birthday buffs with cheat). Thus, all Sims in the world grow equally, because EA's default is to delay growth by one day.

8.3 - The elder life stage can be left as default, 27 days on normal, or you can simply roll a die to decide how many days your Sim can live.

8.4 - From 1p1, when your Sim grows up, replace the Prehistory dice roll with the dice roll in the table below:

8.5 - If you roll one of the dice from the table above, it means that your Sim will die at this stage of life. Deaths in childbirth, newborns and the elderly occur on the same day. For the other stages, roll the dice again or spin the roulette wheel with the number of days that the respective stage lasts to find out on which day the Sim will die. That way Sims don't always die on the same day.

8.6 - If you use a mod that adds disease to the game, you can choose to roll the dice only when your Sim gets sick, instead of inventing deaths.

8.7 - For pregnancies with twins, triplets or more, the mother must roll the dice for each baby.

8.8 - Newborns can survive when their mothers die in childbirth (even twins), if you have a domestic animal that generates milk or a pregnant woman or with a child of nursing age (baby and toddler) nearby.

8.9 - If the pregnant woman gets a 5, it means that it was a complicated pregnancy and she is very sick. Roll the dice again the next day. If she survives, she will be sterile. Check the option in the CAS so that the Sim can no longer have children.

8.10 - If you ignore the rule 8.9 and the Sim becomes pregnant again, it is a death sentence. At the time of birth she will surely die.

8.11 - A sorcerer can save your Sim from death (requires The Sims 4 Realm of Magic). With a sorcerer on your lot (belonging to the family group/or not) you can beg for your Sim's life to Mistress Death or roll the dice again, taking a good number, the previous die is nullified and your Sim survives.

8.12 - Sorcerers can also cure infertility. Visit or invite a sorcerer to your lot. Get any potion from the reward shop. Pay 1000 simoleons for the potion (as if you bought it from the sorcerer) and you can lift the CAS restriction and "try for a baby" once. Do not abuse this rule.

9 - Attacks by Bandits or Other Peoples, Natural Disasters, Crop Losses and Diseases

It is assumed that with the sedentary lifestyle and the accumulation of food and products, groups of looters also emerged. Bandit attacks can occur by decreasing your game's Sim population. Life in cities without modern hygiene habits and living with animals also facilitate the transmission of diseases. Your Sim doesn't yet live in beautifully finished homes, fully protected from nature. Natural disasters such as landslides, floods, severe storms, heat waves, etc. may occur. At least one of these events must happen at some point in this Age.

9.1 - If a bandit attack happens, roll the dice or heads and tails for each Sim in your world. Sims can be killed or taken as slaves (mostly women and children).

9.2 - If your Sims are taken as slaves, you can choose to delete them or move them to another world, continuing their descent away from the main family/group.

9.3 - When bandits attack you also lose your plantation and part of your money. Roll a D100 to find out what percentage of money you should withdraw from your account. Taking 1 is 1%, 10 is 10%, 50 is half and 100 is total loss.

9.4 - In case of a disease outbreak, roll the dice or flip heads or tails for each Sim in your world, deciding who lives and who dies.

9.5 - The Sims 4 Seasons: Strong storms or excessive heat can make you lose your plantation and consequently your harvest. Roll a D100 to find out the percentage of the loss.

10 - Animals

I tried researching the oldest dog races and this is what I found, though not from reliable sources, but from articles on the internet:

Basenji (this breed is supposed to have emigrated from Africa and was represented through cave paintings in Libya 6000 years ago), Akita-Inu (its ancestor Matagi-Inu existed from 8000 BC to 200 BC), Alaskan Malamute (bred by the Mahlemut tribe 2000 or 3000 years ago), Saluki (dates back to 329 BC in Egypt, it is believed that it was used by tribes of nomadic hunters for its strength, endurance and agility), Siberian Husky (followed the Chukchi tribe in the region of Siberia), Samoyed (used to pull sleds and hunt by the Samoyed people of northwestern Siberia), Shar-Pei (hunter of wild boar and protector of livestock) and Chow-Chow (its name Songshi-Quan means "bellied lion dog". Pictured on a bas-relief from the Han Dynasty (150 BC -200 BC)). Of these, only the Basenji would have been common in the Mesopotamia region and excepting the Saluki, the other dogs belong to peoples with oriental physical characteristics such as almond-shaped eyes and straight black hair.

Basenji - Origin and Migration.

10.1 - You can have a dog that looks like a wolf or another wild animal (requires The Sims 4 Cats & Dogs).

10.2 - You can have a Basenji dog in Oasis Springs or Sulani.

10.3 - You can have a dog that looks like Akita, Samoyeda or Siberian Husky if your ethnicity is oriental.

10.4 - Prehistory rules continue. If your pet gets sick, wait a day and roll the D20 dice for it. On a roll of 5 or more, it must survive and acquire resistance to that disease. Watch the symptoms and the next time it has the same illness he won't need to roll the dice. You can press shift+left mouse button and restart it to remove the disease.

10.5 - Even in Simvilization, the sick animal cannot go to the vet, but if you have a socery on your lot (requires The Sims 4 Realm of Magic), he can cure the animal. Roll the die again, rolling 5 or more, your pet is healed even if you rolled a negative dice the previous round.

11 - Occults

11.1 - If you have The Sims 4 Realm of Magic game pack, you can create a sorcerer Sim to be a temple priest, or even considered a God. Socerys can also heal people, sell potions through the table sale, and trade skills (magic item repairs) for Simoleons. A fridge that looks like a wooden cabinet with bad contact in a time when there was no electricity and a stone bathtub leaking water seem like items taken by evil spirits, don't they? Add 50 simoleons every time you fix a broken item in someone's house.

11.2 - If you have The Sims 4 Get to Work expansion pack, you can have an Alien and consider him to be an Anunnaki, an ancient alien. I particularly think they match the paintings of the Egyptian god Osiris. But the gods were astronauts?

11.3 - The myth of the Vampire was present in Sumeria through Lamashtu. If you have The Sims 4 Vampires game pack and fishing the Vampire Squid or Batfish in the Oasis Springs secret lot, you can come into contact with the vampirism virus and become a vampire. Use cheats to do this, or create a vampire to transform your Sim as if the fish had bitten him. You can delete the vampire later.

11.4 - Tiamat was also the mother of sea monsters, or perhaps mermaids (requires The Sims 4 Island Living).

12 - The Simvilization

If you've made it this far, your legacy Sim is already level 10 in Fishing, Gardening, and Handiness. You already have a calendar, a shelter, and a neighborhood. His life expectancy improved a little bit. Congratulations, now your Sim's challenge will no longer be taking a shower in the rain at the risk of being hit by lightning and needing to fish to roast a fish over the fire and not starve to death. His new goal is to earn money so he can build a successful legacy. Trust me, making money without being able to sell through Sim inventory and build mode is hard.

12.1 - The aspirations for this stage are Fabulously Wealthy and Successfull Lineage, you can alternate between them.

12.2 - Male Sims can have fisher and gardener careers.

12.3 - You must complete a base game crystal collection if you live in Oasis Springs and a shell collection (requires The Sims 4 Island Living) if you live in Sulani. Or both if you want to travel between worlds as a merchant.

12.4 - Complete the Rosebud achievement, while you upgrade your outfits and main lot.

13 - Expansions, Game Packs and Stuff Packs:

13.1 - The Sims 4 Seasons (essential). Organize Sim Calendar.

13.2 - The Sims 4 Cottage Living (optional). “Simple life” lot challenge and farm animals.

13.3 - The Sims 4 City Living (optional/essential). Have a street vendor table.

13.4 - The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle (optional/essential). Have a community market lot, sales table and insect farm.

13.5 - The Sims 4 Island Living (optional). Live in Sulani (equivalent to the Fertile Crescent) and have a mermaid.

13.6 - The Sims 4 Get to Work (optional). Having an Alien and store.

13.7 - The Sims 4 Jungle Adventure (essential if you don't have The Sims 4 City Living or The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle). Have a street vendor table.

13.8 - The Sims 4 Realm of Magic (optional). Having a sorcerer to be a priest of the Astro-religion.

13.9 - The Sims 4 Vampires (optional). Having a Vampire.

13.10 - The Sims 4 Dine Out (optional). Have a restaurant.

14 - MCC settings:

14.1 - Enable marriages between men and women and more than one spouse.

14.2 - Women marry in adolescence, men at any age from adolescence.

14.3 - Female Elder Sims are not eligible to have children. Male Elder sims yes.

14.4 - There should be a higher percentage of pregnancies in the teenage and young adult stages compared to adulthood.

14.5 - Enable parenting skill for teenagers.

14.6 - Enable children can take care of babies.

14.7 - Increase the number of children per family/group from 3 to 6.

14.8 - Change the duration of lifespan from Sim Year 1: Newborns 6 days, Infants 20 days, Children, Adolescents and Young Adults, 27 days each, Adults, 55 days and Elders 27 days.

15 - Recommended mods:

- MC Command Center by Deaderpool - Manages various game resources.

-Timeless by Pandora - Removes some post-1900 modern items. Appropriate for Victorian Era historical saves.

- Tool v.2.6 by Twisted Mexi - Add and edit objects in the world.

-Sulani Hiders by Simplified Modding - Hides modern items in Sulani.

- Invisible Crib (default) by Severinka - hide the cradle.

-Miscarriage Chance by LittleMsSam’s or Miscarriage & Pregnancy Loss Pregnancy Overhaul Module - There is a chance the female Sim will experience cramps and miscarriage.

- Personalized content consistent with the Era. You can check the list of CPs I found at CC Links LHC Directory in my home page (I'm always updating).

[i-miss-breathing]

I think it should be Tim.

Danny finds him by looking through a cafe window and seeing this disheveled, exhausted 20 year old that looks a little bit like his dad and has a “down for whatever” type of vibe, cradling a cup of coffee like it’s baby Jesus. And Danny just sits across him in the booth, and obviously Tim saw him coming from across the street, he’s a bat, but he was in his civies and this clearly isn’t an assassin, so he assumed it was some rando that recognized him as a wayne.

But when this dude slides a twenty across the table and starts telling him the exact plan that he had created, who was he to say no?

Danny pulls a Tim and makes up an uncle living in Gotham to avoid being adopted by Vlad after TUE. Unfortunately, this farce doesn't last long as Vlad starts demanding proof. Lucky for Danny though, he sees the perfect candidate for his uncle on the streets one day as he's brainstorming options. Now if only he can convince this stranger to go along with him.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Covert Operative

@stinastar turned my own mind against me and hit me with this in my inbox: 

“Heeyyyyyyy babe.You did this to yourself. I’m here to kindly ask for your own idea 🤣“The totally untrained/civi/softie jumps in front of a bullet for the one who's already been shot like five times? The ex spy or some shit who's been tortured and lived. And their twinky little SO was like NOPE” I’m assuming you’ll do geraskier but you know I also adore lambden. THANKS CAN’T WAIT. This is much better than filling my own prompts 🤣😘💖”

and i was feeling that Lambden life so, boo, this one’s for you 😘😘 ily

Warnings: this is all pretty canon typical levels of violence just modern au style, guns, gunshots, someone gets shot, allusions to killing, BIG TIME deception, feelings of betrayal, one of them is a secret spy, it ends soft but it is not a fluff piece, think an episode of NCIS or Covert Affairs. 

_________________

He’d found out by teasing Aiden about missing an exit. 

Aiden didn’t miss anything; he skipped it. Then drove them in circles, checking his mirrors the whole way, as he tried to convince Lambert he was just looking for something.

Lambert unbuckled and threatened to roll out of the car on a side street before Aiden finally admitted it. 

Covert operative, he’d said. Lambert had been thinking about proposing. To a spy.

They now sat across from each other on the upper level patio of a quaint little bistro, rather far away from the farmers market they were headed to, and Lambert was absolutely livid. Aiden ordered for them while Lambert pretended to be on his phone. Aiden had taken the battery out of that though, so it was more an excuse to not talk to him. 

“Bert-”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Lambert snapped, barely keeping his voice low enough, “Only family calls me that.” 

The hurt on Aiden’s face wasn’t even slightly hidden and, oh did Lambert want to believe it was genuine, “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I did. But knowing placed you at greater risk.”

Lambert locked eyes with him, lips pressed together in a thin narrow line and eyebrows arching up as if to say “bang up job”, but he kept silent. 

“You don’t have to believe me right now. I just need you to listen to me. Please,” Aiden looked almost terrified for a moment before he schooled his features. He just looked like your average person out on a date with their live-in significant other. The pistol in his laptop case sitting on the table was the only thing an outsider would find odd.

Looking at Lambert was completely different.

He was breathing heavy, bouncing his knee fast enough the cooks in the kitchen below them could probably feel it, and the murderous look in his eyes alone would have killed someone unaccustomed to it. 

“I don’t even know you.” he growled.

“I’m still me. I swear to God, this was the only lie I ever told you,” Aiden offered a soft smile as he leaned forward a bit, “And that I liked your experiment with growing tea. So two lies.”

Lambert scoffed, crossing his arms and looking across the street. 

“Be as angry as you want. Hell, take a swing at me once we make it to a safehouse. But please - Lambert. Please tell me you can follow my instruction to the letter. You can hate me, and I’ll understand that, but I need to make sure you’re safe.” 

“Fine.”

A different waitress set their food in front of them in the tense silence that followed and just before she left Lambert noticed the edge of her tattoo peeking out underneath her shirt sleeve.

He glanced up at Aiden and made a split second decision, turning to the server, “Cool tattoo! Where did you get it? I’ve been looking for a good artist.” 

She blinked at him with round brown eyes before smiling and tucking her short curly hair behind her ear, “In Panama, actually. I had an interesting summer holiday last year.”

Something in Aiden shifted when she rolled her sleeve up and showed them the sailor’s Celtic knot taking up all of her inner forearm. Lambert looked politely, leaning into the ‘don’t raise suspicion’ issue Aiden had pressed.

“You make much better holiday tattoo decisions than I do. You know,” he cocked his head to the side and squinted a bit, “You look really familiar. Do you work anywhere else? I swear I’ve seen you before.”

She shrugged, “I’ve had to bounce around lately.”

“Renfri!” Lambert exclaimed, “You worked at the plant nursery! Sold me the giant monstera plant!” 

Aiden couldn’t have been any more tense as Renfri just nodded and made some excuse about getting back to work. 

“What? You told me to be as normal as possible.” 

Aiden stood as soon as she’d disappeared down the stairs, grabbing his computer bag before gripping Lambert’s wrist and hauling him up, “We have to go.” 

Lambert stumbled as he followed after him, a lead weight settling in his stomach, “She doesn’t work at either of those places, does she?”

“No. That was a completed knot. We need to move fast,” Aiden ducked into an employees only staircase that spit them out in a parking lot one street from their car. He broke into a dead sprint down an alley after a glance behind him. 

As soon as they’d cleared the brick, a bullet lodged itself where Lambert’s chest had just been a moment before. 

His whole body felt numb with shock. Aiden pulled him forward and shouted something at him but he didn’t register it until the third time. 

“Lambert! Climb through the fucking window!” Aiden was nearly screaming at him but shook his head and kept pulling him away from the open window that looked like it had been recently broken. Did… did Aiden do that?

He actually took a turn onto a busy street and sprinted up a block before diving right out in front of traffic, Lambert still in tow. They ran for another couple blocks before they dove into another alley that Lambert recognized as leading to their parked car. He had no idea if they were still being followed but he didn’t much care. He barely registered Aiden glancing back to check on him, didn’t even think he might be checking to see if Renfri was behind them. 

She wasn’t. She was leaning against their car, casually checking the chamber of her gun. 

“There you are boys!” she smiled brightly, “Took you long enough.”

Aiden slid to a stop on the gravel, keeping his fingers laced through Lambert’s, “Shrike.” 

“Cat,” She let go of the slide and the snapping sound echoed through the courtyard parking lot, “You killed my sister.”

“I didn’t.”

Lambert was starting to feel light headed as his mind caught up.

“No,” She conceded, “But you might as well have. What you stole got her executed.” 

“You two shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Skinner.”

Before the last word had left Aiden’s lips Renfri raised her gun and fired.

She’d been aiming straight for his heart but Lambert shoved him aside with every last bit of strength he had. He felt a searing pain flash through his shoulder, outright blinding, even before he registered the crack of the shot. There were two more cracks back to back then nothing for a moment. There was one set of footsteps on gravel then one more sounded before the ringing in his ears muffled everything else.

Aiden was over him soon after, scrambling to stop the bleeding and yelling… something… but Lambert couldn’t hear him and his eyelids were feeling heavier and heavier by the second. 

-

Lambert tried to wiggle his nose and get rid of the itch as he woke up, but it only got worse. He tried to scratch it and ended up smacking himself in the face. His limbs felt heavy and there was a tube under his nose. 

Oh.

He was in a hospital. 

Where was Aiden?

He forced his eyes open as Aiden gently picked his hand up off his face. His eyes were red and a little puffy and he looked downright awful. There was blood all over his shirt, a little in his hair, and the bags under his eyes were a deep shade of purple. 

“What.. what are you…?”

Aiden bit his bottom lip for a moment before taking a shaky breath, “I’ll go if you want me to. I just needed to see you wake up,” he barely choked out his words as his eyes welled up with tears. 

Lambert frowned, “No. Stay.”

Aiden tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob as he grabbed Lambert’s other hand and cradled it in his, “I’m so sorry…” he whispered. 

Lambert gave his hands a squeeze, “Please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Aiden shook his head, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Get me out of here?” Lambert grinned.

Aiden snorted, wiping at his nose with his bloodstained sleeve, “Anything but that.” 

They smiled and fell into a heavy silence. Aiden stared at their hands where he not so slyly kept a finger over Lambert’s pulse. 

“Hey,” Lambert’s voice had a husk to it that he only got when he was about to cry, “I still love you.”

Aiden just stared at him with wide eyes. 

“I’m scared, but I love you,” he repeated. 

Aiden leaned over and kissed his forehead, tears falling over his hair, “I love you too.”

[captainpains]

The Baby (Fives x reader)

Fives with a baby... That's all I'm gonna say...

Warnings! Gn AFAB reader (because of like one throwaway line), swearing, mentions of breastfeeding, mentions of death, fluffy, smooches

~~~~~~~~~

"Where the hell did you get a baby?" You asked when they walked into the medbay.

That was the first thing you noticed. Not Jesse limping in, half his weight on Echo. Not the shiny being wheeled in on a stretcher. Not Hardcase holding onto what looked like a broken arm.

No, it was Fives (a man who you had a tiny crush on) holding what looked like a swaddled baby in his arms.

Fives gave you a sheepish smile as the others walked by, following the other nurses into the makeshift medbay. When he was close enough to you, he held his arms out awkwardly for you to take the bundle from him. You carefully removed the baby from his, the child squirmed but did not open his eyes. You gave the ARC trooper a questioning look. He again only smiled wearily.

"We couldn't leave the little guy. So I figured you could take care of him until we find a more... a permanent place for him," Fives explained nervously.

"I guess. Why me?" You asked, kind of concerned as to who approved you to watch a baby. You then looked down at the baby. His eyes were open, looking at you while reaching his little arms up to your face. Then you looked back to Fives.

"You mentioned you had experience with younglings. I figured you were the best option," he rationalized, scratching the back of his neck.

In reality, Fives just wanted an excuse to talk to you more. He knew a baby was a lot of responsibility, if the holo dramas he watched were anything to go off of. He secretly hoped you’d ask for his help in caring for him. He let his eyes fall to the youngling. He was clearly awake, his hands reaching up to grab on the neckline of your nurses uniform. He was tugging down on it, clearly trying to get to your breasts. Little guy knew were his meals came.

“I think he’s hungry,” the ARC pointed out. 

You looked down to see your boob nearly out your shirt from the child’s yanking. You gently removed his hands from your shirt. Then you moved to a create that held supplies specifically to help civilian families. After digging around for a minute, you pulled out a bottle of formula. You shook it gently and popped the lid to the container. You put the nipple of the bottle to the baby’s mouth, who happily began to drink. 

“If you need help with him, I’ll gladly volunteer,” Fives mentally face palmed. Apparently, he was abysmal at talking to people he liked without flirting. You were not the flirting type, at least he didn’t think so. 

“Well, thank you. I’ll let you know if I need anything,” you gave him a sweet smile. Then, in a move that surprised even you, you moved closer to him. The ARC opted to stay still, curious to see what you would do. You leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, it was so fast either of you were sure it happened. 

“I’ll keep that in mine.” 

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

Later that day, Fives visited you in in the medbay. He wanted to make sure you were alright with the baby. Some of the boys teased him about it, saying something about a civie nurse making him go brian dead. But he brushed off the teasing. It was easy for him to do while thinking about your soft smile and bright eyes. He loved how kind you were with his brothers, always taking care of them. You’d even held the hand of a dying man -- a man you’d never met before -- so he could have some comfort in his last moments. Fives was pulled out of his thoughts when he walked into the makeshift medbay. You were pacing back and forth, rocking the baby in your arms, singing a lullaby in your native tongue. 

“Am I interrupting?” He asked, jokingly.

You looked up at him and grinned. He was out of armor, which was rare when the 501st was on a mission. You always did love the way blacks looked on him. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.

“No you’re not,” you said simply. 

“I just came by to see if you need anything.”

“We’re good.”

“You sure?”

You nodded and looked down at the baby. He was beaming up at Fives, his chubby little arms reaching up for him. You moved closer to the ARC, a question in your eyes. You positioned the baby, ready to hand him off to Fives.

“I think he wants you,” you offered him the child. He hesitated for a moment before he took the child, cradling him in his arms. 

“Hello, ad’ika,” he smiled down at the child. 

“He really likes you,” you pointed out, taking a step back to appreciate to image.

“I think he really likes you, too,” he replied. “I would know he told me.”

“Really? Did he say anything else?” You asked, stepping closer to him again.

“He said that you are very beautiful and smart.” Fives didn’t notice that he was leaning in.

“Well how about you tell him thanks for me,” you smiled.

“Will do,” he replied.

And then he kissed you. 

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843 - 1902) Taniec wsrod mieczow, 1887

[dotthings]

Corporal Bradley of regiment five And proud array standing by the bathing Soldiers and the stevedores We laid on the mattress and tumbled to sleep Our eyes align, swaddled in our civies Cradled in our dungarees

But You My brother in arms I'd rather I'd lose my limbs Than let you come to harm

Should we tell fandom about Siegfried Sassoon and David Cuthbert Thomas tho

I called him, once; then listened: nothing moved: Only my thumping heart beat out the time. Whispering his name, I groped from room to room. Quite empty was that house; it could not hold His human ghost, remembered in the love That strove in vain to be companioned still.

But even if someone were still willfully stubborn enough to ignore all brothers-in-arms can encompass, since ancient epics like Gilgamesh and Enkidu, Jensen is still here with an assist when he said Cas was "not only" a brother-in-arms.

How many times have I said it's not just brothers-in-arms. How many times have I said, and others have said, brothers-in-arms does not preclude other kinds of love. WE HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS HAVE SOME OF US NOT BEEN SAYING THAT.

lolol don't mind me I'm having a Moment about that particular point.

[clonesandmoans]

I just want Kix to lay his head on my lap and fall asleep as I gently run my fingers through his hair

  “I’m sorry, ner nau.. did you say something?” 

You hum thoughtfully under your breath and continue raking your fingers through his hair as you scan the next line of the novel on your data pad. It’s quiet here. The only other sound in the apartment is that of your deep breathing and Kix’s sighs of contentment as he turns on his side and nuzzles his face into your stomach. 

Peace. 

  “I said something about how kriffing annoying this book is-” You mutter. “It’s taking forever to get to the good part.” 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, thankful you remain oblivious to his intentions, and presses a kiss to your naval. “Every story has to have a build, sweetheart.” He whispers. Kix grins as you squirm beneath his touch and roll your head downward to glare at him. “Some of the best love stories start from the beginning.. then there’s the build up.. and then-boom.” 

Kix mimics an explosion with his hands.

  “What’s the boom?” 

  “Unresolved sexual tension, pining... a medic falling for the loveliest civie in the galaxy,” You cradle his head in your hands and lightly scratch at his nap as he surges upward to kiss you. “A story for the ages.” 

[johnschneiderblog]

The cradle of the Civil War

On Tuesday morning we took a National Park ferry ride to Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbor, where the Civil War started.

As you know from your American History class, South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union, in 1860.

April 12, 1861, 4:30 a.m., the Confederates at nearby Fort Johnson attacked Fort Sumter, which had been created to defend the U.S. from foreign invaders. Federal troops defended Sumter for 34 hours but ultimately surrendered. The Civi War had begun.

The photo shows the view of Charleston Harbor through a Fort Sumter canon portal.

[bearryallen-blog]

love at first sight? || [ john constantine ]

A/N: hello love, thank you for the lovely compliment since i love them. it makes me feel like i'm doing a good job of writing, so i hope enjoy everything i do put out nonnie. reader is loosely based on my magic oc for a fandomless rp so, i hope that is okay. but i love writing johnny boy though that seems a little obvious aha. no gifs belong to me as they belong to their respectful owners, please tell me if you want yours put down. requests are open, feel free to send them in. masterlist / / what i do and don't write.

anonymous requested: Hello hello!! Really love ur writing so far and I'm looking forward to seeing everything else ur gonna put out! Can I request one where constantine is on a job or something and he's about to die but is saved by kickass reader? And its love at first sight for him please? Thank u so much ^-^

John Constantine was the man who had perfected the bad idea as everyone would say who knew him. Well, to say the least they weren't wrong about it. Especically since he had a bad habit of getting himself in the worse of ideas. But hey, what would you do if you had to deal with demons and supernatural almost everyday of your life? Oh, and about that bad ideas John always had? Well, today just happened to be one of those days where he was almost dead.

"C'mon on now chaps, we can work this out." The blond says as the demon had picked him up from the collar of his white button up and part of his red tie so he was dangling off the ground, "Let's be civil about this. You're making a bloody mistake about this, I'm warning you." He gives a sheepishly grin as the demon and his companions just stare at him.

The demon almost drops him but it was to just scare John, "Hmm. Civi? You? Ha! Think you're some funny guy eh, Johnny boy?" He grunts at him while the comapions laugh and mock along with for a good while before the demon became serious. "Quiet Alastor and Amduscias!" He barked at the two who start to quiet down as he looks at John, "It will be so enjoyable when your rotten soul goes to hell. So long Constantine." The demon says as he drops John to where he would've met his fate, but of course things never go to plan when it's with John.

It was a protection pentagram that had broke his fall to his ultimate death before it faded to let him land safely on the ground. That was odd, John remembered his powers not working for some reason but it glowed a orchid color as he props himself with his elbows to see what or who did it. His eyes meet up with you, he didn't see you before this whole mess began. And wow, you looked stunning to say the very least in John's eyes.

You lock eyes with the three demons as you let the similar gem that was part of the choker you wore around your neck that held some of your magic as you had paid no attention to John who was looking at you. Your eyes began to glow the same orchid color as before, raising your hands to make a abjuration similar to Zatanna's that she had taught you, "Suus 'vicis ut tibi. Ad inferos quo tu egressus es!" You shout out as you activate the spell to bring the demons back to hell.

John watches as you brought the demons back to hell and hurries over to catch you before you collapse to the ground, he was still pretty impressed. He was curious if you were also a homo-magi as well since you seemed to have strong magic through your veins. "I got you luv'. I got to hand it to you, thanks for saving my ass. I'm sure I was goner if you hadn't shown up." He says as he looks at you closely before you turn your head over to John.

From your H/C hair that was cradled on the back of your head to your lovely S/C skin complexion that looked so soft to the touch and could break to your E/C eyes who was looking at him. "Mmm. Don't get used to it, you're John Constantine right? I've heard of you from Zatanna." You say as you got up with help from John.

"The one and only, to what I owe the pleasure of meeting of someone such as yourself?" He purred a bit since he was very much interested in you while you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

You smirk a bit at him, "Flattered but you can thank Zatanna. How about you buy me a drink, hm?" You say as you stroke his red tie and pull him closer to you, "Do a little chit chat and who knows, maybe even more." You wink at the occult investagator.

[thanidiel]

Choices

Prompt 11: World Building, First Person What if World of Warcraft took a different turn with its inspiration? What if the game was actually based entirely around science fantasy, particularly cyberpunk? I was a cheesy bitch and did The Modern AU(™). For a long piece, use what skills you’ve learned and practiced to narrate AS your character in this different world.

What would their occupation be? What is the world like? Factions? Races? Conflicts? Try to write about a normal or abnormal day for your character in this world—is their name different too? Write in your character’s perspective, and take on a very in-depth look of a different personality and worldview.

[I was very cheesy and went balls deep into a Modern AU story to exercise a more modern narrative style. Lots of references to others and events from World of Warcraft roleplay or Thanidiel’s background, try to catch them all. alsoimsorrythiswassolong.

Mentions: @jessipalooza @stormandozone @captainswingbeard @azriah @immunologist @kinari ]

“Alright, alright. Just, shut the fuck up for, like, I don’t know, an hour. Ethan, cradle your beer, you’re good at that. Elena… I don’t gotta tell you shit.

Let’s start with… the beginning.

So, let’s just get this shit out of the way. Auberry, up in Fresno County, California. Small-time fucking town. My dad was a new recruit to the police department, there. First-generation son to some Lithuanians that couldn’t read shit for English. My mom is a Mono Indian, from the Big Sandy Rancheria next door.

1990, Dad knocked her up when she was in town. I was the result, that she passed right back to Dad. Grew up happy without her, ran around just fine with myself, my Staffordshire, Ted, and all of the neighborhood backdoors left open. Grandparents were out of the picture by then, and Dad had shit hours, so it was up to the Abuelas and Grandma Sallys. Suited all of us just fine.

One day, Dad gets shot up breaking up a domestic dispute. I was six. And as much as we all want to think about those crazy stories up on Reddit and Facebook, no one fucking walks away from a hunting rifle. His coworkers stopped by, took me to the tribe headquarters in town to figure out what to do with me. Off to Big Sandy they sent my ass. I hear the Grandma next to us took Ted.

As much as I want to say things got more chill from there, it didn’t. See, my mom was half-white, already. Mix that with some straight-out-of-Europe dude, and you get a blue-eyed blonde haired kid running around with the Mono. Mom didn’t want me either, and she made that damned clear to the elders, so I was back to being a community effort on a new Grandma’s sofa.

Bless Grandma, she tried. Fed me. Taught me a handful of Monachi. Taught me how to fucking read and write English. Driving, eventually. Hooked me up with a new dog too when I got there, Tamuapaya, albino-assed thing. All of the good parental shit you’re supposed to do, with everything she had.

I ended up as black of a sheep as it gets, though. Scraped with the other kids whenever we crossed each other, dogs got in on it too. Adults couldn’t fucking stand me outside of Grandma ‘cause I didn’t think they deserved anything but lip. And, let me just say, it’s fucking awkward when you realize you’re a fag, hours out from a real city. I was never really accepted with them outside of cook-outs, but that was when you had to take everyone registered in the tribe.

Eventually, I get old enough to start itching to work. So I start the uphill battle of doing the most shit possible small-jobs for the most shit payout for these folk, and as you two know, I am stubborn as fucking shit about my work. So I did every bit of work they pissed at me, with fucking excellence.

Then that got too small when I was like, fifteen, and wanted some real fucking cash. The other black sheep got me then, and let me know it was easy money running drugs between us, peeps at the Casino, Auberry, and Fresno. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in a truck bed heading to Fres’ at 1 A.M. in the morning to pick up with them.

Didn’t take long for Grandma to figure out I wasn’t running off to catch friends at Auberry. She switched me more times than I can remember to try to beat it out of me. Didn’t work, and she didn’t have any full-on proof to get others in it, either - hid the FUCK out of the cash and what we were distributing.

So, eventually, I’m like… seventeen? And I’m passing crack to this military guy visiting relatives in Auberry and wanted some fun up by the Casino. And when he puts the cash in my hand and I put the bag in his, he doesn’t tell me to fuck off. He gives me a good look, asks how old I am, I tell him, and he asks me what the fuck am I going to do out here for another seventy years. I don’t even get to answer when he tells me I should get the fuck out of here, go talk to a recruiter at Fres’.

That got me thinking, so a year later, I’ve found all of my documents and shit in Grandma’s house. I have a pile of cash. And I want to get the fuck out of this shithole. I stuff it all into my backpack, I go with the boys to Fres’. I dump off all of my shit into Christian’s bag; free myself of it. I take a bus to get my ass right to the opposite end of the city. Spend my night in a homeless shelter with my backpack underneath my shirt and sweater, my arms wrapped around it, sleeping on my stomache, and a switch under the extra jacket I was using a pillow.

Next day, I get a free gym trial. I shower and make myself look as respectable as I need. After that, I open up a Bank of America and drop the eight-k. I had into my first savings. I keep three-hundred on me, I grab some Burger King, and I make my way to the Army recruiter.

Guy helps me get set up because it’s like the third time in my life I’ve done paperwork excluding the bank, which did like… everything, for me. After that, it’s floating between the shelter, gym, and getting odd jobs helping at taquerias and panaderias, with their dishes or pushing garbage and carts around for a month. Taking all of those damned test and then waiting for them to process. Grabbed an iPhone 3G during the wait, that was pretty cool.

Fort Jackson for a year, as it goes. Nothing significant in the grand scheme of things; shit was fresh hell, but nothing I couldn’t handle. For the most part. Met Casey there. My age. Actually graduated H.S., attending community nearby for sports medicine. It would still be another two years before fags could be open in the military, but we… got together. When we could. You could—… it was dating. We started dating when I was in B.C.T. And made it work after that.

After basic, I get hauled off all over the place. Okinawa, Hawaii, Ansbach. Mid-2011, they let us be out and loud in the U.S. military. Bad move for my career, but, first thing I did when I took my leave is fuck Casey and ask her to marry me. No ring or any big romantic gesture, we didn’t work like that. She said, yeah, sure. The process went underway, it’s all done by the time I’m heading back to like, Fort Irwin.

We’re separated for a while, then, like, she graduated, because she was a lot fucking smarter than me. And she started living with me on base. Which is fucking awesome. It’s not what I asked for, because she had all of this potential to work with back at home. But, hey, she wanted to travel too. We had our years, we were fucking twenty-years old. I let her come.

So we fucked around in South Korea, Alaska, Italy, it’s almost a blur after everything. Eventually, I get put out in Camp K.A.I.A. in Afghanistan. She’s back in Kansas, ‘cause, naturally, they’re hesitant on letting me drag a U.S. civy out there of all bases. It’s seven months into my deployment, she wants to visit and I let her.

April 28th, 2014. I took her out, a bit south of the airport in city proper for a meal, in the early morning. We were eating lamb korma with turnips— I still can’t fucking handle smelling and eating lamb. Or any soft fucking food: deuces to mashed potatoes and bolognese. God.

So we were eating—… we were eating that. And there was an airplane with a fucked engine that had been making its way towards the airport. It didn’t get close to the runaway. It veered and dropped, right into the city. The wing went right through our building.

I was sitting northward. She was sitting southward. My mind slowed down time, and I watched the way all of this debris and broken cable and a fucking airplane slammed into her back. She hits the table and it’s shooting off. All I see is blood and curry everywhere, then it hits me, too.

I wake up in the hospital two days later. My head feels like shit because my brain got ping-ponged. A sheet of metal opened up my torso from collar to hip, and a piece of flying drywall smashed my right cheek and orbital socket. They couldn’t save the eye. The ceiling falling after meant some heavy shit landed onto my left hand. They couldn’t save that either. And they couldn’t save Casey. She died on contact.

—I’m fine, by the way. Just pass over the whiskey. I’m not finished.

Cutting that long story of recovery short, I stabilize. They get to Landstuhl in Germany. Eventually, I end up back in the States. Sans eye and hand. A little ugly, now, too. Medical discharge. Sucks, but I’m hooked up with a nice prosthetic, at the least. That all takes about eight months to wrap up - not a lot of interest in keeping an uneducated, handless, soldier around.

And, you know, that’s where you come in, Ethan. I don’t think Elena knows this part about us, so bear with me. Ethan, here, was my Sergeant for a damned while. His ass phased out in ‘13. We always got along great, he kept up with us babies even when he was out. Group texts were a great invention; Snapchat groups even better. Now we both get to see all of the stupid shit the rest of those idiots are doing on deployment.

Ethan is basically like my fucking dad. So when fates aligned and I was in the Brooklyn military hospital, he started driving down from his apartment in the city, seeing me about once a week on his weekends. Then, when I was out, he offered me a place to stay, no costs. Naturally, I fucking took it. The last thing I was going to do now that I was out, was gonna walk my ass back to the Mono in that Cali shithole. Not fucking smart to be alone after the shit that had happened.

And, honestly? It worked really well. I used the time he’d be gone with his job at the nearby library to do… basically all of the adult shit I didn’t do in the military. Got my license, borrowing the car from his coworker and our close friend, Esther (nice girl, did volleyball and track for high-school and college, then decided she liked things quiet). Took the bus to therapy with a guy through the V.A., ‘till I grabbed a beat up 2009 Chevy truck from Craigslist. Eventually, started classes for a G.E.D. too. Collected my military checks, saved it all and got pocket-money with a part-time at some flower hippy’s cafe—and, you know, I never realized how fucking hard it is to make legit money in the ‘real world’ until then. Ethan, you’re a fucking saint. Like, three-hundred or whatever a week? Chump ass change compared to when I bounced with the kids in Fres’.

All of that good shit. Plus, it was nice that we both had a drinking buddy. And we both had a way of navigating each other’s bullshit well. Like, Elena, you just heard my wife-story. And you’ve heard about the fire, too. It’s not the fucking same, but it worked out that we had about an inkling of what to do when the other dude’s fucked up.

Eventually, it’s the day for appointment hell. Check up, physical therapy, actual therapy, then likely, a stop by the pharmacist. It’s like, early ‘16, at this point. And before we even get started, the doctor sits me down. Starts talking about this experimental stem-cell research, for organ implantation. Taylor says it’s not at a complex enough stage to restore my hand, but my eye and facial scars would be within the window of possibility. Gives me a card for a Brianna Lalwani-Jindal if I’m interested in volunteering for it.

I get through the day. I finally catch a meal at Jersey Mike’s, and after me and Ethan talk about it over some Coors, like if I wanna do it and how it feels fucking weird, to like, erase what happened to Casey through this, I say, sure, I’ll call. It’s like, eight P.M. She answers like four seconds before it just shoots to her voicemail. The bitch fucking slurs out like she snorted too much Vico, “—yeah, I know I’m fucking late, I’ll be there, I prooomise.”

So me and Ethan pick our jaws off the floor hearing this shit and I’m like, “Nah, Tony Dawson. Doctor Taylor Woodson at the Brooklyn V.A. Hospital referred me to you, about your research trials with the organ implantation. Lalwani?”

There’s a gasp, a lot of shuffling, and a lot of me and Ethan passing around another beer can between us. Then she really starts spilling and it becomes a game of my fucking brain trying to comprehend this Indian accent mixed with that lightspeed fucking way people from those big cities talk, like “Oh shit, okay, okay, okay. Yeah, you’ve got me. Where do you live? What are you missing? When can I meet you? Tomorrow?”

So I tell her about my fucked-up face, but really, I want to know what the fuck I just got myself into with this chick. I don’t get the chance, she blurts out over me, “Sounds great! EYE will see you later, Tony. Tomorrow. Four P.M., Just… show back at the Hospital. We’ll find a vacant office. Ciao.” Then the fucker hangs up. Eventually, we decide that I should probably text the number back, at least. My ‘See you then.’ gets back a kissy-face and ‘I like coffee.’ Subtle.

A vanilla latte and unsweetened black tea, fifteen minutes of us wandering the Hospital, thirty minutes of her talking my ear off about a bunch of medical-scientific garbage, then five minutes of us filling out all of the paperwork, and I was Bri’s new, shiny, case study.

Skipping over all of the shit she ran my face through, we’ll sum it up as: I need contacts and I fucking hate it, but she did what she set out to do. The meetings themselves, were more interesting. I don’t know if she like, fucking sensed that I’d let her get away with her shit. But I’m going to assume that, since she still has her fucking job.

It got unprofessional, pretty fast. Like, beyond what she already hit me with. I’m not sure what got into me, honestly. I hadn’t even considered another girl since the crash. But I spent our introductions looking at her like a piece of meat whenever her back was turned. First real meeting, she’s prodding me about all of my personal interests and shit in some fucked small talk, starting to get into my dating life. I take a risk and just drop straight out that I dig chicks.

She gets a bit quiet, which doesn’t make much of a difference because it’s clear already that she’s a fucking loudmouth. But she gets curious, and keeps looking at me after that the whole time I’m there. Then the meeting after that, we ended up on some fucking talk about blindfolds for some reason, and let me just say that she got a little too into that before we started talking about how, like, I needed to turn down my drinking.

So the whole time I’m letting her and the other doctors Frankenstein my face, there is sexual tension to cut with at every goddamned interaction to be had. It never gets anywhere, because neither of us are fucking stupid. But, just, Jesus Christ.

Cut to a year later at the end of 2016. My face is put back together. Getting used to fucking contacts, getting used to checking my emails for interview requests out of the wazoo for five-hundred documentaries and news sites, after her team’s paper on me came out. By all accounts, I’m looking good and so is the implant. She’s onto new volunteers, my appointments are getting passed to another doctor on her team and stretched out to semi-annuals. That should be the end of the story.

But, uh, couldn’t get her out of my head, frankly. Not for a lack of trying, either. By now, I was really amping the weights at gym to try to get my energy out. Quit the hippy cafe and lined up a new job in armed security. Did my registration for online classes at the community, for a Statistics program. Eventually, it’s like, I don’t know, two months, after the last time I saw her. Ethan drags me out to a bar. Ethan fucks off. I meet a girl, some rich one, named Valencia. We get to talking, for like, fifteen minutes. Next thing I know, I’m texting Ethan I’ll show up later and I spent the night at her place.

It’s fucking great, Valencia’s fucking great. But I’m texting Bri the next afternoon at Starbucks that I want to see her that goddamned night. She shoots me the address of another bar, says to bring friends. Naturally, that means I tag in Ethan and Esther. We show up, she has good ol’ Elena here.

Everyone clicks just like that. And that’s fucking great. Lots of material to work through, especially when Bri started going on about how she and Elena met; some wild case when she was a med. student and the Roma communities in the whole state were having outbreaks. Apparently Elena helped with her outreach a lot, a sort of guide between worlds. Then the two quiet girls started going on about their herb gardens, not to even mention all of the stupid military stories me and Ethan had. We hung out for a long ass while. Eventually, we’re all back at Bri’s place. And our BOI Ethan, here, finally communicates what’s up to you and Esther. So Esther ‘takes you two out to for fast food’ and out of our hairs.

Shit takes even shorter than Valencia. Bri locks the door, we fuck. Then I wake up in the morning, wake her up for another fuck. We sleep around, get some take-out for a late… brunch… hang out, I end up taking her with me to that huge football party Tim was hosting and meeting up with the whole friend group. Then it’s just straight back to her place for a repeat performance.

So, basically, it went from zero to like we had always been fucking dating. I practically moved in with her after the first two weeks. I know all of my stuff ended up in there by the fourth month. Then we put me on the lease entirely sometime during the seventh month when she was renewing it. It all flowed natural as shit too, I didn’t even know how ‘fast’ we were going ‘till about the third time I was throwing shit I needed into boxes to toss at Bri’s and Ethan called me the fuck out when he asked: I just said it’s convenient with how much closer to work she is.

And I know a lot of people were, and still do, giving me shit about it, or just about the whole relationship in general. Apparently we talk too hard at each other and act too casual for it to be serious. Looks like some sorta fling, especially considering our ‘differences’ as people put it. You know, racist people, or people who think I’m fucking stupid ‘cause I got a gun in the drawer.

But lemme just say that I think it takes some real fucking balls in a person, where the first time she ever woke up to me having a PTSD episode, is to slide her ass out of bed, rummage through my coat for my medication, and slap my benzos in front of me with leftover tea and a Crunch bar. All without a single word. It takes real balls, any other person, after getting that from her, is just a discount bitch.

It’s not all her pampering me, either. I realized quick she’s a ‘talker’ with her research. If she isn’t with one of us, she’s locked in the bedroom with a stack of journal articles and a Macbook talking off Luke’s ears like he can fucking bark back. So I started reading everything she had and really going over her team’s paper on me, plus whatever the fuck else her scholar databases had, and a lot of Dictionary.com. And, one weekend, she’s complaining to me over coffee and tea about her shit, I pop that shit right back at her, her jaw drops, she probably shits herself a little. And, from then on, I’m her new interactive rubber duck. And people think I’m fucking dumb.

I mean, not to mention all of the random shit I pay for that bitch, with all of the money I’ve been getting lately between disability, financial aid, and work.

So, we’re basically to the present now. There isn’t much detail to fill in after that besides that life is pretty fucking great and Bri is pretty fucking great, from then to now, the middle of Year of Our Lord, 2018. Which takes us to the crux of this whole ass speech I’ve been going on.

Now you two know my life-story. What I wanna know, now that we’re all open and drunk here, is your fucking thoughts on if I’d be making the best, or the worst, decision of my life if I asked her to hitch with me. I’ll be fucking real; I don’t fucking know what it’s like to make a good choice besides like, I don’t know, where to buy my graphics cards.”

I watch the two shitfaces in front of me process what the fuck I just said. Elena brightens like the Irish daisy she is, pressing her hands together, abso-fucking-lutely wiggling in her seat. Her purple scarf slides off the back of the chair in the process. Ethan is still stretched out across the whole damned table like he’s gonna pass out, with the dopiest smile stretching across his face, but as usual, he’s the ‘loud’ one of the two and starts to talk over Elena’s vague ‘Oh… oh…!’

“Dude? That’s… that’s great. That’s really fucking great. I… Man. Fucking, just fucking go for—”

“So are we just a homeless shelter now, or like, is this a reverse Alcoholics Anonymous?” The door slams shut, Luke is rushing off of the couch, and all four of us are just JEERING (barking) Bri’s name back at her, like it makes it fucking better that these idiots are still in the apartment.

“I was thinking homeless shelter and giving them the living room.”

“Cool. Maybe the floor’ll delay Ethan breaking his back another day.”

“Hey… hey, man. I ain’t that old.”

“Oh! Don’t say that - what if it does happen?”

Twiddle Gray and Twiddle Orange are both looking at me funny right now, considering what was cut into, and Bri is starting to pick that up as she’s putting her keys and shit away.

“So! What were you all talking about? Are you finally leaving me?”

“Food, actually. We were thinking that Himalayan place you like. They can eat the basic bitch shit, I was gonna grab us fried okra and tandoori.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to pick my ass up from the couch, now. That shit, ain’t happening. Long day working with by-the-book dunderfucks.”

The Twiddles give each a look, then, and then Ethan launches in.

“Nah… naaaaah. You know what? You sit there. You hang out. The three of us will walk down, sober up.”

“With how you made my fucking apartment smell, not sure if that’s gonna happen. But ‘kay. Have fun, leave me all alone. After I just came back from work. A l o n e.”

The three of us are already draining our waters and grabbing our jackets and wallets. I push Elena towards the door and Ethan is right after her as I shoot back at her,

“Shut the fuck up, you whiny bitch. Thirty minutes. You’d be spending it ignoring us and doing your shitty Buzzfeed quizzes anyway.”

“I mean - you’re right. But you’re still leaving me alone. Shit friends. Shit girlfriend,” she sighs, “What a shit life.”

Elena is the one pushing me through the door now by my arm, forcing me and Ethan’s fat asses into the hallway as she tries to assure Bri.

“It’ll be fast! I love you!” 

“Awh. That’s cute.”

The door slams shut.