#evidence of this is that 2020 i was not really sick at all nor was i in the autumn/winter of 2016 when i moved out that one time

[pochapal]

health update: last week's sickness kind of went away then it came back real bad and i've been in bed all sopping wet and pathetic these last two days but i think as this evening's progressed i'm past the worst of it so all things considered i am fundamentally in the same state i was in seven days ago only now a process has occurred

[aectpen]

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❆ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

m.list

pairing: sunghoon x ex figure skater->idol!fem oc

synopsis: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐤𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩, 𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐄.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬.

chapter four: dear diary

in the spirit of reminiscing on the old times, once chaerin got back to the dorm, she opened up her "home" box. its where she kept her valuable items that brought her comfort away from home. the items include her diary, photos, jewelry, and more precious items. she hasn't written in her diary in a while, but its a relic of all her experiences. she was especially into journaling during her figure skating and trainee years.

as she sifted through the pages, she landed on a page that stood out. her fingers trailed over the tear smudged ink. her anger was evident through the force she used while writing the entry, almost tearing through the page. she felt like she teleported back to the moment she wrote it.

february 4, 2020 dear diary, i hate park sunghoon. i thought he was playing a sick prank on me, but he never turned around. how will i compete without him? how could he do that to me??? after how hard we worked.. i've never met anyone more selfish than him. he just laid it on me like it wasn't that big of a deal i'm gonna burn everything that has to do with him.

chaerin paused her reading to look back into the box. she most definitely didn't burn nor throw away anything that had to do with him. she picked up a polaroid she took with him on a day out. they went to the movies and got milkshakes afterwards. she put whipped cream on his nose and snapped the photo while he pouted and she smiled. it was the first time they had hung out outside of skating. it was the day they became friends rather than just partners. they realized they liked each other's company much more when they weren't so serious.

i'm crying but i'm not sad.. i'm angry i have cried out of frustration and obviously sadness but i never cry when i'm mad but honestly he will regret it when i'm at the olympics and he is in the dungeon training to be a flop idol god i really hate him fuck park sunghoon

"wow," chaerin whispered to herself. she forgot just how harsh her feelings toward sunghoon were. she continued flipping since she was so immersed in the angst of it all.

march 8, 2020 dear diary, i miss sunghoon skating is so boring it feels like a chore and my new partner is way too serious like wtf today i laughed after i fell on my ass and he was all like "is this a joke to you?" all stern boy bye i know sunghoon would've mocked his voice and we would laugh about it i was angry before but now im sad he was more than my partner, he was my friend and now i miss my friend sunghoon

chaerin reached for their good luck bracelet they made during practice. their initials separated by beads. they always wore it during competitions. they were undefeated since they made them, so they swore it was magic.

a month after writing that entry, she threw in the towel. she quit after a competition she had placed first in. she knew it was over when everyone was happy, but her.

june 1, 2020 dear diary, so today my friend told me about that new mnet survival show i-land right and i'm like okay i like txt so i'll tune in and today they revealed some trainees and you won't believe who i saw PARK SUNGHOON like you have to be kidding me my fantasy about him being a flop idol won't come true i will NOT be tuning in

june 26, 2020 dear diary, i lied i tuned in he looked okay i guess.. alright he looked good and he was really good perhaps i guess so maybe fans are loving the whole ex figure skater thing but its triggering me i kinda regret quitting figure skating. i could've went to the olympics and rubbed it in his face i thought i stopped hating him but i didn't. seeing his smug smile while everyone praises him and here i am hate-watching from my bedroom. if he didn't quit on me i would be so much more productive with my life i still hate park sunghoon.

september 18, 2020 dear diary, does the universe hate me? i cracked my phone, lost my keys, missed the bus, got an F, and park sunghoon made it to the debut lineup. i know one is not like the other but it was the cherry on top to my suffering :( i feel like an absolute failure doing nothing with my life while he's a famous idol my mom said i was used to be the child a mom would brag about, but now i'm the child you don't mention she said it so casually but i went to my room and cried for an hour straight i really have nothing going for myself

chaerin felt guilty looking back on how she treated sunghoon's success. she felt nothing but jealousy and hatred. how could he leave her and be successful? she thought he was making a big mistake quitting, but the truth was that was the best decision he could've made and she hated that. she wanted it to hurt him the way it hurt her, but not everyone gets what they want.

sunghoon's members began teasing him when they found out who he was with when he went missing for an hour.

"streets are saying sunghoon is already making a move on chaerin," niki announced.

"is sunoo's nickname streets now?" jay laughed.

sunghoon put his hands up in defense "oh come on, i was just catching up with her."

sunoo gasped "catching up? we missed out on some sunghoon lore."

"elaborate," heeseung crossed his arms.

"she was my figure skating partner."

"and they were figure skating partners." jake mocked.

"so you don't have a crush on her? i was really gonna take credit for introducing you guys." jungwon scoffed.

"i don't have a crush on chaerin."

the same was happening at kayo's dorm.

"chaerin!" haru barged into chaerin's room.

chaerin scrambled to put all the items back into her box, but she missed one.

"what's this?" haru asked picking up chaerin's polaroid with sunghoon. "oh my god? is that? that has to be a look alike."

"come on give it back!" chaerin chased after her.

"you guys have to see this." haru passed the polaroid to jie.

everyone gathered around to see while chaerin watched their reactions.

"how do you date park sunghoon and not tell us?" sujin shook her head in disbelief.

"i didn't date him, he was my figure skating partner."

"emphasis on partner, this is totally a boyfriend girlfriend pic," zena laughed.

"we were just friends that's all."

"no wonder you two were so buddy buddy earlier," jie was now much more confident in her prediction.

chaerin stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep, but she couldn't stop thinking about sunghoon. the time she spent with him reversed all those feelings she angrily wrote down. her thoughts were interrupted when her phone buzzed beside her pillow.

[unknown] are you up? [chaerin] and this is? [unknown] sunghoon

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

hi, please call me yuna. this might be too long so i'm going to split this into 2 asks, i hope that's okay tw's: suicidal thoughts and attempt, general abuse, some detailed descriptions of physical abuse. i just want to vent out and i feel i'm in desperate need of advice. for some info i've been raised by a single dad since i was 14, turning 18 this sept. my dad was never really physically abusive, and he barely insulted my mom. but he had a really hard time regulating his emotions it seems and he couldn't express himself. he was very distant from both my mom and i. so she probably found someone better and left. with me, he was very emotionally unavailable and there was little affection between us, so i conclude my parents had an unhappy marriage. i don't know what caused him to be the volatile dad he is with me. we had eventual arguments and it started with a basic slap as 'discipline'. it escalated overtime. going to dragging me out of my room and beating me until i quite literally passed out. one of my worst memories consists of when he went a 'little too far' and had to take me to the hospital. he forced me to come up with a story where i was targeted by delinquents and how we were pressing charges which was absolute bs. nobody questioned this shit. not even my neighbours. not people who i considered friends. we're barely in contact w relatives. all of this happened during covid, so in complete isolation. all the worst memories took place during covid. i have very, very mixed emotions about him. i know he had a hard childhood, but in the end, he has never apologized for anything. but i think, all these years, he feels guilty, just doesn't know how to express it. like after hitting me, he'd cook for me, try to give me space, even when i fell sick (ironically, from his physical abuse) he took care of me, but he has not once directly apologized. so i can't help but feel it's all superficial. how else would he have the audacity to ask him how i'm feeling as i limped around the fucking house bruised and swollen bc of what HE did? thing is he has a perfect exterior. he earns well, has a great lifestyle and is respected by people. nobody will question him because how can a single dad that provides his kid so much comfort ever be abusive? will continue the rest in my next ask, please reply however comfortable.

His perfect exterior almost fooled me too. He'd try to make good of birthdays, compliment me on good grades, if i asked for something, he'd usually just provide it, but within a day or two i'd be back to being his punching bag. around 2020, i had a suicide attempt a day after he hurt me really badly. my memory around this is fuzzy. i vaguely recall looking at my bruised face and within a few seconds i stopped thinking rationally. i had been showing very visible signs of being in a highly unstable mental headspace, even vocally expressing suicidal thoughts, but it was always dismissed, obviously met with more abuse, and a simple "stop saying such things". he never took them seriously. i'm going to sound really crazy, but i'm glad i did try, or atleast attempt to kill myself, because i saw him express some genuine emotion for me for the first time in years during that. i wonder if i did that out of spite, or if i just had enough. in short, there were complications, he was never charged bc of red-tape procedures, CPS failed me due to 'lack' of evidence and i didn't admit anything nor did he (now that it think of it, i can't believe i never took pictures of the abuse.), and i ended up home again. i've been on meds since that. as for dad, he didn't change as much i thought he would. he didn't lay a hand on me for months, but he wasn't very emotionally supportive, even once asking me why i attempted. you'd think he'd change for his daughter's sake, but i don't think he ever will, fully. there was no all out abuse like there used to be after the attempt, but he still occasionally hit me. when i graduated HS, i told him i wanted to move out, which he did not oppose, this surprised me a lot bc i thought he'd try to hold me back. i'm not sure how to feel about this, and what it means. he texts me sometimes, trying to pretend to care. till date, there is no apology. no explanation for everything. i've been a straight A, well-behaved, and all of it was excused by 'you were troublesome and i simply disciplined you.' here's where i need the advice. even when i'm out now, i don't feel safe. even after my attempt, every time he spoke to me it felt like his fist was hitting my face again. every time he talks to me about remotely anything i feel as if he's driving his knee into my stomach again. i struggle a lot with some sensory issues. my face and head start to hurt, i'm all dizzy and there are sharp pains that run down my ribs and everything. i'm not sure what this is and wud like advice on it. but i suppose it could be depression/ptsd or wtv. i constantly think of cutting him off, but tbh, i'm very, very scared. i'm still scared of him. i'm scared that i stand to lose a chance at building a genuine relationship w him. i made very little friends throughout the years and pushed them all away. he's my only family & support system. i truly want to believe he's trying his best, but i just can't. it's like losing everything i know. even as i'm out of that house, i just can't get to sleep because of the constant nightmares and waking up randomly soaked in sweat. i think i feel very detached and numb from my emotions, i realize i can't express much, either. i fear i'm becoming like him, and i don't like it at all. to conclude, nobody around me currently knows of the abuse. anyone who does has excused it. i'm not suicidal now, but i don't know how long i can keep all of this bottled up, and who would even believe such a perfect man like my dad could do something so horrendous. i'm going to try my best to keep myself together. someone needed to know all of this, and i feel i can express it here. thank you for building such a safe place. i sincerely apologize for the long asks.

Hi yuna,

I'm so sorry about everything you've been through. Please know that none of this is your fault and it takes a lot of strength to come this far so you deserve to be proud of yourself. It can feel impossible to deal with an abusive parent, especially with experiences like yours, and it makes sense to have a complicated relationship with him because of that.

People who fail to acknowledge that your father is capable of abuse and has abused you obviously aren't seeing the full picture. It's not your fault if someone asks something so naive like how a single dad that provides his kid so much comfort could ever be abusive. The answer is complex because so is the situation.

i can honestly see why you were glad you attempted suicide, because it finally seemed to get the attention from your father that you haven't seen in years. But perhaps it's also worth reflecting on the fact that it seems to take a suicide attempt for your dad to show that he cares about you. You deserve so much better than that.

It's common as a survivor to worry that you'll become your abuser, but its important to remember that this worry is the exact reason why you won't. Experiencing normal trauma responses and PTSD symptoms such as feeling disconnected with your emotions doesn't necessarily mean you'll become abusive either.

Regarding the dizziness and pains, I'm not too sure what it could be and I ultimately recommend asking for the advice of a doctor and/or a mental health professional. It could be the way panic or anxiety physically manifests, and it could also be something more medically concerning, so getting a professional's opinion would be best.

Unfortunately it would be unlikely to be able to build a genuine relationship with him because even if it were entirely healthy, the reminders of his unaddressed abuse and the trauma that you live with as a result are inevitably going to remain at the back of your mind. As much as you deserve a healthy relationship with your father, you don't deserve to have any kind of relationship with an abusive father who has never taken accountability. Even if you continued to have some relationship with him, it would likely be superficial and surface level, which to some degree it already seems to be. It makes sense not to be comfortable being closer to someone who has hurt you so deeply and consistently, even if that person is your dad.

Please know that you're not alone, and we are here for you if you need anything. I hope I could help, and please take care.

-Bun

[justiceamberheard]

apparently the jury has to be unanimous in favor of either of them for them to win the case otherwise a mistrial declared and a retry. any legal expects here on this? is it true?

So there are two different suits that will be deliberated on -- Depp's defamation lawsuit and Amber's counterclaim. These are decided on separately and the jury has to be unanimous in both decisions, but apparently hung juries are very rare for civil trials.

Assessing the strength of both suits, Depp has a very weak case to begin with. Amber's op-ed briefly mentioned she was a public figure representing domestic violence and that's it. He's not named nor is the article really about him, it's briefly about her experience of public backlash (which is true either way) but mostly about pushing for legislation to protect victims. Once you get past that tenuous basis, it's then on Depp to prove he never abused Amber, when in the UK he accidentally proved he abused her 12 times (despite the much, much stricter libel laws). Not only that but he has to prove she did it with malice, and also that she's not protected by freedom of speech laws due to anti-SLAPP legislation (the lawsuit tourism he's committing by having the trial in Virginia). From a legal standpoint, he can't win. Kathleen Zellner tried to convince him to settle then stepped away when he wouldn't. The only way he could possibly win is if the jury are fans of his and decide based on that, but I would hope that the deliberation process would expose anyone with that mindset or who had been influenced by the online smear campaign.

Contrarily, Amber's suit is based on three of Adam Waldman's statements he released to the press. In these statements he accuses her of perjury, painting on bruises, fraudulently obtaining a restraining order and constructing a hoax. The judge just ruled that these will be considered Depp's own statements as Waldman was his representative. Adam Waldman has already admitted to leaking edited audios to the Daily Mail and pro-Depp YouTubers in his deposition; he was kicked off the case for this back in 2020. There's also Depp's texts where he specifically states he wants her removed from Aquaman 2 and plots for her 'global humiliation'. She has an extremely strong case, but the jury may be sick of these two celebrities and not want to rule in favour or award her anything, so who knows.

When the decisions come through, both sides can request an appeal which will be accepted or rejected by the appellate court. Depp doesn't really have a case for a mistrial as Amber's team hardly objected to any evidence or testimony and virtually all reporting/social media has been in his favour. Amber does have a good case of getting a mistrial declared afterwards due to the jury not being sequestered/social media influence and a lot of her evidence like the Deuters texts being withheld from the jury.

If anyone has specific legal knowledge please do correct me if I'm wrong about anything, I'm not a legal expert but I'm knee deep in this trial and now know a weird amount about defamation lawsuits lol.

[bbnibini]

Idea Theft and Plagiarism on the Obey Me Fandom

Note: This message was originally posted in my AO3 as an announcement that follows the final update bulk of my Obey Me CYOA fic for the year 2020. As what was already mentioned in the post, I do not wish to disclose the person's identity nor cause harm for them. I only wanted to have my own closure, as did they attain upon their final message with me prior to blocking them.

Hello everyone. This is the final post of PSISLY for this year.

A lot has happened in the past few months since I wrote this fic. I had a lot more to say, but I kept on erasing them, mulling over the right words, wondering if I should raise the issue or not. But for the sake of leaving matters behind on 2020, and giving 2021 a better start, I decided to break my silence.

Perhaps some of you have read my previous announcement about the password change of the private blog, and also noticed I started adding timestamps to my written works for the sake of protecting them. I said in that post that the matter was already resolved around that time, and it was...or so I thought. Needless to say, my concern with the party involved was promised to be dealt with once they come back and have things sorted out for themselves. However, that was not what happened once they came back. Instead, I received very alarming messages. I felt unsafe. Even now, I feel fearful of sharing anything relating to writing and my personal life on social media. I had long since blocked them after their threats and toxic behaviour, but writing nor going online never felt the same. And I was rarely online in the first place. 

The concern was about the possibility of my private blog ideas being copied with little to no changes. And upon further investigation (one I discovered in the aftermath of blocking them), scenes and parts of PSISLY were possibly plagiarised with dates and evidences to back up my suspicions. 

A lot of things also happened that can only be summarised by that person going against what we have already discussed. I had expressed my discomforts with interacting with them in our exchange (tl;dr, they cannot give me reasons or explanations for the concerns I raised with them) which led them to say that we can settle things when...things get better on their end. It never did. Instead, I felt threatened, belittled and disrespected. I was guilt-tripped over being protective of my work, accused of things I never said, and many other unspeakable things I have realised were the person's possible attempts to manipulate me and my feelings. I never wished ill on them, and only wanted to clear up any possible misunderstanding we were having. Our talks were peaceful at first, until I asked about some contradictions in their statements, as well as the evidences they have given me. Now that they had made their feelings public, as well as the issues we dealt with on the sidelines, I felt like the only way for me to have my peace is to also share my side. My wish is only this. I do not wish to disclose their identity at all, but only to raise the question, 'why?' 'where did it go wrong'? And 'how can I move on from this?' And this is my answer. I do not wish to air out these matters in here so if you want a more detailed account of what happened, please go to this link.

If you noticed a dip in my writing, then perhaps this is the reason. I worked really hard on this series and researched a LOT, outlined and revised so many ideas and scenes and the thought of someone possibly stealing them and getting credit over them just makes me feel sick to my stomach. Despite that, I want to finish this work. I cannot give up on it. I refuse to give up on it because I know I only did what I think was right. I never wanted to hurt anyone.

I am not perfect. But I tried my best to be neutral and objective when listening to them. I'd like to think I asserted myself in a way that was respectful and polite. When I felt like they aren't doing the same, I blocked them and moved on...but the damage was already done. 

Again, I didn't post this to disclose their identity but to do what they did, and get closure. I wanted to be honest with all of you and give you a general idea of how stressful this situation was and how it affected my writing. Worse that it happened while I am not in the best...situation RL. Even as I'm writing this, I'm trying to make sense of everything. 

So...this is mostly the reason for the fic delays. I am still interested with finishing this work, but my situation right now along with this is making it harder to keep my focus. I'll do my best though! 

I don't really ask for anything besides your support and understanding. I'm trying my best to get over this issue. Just...thank you I guess? This series must be really confusing and convoluted to read, but thank you anyway for taking the time to read it. :) 

On a lighter note, I have some other less...depressing announcements. 

Author's identity might have already been heavily hinted, but the surprises do not stop there! The next route spans the final arc and the true ending. To anyone interested in Lucifer's ending and Barbatos' route, I highly advise reading Mammon's and Satan's route first to gain a better understanding of the story.

New features of the CYOA exclusive only to the final arc will be added. Estimated release should probably be around February or March, depending on when I finish the outline. 

Hamartia 4 and 5 will also be posted a few hours after this message is published due to the current circumstances this series is facing. I can only provide snippets of it for now, as well as unbeta'd summaries, so some parts of the story may change as I finish Hamartia 2. The tags however, won't change as much, so if you want to know how 4 and 5's story will go, you can take a look at the tags and see a general idea of the plot. You may also unlock more information about the future works in the Hamartia Series once the private blog reopens/ once PSISLY ends. 

Finally, I had been mulling over a tumblr crosspost for this series for a while now. However, the formatting for it eludes me. If any tumblr savvy people are out there and want to help, please message me on my writing sideblog which you can find on my AO3 profile.

Happy new year, everyone! May 2021 be kinder to all of us. ^^

[camilieroart]

Testimony of a French person during the pandemic.

I’m the french person. This testimony is featuring my school’s pressure and a lowering mental state.

I have been quarantined at home since March 2020. I have gone out maximum 20 times, always being really careful. For me and others.

I have a constant source of informations on what is going on in France and the world, and this causes a big flow of anxiety. I spent the entire summer vacation in my house, working on my project and being really productive. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t go anywhere. Just me, my parents and our two cats.

My classmates, however, aren’t as worried nor careful as me, and most importantly not as informed or free to act as they wish. So, they have gone out, and been to beaches and seen people, like the government said. Because yes, as soon as the summer vacation started, the French government declared that the virus was gone and that everyone had to go out and pay for stuffs, and spend money, to “keep the economy rolling”. Of course the Covid was still there.

As the start of the school year was closing in and that people in France had been getting sicker and sicker due to the craziness of the summer holiday, we thought that they would cancel, or at least push back the day. But no.

Around that time, I had also lost my uncle and my grand-mother (not due to the coronavirus), and the pressure of staying home this long, and having constant awful news about outside and how there wasn’t a glimpse of hope was having terrible effect to my mental state.

As back to school day arrived, we had made the decision to not send me back, although the government had said it was “mandatory”. However, I have worked hard all my life to get a diploma and go to a good college and have a degree, and I wasn’t giving up yet. So, we lied. Well, not really. We said we had to bury my grandmother and it was true. So I didn’t come the first week. The second, I catched a cold, and couldn’t make it due to the coughing. The third, I had a stomach ache...

My mother hates lying. She loathes it. It was incredibly hard for her to do so. But she did because if I went, I would probably kill my other grandma and maybe kill my parents. And have scars for life. And contaminate strangers.

What about my classmates, you ask ? They all went. I was the only one, of my whole class, to not have gone back. And boy, was I glad I did. I kept talking to my friends, and I heard how the teachers didn’t respect the safety distances nor put the masks correctly. I heard how in the cafeteria they were all sitting at the same table, pressed against eachothers without a mask. At that time, I already had heard horrible things and how poorly it was handled.

One week, as she had one of the CPE (head of the supervisors) on the phone, my mom had the first breakdown I have seen her have in years. She started crying and explained everything. She cried, and argumented and I was so shocked to see her like this. The truth was out ! I didn’t go to school because the safety stuffs the government put in place was bullshit.

We expected me to be kicked out in the following minutes. But, they couldn’t. I had been giving back all the homeworks and assignments I could, showing I wasn’t quitting. So, they couldn’t kick me out for being a quitter, and they couldn’t kick me out for trying to keep myself, my family and them safe. So they didn’t. Instead, they tried to push me into resigning.

At that point, it had been 5 months since I had really gotten out for something else than groceries. I hadn’t seen anyone, friends or even acquaintances for months. The school and news had been horribly stressing me out, and I had my first breakdown. Around a day after, we had a call from the school’s nurse. She asked me if I was okay, how I was doing, if I was sick... And that I should really go back to school. It’s senior year after all. I told her I heard they handled it badly. She called nonsense and stupid rumors, telling me lies that I immediatly understood were lies, selling bullshit and trying to force me to come back. I was very polite, made her understand that I would be trying if the situation got better, and hung up. It took us a minute to understand that she was trying to get evidence of me being kept home against my will and called social services. She didn’t call for my health at all. Thankfully, I handled it very well and we never heard back from her.

Not long after that incident, I heard of something that happened in my school that made me mad beyond understanding. Since the interns at the boarding school were forbidden from going out, the school decided to put a movie for them Wednesday afternoon. They said they asked students about what they would like to see but I highly doubt it. So, that Wednesday afternoon, when my classmates, seniors in highschool, with TONS of homework they had been working on where called in the auditorium for “informations” they had no choice but to go. The informations were given, and they were about to leave to resume working when the CPE and the deputy director stopped them.

They said my classmates HAD to see this movie, it was mandatory. Let me insist on the fact that they were around a hundred, all in a closed space, in the middle of a pandemic. Yes ? Great. So, my friends protested, saying that they had to work and didn’t want to stay. The deputy director started cutting them off to keep repeating some bullshit like “we made that for you” “we listenned and gave you this” “we worked hard on this”, like 5th graders. Until they said “I’m your superior and I order you to stay. Now shut up and take a sit”. My friends were astonished but did as asked. Which was incredibly unsafe and even dangerous (closed space, no safety distances...). And that movie that was “for the students” and “they worked hard on” was a goddamn movie about the Shoah. And I SWEAR TO GOD, there was panic attacks in the room, breakdowns, terrible reactions, and they didn’t give two shit about it.

And a day or so before, the nursed called to say I had to go back because it was “safe and everything was ok”. I was boiling.

After that incident, one of my teachers requested a call with me to talk about the class I had been missing. Very aware of the manipulative state of my school at that time, we were really careful, and a bit worried about it. Turned out it was a call of a genuine teacher that actually wanted to talk about the classes I had been missing and the homeworks I had been giving ! Of course he quickly tried to get convince me to come back, but I handled it well, once again. It was the highlight of my day.

At that point it had been 8 months since I had last been really out.

I had severals other breakdowns, mostly due to the ungodly stress I had been under because of school and news. I had been stressed out for 8 months now, and what had to happen, happened.

I had a burn out.

My mental state was so low I couldn’t even do what I love. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t draw. All I could do was watch shows and movies, or stare at the ceiling for hours. This was incredibly frustrating and scary. I couldn’t do my homeworks, and we feared I might get kicked out.

Then a miracle happened. Which is sad it got to that, but it was one. My teacher got quarantined, and started online classes. I had my first class of the year on November 14th. And I was there ! I answered tons of questions, and it kind of shocked everyone in class to realize I existed and was still trying to follow the classes.

It allowed to get better, and keep a very small following of school.

A week ago I have been able to do my Spanish homework. I am slowly getting better, trying to avoid stress and work as much as I can.

What I haven’t been able to talk about but did happen :

-One of my classmates caught the virus and she realized it a week later. The school said it was useless to quarantine her now and let her go back to class. The first thing she did was take off her mask and lean in everyone she was talking to. -I haven’t got any of my art classes since the beginning of the year. My teachers made the class believe they were giving it to me when they didn’t. I am specialized in art. -One of my classmates have been diagnosticated with depression. We’re 17. Several others have depression tendencies. -The school is trying to ignore us by not responding to anything we send, hoping we’ll resign. The pressure is still there. -We learned recently that many other parents and students had done the same thing and the schools have put pressure on them too. Some threatened the family. We hadn’t hear about it until now because schools are covering it up -Schools are covering numbers even inside. Most teachers doesn’t even know if a kid has Covid or not. If the teachers get sick, they are forced to immediatly go back to school.

This has been written the 22 november of 2020, in France.

Linked to this post

[crstapor]

Terror White

“You’re either with us or against us.” - George W. Bush


1.

On January 6th, 2021, domestic terrorists invaded the Capital Building in an act of political insurrection. Their intent was to overthrow the will of the people by preventing certification of a free and fair democratic election. They did so at the behest of their political leader (who was impeached a second time for inciting this gross transgression of his oath of office), other voices in their party - the so-called GOP - and talking head agitators inhabiting the far-right media echo chamber. Nearly to a man, a woman, a they, each of these terrorists were white.

Images of ‘good old boys’ traipsing down the halls of the people’s house waving confederate battle flags, kicking feet up on the Speaker’s desk, walking off with public property or smearing their shit on the floors pervaded the internet. These images provided by the villains themselves, posted shamelessly to social media profiles.

As a result of this treasonous, insulting, juvenile, despicable, and ultimately futile effort five people died. Even still, hours after the fact, a majority of members of the so-called GOP voted in accordance with the will of these terrorists. They voted to overturn the results of a free and fair election in the world’s oldest modern democracy. They did so because they believed there were serious ‘concerns’ (‘concerns’, let’s be clear, that started with them and like the Ouroboros, ended up with the confusing, if unhygienic, phenomenon of not knowing where their mouths or assholes ended or began) with the 2020 presidential election. After over 60 court cases arguing that point only one was ruled in their favor. None of the 50 States comprising our union found any evidence of wide-spread fraud. Indeed, a federal agency tasked with monitoring election security stated unequivocally that the presidential election of 2020 was one of the most secure in a generation.

And yet? There they were. Spouting conspiracy theories, assaulting police officers (those stalwart stewards of the ‘law & order’ they otherwise claim to love), brandishing spears and bearskins, stealing mail, leaving death threats to the Vice President, fundamentally acting the fool. A bunch of bullies let out of detention with rage and rebellion on their minds.

Let me be clear: each and every one of these terrorists should be hunted down by law enforcement and charged to the fullest extent of the law. They should then be prosecuted and the judges in each and every case should show or allow no mercy. These barbarians must never be allowed to storm the gates again.

Fine.

But that’s not the really interesting question here. The far-right has been producing assholes forever (one of the few things the ‘right’ is truly consistent at). What’s actually interesting is how these insurrectionists arrived at the conclusions they did. Which is to say; how did their ‘thinking’ bring them to this point.

2.

While it might be tempting for some on the left to see that last sentence as a joke, let’s remember we’re sitting at the adult table. These terrorists, being human, sharing our genetic code, are people - real, live, eating, shitting, fucking, anxious, sleeping, scared, afraid, terrified people - just like you and me. As much as it would be easier if we could see them as Uruk-hai instead of our brothers and sisters, sadly? That’s what they are. Family. Part of the Human Condition.

Though humans that are clearly very, very, very sick. My diagnosis? Mind Cancer. Let me explain, under the assumption my readers understand the difference between mind and brain. As such, I am not asserting that the terrorists are physically sick. From their pics and videos it’s clear many are - obesity, hypertension, anal retention - though that isn’t the point. It’s their mental programming, their minds, that have been infected. Infected with what?

Put simply? A disjointed ontological phenomenology obscured, obfuscated, and accelerated by persistently chaotic epistemological aberrations. Said plainly? Their ability to process reality has been impaired.

Why? Racial resentment, poor economic opportunities, an aversion to books and learning? Yes. All that. Plus? The internet, which has created a new Dark Ages.

Paradoxically, one built on light.

3.

Look. Self-interested demagogues intent on self-aggrandizement are nothing new. Nor are their ability to rally or rile a downtrodden populace. Sadly, demonizing the ‘other’ is also pretty par for the course in these scenarios. An old story, all told. What’s new this time is how it happens.

In a single second - count it out! One Mississippi - a beam, or photon of light moves 186,000 miles. Roughly seven times the circumference of the Earth. The new speed of hate. The internet, that modern marvel ushering in Humanity’s first truly post-scarcity resource, is built on light. Philosophers have for millennia wed knowledge with light. And now we all (well, those of us in the post-industrial world) carry a terminal connected to this internet in our pockets. A stunning marvel of human ingenuity. One would imagine that access to such a wellspring of knowledge and information would have a truly edifying affect on the Human Condition. Perhaps, in aggregate, or retrospect, it will. At the moment?

Yeah ...

At the moment it seems that the more access to information humans have the more they double down on tribal identities, wish fulfillment, instant gratification (read: porn), perceived slights, fantasy lands, Rick Astley videos, or the jibbering incoherent rantings of simple capitalists fomenting the fragile emotional states of low information individuals who feel they have no place in this world. This is a fundamentally devastating epistemological conundrum. Why? For centuries the barrier to the future was the amount of information, knowledge, you could access or process. Yet here and now? Here and now there might be too much access. Too much information. More so, the striking fact that our ability, as a species, writ large, to process or parse this information has not kept pace with the information at hand. A sad equation that inevitably leads to moments like 01/06/21.

4.

The Trump Terrorists of January 6th, 2021, weaponized the internet to facilitate their attempted coup. As did their ‘dear leader’ throughout his humiliating single term in office. In fact, it was the geometrical acceleration of connectivity and interconnectedness enabled via the web and its insanely capitalist platforms that allowed for their ‘movement’ to incubate and evolve. While it is true that neo-liberal policies advocating globalist economics and monetary policy are at the current root cause of most ills genuinely affecting rural, or poor, or uneducated MAGA-heads, it’s also true that apart from an Independent from Vermont no one in the political economy of the last couple decades gave much of a shit about these poor and dispossessed inheritors of old racial mythemes and toxic narratives of self-reliance. No one that is, other than their ‘dear leader’. Never mind he didn’t intend to ease their suffering in any material, or structural way. He talked about it. He tweeted about it. And then he gave them a little song and dance at the rallies. Breathtaking stuff.

However, it wasn’t just the performative act of playing ‘authoritarian’ that got them hot and bothered. No, it was at the same time the eternal need to belong to a group, the legitimate feeling of economic obsolescence, coupled with these new tools of information transmission. Tools that at once gave them powers unheralded and seemingly ensconced them in a protective shell, a perpetually larval manifestation of all their baser inclinations. A reactionary ‘safe space’ from which they could launch a thousand ships of intolerance and hate. What good is truth if you can’t weaponize it? What good are facts if you share them with everyone else?

And so we find ourselves revising Plato. There isn’t just one cave in which we are chained, kept from reality. There are multiple tunnels, alcoves, deeper caverns in which we might dwell. Furthermore, if lucky, there are different days, vistas, egresses in which we can escape from the confines of ignorance. Much like the lucky Mormons, it would seem the far-right believes there are plenty of planets in which ‘Truth’ can dwell. Never mind that multiplying ‘Truth’ in such a way doesn’t actually produce more truth.

In fact, it reduces ‘Truth’. Impoverishes it. Hollows it out.

Which is sad, really. For the major harm caused by these rebels isn’t to our democratic institutions, nor our mythological vision of our nature, nor that ever-loving economy - but to the very fabric that binds the social contract on which all the preceding rely.

That fabric being, specifically, a shared objective reality.

5.

How can we survive if we can’t agree on basic facts? Can a multi-racial, multi-cultural, representative democracy exist when a large percentage of the comprising citizens don’t believe in, or even acknowledge, that that’s actually what’s happening? Is White Supremacy so fundamentally a part of our nation’s DNA that the country can’t exist without it? If so, for those of us who vehemently oppose White Supremacy, the question might then be: is the country worth saving?

Most versions of Western Ethics indicate that violence is not the cure. Nor do I advocate such a position. At the same time I’m deeply troubled, because due their illness these actors are neither rational or coherent. Ergo, we can’t reason with them either. So what next?

To corral the revolutionary, if inchoate, spirit of these sick, fringe minds diseased as they are by hate, grievance, and digital oubliettes would any policy proposals be acceptable? Perhaps as fantastic an idea as the images from 01/06/21, what if the Federal Government decided to halt its obsequious sycophantry to corporate America and ‘elites’ and instead actually, seriously, emphatically reinvested in the heartland, in Main Street, in the working class? Wouldn’t it be ironic if a little more socialism was truly the cure these hatemongers require?

6.

Maybe we should step back and listen to the wisdom of George W. Bush.

Confronting what was at the time the most disheartening terror attack on the homeland, Bush made clear not all who could otherwise be lumped in with the terrorists were terrorists. In the same way that, yes, not all Trump voters are Trump Terrorists.

Even so. Bush made it clear you needed to pick a side.

With us - toward a diverse future in which the promise of the Founders is emboldened and expanded for all who live between our shores. Or against us - back to your stunted hovels and holes with all the other low information troglodytes you like to cosplay revolution with.  

Choose.

It’s your call. But choose quickly, because history is watching, and only one path moves toward the future.

C. R. Stapor Longmont, CO 01/16/21

[dr-past-hour]

All the writing in brackets is informal referencing. Example: (secondary source: Every man and his health.2012) (Please note some sources have non english titles)

Are you suffering from joint pain? indigestion? Fever? Swollen eyes? Insomnia? Diarrhoea? Excess phlegm in the throat? Inflammation-Wait me start again. Are you suffering from anything at all? (Primary source: Euery Manin His Hvmovr. 1598)

Maybe it physical but emotional you’re feeling angry, grieved, despondent, annoyed or- again let me start again are you feeling anything that isn’t happy? (Primary source: Euery Manin His Hvmovr. 1598)

I have my diagnosis. One of your 4 humours is out of balance.

This ancient medical practise and theory dates all the way back to Ancient Rome and Greece in 400 BCE. Namely Hippocrates who was the first man to establish medicine as a science based on observation and evidence. Hippocrates was the first man to look toward medicine as the answer to sickness instead of superstition. Described as the founder of western medicine. Although knowledge of human antonmoy was very limited. At the time it was forbidden to dissect a human body.Even a dead one. So all these proto physicians (the term doctor wont be invented till the 14th century). Were the fluids that came out the body. (Secondary Academic source: Greek Medicine from Hippocrates to Galen:2012)

1.Blood. The discovery of blood is credited to Galen. A Greek proto physician. Best known for bringing philosophy into medicine.

(Secondary Academic source: Galen’s theory of Black Bile 500 BCE)

2 Yellow Bile. The very first person is Alcmaeon of Croton in 500 BCE to have discovered it. A greek proto physician who moved to Rome.

(Primary Source: On Nature by Alcmaeon. Unknown date. Maybe 500 BCE)

3 Black Bile. It was discovered by Galen again. Around the same time as blood

(Secondary Academic source: Galen’s Theory of Black Bile. 500BCE)

4 phlegm. Discovered by Hippocrates in 400 BCE. (Secondary Accemdic source: Greek Medience from Hippocrates to Galen 2013)

All 4 of these humors appeared together in The Hippocratic book “On the Nature of Man”

There was one last key player in the popularizing the 4 humors theory. Aristotle. Who practised medicine. Believing the heart to be the most vital organ in the body and the seat of human intelligence. He strongly advocated for Hippocrates’ 4 humor theory. (Primary source: Aristotle’s Zoology 300 BCE)

It would be this medical theory that would dominate medical understanding for the next 2000 years

Now that we have established who, where and why it was invented. We can study the humours themselves.

What is actually blood? Well modern science explains how blood is a red liquid that circulates through out the body and carries various nutrients, oxygen and carbon dioxide around the body to the needed tissues. ( academic source: Oxford Dictionary 2021)

What did the ancients think blood was? They knew it was a vital fluid needed for people to survive. If they lost too much. They would die. It was later theorised that blood only came from the liver.( secondary accemdic source: Knowledge of Circulation Before William Harvey 2020)

What actually is yellow bile? A greenish/brown fluid created by the liver and stored in the gallbladder. It aids the body in breaking down salts and cholesterol. (Secondary accemdic source: Oxford Dictionary 2021)

What did the accenits think yellow bile was? A greenish/brown fluid. Later it was theorised to have come from the gallbladder. It was thought to dilute the blood (primary source: The Hippocratic Book on the Nature of Man 400BCE)

What is phlegm ? A stringy, slippery liquid produced in the tissues lining the body it acts as a lubricant keeping vital organs from drying out. (Secondary accemidic source: Oxford Dictionary 2021)

What did the acients think Phlegm was? Phlyem was believed to be harmful when in excess in the body. Phlegm was supposed to absorb toxins in the body when poisoned. Then the toxin would leave the body when spat out. (Secondary Accemdic source. A Confluence of Humors N/D)

What is Black Bile? As far as research goes. Black bile does not seem to be a real thing according to modern science.

(A lot of secondary accemic sources. Too many to list)

What did the ancients think black bile was?

Black bile was thought to be healthy for the entire body. When in the right amount. Later on it thought was produced by the spleen. Most likely black bile was the result of some other illness that discoloured another body fluid (secondary accemdic source: The Concept of Black Bile 2021)

What happened when the humors were out of balance?

Black bile: black bile is heavy, cold and dry. An excess was thought to cause mental disorders like depression. Constipation, menstrual cramps, darker urine and poop, discolouration of the skin, wrinkles, dryness.

A primary source: Minerva Britana written in 1612, speaks of a pateint suffering from too much Black Bile. (Please note it is in Old English)

“Heere Melancholy mufing his fits. Pale Vifag’d, of complexion cold and drie. All folitarie, at his ftudie fits. Within in a wood, devoid of companie. Saue Madge the Owle, and the melancholy Puffe, Light-loathing creatures. Hateful and ominous.

His mouth in figne of filence. Vp is bond. For melacholy loves not many words. One foote on Cube is fixt vpon the ground. The which him plodding confranne affords. A fealed Purfe he bears, fhew no vice. So proper to him as Avarice. “

Translated it talks of a depressed man sitting alone in the woods with a cold, dry pale face. He had only an owl and a cat for company. (Two feared and hated creatures of the day) An indication of his depression is his silence. One foot on a cube providing a dull steadiness and in his other had a purse of gold showing he has no other vice but greed.

Treatment: eating laxatives such as oil to rid the body of exccess black bile.

Rubbing the body oils on the body and in the nostiles to ease dryness (seocndary accemdic source The Concept of Black Bile 2021)

Yellow bile: Not a lot of it was present in the body. It is the lightest of all the humors. Excess caused yellowing eyes and skin, acne. Bad breath, nausa, itching burning, private part issues, constant thirst, loss of appotate, pins and needles, feeling stressed, anaxeria, anger

A passage from the same primary source Minerva Britina from 1612 (Again. Old English)

“Next stands yellow bile, refembling the face moft the fire. Of fwarthei yeallow, and a meager face; with a sword a late. Vnfheathed within a little fpace. A fterne ie’de Lion, and by him aflield. Charg’d with a flame, vpon a crimsonfield. We paint him young, to fhew that paffions raigne. The moft in heedles, and vnftaited youth. That Lion fhowes, he feldome can refraine. From cruell deede, devoide of gentle ruth. Or hath perhaps, this beaft to him affign’d. As bearing moft, the brue and bounteous mind.

This translates to: Next stands yellow bile who resembles fire the most (side note: we shall get to the elemental humors soon) and having a face dark yellow and thin. He has a sword that he has taken out of his shealth in anger and close to him is a stern eyed lion. He also has a shield of crimson and flames on it. He’s painted young to show his passions that control him. The lion shows he is unable to keep from performing cruel acts. He is a thoughtless and undisplined young man. But the lion also shows intense bravery and a wide mind.

How to cure: herbal mixures of bitter plants to cool and detoxy the body from anger. (Secondary accemdic source: Herbal Academy. 2021)

Phlyem: cold and moist. Causing a temperament that is slow and sleepy, unemotional. Intense coughing, obesity.

(Primary source: Medical Treatment in the Middle ages. 1230)

Blood letting was the typical treatment.

The following is Taken from a manuscript of instructions for a doctor. Written in 1230. Translated into modern English

“during very hot weather blood letting should not be done because the humours the good flow out quicker than the bad. Nor should the blood letting be done in really cold weather as the humours will compact into the body and not drain. If the blood appears black, draw it off til it becomes red. If thick draw it til it is watery. Blood letting clears the mind. Strengthens the memory, cleans the stomach, sharpens the hearing, develops the senses, promotes digestion, produces a musical voice, feeds the blood, rids it of toxins and brings long life. It rids sicknesses from fever, pain and other”

(Side note. I would have also added “rids the body pain, fever and of life.” But i think that would have scared patients off)

Taken from the Primary source Minvera Britiana written in 1612. Old english again.

“Heere sits Phlegme fits coughing on a Marble feate. As citie-vfurers before their dore. Of bodie groffe, not through exeffee of meate. But of a drofie, he had got of yore. His flothfull hand, in bofome ftill he keepes. Drinkes, fspits, or nodding in the chimney fleepes. Beneathe his feete, there doth a tortoilflio crall, for flowefte pace, the sloth heiroglyphick here. For phlemegmatitque, hates labour moft of all. As by his courge araimient, may appeare. Nor is he better furninhed I find. With science or other virtues of the mind”

Translated

“Here phlegm sits coughing on the marble floor. Just like money leanders in the city in front of their gold. His body is fat. Not because he eats too much meat but because he has dropsy. So fluid has collected in his body. He keeps his lazy hand in his shirt. As he drinks and spits and nods off to sleep by the chimminy. A tortise crawls under his feet. Showing his laziness because phylem hates working most of all as his rag clothes show nor does he study and put his mind to good use.

Blood. Hot and moist. It is the vital force of the body. A perfect balance of blood would mean the person is happy, balanced and peaceful. Blood is hardly ever the cause of sickness. It gets contaminated by excess of the 3 other humours. Blood letting is used to rid the bloodstream of the excess other humor thus restoring balance. ( primary source: Medicine of the Middle ages.1312)

(I have gone over already at the top how doctors used bloodletting in the middle ages.)

Taken from the primary source: Minervia Britiana written in 1612. Remember old english

“The aeirie Sanguine, in wholfe youthfull cheeke. The pefrene Rofe and lilly doe contend. By nature is benigne and gentile meek. To mufiuk and all merriment a friend. As feeminth by his flowers and girlondes gay, Wherewith he delights him, all the merry may. And by him browzing, of the climbing vine. The lutfulgoate is feene. Which may import his pronenes both to women and to wine. Bold, boutious, friend unto the learned folk. Faire spokene, bafful, feld anger moo’urd”

Airy Sanguine. Whose youthful cheek is both pink and white, he is naturally kind and humble. Loving all music and fun. This is shown by the flowers around him. Near him are a climbing vine and lustful goat. Showing his love of wine and women. He is bold, generous, a friend to all. Fit to studies. Most loving and fair spoken. Seldom angry.

(Side note He’s basically a mary-sue)

The story of the 4 humors doesnt end there. It also entails seasons and, elements. This was all found in Empedocles theory, written in about 460 BCE (primary source Medical Treatment in the Middle Ages. 1230)

Blood was spring and the element of air and childhood

Yellow bile was summer and the element of fire and young adulthood

Black bile was autumn and the element of earth. And middle age

Phlegm was winter and the element of water and old age

The only reasons given behind these seemingly random associations was that Empedocles saw that the earth naturally creates both the four elements and the seasons. He also noted how plants and animals were born, grew up and died. Just like people and therefore concluded at all of these occurrences in nature must happen in the human body.

The four humours theory was disproven in the 19th century. (Secondary academic source. History of Medicine.2021)

[eryiss]

Chapter Eleven - The End

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. Hope you enjoy it. Also, despite what the chapter name says, there is one more chapter after this. 

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Eleven – The End

Freed had flaws.

It was something that he had tried to keep to himself; he was an image conscious man and, at some point in his life, he had attributed having flaws as some kind of weakness. This wasn't helped because of his career, something where image really was everything. One fumble on your words, one change in your body language, one misplaced hair and your opponent would jump on it in an attempt to delegitimise both you and your arguments. And slowly, subconsciously, Freed had convinced himself that he had no flaws.

But that was a fiction, and one that he was being forced to confront. He was emotionally repressed, and closed himself off from vulnerability or the chance of embarrassment. He had little life outside of his work, and had convinced himself he was happy like that when he wasn't. He had a superiority complex that often-alienated people and put a strain on relationships with people not willing to push back at him.

They were not comfortable realisations to have, and they had hit him hard.

However, Freed was not only made of flaws. He had many positive traits, one of which was his practicality. So when all of his flaws were pointed out to him, he did not mope for long, nor did he fall into a spiral of regret and self-loathing. Instead, he made a decision to make a change in himself, to grow out of his flaws.

It was why he was dressed like this: a black sleeveless shirt, and black jeans, with his hair tied up into a messy ponytail. Though to an outsider it wasn't a large change, it was significant for Freed. His job required a certain look, and did such a large amount of overtime that his suits were practically the only things he wore. Again, in a gradual change that Freed hadn't been aware of, his wardrobe turned into nothing but suits. It had become something like societal armour for him, a way to avoid judgment because he knew that he looked good and felt confident like that.

Laxus had mentioned that. Laxus had been the catalyst for all of this self-reflection.

He looked himself up and down in the mirror, frowning a little. The only reason he had these clothes were because, during Christmas, Bickslow had attempted to get Freed to go clubbing with him and attempted to guilt him into doing it by buying him the clothes as a gift. It was an interesting look for Freed, he wasn't sure about it.

"Well hot damn," A loud voice said from behind him, followed by a wolf whistle. Freed turned to see Bickslow standing at the door of his bedroom. "Where have you been hiding those arms? You're looking fine~"

Freed didn't say anything, glancing at his bare arms.

"Don't embarrass him," Evergreen's hushed as she walked past the doorframe, dragging Bickslow with her. Freed walked out of his bedroom, entering the open plan living room of his apartment. "You do look great though. Casual works on you."

"And I bet blondie is gonna love it," Bickslow grinned.

Again, Freed said nothing. He kept glancing at himself in any reflective surface that he could find, each time making him feel slightly more comfortable in the outfit. He shook his head slightly at the stupidity of his actions, walking to the kitchen and leaning on the counter as he checked the time on his phone. He would have to leave soon.

"What d'you think you're going to say to him?" Ever asked, sitting on the counter beside him.

"I'm not entirely sure yet," Freed admitted, leaning back and sighing. "I spent most of last night thinking about it, actually. At one point I decided to draft out what I wanted to say, which didn't help me at all. I'm hoping that seeing him will help."

"Just speak from the heart man," Bickslow smiled.

"Well, emotional vulnerability is a strength of mine," Freed let out a small chuckle as he spoke. "But that will probably be the best, won't it."

"And don't forget to grovel your ass off," Evergreen grinned.

Freed laughed slightly, but nodded. His friends had made it quite clear over the last two weeks that, the way he had left it with Laxus was stupid and unnecessary. Freed had taken issue with their claims at first, because if Laxus wanted to keep their relationship platonic then Freed felt he couldn't be near him for a while. But when Bickslow and Evergreen had said, in no uncertain terms, that Freed was just 'being pointlessly defensive like you always do when you try to be vulnerable,' it was hard to deny they had a point.

It had somewhat recontextualized their conversation at the party. For Freed, it had been a way to save face; to avoid the chance for embarrassment. But for Laxus, it probably felt like a rejection of their friendship. An end to any relationship, platonic or otherwise, between them.

Freed had felt sick when he realised that.

The memory of the realisation made his mood plummet.

"Hey, don't look like that," Bickslow smiled, patting Freed's shoulder and nudging him with his thigh. "You're new to… emotions. And being honest with your mistakes," Freed hardened his expressions by reflex at that. "But it ain't that bad, what happened. You kinda did a little bit of a fuck up, which happens. You're going to talk to him, make up for what happened, and then maybe if you're lucky you'll get some dick. Again."

Against his better judgment, a slither of a smile fell onto Freed's face.

"You're incorrigible," Freed scolded, though laughed.

"Was he good?" Evergreen asked, and Freed shook his head as he stood up. "He looks like he'd be good."

"You are both awful people," Freed said with a grin. "I'm trying to get into a headspace where I can have an emotional and heartfelt conversation with a level of vulnerability I am not comfortable with, for a man I care for very greatly. And the two of you talking about my night with the aforementioned man is not helping."

"We couldn't be more sorry," Bickslow grinned in his lie.

"Yes, you sound positively repentant," Freed muttered, pushing off from the counter and standing straight. "I should go, before it gets too late. You don't mind dealing with the trucks, do you? I'd rather not linger any longer than I have to."

"Of course," Evergreen smiled. "It's all going into storage for now, isn't it?"

Freed nodded.

"You coming back tonight?" Bickslow asked, before grinning. "Roomie."

"I suppose that'll be dependent on what happens, won't it?"

Freed walked through his front door, holding it open for his friends to walk through. Once they had, he looked into the large apartment, devoid of both furniture and evidence of life. He scanned the place he had lived for all his adult life, almost shocked by the lack of emotions he felt when he considered it would no longer be his home. Perhaps it was because it had never felt like a home, but rather a selection of rooms that he existed in when not working. Or perhaps it was because he felt that there was something better for him coming soon if luck was on his side.

But, as he flicked off the light and locked the door, he didn't care. He had other priorities today.

He took a breath before he walked in. He needed the courage.

Fairy Tail, for his time in Magnolia, had been something of a safe haven for him. Before he'd moved into the house, Fairy Tail had been where he had stayed and it had turned into a home away from home, of sorts. But now, having not been there for a while, it felt something like a fortress that he would have to conquer. A monolithic blockade that signified what he needed to do to take the next step in his life.

Because Freed knew that he had hurt Laxus; he couldn't delude himself otherwise. After Bickslow and Evergreen had explained just how stupid he had been – again, their words – he had demanded Evergreen ask Elfman about Laxus' state. Apparently he was shut off, without enthusiasm and quick to anger.

Freed was to blame for this, and the people who had dealt with the fallout were in the hotel.

After further attempts to calm his nerves, Freed walked through the front garden of the hotel and into the hotel. The bell chimed and it sent a rush of nerves into the pit of Freed's stomach. As the door closed, he was met with the sight of Cana and Mirajane. Perhaps the two people Freed hoped to see least.

There was a moment of silence, where recognition turned to icy expressions.

"Oh look who it is," Cana said, pushing up from the reception and taking a step forward. "Mr fuck 'em and leave 'em, huh. You've a lot of balls showing up here."

A slurry of comments flashed through Freed's mind, because as willing as he may be to grovel for Laxus' forgiveness, that was not something he was going to do for people who he barely knew. However, he knew that Laxus was important to these people, and it was clear that they had protective instincts over him, so he bit his tongue. Though a hint of bitterness did fill him at the way he was addressed.

"I wish to see Laxus," He said in reply, fighting the instinct to scratch at his hand. "Where is he?"

"Why?" Mirajane asked, and her tone lacked the gentleness it normally did. "Because from what I've seen, I don't think he'd want to see you."

"Has he told you that?" Freed's voice had a hint of an edge to it now. "Because if not, then perhaps it would be best if you don't speak for him and allow him to make up his own mind; I'm sure you agree."

Cana went to speak, but before she said anything the door to the office swung open and two people walked out: Makarov and Lisanna. Freed almost sighed in frustration at the sight of the older man, because, if Freed had understood the man as well as he thought, Makarov's protective instinct over Laxus was so much higher than that of his friends. And the scowl on his face suggested that Freed's assessment had been correct.

"You," He snapped, voice carrying a ferocity that Freed hadn't heard out of court. "What are you doing on my property?"

"I wish to see your grandson," Freed explained, continuing before he could stop himself. "If you can tell me where he is, I'll happily leave your property. Though given that it is a retail business I feel the need to say I have a right to be here."

"My Grandson is no business of yours," Makarov growled in his throat, stepping towards Freed. "Over the last few weeks he had become a shell of his former self. And you are entirely to blame for that."

Freed resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"And how exactly have you come to that conclusion?" Freed asked, making as good an effort to remain polite as he could. "Because, despite it not being something you may want to admit, I know your grandson very well. And knowing him, I can be sure in the fact that he has not spoken of our conversation to any of you. So perhaps you should hold your assumptions for now and allow him to make up his own mind."

"I found him crying alone. On New Year's Eve he was sat alone and in tears. Because you left him like that," Makarov grunted, taking another step forward. "You're right, he didn't tell me what happened, but I know a damn broken heart when I see it. Especially when it comes to my own grandson. And you have the audacity to come here, as if you can walk back into his life without repercussion. I should spit at you."

"Where is he?" Freed repeated, now scratching at his palm again as frustration grew.

"I can assure you that if I have anything to say about it, you will not see my grandson again and you certainly will not hurt him," Makarov snarled. "Leave, you cruel hearted bastard."

Freed felt his jaw clench at that, and his eyes flickered over the three other people in the reception. Cana was glaring at him; with an expression one might save for a murderer. Mirajane was nodding in agreement to Makarov's demand, her lips pressed into a firm line. Lisanna looked more hesitant, glancing at Makarov with a look of almost concern before her eyes flickered towards Freed. For a moment they shared eye contact, and a flash of pity crossed her features that made Freed feel a little calmer.

"Why're you still here?" Cana snapped. "Fuck off, fucking manipulative whore."

And that was the moment that Freed's patience snapped.

Because his road to self-betterment had only just started, and when insulted he favoured fight over flight.

"I have a lot of things to say to you all, but as I don't wish to waste my time on insignificant people I intend to keep this brief," Freed snapped, voice rivalling Makarov's in hostility. "You may believe that you have Laxus' best interests at heart by this little performance, but if you used so much as an ounce of thought, then you would probably conclude that he would both hate this and resent you for doing it. He is a prideful man, as well as a free-thinking adult, and having people speak for him without his permission is something I expect doubt he would abhor."

"You do not know my grandson better-" Makarov began.

"Do not interrupt me!" Freed yelled with a power that years of professional arguing had gifted him. "And do not play some saintly role, because I am more than aware of how focused you have all been on whatever relationship Laxus and myself may have had. You have strongarmed yourselves into our relationship by making comments, jokes and invasive suggestions. This protective defence you're doing is a continuation of that. A way to paint yourselves as the heroes of the story, the valiant defenders who protected the weak of the pack. But Laxus is not weak, and you really should stop treating him as such."

"Don't act like you know us," Cana scoffed. "We've barely spoken."

"And yet you act as though you know me perfectly," Freed retorted. "But you don't. You don't know me, nor the nature of what Laxus and I have had. You have made assumptions, all of which seem to be incorrect."

Freed took a sigh to calm himself. He needed to get this back onto the topic.

"When I left your grandson last, he was not crying. Had I known he would, I promise that I would not have left him," He said, voice calmer but still tainted with anger. "I will not divulge what we spoke of, as that is our business, but if you believe I simply bedded Laxus and left him then let me make it clear that I did not. I care for him greatly, and the fact that I have hurt him burns at me. But I am here in an attempt to make amends for this, something I can only do if I see him. Should he tell me to leave and never contact him, as you so clearly want, then I will respect that. But I will not take orders from strangers.

"Now, given you're so clearly invested in what happens between us, I will be clear. I intend to find him, speak to him and hopefully rekindle whatever relationship I can," Freed straightened his back, a glare on his face. "And if I may leave you with some advice for the future, when it comes to our relationship, mind your own fucking business."

He spun on his heels, and left the reception of Fairy Tail.

His pace was quick, and the anger spurred him on, adrenaline a good counter for the cold air hitting his bare arms. He stormed down the steep hill of magnolia, ears not picking up the sound of running shoes on the cobbles behind him. He was too busy focused calming his breathing.

"Freed," Lisanna's voice came from behind, and Freed glanced over his shoulder to see she was alone. "Slow down."

"Why?" He grunted.

"Because I know where he is, asshole," She snapped back, and Freed slightly slowed his pace. After catching up with him, Lisanna spoke again. "Look, don't pay too much attention to them. Getting involved in other people's business is what happens in villages. And they're a protective lot, but they don't mean any insult."

"Yes they do."

"Okay, maybe they do a bit," Lisanna admitted, sighing. "But that's not why I came out here. I wanted to say that I think it'd be good if you talked to Laxus. I know they all disagree, but I think I know you pretty well, and I don't think you'd hurt Laxus intentionally. So even if you don't manage to… fix everything, it might give you a chance to explain what happened and help cheer him up."

"That's what I'm hoping to do," Freed spoke softly.

"I know. You're nice, you just have to look hard at you to see it," Lisanna smiled, patting Freed's arm. "He's at a job right now, doing some house work. I'm sure Bob won't mind you stopping by."

After Lisanna wrote down the address of the house Laxus was working at, he thanked her and was pulled into a shockingly strong hug. He returned it, somewhat awkwardly, before letting her go and smiling at her. It was nice to know that he had an ally of sorts with her, given that he had essentially burned all bridged with all of the other people important to Laxus.

"I hope you do make it up to each other," Lisanna admitted softly. "You brought out the best of him."

"He brought out the best of me," Freed whispered, and he felt his anger dissipate slightly. The admission of Laxus' influence was invigorating and comforting at the same time.

"Then make it up with him," Lisanna said. "And be good to him."

"I will," Freed promised. "I really will."

When he saw Laxus, it made his stomach churn and flip simultaneously.

He was in a small front garden, standing with his back to Freed while trimming the wayward leaves of an overgrown tree. The wires plugged into his ears told Freed that he was listening to music, and the sight of his right leg bobbing slightly in tune to a rhythm sent a rush of relief through Freed. Getting lost in music was something that often happened when he worked on the house, and Freed was glad to see that hadn't changed.

Perhaps stupidly, Freed had convinced himself that Laxus would be a shell of his former self. It was good that he wasn't.

Approaching slowly, and steadying his breath again, Freed coughed to get his attention. It didn't work initially, so Freed waited a moment for Laxus to climb down from the small step ladder he was stood on, before tapping the blonde on the shoulder. Laxus turned, then took a startled half step back when he saw who it was. Freed smiled weakly at him as Laxus took out his headphones.

"Freed," He slightly stammered out, pupils dilated.

"Hello Laxus," Freed spoke quietly. "It's nice to see you."

"Hi," Laxus seemed almost breathless as he spoke.

They took a few moments to look one another up and down. Laxus looked the same as he had since they last saw, in most ways. He still stood tall, his clothes still clung to his large form, and his face was as handsome as it always had. But there were slight bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were drooped just a little. Freed felt a rush of guilt flow through him; he couldn't remember Laxus looking like this in their time spent together, and the change was his fault.

But he couldn't linger on that guilt for too long, because Laxus finished sizing him up at the same time Freed had with him. Their eyes met, and Freed found himself breathless as he was trapped in the blue pupils that had been haunting him.

"What are you doing here?" Laxus asked, voice more hesitant than hostile.

"I wished to speak with you," Freed explained, taking a step forward. Laxus didn't step back, and the proximity gave Freed a slight burst of confidence. "So long as that's not a problem?"

"Erm. No. No that should be, erm… That should be fine," Laxus said, looking over his shoulder to the house. "Just let me see if Bob doesn't mind me taking a bit of time off. He won't, but I need to be sure."

Freed nodded, and watched as Laxus jogged back into the house; Freed scolded himself for glancing over the vast expanse of the man's back as he retreated. Less than a minute later, Laxus returned to the garden, now wearing a leather, fur lined jacket that had become a favourite of Freed's during their time together. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of the ruffled fake-fur bordering Laxus' neck.

"You ain't cold are ya?" Laxus asked, voice awkwardly polite. It bothered Freed, but he'd expected it. "I could ask Bob for something, if you need it. I mean, you have pretty different styles, but cold is cold. Although, you seem to have changed it up a bit."

"Yes," Freed said, not missing the roaming eyes on him again. "But I'm fine, I don't need a coat."

Laxus shrugged, motioning towards the pathway that Freed had just walked down to get there. Without needing to say anything, Freed began walking down the road, Laxus keeping in step with him. Even in the awkwardness between them, Freed couldn't help but notice how easy it was to understand what Laxus was thinking without him saying anything. Freed enjoyed knowing what someone was thinking without them speaking.

"The bathroom in the house is done," Laxus said eventually, breaking the ice. "I sent you an email, don't know if you got it."

"I did," Freed nodded, thinking back to the email. The very formal email. "I didn't reply in case you didn't want to hear from me."

"Is it okay?" Laxus asked.

"I haven't been to the house yet, but I know it'll be excellent," Freed spoke with confidence, because Laxus was excellent with what he did. "You were my priority for coming here, though."

Laxus let out a small hum in response, and they fell into silence again as a chill ran over Freed's bare arms, not that he paid it any mind. It was stupid but, after their time spent apart, even walking next to Laxus in a relatively uncomfortable silence felt great. Laxus seemed to have a calming aura to him that affected Freed in a way he couldn't explain.

But, he wasn't here to indulge himself in his urge to be close to Laxus in any way the blonde allowed him to. He was here to make it up to Laxus, to hopefully make him feel a little better at worst, and perhaps propose a new relationship at best.

"I have to apologise," Freed began. "For quite a lot of things, really."

"No you don't," Laxus said, either out of instinct or politeness.

"Don't be kind about this, Laxus. It's not the moment for that," Freed spoke with a firmness in his voice. "The fact is, I've done a lot of selfish things to you, and whether intentionally or not I have hurt you. I need to make up for that, and the first step is to apologise."

When Laxus didn't say anything, Freed saw that as encouragement for him to continue.

"When I first kissed you, and the night we spent together, I did it out of selfishness," Freed began. "I know you disagreed when I said that before, but it was. I wanted you, and I prioritised that over both our friendship and any repercussions that might have come with it. It was a selfish moment born out of a lack of self-control."

"You know I wanted it as much as you did," Laxus parroted his response from their previous discussion on the matter.

"It wouldn't have happened had I not pushed it," Freed said firmly. "I also need to apologise for how we left things last time. Why I said we should take a break from each other… it was an excuse. The truth was that I'm terrified of embarrassment. I've spent most of my life avoiding situations where it might happen. And I was embarrassed after what happened, and my kneejerk reaction to that is to close off and avoid it. Which, now I say it out loud, is utterly pathetic."

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "It was fucking pathetic."

Freed was shocked that he felt no offence at that.

"You ain't apologised for it yet," Laxus continued.

"No," Freed agreed. "I am so sorry for that Laxus. Without being hyperbolic, that was the biggest mistake I have ever made, and I will regret it for the rest of my life," He sighed a little, breath fogging. "But I know that an apology isn't enough. So I want to make it clear that I'm trying to improve myself; to confront my flaws."

"Really?" Laxus said, looking ahead.

"I've contacted a therapist, with the intention of having weekly sessions with her," Freed admitted, and Laxus' gaze fell on him. "I'm hoping that she can help me with a lot of things. Both with my… issues with how I'm perceived, and other, smaller problems. Specifically with how I'm dealing with my mother's death."

"Right," Laxus said with a slight nod. "Sounds like something that'd be good for you."

Again, they didn't speak for a short while, and Freed found that they had walked into one of Magnolia's parks; he'd been too busy focused on the apology to notice where they had gone. He'd never been to the park before, he'd never had the time nor the inclination, but it was a beautiful place. A long expanse of grass, with flowerbeds decorating the edges. And near the entrance was a large pond, with Lilypad's floating atop the surface and benches surrounding it.

"I've quit my job," Freed said as they walked along the path. Laxus stopped where he stood.

"What the fuck?"

"I've left my job," Freed repeated. "It was overdue."

"You loved your job," Laxus frowned, voice confused. "You said it was the biggest part of your life. You just fuckin' quit it?"

"It's a fairly clear summary of my life, isn't it? That the biggest part of my life was something that I grew to hate," He chuckled out loud. "I'm selling my apartment as well. Something else that I should have done a while ago."

"The fuck are you- Why are you-" Laxus stammered slightly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're the catalyst for this. I've been playing at life for a while, doing what I thought I was meant to for years now. I got the job I was told to get. I got the apartment I want meant to strive for. But, I wasn't happy, and I didn't realise it until I came here. Until I met you. You've made me a better man, and I want you to know how important you are to me," Freed admitted, before frowning. "And this isn't a form of guilt tripping. I'm not trying to make you feel obligated to forgive me for what I did. These are all things that I should have done years ago, for myself. I just want you to know how better I am for having met you."

"You know where you're gonna live?" Laxus asked. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Freed felt he heard a slight glimmer of hope in Laxus' tone.

"Bickslow's apartment, for now," Freed explained. "In terms of future plans, there's a lot of things to think about."

"Is one of those things the topic you've been avoiding?" Laxus asked. "What the next steps are for the two of us."

"That is a large thing to consider," Freed agreed.

"Guess so," Laxus nodded. He tilted his head to the nearest bench that bordered the pond. "Sit."

Freed did as he was told, and sat on the bench. When Laxus sat beside him, a chill went through his spine as he felt Laxus' thigh rest against his and remain there. He tried not to let a glimmer of hope bloom through him, but a small smile did flicker into his features before he schooled it off. Hopefully Laxus didn't notice.

"You can tell yer a lawyer," Laxus continued. "I come up with a list of reasons why we shouldn't be together, and you address them all."

"Sorry," Freed said with a small smile. "Winning arguments its hardwired into me."

"Yeah, realised that," Laxus chuckled a little, before turning serious again and looking at Freed. "Freed, all this stuff your doing is great, and I'm sure it'll help you become a better and happier person. But things like therapy, they take time. It's not like you'll go into a session and be the best version of yourself by the end of it. And if you're looking for a new job and you've just moved out… I don't think it's the best time for us to start anything."

His heart leapt slightly at the idea that Laxus was even considering starting something with him. But he didn't let his excitement show, instead nodding slightly.

"If you're not ready, or if you just don't want to-"

"I want to Freed, I really want to," Laxus said firmly, and Freed couldn't fight the smile. "I've wanted to be with you since I first met you. But if we start – when we start – then we only got one chance at it. Because I feel really strongly about you, and I'm worried if we fuck it up it'll turn to hatred. And I can't hate you. I don't wanna hate you."

"I don't want to hate you either."

Again, silence fell between them. And Freed understood what Laxus was saying, because he too had such strong feelings for Laxus. At that moment those feelings were fondness, adoration, friendship and potentially love. But if they messed up, if their relationship was bad and it grew resentment between them both, then all the passion he felt for the man could be twisted into anger and disgust. That was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"What if we wait a month," Laxus eventually said.

"What?" Freed asked.

"A month. In exactly a month's time, we see how we're both doing. If we're in a better place than we are now, and if we both think it's time then we go on a date and see what happens," Laxus had a sense of purpose in his voice. An authority. "That okay?"

"Yes," Freed said without hesitation. "But, what if we're not ready by next month?"

"Then we wait another month. Or however long it takes," Laxus claimed, and it was perhaps the most romantic thing Freed had heard. "You think you can do that?"

"Without a doubt," Freed promised. "The truth of the matter is, Laxus, that I would do anything to keep you in my life."

And then a beautiful thing happened. Freed was given the angelic sight of Laxus' lips contorting into a mischievous, wide grin. His eyes sparkled with a childish, competitive glee. Laxus had clearly seen Freed's promise as some sort of challenge and, as he had done with every perceived challenge between the two of them, had decided he would take Freed up on the challenge. It was incredible to see, and Freed felt as though, in that look, he had been forgiven.

"Anything huh?" He said with a grin in his tone. "Because, y'know, when we do go on a date I get to pick what we do. And I'm pretty sure I wanna get some petty revenge on ya. That okay?"

"Depends on what the date is, I suppose," Freed mused, smirking, "But I doubt you'll think of something I'd refuse."

"Even if I make you dress up as a medieval jester, have you shout crappy limericks in the high street all day while I get people to throw rotten eggs and tomatoes at ya."

"I would do that," Freed nodded. "I'd be confused about why you'd want me to do that, because that is both a very odd and very specific threat. But yes, if that is what you want then I would do it."

"Thought you didn't like getting embarrassed," Laxus teased.

"For you, I don't mind," Freed smiled. "I'm just sorry that it took me this long to realise it."

"Enough apologising, it doesn't suit you," Laxus laughed.

"Fair," Freed grinned, before his mind went back slightly. "Where on earth did the idea of dressing me up as a jester, having me shout limericks and throwing eggs at me come from?"

"Ah, Mirajane was acting like I was some heartbroken teenager and kept trying to cheer me up," Laxus laughed. "In the end it was either going to the spa with her and her sister, or watching a crappy TV Movie while eating ice cream. After the villain of the movie lost his money, he had to advertise a crappy medieval restaurant and that's what ended up happening to him. Thought it suited you."

"You think I deserve the same fate as a TV movie villain?" Freed chuckled. "Is that what you see me as, a villain?"

"Fuck yeah I do," Laxus grinned. "But I think villains are hot, so don't feel bad."

"I consider it a compliment," Freed laughed, before groaning. Laxus frowned at him. "On the topic of me being a villain, it is entirely possible that I offended basically everyone important to you before I found you."

"How the fuck did you do that?" Laxus cackled.

"I may have ranted at them for a while, and told them to mind their own fucking business."

"For fucks sake," Laxus laughed. "You really don't make things easy for yourself, do ya?"

Freed just laughed, and as he did he felt his head rest against Laxus' by accident. He opened his eyes to see that their foreheads were resting against each other. Their laughter died, and Freed felt his pace increase again. His heart hammered heavily in his chest, and he could feel a buzzing anticipation flow through him.

It was a similar sensation to when he had kissed Laxus in the car. Anticipation grew and grew, as if whatever happened next was inevitable. A rush of adrenaline pushed him forward slightly, and he was so incredibly aware of how Laxus' roaming eyes were flicking between his eyes and his lips.

They were going to kiss.

And, somehow, he knew it would be better this time. Because this wasn't a mistake, this wasn't Freed giving into his urges against his better judgment. This was something that he and Laxus wanted, and perhaps they were owed at this point.

But Laxus' reasoning for not starting a relationship rushed back to his mind, and stopped him from moving forward.

"Laxus," He whispered. "I though you wanted to wait until we started dating."

"I do," Laxus whispered back. "But I also wanna kiss you so fucking bad right now. And you got a poorly timed kiss, it's my turn."

In that moment, there was no doubt in Freed's mind that he and Laxus were meant to be together.

And then, Laxus took Freed into a beautiful, passionate, incredible kiss. It was everything.

[daltonsden]

So, a couple things.

I think there may be a few things worth addressing because this has just spiraled into something that does not remotely resemble reality anymore. This is likely to be my last lioden-related interaction on here for a long time. I apologize for the novel.

First of all, any of the things, which I am still confused about what all you folks are going on about, has not happened in the Breed Only Beauties discord server. I don't understand what exactly these anons would prefer for me to do. I can't ban individuals based on alleged actions outside of my server, that doesn't seem logical or right to me. I can’t moderate actions outside of my server. If something happens in the in the server, create a ticket. I am not psychic and can not address things I am not made aware about. Everything that we are made aware of is addressed promptly.

Second, there's a ticket system in the Breed Only Beauties discord server which will connect you immediately with the admins and has an average response time of about a minute. So to say admins/moderators aren't doing anything is simply not based in reality. Many users have received warnings and have adjusted their behavior. You can also typically get an instant response you if DM any of them directly. Helpers, by the way, can not see tickets. If you are curious what most tickets are about, it’s failure to use trigger warnings. Well, actually most tickets are people testing the ticket system (please do not do this), but that doesn't really count. If you need something in the sever, create a ticket if it is actual issue in the server. For everything else, create a Tumblr post apparently.

Some, well at least one person, has complained about the choice of Aggy. I will not be demoting Aggy from the helper position. I am unaware of the alleged actions of Aggy that would warrant this (besides of course the favorite crime of guilt by association), and Aggy was chosen as a helper due to merit. They have exhibited nothing that would contradict this initial assessment, and has been doing an excellent job. If you have an issue with Aggy and believe you have evidence of why they should not be a helper, please create a ticket in the server or DM me. I am always open to being proven wrong.

Fourth, no I will not arbitrarily kick an individual because you do not like them or do not get along with them. This applies to people on "both sides". They will have to break the rules either severely enough, or enough times to be kicked. You not liking them is not an appropriate reason to have someone banned from the server. Pretty much everyone has been and will be given a chance in this server, even if I get DMs from people bemoaning their entry. So no, everyone, I will not be kicking someone because they are a clown gang, I will not be kicking someone because they are friends of Jax, I will not be kicking someone because you think they may be the user that bought out your mispriced trade last year or kinged a lion similar to yours. None of these are valid reasons. If you have a valid reason, please create a ticket or DM me. We will instantly kick users who underage, who engage in clear-intent scams, steal art, or engage in any activity that would result in a ban from Lioden.

Unfortunately, I can not dedicate my entire life to volunteer to watch every channel in a pet sim server for a small community. Realistically, this is not even dependent on my mother's condition. I just humanly can't do that, because sleep is a thing, and nor would I want to. I don't even want to spend most of my free time doing it. If you see something, report via the ticket system. As much as the salt blogs care to insinuate, I do not bear the weight of responsibility of the actions of individuals who sometimes chat in a server I set up for everyone to enjoy. I am not these people’s parent, nor can I control any individual’s actions. Also, if I were to chose to leave the server be and let the weeds grow wild, that would not make me a “bitch” as one anon so eloquently put it. Anon, you are not entitled to the volunteered time I put into building a little community for Bob. Everything I, the admins, and the helpers, put in is volunteered and not at all a given, or requirement. If I can not drop everything in a moment’s notice to service a voluntarily run discord, that does not make me a “bitch”. It is not, and will never be, my sole or number one responsibility in life. It’s a game. And to insinuate that I am somehow less than or a bad person for not being able to manage the server 100% of the time is unreasonable and cruel. Look, I’m only human. And the users chatting in Bob are only human. And there's going to be squabbles, and people are going to complain about stuff, and not always get along, and that’s okay, because that's part of being human. But I’m not always going to be online to catch it, so please use the ticket system.

Also, on to the anonymous user who posted and the salt blog who permitted this comment,” hey fun fact anon, i'm aware she's dealing with her sick mother but that doesn't excuse the terrible moderation. if she told her mods to step up or do something, they could do something so she could do what she needed to do. she's a bitch, and terrible owner. she has the power to do stuff, but does nothing.” What is wrong with you? How on earth does this progress anything, and why was this permitted to be shared? I understand everyone enjoys salt, and everyone is stressed due to the global circumstances stances right now, but moderators and posters please keep in mind there is a human on the other end of the keyboard, and thanks to the 2020 energy I think everyone is going through something. I have my mother's situation, but everyone has something right now. I have an open DM policy with players in and out of my discord, where if you have anything you need to talk about I can always provide a safe and confidential place to talk, and many, many users have come to me upset about even just the tiniest thing shared on these blogs. These words and comments genuinely hurt people, and it doesn’t take needlessly calling someone a “bitch” because they can not dedicate their life to moderating a discord server to do that. You can hurt people with much less. This request is to everyone, including individuals in the Bob discord server. I don't think anyone deserves to be just berated or cussed out needlessly by anonymous randos, not myself, not Roxanne, not Jax, not the clown gang, not Noluck, not BO breeders, not applicator lovers, not the Lioden staff. All these individuals are people who are just doing the best they can right now, I'm sure. Even Roxanne and Jax are nice, normal and understanding people if you talk to them one on one.

Yes, my mother is dying from liver failure caused by cancer. It is an awful and ugly death, especially for someone who is far before her time. Her medication to manage the pain and rising liver toxicity she is has made her very not herself, though we are finding a better combination. There are still some good days ahead I hope. She is combative, physically and verbally, and can not physically do most basic actions herself. She keeps fighting us to go back to chemo, even though it did nothing to help the tumors and would just quicken demise. It breaks my heart because I know she just wants to live and wants to fight it, but she is going to die where she lays. I just really hope I get to have a fully aware conversation with her before she passes, and that she knows I love her so much despite me being a bit of a hellion in my teens. I think it would be hard to watch if I was an observer, unfortunately I am active participant.

On the matter of me deleting things that violate our rules in server. The alternative would to be leaving up things that violate our rules, which would be the same as deeming it acceptable. This is just the strangest complaint I've seen on here. If there was a delete, someone is essentially being spoken to/receiving a strike/ECT. According to Tumblr, I'm quite the paradox, apparently, I somehow both manage to completely disregard the server while still managing to delete stuff every time insert your favorite salt blog character here does anything. Congratulations Bob, you got yourself a girl that can do both.

At the end of the day, the Bob server is a pretty mundane lioden server. If you don't like breed only marks/bases, it’s probably pretty boring. It’s really nothing like how it’s portrayed here. If it’s toxic then my vocabulary is far too limited to describe the anonymous culture on platform you’re reading this on. Usually I would suggest joining us and checking it out, but after watching the last 48 hours on Tumblr, I think I’m likely aquantited with enough users from this platform for now. If anyone is still reading, thank you for your time, I'm appreciative of it. Writing this really helped my headspace regarding the community. I should have never read the blogs to be honest, so some of this does fall on my shoulders. I won't likely answer questions, I apologise in advance. I still love you all, and I know this is just a tiny fraction of the Lioden community, but today it just feels incredibly bad.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Youtube vs 5G arsonists

There are plenty of things wrong with 5G.

It's incredibly insecure:

https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2020/01/china_isnt_the_.html

And easy for law-enforcement to spy on:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/01/5g-protocol-may-still-be-vulnerable-imsi-catchers

It's a smokescreen for underinvestment in fiber by monopolistic, awful telcos, and its promised benefits will not materialized without fiber backhaul:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/why-fiber-vastly-superior-cable-and-5g

On the bullshit scale of lies, damned lies, and telcoms lies, 5G represents a kind of peak bullshit:

https://www.lightreading.com/mobile/5g/2019-the-year-telecom-went-doolally-about-5g/a/d-id/756184

But 5G doesn't give you cancer. It won't make you sick. And...god, I am getting stupider just thinking about typing this, coronavirus is not a false-flag op to disguise the illnesses that 5G is secretly creating.

The reason I have to mention that is that the conspiracyverse is full of that specific theory, and it's inspiring people to COMMIT ARSON and torch 5G towers.

No, seriously.

In the wake of multiple attacks on 5G towers, Youtube has announced changes to its moderation guidelines. It will allow 5G conspiracy theories, just not ones that (oh god my fingers are seizing up from the stupid) link 5G with coronavirus.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/apr/05/youtube-to-suppress-content-spreading-coronavirus-5g-conspiracy-theory

Youtube gets blamed for spreading conspiracies but that's not the whole story. Youtube - Big Tech in general - is a machine for finding people, much more than it is a machine for convincing people. Youtube is not a mind-control ray that bypasses viewers' critical faculties.

5G conspiracy theories are new, but Flat Earth conspiracies are not, nor is antivax. These have been around for a long, long time. Even a cursory perusal of the arguments for these conspiracies reveals that they have not gotten better, even as they've gained traction.

If the same arguments are attracting more adherents, then one of two things is going on. Either:

1. Youtube is a mind-control ray that can turn rational people into believers in facially absurd ideas that have failed for decades, or

2. The number of people to whom these ideas seem plausible has grown and/or Youtube has made it more efficient to reach those people.

I think it's 2. I think that the rise of conspiratorial thinking is connected most closely to a rise in actual conspiracies.

Not elaborate flying saucer conspiracies, but everyday ones, like the Sacklers conspiring to get rich by lying about the safety of opioids, or prosecutors and lawmakers covering up for their pals like Jeffrey Epstein and Harvey Weinstein.

Conspiracies to ignore the evidence about Flint's water, or the failures of Universal Credit in the UK, or to pretend that private equity funds are anything but engines for turning productive companies into mangled wreckages while enriching plutes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

Why do people believe in public health conspiracies, from antivax to 5G? Well, maybe because public health authorities spent two decades ignoring the opioid crisis in order to protect ultrarich opioid profiteers.

Maybe they doubt journal articles because major journal publishers have repeatedly published fake journals through their marketing divisions that allowed pharma companies to pay to publish unsubstantiated studies.

https://bibwild.wordpress.com/2009/05/05/shame-on-elsevier/

Maybe they don't believe in their doctors' advice because their doctors accept a continuous stream of payments from pharma companies, and then prescribe in ways that fatten their bottom lines.

https://projects.propublica.org/docdollars/

Maybe they don't trust regulators because they sign off on procedures that kill people, despite a lack of evidence for their safety AND a wealth of evidence about their risks:

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/la-et-mn-bleeding-edge-review-20180726-story.html

One of the best books I read in 2019 was Anna Merlan's Republic of Lies, a history of conspiratorial thinking in America and a look at the rise of conspiracism in the 21st century:

https://boingboing.net/2019/09/21/from-opioids-to-antivax.html

Merlan describes how conspiracists aren't ignorant, but rather lavishly misinformed. UFO conspiracists can go chapter-and-verse on aerospace conspiracies, of which there are so. many. including, most recently, the 737 Max scandal.

Antivaxers know tons about opioid coverups and other medical malpractice. People who believe that the levees were dynamited during Katrina to drown black neighborhoods and spare white ones know all about when that actually happened in Tupelo, MS.

Susceptibility to conspiratorialism arises when someone is exposed to actual conspiracies, and trauma. And while both have been abundant during the neoliberal era, coronavirus is peak trauma and peak conspiracy.

Just think of the spectacle of official inaction, combined with official calls for all the old people to die, combined with the annihilation of huge swathes of the economy, combined with a stream of revelations about corruption and profiteering in the response.

No wonder so many people are primed to believe in conspiracies at this moment, and so maddened with grief and anxiety that they take rash - and foolish - action.

Which brings me back to what Youtube is doing.

Youtube is not a mind-control ray, it's a people-finding machine. That's because advertisers need people-finding machines. The median person buys <1 fridge/lifetime, so it's really hard to find people thinking of buying fridges.

That's why fridge ads appear on highways near airports: "People who fly have money, people need money to buy fridges." Those ads have 0.00000000000000000001% conversion rates.

Targeting ads to people who've searched for refrigerator reviews can make them thousands of times more effective, and even if the new rate is only 0.000000000001%, that's massive improvement for fridge advertisers. YT is ad-supported so it is good at finding people.

Ad-tech companies make two claims, though: the first is that they know where to find your customers. The second is that they can convince them of things that are otherwise unsupportable.

This was Cambridge Analytica's pitch: not that they would find racists and tell them about Trump, but that they would make decent people into Trump voters.

There's some narrow truth to this Running ads that tell lies (especially harmful ones) is often illegal. At the very least, it can mire you in scandal. Targeting allows you to place secret ads: ads whose content is only seen by people who won't narc you out. That gives targeted ads a persuasive advantage that billboards can't have.

Finding people who want to believe lies and lying to them is not mind-control.

It's fraud.

Because everyone in the entire history of the world who'd claimed to have invented a mind-control ray was a fraud, from NLPers and PUAs, to Mkultra and the Cultural Revolution.

Back to conspiracies, Youtube, secrecy and people-finding.

There are lots of things wrong with Youtube (spying, monopolization, and its hospitality to copyfraud and censorship), but people-finding and spying are both double-edged swords.

People-finding is how fringe ideas accumulate adherents, yes. Some of those are terrible, like "scientific racism." Some are laudable, like the rise of trans identity.

Privacy is how lies are spun, but it's also how truths are whispered before they can be spoken aloud.

Secrets like "I believe interracial marriage should be legal" or "cannabis isn't harmful" or "gender is not a binary."

There are lots of things we should do to fix Youtube and tech, but on balance, finding people who share your ideas is a force for good.

Debunking false conspiratorial beliefs is important, but not as important as ending actual conspiracies among wealthy and powerful people to corrupt our political and economic system to enrich themselves regardless of the consequences to the rest of us.

Fighting conspiracism is like fighting a wildfire. When the town is on fire, you have to put it out. But if you want to keep your town from catching fire again, you have to eliminate the fuel that causes it to burn, clear out the brush.

The problem with locating the problem with Youtube - instead of seeing Youtube and its monopoly as a consequence of policies that promote inequality and monopolism - is that it's just fighting blazes, not preventing them.

[nejitenforlife]

Nejiten Month 2020

Day 15 - Pirate AU (Final Part)

I am so late with the final part of this little story. I sort of lost my groove, and gave up on many of the AU prompts (which I really wanted to do at first), but I’m back! I hope you like the final rendition of my little pirate AU. I’ll be posting a couple of things tomorrow to get back on track.

Word Count: 2,906

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Despite the warm day, Tenten shivered against the breeze, her clothes soaked through from the seawater. One of the crew members hauled both her and the captain up and she found herself once again on the deck of the pirate ship. Which, after almost dying by both her fiancé’s hand as well as the sea, Tenten wasn’t in the mood to complain. These people—these supposedly barbarian people—had been kind to her. The kindest anyone had been in a very long time.

The fighting had stopped some time while Tenten was in the water, and pirates were binding their enemies with rope before sending them back to their ship by means of a plank set up between them. Tenten was curious to know how the pirates had won, but she was too cold to ask. Instead, she let herself be led by the captain as he escorted her across the deck.

At first, she thought he might be taking her back to the brig, but surely not, with the hole gaping in the middle of it. She would freeze to death if she had to spend any more time there. But when he steered her towards what she suspected was the captain’s quarters, Tenten began to worry that he might want something in exchange for saving her life. She was still his captive, after all, and he had every right—at least in his mind—to demand compensation. Especially once he found out that the attack had happened because of her. She had no idea how many men he had lost in that battle, and what feelings and emotions were swirling around inside his head.

Neji opened the door and she walked inside to a spacious room. It contained a desk near the entrance along with a bookshelf that she suspected was bolted into the floor. Further inside, a bed leaned against a wall with a small window above it. Just beyond that lay a door where Tenten figured held the bathroom.

The room was significantly warmer than outside, and Tenten shivered at the abrupt change in temperature, but was grateful for the warmth. She wouldn’t be surprised if her lips had started turning blue by this point. She had been in the water for longer than she would have liked, and she was exhausted from treading water for so long.

Neji spoke to a cabin boy at the door before turning back to face her. His own clothes were drenched, his long dark hair plastered to his skin, and he didn’t look any better than she felt. No doubt the last thing he wanted to do was look after her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his soft voice loud in the quiet room.

Tenten shook her head in response. “No, just cold.”

“Konohamaru is fetching some water for a bath, so you can warm yourself soon.”

Not expecting that comment, Tenten was shocked. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you drawing a bath for me?” She figured he would give her a change of clothes at best. She hadn’t even contemplated receiving a bath from him, especially since he had refused every time she had asked him up until this point.

“If you do not get warm soon, you will become sick.”

Tenten didn’t doubt it. Already she could feel her nose starting to run. She was extremely grateful for being allowed a bath, but she didn’t quite know how to tell him that. It wasn’t as though they were suddenly best friends after surviving such a harrowing ordeal. She stepped aside as a boy, no older than twelve, walked in and out of the cabin, carrying buckets of water to fill the tub as he went.

“While it is getting ready,” Neji said, opening a trunk by his bed and pulling two small towels from it. He threw one to her. “I believe you owe me an explanation. Why were you running from your fiancé?”

Tenten wrapped the towel around her shoulders, her heart sinking at the topic of conversation he chose to go with. But she supposed she owed him an explanation. “He was a cruel man. He hid it well and he was respected by many within the navy, but he had an evil about him that my father noticed straight away. He quickly became my father’s right-hand man, doing many of the dirty jobs a mayor would never do himself. Amongst other things, he killed people.”

Neji was sitting at the edge of his bed, listening quietly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Many of us kill people. That does not necessarily make a person cruel.”

“No, that’s true. But enjoying it does. I heard him speaking to my father about how much he enjoyed planning his kills, of how he relished the blank look of death on people’s faces when the deed was completed. He was a man unhinged, though he hid it well from much of the populace.”

Tenten fidgeted where she stood, eyeing the bath through the open door to the bathroom as it continued to rise with each bucket the cabin boy poured in. She could see the steam rising from the tub and absentmindedly wondered how they were able to heat the water so much. She was grateful for being able to bathe, to get truly warm and clean, but she was still wary of her pirate captain. What would he do with her now that the danger had passed?

Neji caught her looking at him and he frowned. “You are looking pale. Are you unwell?”

.

.

.

Neji hurried Konohamaru along in his mind, knowing his cabin boy could only go so fast. Thankfully, the bath was almost ready, and Tenten could soon warm her chilled bones. Her lips were blue, and she had gone pale in the last few moments, making him worry for her wellbeing.

She shuffled from foot to foot, her hands wringing in front of her, and Neji got the impression she wanted to say something but was too scared to ask. “What is it?”

“What are your plans for me now? Are you going to demand money from my father? Are you going to kill me? Or—” she glanced towards the bed quickly, “—do you want something else from me?”

“Why should I demand ransom from your father?” If she believed he would harm her now, after he had saved her life, she was dafter than he thought.

His captive had the gall to glare at him, much to his relief. If she still had spirit, she must be feeling better.

“Surely you must know who I am, now that I’ve told you my name.”

Neji pondered over her name, having brushed it aside when she had first told him, having had more important things to focus on. Her family name was familiar, and it only took him a few moments to realize why. Neji had once considered plundering the mayor’s storehouses, having had heard the man’s habit of demanding more tax from the people than was needed. He was incredibly wealthy, so much so that Neji knew he could afford losing some coin. In the end, though, he had decided to pass on that endeavour, since the risk, if the job had gone south, would have outweighed the reward.

“You have no need to fear,” Neji assured her, trying to keep his voice placating. “No harm will come to you on my ship. Nor will you be held for ransom.” Even if the coin was tempting, Neji wouldn’t want her to find her way back to her father. No doubt, he had been the one to orchestrate the marriage alliance between her fiancé and her, and anyone who would pair a woman such as she with a beast didn’t deserve her in their life.

Neji saw the tension fall away from her shoulders and when she met his gaze, the relief shining in her eyes was evident. “Thank you. Though, even if you were to demand ransom, he wouldn’t have paid. The only loss he will mourn will be the loss of an alliance of any kind, not the loss of his only daughter. I am glad to be away from him and his violent tendencies.” She smiled, but Neji could tell the words hurt her to say, and he felt anger rise in his chest that she had experienced such cruelness in her life.

“The bath is ready, Cap’n,” Konohamaru informed him, the boy’s small frame gazing up at him with admiration. Neji gave him a brief smile, nodding his thanks, and Konohamaru left the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Neji walked back to the chest by his bed and picked out a plain white long-sleeved shirt before handing it to Tenten.

“Two baths in one day? I feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.” Her voice was amused but her smile was shy, and Neji found he enjoyed the combination.

His smile was brief but genuine. He wanted to continue the banter, say something to make her laugh, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Lee would know, but Neji wasn’t known for his sense of humour. Instead, he only said, “Take your time,” and turned towards his desk.

.

.

.

The bath was heavenly. Tenten had only been at sea for about a week, but already she had forgotten just how amazing a hot bath was. She took her time, washing her hair twice with some soap she found, as well as her aching body. She leaned against the edge of the tub, enjoying the way the heat soothed her sore muscles and warmed her from the inside out.

It was only when the water had cooled that Tenten pulled herself out and dried off. She slipped the shirt over her head, thankful for the captain for providing it for her. If only she had asked for pants, though. The shirt didn’t quite reach her knees, and Tenten suddenly felt very self-conscience. She had never been in the presence of the opposite sex with so little on.

Opening the door slowly, she peeked out into the cabin. Neji was sitting at his desk, concentrating on something he was writing. Tenten took a deep breath and walked into the cabin, but immediately became shy when he looked up and ran his gaze over her.

She wasn’t sure why, but his gaze heated her skin more than the bath had, and she quickly averted her eyes from his, finding the knickknacks on his shelf extremely interesting.

“Konohamaru will arrive soon with some food,” Neji said, causing her to glance at him again. “You may eat while I bathe.”

He stood up and made his way to the bathing room, and Tenten suddenly felt contrite.

“Will he not fill it again for you?” she asked. She hadn’t even been thinking of the captain, and she hoped she hadn’t just selfishly used all the hot water on him.

“Hot baths are a luxury on a ship. It would be a waste to use more water than necessary by emptying the tub and filling it again.”

“I’m really sorry,” Tenten apologised. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have spent so long in there. The water will be cold by now.”

“It is fine. I am used to cold baths. Besides,” he added, that small smile gracing his lips again briefly. “You needed it, after the ordeal you have gone through.”

Tenten felt her heart warm at his words, at this unexpected gift from this pirate captain. “Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

They gazed at each other, unmoving, until a knock at the door made Tenten jump. Neji closed the bathroom door behind him and Tenten opened the cabin door to see the young boy with two trays of food in his hands.

“Food for you and the Cap’n, miss,” he said, squeezing past her into the room. He set them down on Neji’s desk before giving her a small bow and leaving again.

The smell of stew—yes, stew!—made Tenten salivate. She was sitting at the desk in a heartbeat with the bowl in her hands, breathing in the delicious smell. She ate ravenously, and the food was gone much too soon for her liking. She eyed the captain’s meal longingly, her stomach still rumbling pathetically.

“You are welcome to mine.”

Tenten whipped her head up and around, her cheeks pinkening at both his words and the sight before her. His hair was damp, and his pants rode low on his waistband. He was shirtless, and Tenten tried not to ogle his muscular build.

She shook her head and pushed the bowl towards him. “I couldn’t possibly. I already stole all the hot water. Besides, I’ve had my fill.”

On cue, her belly rumbled and Tenten flushed, embarrassed. Neji’s lips tipped upwards at the noise, and he pushed the bowl back to her. “I insist. Eat.”

She did as she was told, though she ate the second bowl with more etiquette. While she ate, Neji leaned against the door of the cabin, in front of her, watching. After some time, he asked, “What are your plans now?”

“My plans?” Tenten glanced at him, a frown on her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Now that your fiancé is dead and you no longer live with your father, what do you plan on doing? What was your objective when you came aboard my ship?”

Tenten worried her lip, thinking. “My plans were to get off at the next port you stopped at and start a new life. Though, I admit I don’t have much in the means of money. Or clothes,” she added with a glance at her attire.

Neji nodded. “You are welcome to leave the ship at the next port if that is your wish. Although, our next port will be Kirigakure, and I have to warn you that it is not the safest place for a young woman by herself.”

Tenten had heard of Kirigakure, and nothing she heard had been pleasant. If she were to set up in a new town, she didn’t want to start a new life in a town rampant with violence and theft. “Maybe I should wait for a friendlier town,” she murmured.

“You are welcome to stay onboard until we make port at a more suitable village.”

“Would I be welcome to…” she let her words peter out, knowing she would be insane to voice them. But if she was going to be staying onboard for the foreseeable future as it was, maybe the captain wouldn’t mind. Taking a deep breath, Tenten asked, “Would I be welcome to stay and work onboard? I think I would enjoy some time at sea after my sheltered life at home.”

Neji’s eyebrows had raised almost to his hairline as she spoke, but he managed to school his features back into a blank line. “I do not hire women.”

Her heart dropped and she looked down at her lap. “Of course, forgive me for asking. I know about the superstition about women on ships.”

She felt him push off against the door and walk towards her, but she didn’t look up. “I do not care for superstitions, Tenten.” Her name on his lips made her heart race and she glanced up at him, who was now directly in front of her on the other side of the desk. “I will not hire you, but you are welcome to stay onboard.” His lips tipped up, just slightly. “If you wish for adventure, you will see plenty of it aboard my ship.”

“I can stay?” Tenten couldn’t quite believe her ears. “Can I help with the chores? Learn how to use a sword?” Her father had refused to let her learn, though she had wanted to since she was a little girl. She had held a sword, only once, and Tenten had known in her gut that she would have an affinity for the weapon if only she was given the opportunity to learn how to wield it.

“You wish to work with my men and learn to fight?” He looked at her, incredulous.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please. Even if you don’t hire me, I will work. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing while others work. I’ve spent my whole life bored in a house that was much too large for me, so this will be a pleasant change of pace.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you forget that we are pirates?”

Of course, Tenten had loathed him and his crew when she first came aboard—not just them, but all pirates. And she had no doubt that there were pirates out there that were truly horrible, but Neji and his men had shown they were decent people. They killed when necessary, but not excessively, and the few she had met had been kind to her. If the captain was a good person at heart, she had no doubt he chose similar men to work with him.

She smiled. “Yes, but I also believe you are good people. I would very much like to stay onboard for as long as you will have me.”

“Very well. He nodded his acceptance, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome to the Crimson Night, Tenten,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Week 2020; Day 1 - Take Back Your Stones

Prompt: Love Pair: Jet/Azula Song: Blink182 - I Really Wish I Hated You

Summary: Azula is banished to the Earth Kingdom, its citizens don’t take kindly to her being there. Only one person seems to sympathize. One person who doesn’t particularly like firebenders.

He knows what it is like to have his reality so fragmented. So shattered, his worldviews broken. He supposes that there is irony in that she has contributed to that shattering world view.

The fire princess peers up at him through strands of tangled hair. He wonders how it is that she got to be like this; semi-incoherent and wandering Earth Kingdom streets in the middle of the night.

He wants to hate her, he is supposed to hate her. She is exactly what he hates, a human embodiment of the Fire Nation and all of its ideals and war crimes. And yet she looks so small and so thoroughly exhausted like the ruins of a once grand empire.

In this girl he sees hatred and ruthlessness. He sees soldiers marching and razing homes and crops. In this girl he sees lives being uprooted. In this girl he sees a life uprooted.

He thinks that she is every bit as broken as anyone else touched by the war. He rubs his hand over his face, trying to remind himself that she stands for everything he despises. That she is everything that he despises.

He’d heard tell that she had been tried for her war crimes and was ultimately sentenced to have her titled revoked and to be sentenced to exile. That the other nations wouldn’t accept any further negotiations nor peace offerings until she was either executed or stripped out power and banished. Jet wonders if the Fire Lord is remorseful that his hand had been forced in such a way. Or if he is thrilled to have shown his sister out. Jet decides to himself that Zuko is happy, firebenders have no sense of loyalty nor family value. There is no room for it when honor, power, and formality are valued above all else.

Evidently, Jet doesn’t understand the logic of the former princess’ exil, even if he thinks that she has earned it. All it has done is put her in their streets to terrorize them rather than her own people.

He glances over at the princess again, she isn’t exactly doing much terrorizing. She is slumped against the wall. From what he can tell, she is cold. Or maybe it is stress that makes her shiver. His heart clenches. He grits he teeth, trying to will compassion and sympathy away. He doesn’t even want to spare her pity. But then she meets his eyes. It can only be him that she is staring at because he is the only other person out so late.

She looks away just as fast and he hustles away from her.

.oOo.

He doesn’t see her again for some weeks and when he does, she is noticeably thinner and dirtier. Her hair is even more scraggly. Her eyes are vacant. He notices that her arms and legs are bruised and have a helping of openly bleeding cuts.

A few hours of observing from afar and he knows why. Throwing rocks at the fallen princess is a source of entertainment for kids and adults alike. It is a game for both the wealthy and the impoverished, because both classes are above her. They know it. She knows it. She doesn’t fight back. She either lacks the will or is too malnourished to stand a chance.

He tries to smile and relish in such a powerful symbol for the Fire Nation being tormented. But he finds that it just...hurts? The smile never comes and he feels sick for having wanted to do it.

The next day, out of morbid curiosity, he finds himself back at the same restaurant, looking across the same street. He finishes a helping of ostrich-horse meat and pushes his chair in. She is still on that corner and a gaggle of men and women at least two years her senior are casting stones again.

Absently, he finds himself walking towards the scene. “Oh, hi Jet.” Greets the smallest woman. He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know a good many of the people who know his name. Who have heard about his time as a Freedom Fighter and the day he’d nearly died saving the Avatar. They talk to him with respect and yet they keep him outcast. He is too rough and unpredictable for their liking.

“Hey.” He gives a small wave.

“Here, have a go.” The oldest looking boy presses a sizable rock into his palm. “You at their kind more than us.”

They step aside and let him through. He hasn’t ever been this close to the former princess. His stomach sinks at the site. It is one thing to glance her haggard state from afar and another to observe it up close. The welts on her arm have the appearance of a blooming infection, she smells of sickness too. Her hair is matted in places and might be infested with lice.

“What are you waiting for?” Asks the second girl.

He waits for her lips to part and inquire, “yes, what are you waiting for.” But the firebender sits silent and waiting. And those eyes, there is nothing in them. He supposes that, that made it easier to let the stone fly. It nails her on the forehead and she flinches. His stomach lurches unpleasantly, he hadn’t expected her to flinch. He hadn’t expected her to make a sound, especially not one so feeble.

She recovers rather quickly, retreating back into whatever numbness she’d been in before.

He doesn’t return to that restaurant. He doesn’t want to see her again. She’s a firebender, he hates her. And yet he doesn’t want to see that kind of suffering again. But he does.

He sees it nearly a month later. He lingers by a food cart, snacking on an apple, three copper pieces well spent. He doesn’t see her at first. He hears her before he sees her. And it is not her that he hears first. He takes the final bite of his apple and is about to discard it when he hears a slap. He watches an apple fall from her grasp.

“That’s not for you!” The merchant scowls.

She holds up  three copper pieces. The merchant swats them away and she scrambles to pick them up before someone else can. “Not. For. You.” The man repeats.

A Freedom Fighter, that’s what he’d called himself. He’d prided himself on fighting on behalf of people who could use the help. Earthbenders and waterbenders, he reminds himself. He watches her slink away before returning to the stall and offering the man three more copper pieces.

.oOo.

Azula’s stomach rumbles. She had been holding back for quite some time now. Partly due to a lack of funding--she’d spent everything she’d managed to save on healing her infected cuts--and partly due to her reluctance to talk to anyone. But her body couldn’t afford another day without food…

She holds her right hand in her left and rubs the stinging red patch.The weight of the three copper pieces is heavy in the hand that she holds. That stall had been the only one in her price range and its owner has refused her service. Maybe it is a sign that she should just let go.

Something thuds onto her lap and she gives a reflexive cringe. Yet it doesn’t hurt like a rock and it hasn’t been thrown with any real force. She picks up the apple and stares at the boy. “You wanted it, eat it.”

She narrows her eyes, it can’t be… And it isn’t. When he takes a seat next to her, she realizes that his face is not scarred.

Though she does recognize the face. She has no name for it, but she has caught him several times observing her as though she is some sort of feral animal. She has to admit that she does feel like one. Everyone treats her like one. And he had too. She wants to reject the apple, but her body’s cravings get the better of her and she eats it almost with a degree of greed. It is wholly undignified.

“So…” The boy starts.

“What?” She asks.

“I just bought you food.” He grumbles. “I didn’t have to do that.”

She points at her forehead. “No, you didn’t.”

He sighs. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

Her breath catches.

“Then why did you do it?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. It’s just a habit to hate firebenders.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m not sure.” He replies. “I guess to see if you want a place to stay. The war is over and I’m trying to leave the past in the past.”

A place to stay… “where is this place?”

“I have a small house.”

Azula fends off a ray of hope. Hope is a dangerous thing for her, she spares a glance at the copper pieces glinting in the palm of her hand. But a house, a real shelter… “I’ll come with you.”

.oOo.

For the first time in ages she is relatively clean. She can finally see the true color of her skin without a cover of dirt. It is a shade or two darker than she is used to having been out in the sun longer than usual. She is no longer mortified by the scent of her body. She isn’t shrouded in lavish perfumes, but an odor of filth also doesn’t cling to her. It is refreshing, she almost feels human again. She rubs her arms, for once her fingers don’t come back caked with dirt. Her fingernails, though cracked and unpampered, no longer have dirt beneath them.

Her hair is a lost cause though, it is matted and muddy beyond repair. She nearly drives herself to tears yanking at it and fussing with it. And even if she could work all of the knots and tangles from it, it is infested with lice. Her stomach sinks. It used to be so silky and lush. She is dirty and disgusting and she decides that she can’t stand the sight of herself.

The boy, Jet, finds her in the bathroom fighting her hair and nearly weeping in frustration. “Do you want me to give it a try?”

She doesn’t want him to know that she is filthy enough for lice. So she shakes her head. He watches her struggle before speaking out loud what she has silently acknowledged, “We’re probably going to have to cut it.”

Her stomach pluments further. “But...I…” She grips the comb tighter and squeezes her eyes shut. There is no sense in being a child about it. “Go ahead.” The sooner she has it hacked off, the sooner it will grow back.

Azula wonders if he gets a thrill out of cutting her hair, knowing exactly how much it means to a firebender, how much it means to her personally. He must get a kick out of stripping her of the last of her dignity. She watches locks drift down towards her feet. Clump after clump until there is nothing left to cut. He gives her the privacy to wash her head again. The privacy to mourn the loss of her hair.

She must have taken too long because there is a knock on the door. “Give me a moment.” She musters. She dresses herself; for a moment she forgets about the loss of her hair. Though it is a size or two too big, she savors the cleanliness of the garments. It is free of stains and tears. It is comfortable.

She opens the door. And almost meekly steps out. She makes a point of avoiding the mirror. She doesn’t want to see what she looks like with no hair and protruding ribs. She has grown so skinny, she looks as hollow as she feels on the inside.

“You’re probably still hungry.” He states.

At the mention of food her stomach cramps, reflexively she holds her hand to it. “I am.” She confirms.

He motions to the table. “Help yourself.”

Azula wishes she could say that she had the decency and self control to hesitate. But she is at the table before she realizes that she had moved at all. Having seen no food at all for quite some time, the three dishes laid out on the table look like a feast. It has been so long. She takes the bowl of noodles first. Months ago she might have called them bland and criticized their lack of seasoning. But Agni, are they tasty now. “This is wonderful.” She comments between mouthfuls. She is practically inhaling noodles and the bowl is empty before she realizes it. She sets that empty bowl aside and takes a plate of...she isn’t sure what kind of meat it is but it doesn’t matter. It looks succulent and it smells divine. When she puts it on her tongue is is fantastically sizzling and cooked very well. Halfway through her meal she realizes that she has completely forgotten her manners. She only recalls them when Jet remarks, “slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.” She goes rigid and her face flushes.

“You’re going to have to get used to eating or…”

He doesn’t need to tell her, she is already feeling queasy. She thinks that the nausea shows on her face as she wraps her arms around her middle. She doesn’t expect him to spare her any sympathy, but he puts a rather tender hand on her back and says, “maybe we should start with softer foods.”

At least she won’t have to hold her hair back as her meal comes back up.

.oOo.

He has been living with her for several months now, for a firebender she is very slow to warm up to a person. Getting her body used to food again had been a nightmarish endeavor. If he gave her too much too soon or the wrong type of meal he’d find himself caring for a sick and nauseous exiled princess. If he didn’t give her enough food, she’d get cranky and unbearable to be around.

He often found himself cursing the hot temperament of firebenders. And just as often he’d find himself wondering if he’d be able to better himself with her making it so difficult to see firebenders more positively.

But eventually she’d given him just enough of an opening. He’d gone out to buy more food and come back soon enough to find her curled up in his bed crying quietly to herself. He recalls having thought that it was funny to see someone who’d been so high and mighty now so low. He recalls how fast that thought had fled when she’d sat up and looked at her with hurt and hopelessness in her eyes.

Despite all of his instincts and habits, he’d sat down next to her and let her lean on him. She was surprisingly not unpleasant to be close to. He had absently rubbed circles on her back as she’d fought to compose herself.

She had begun treating him differently after that.

Presently, Azula sits atop the window sill, one leg stretched out and the other pulled up to her chest with her arm resting upon it as she lets the sun warm her skin. It is healthier now, significantly cleaner. Her figure has a more healthy fullness now, but it is still too slight for his liking, for him to rest assured that she is in good health.

Though her hair, what has grown back of it,  has regained some of it’s glossiness. That it is growing so fast, is a reassuring sign. It still only reaches above her ears, something that she constantly complains of. He thinks that it looks kind of cute though, especially when she lets him ruffle it up.

She turns away from the windowpane, swinging her legs over the sill, as he draws nearer to her. It is hard to tell what she is thinking as she kicks her feet at the air. So he inquires.

“Home.” She mumbles so quietly that he almost doesn’t catch it. This is the first time that she has tried to open up to him. “I’d like to go back there.”

He stops himself from chuckling. Only she could make an, “I wanna go home,” sound so poised and elegant.

“Honestly, the Fire Nation isn’t that great.” He leans back against the wall. “Just a bunch of hot-headed people doing hot-headed things and wearing these ridiculously large headpieces…”

“Have you seen the nobility here?” Azula scoffs. “I think that I’d break my neck wearing one of their hair ornaments.”

This time he does laugh. “The food is too spicy there.”

Again her face bunches up. “This food is so bland that my tongue can’t tell jerky apart from cabbage stew.”

He tries not to laugh at the jab at his own culture. But her humor is so dry and blunt that he has to appreciate it. It’s not unlike his own. “You can’t even eat spices right now.” He lightly jabs her tummy. It is a risky move but it only elicits a cross look of both annoyance and acceptance.

She folds her arms across her chest and clears her throat, “so you are admitting that Earth Kingdom cuisine is so weak that and bland that…”

He nudges her. “Earth Kingdom food is not weak. Firebenders are just masochists. You guys like to act all tough…” he puffs out his chest and deepens his voice. “Look how many peppers I put into my ice cream. My face is red and I’m crying. I am superior.”

“What kind of deviant puts peppers in their ice cream?” She asks.

“Firebenders.” He declares. “You guys put pepper in everything.”

She shrugs, “most things.”

It is strange to joke and jest with her. Everyone who he’d talked to had made it sound like she was some sort of demon sent to terrorize the masses. Like she was this twisted and wholly evil beast. Yet he finds that, most often, she is polite and eloquent. Frank and rather abrasive, but not particularly unpleasant.

Granted he hasn’t seen her speak to anyone else. She mostly keeps to herself and makes conversation with him. He wonders if he should try to open her up to more conversation. But she has only just begun to start talking to him like this.

.oOo.

In another month she bears no signs of having been starved. She can eat normally, without having to fret over portion size and levels of spice. Her energy is bold and vibrant in the way that a firebender’s ought to be.

He thinks that he is fully comfortable with her now. He has begun to pick up on her habits, waking up and sitting on that window sill for a while, picking the ends off of her bread, and checking her bed for bugs before laying in it.

He is almost certain that she is aware of his habits too; in the most dramatic way she uses a stick to move the socks he leaves laying around. Every so often he’ll find a blade of straw on his dress which he promptly plucks into his mouth.

A part of him still fights to cling onto his hatred of the Fire Nation and its people, but the more time he spends with her, the harder this becomes. It is one thing to simply talk to and coexist with a firebender and another matter entirely to live with one. She has been their for a while now and his house still remains upright and unscorched. The only fires within it are ones that dance upon candle wicks. He has never been fond of candles--fire in general makes him squeamish. But they are a comfort to the former princess, they remind her of home.

He compromises with her and lets her keep them around, so long as she doesn’t light them while he is around to stress over them.

.oOo.

Azula watches the candle burn down to its last bit of wax before extinguishing it. The smoke drifting up towards the ceiling makes her ache for home. And the chill wafting through the open windows, more so.

Despite it, she feels much better. She has at least some dignity and security now. She isn’t lonely. She hadn’t expected to find friendship with an Earth Kingdom man, but he had saved her life, even if she loathes to admit it.

She slips herself into the bathtub, its wood isn’t exactly friendly on her back as she leans into it and the water is lukewarm at best but the soaps and shampoos are sublime. Having gone without them for so long, she still isn’t through savoring that she still has them.

She scrubs herself clean again and dries herself. She isn’t sure how Jet makes his money, but the man has surprised her with new clothing in her size. Almost her size anyhow, it isn’t exactly fitted as all of her old clothing was, but it serves its purpose. She must admit that the garments are quite cozy for peasant wears. At the very least they are warm.

Azula wanders out of the bathroom with her dirty clothes in hand. The table is already set and he actually has a candle burning in the center. Just one very small tea light but a candle no less. She recalls that she had mentioned her birthday approaching. She hadn’t mentioned the day, so she chalks it up to a very lucky guess.

She sits down. “Why are you doing all of this? You hate firebenders.”

“I used to.” Jet replies. “Trust me, I’m trying. I was kind of hoping that if I took you in you’d keep providing me with reasons…”

“You’re hilarious.” She keeps her expression deadpan.

“Unfortunately for me you’ve kind of been doing the opposite.”

She quirks a brow. “I didn’t realize that you were a fan of being belittled and…”

He takes her hands, suddenly the conversation veers into seriousness. “You don’t do that unless we’re joking...right?”

She nods, “that’s correct.”

“I guess that this whole time I’ve just only seen firebenders as one image. As a memory of my burning village and parents. I never really saw people.” He pauses. “Until now I haven't gotten to see hurt and happiness. I didn’t really see humanity.”

“I think that you might be looking in the wrong place if you’re trying to see humanity…”

“I think that you like to repress your humanity. But you don’t have to, I’ve already seen it.” He runs his fingers over the small pockmarks left by thrown stones. She looks away from them.

“It’s different here in the Earth Kingdom. You can express yourself. You can dance, you can sing, you can even get away with talking back to your parents sometimes.”

At this she recoils, “I could never…”

He flinches, seeming to remember who he is talking to. “My point is that you don’t always have to be so well mannered here. You can have fun.”

She looks at his collection of scattered socks.

“Look, you see things in me that aren’t there.”

“I see things in you that can be if you let them in.”

She bites the inside of her lip.

“Are you telling me that your perspective hasn’t changed at all?”

“Depends, which topic are we discussing?”

“Your views on the Earth Kingdom, on its people. On the lower class.”

Azula winces, her stomach beginning to flutter. She isn’t sure exactly what she is ashamed of. “Perhaps a little.” She has trouble seeing herself as a member of the peasant class, has trouble resigning herself to that she has lost her title. But she also has trouble clinging to the view that all of them are horrible. Jet isn’t completely unbearable.

“Why don’t we have this conversation later?’ He offers. “I think that you have a birthday to enjoy.”

“I haven’t done that in years.”

“Well, maybe this one will be a good one.” He says.

.oOo.

Getting her to socialize is the hardest task still. Somehow it is more tedious than it had been to make her safe meals. The former princess is terribly reluctant to speak with anyone. He can’t particularly hold it against her knowing how much resentment the people here seem to have for her. With any luck they might not recognize her now that she is clean and short-haired. He doesn’t count on it, she is the only firebender he has seen in this town, the public will be able to put two and two together.

Though he has a few people who will accept her or at least give her a chance. As promised he wakes her up early when the rest of the village has yet to arise. They have a quick breakfast and then they head out. Other than his yard, Azula hasn’t really been out much, occasionally she stops to gander at the landscape or point out some animal that isn’t common to the Fire Nation. He can’t get her to admit it but he knows, no matter how many times she calls them annoying, that she enjoys the singing prairie dogs.

“Smellerbee has a pet prairie dog!” He notes.

“My condolences.”

He nudges her.

They meet in the forest like old times. He watches The Duke chuck a rock into the pond. Azula goes somewhat tense.

“Hey everyone, I told you that I had someone for you to meet.”

The Duke throws a final rock before turning around.

Jet doesn’t realize that he is holding Azula’s hand until Smellerbee remarks, “is she your girlfriend.”

He puts her hand down and sputters, “no!”

“Right, because you don’t date firebenders.” Pipsqueak pipes up.

“That’s not it.” He says quickly. “I told you that I’m trying to be more open minded. That’s why Azula is here.”

“The princess?” Smellerbee asks.

“She’s not so imposing after you get to know her.” He pauses for her to fill in. When she doesn’t he adds, “she isn’t very good with small talk.”

“Don’t worry,” she mutters. “Jet already told me that war stories aren’t the best kind to open with. But I don’t really have any others to tell.”

“What about that one about you and your brother on Ember Island, the one where you got chased by a wild hog-monkey.” He suggests. “Or you can tell them about your hobbies.”

“They don’t want to hear about firebending.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Pipsqueak says.

Long Shot nods in agreement.

He gives her space, perhaps much more than she needs, to run through her katas. He is still getting used to controlled fires and fires used for the sake of entertainment and sport. He must admit that she is elegant and after some time he usually finds that watching her is relaxing.

She finishes with a small burst of lightning, presumably the kind that won’t draw unwanted attention.

“It’s almost like a dance!’ The Duke pipes up.

Azula nods. “I’ve been working on something like that. Dancing was outlawed in my homeland some time back. I’ve decided to try it now that I...have the freedom to do so.”

“I like dancing.” Smellerbee notes.

Jet begins to relax.This is going much smoother than he had expected. He thinks that he owes it to them just being thankful that he is letting go of some of his prejudices.

.oOo.

By the time word gets around that her exile has been lifted, Azula isn’t quite sure that she is ready to go home. She is rather enjoying  traveling around with Jet and his Freedom Fighters. It isn’t exactly the life she had imagined for herself, but it is free. She is free.

She still has no love for the town that had bloodied her body with their stones and marred her dignity by spitting upon her. But she has found towns that have taken more kindly and more sympathetically to her.

She also hadn’t imagined that she’d find a romantic partner, let alone one of Earth Kingdom descent. She’d always imagined that her marriage would be strictly political. Yet she lays next to Jet, holding him close. It is her turn to do the holding. After much bickering they decided to take turns with that. She much prefers to do the holding, apparently he is the same.

Smellerbee groans every time she happens upon them in a more tender moment. But there isn’t much privacy traveling in a group with only a few tents and sleeping bags. But she doesn’t have too many complaints, all things considered.

She has seen much and done much. She has found knowledge, that she hadn’t expected to acquire. She finds herself observing earthbending techniques and weaving them into her firebending stances. In turn she finds herself teaching firebending stances to earthbenders that they meet on the road.

It is the sort of knowledge that Azula has been deprived of. She didn’t realize that she had been craving it until her hunger for it has been satiated. It is only after her wanderlust subsides that she finds her way to the docks.

.oOo.

Jet is terribly nervous to venture into the Fire Nation, but he had promised the soon to be re-crowned princess that he would. Fair is fair, she’d given the Earth Kingdom a real chance, now he will give the Fire Nation one.

He wonders if she is going to bring any Earth Kingdom culture home with her. Even if she won’t say it, he thinks that she had enjoyed a good portion of her time there. He looks at the singing prairie dog squirming in her arms, she is certainly bringing something home.

He comes to stand by her. The ocean breeze rustles her hair. It still isn’t as long as it had been, but it has grown to reach her shoulders.

“You nervous to go back?”

Azula shakes her head, “I am ready. I have been ready. I miss home.”

“Well, at least you know that you’ll receive a warm welcome.”

“I am going to push you overboard.”

He wraps his hands around her middle and kisses the top of her head. “Then who will accompany you back to the palace.”

“Pipsqueak.” She remarks without missing a beat.

“Alright, fair enough.” He laughs. With it their conversation meets its natural conclusion. For quite some time they simply watch the sea roll by. It’s waters dyed orange by the sunset. Its rays throw sparkles across the water.

“I suppose I should thank you.” Azula speaks up at last.

“For what?”

“For letting me live with you and giving me a chance.” She paues. “For helping me realize what family values aren’t so valuable.”

He pulls her closer. “It isn’t such a big deal…”

“It is.” She insists. “I would have died; either of starvation of someone in that town would have gotten sick of me…” she trails off. “It isn’t easy to...reshape someone’s views.”

“You’re right about that.” Jet agrees, heaven knows that he wouldn’t have been able to do so if she didn’t stick around.

“I know.” She replies.

“You think that your brother is going to be surprised?”

She gives him a devious smirk. “He better be. I want to see the look on his face when…”

“When what?”

She turns him to face her and pulls him into a rather aggressive kiss. “If we can make Smellerbee cringe, imagine what Zuzu will do.”

“You’re a still so devious.”

“He allowed me to be exiled.” She shrugs. “Making out in front of him is the least harmful payback I can think up.”

“I guess.” He replies. He supposes that he doesn’t want to pass up an opportunity for a lengthier kiss. “We’ll add a little more steam to the Fire Nation.”

“If I don’t make good on my threat to throw you overboard.” She rolls her eyes.

As the conversation fades out again, he finds himself staring dead ahead. Somewhere on the horizon the Fire Nation looms. Somewhere on the horizon is his chance to shed past hatred completely.  

[tvdas]

Political Scientist Claes Ryn in The American Conservative

The Declaration of Dr. Navid Keshavarz-Nia on the possibility and the certainty of fraud.  Caught with Their Hands in the Cookie Jar, by Jeremy Carl  The New York Times on Trump’s Campaign to Subvert the Election   https://www.regent.edu/misc/analyzing-american-election-integrity/ https://letsfixstuff.org/2021/10/how-the-2020-election-was-stolen/ Other sources are mentioned in this article:

Election Fraud — Reform This Thing by Tal Bachman 

The time has come to completely renovate America's presidential election voting process.

No, I'm not talking about the electoral college. That can stay. Nor does this have anything to do with Biden versus Trump per se (although the ongoing dispute and understandable doubt about who actually won helps support my contention).

All it has to do with is maintaining America's status as an actual representative democracy—a republic—whose citizens determine electoral outcomes by majority votes. Per Lincoln, that was the whole point, after all: government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

For that sort of government to exist in reality, and not just in rhetoric, you need elections whose results citizens can genuinely trust. They need to be legitimate, but also, need to be seen to be legitimate.

What that means is elections characterized by simplicity, intelligibility, uniformity, and voter anonymity, as well as overall transparency, formal and multi-layered scrutability, physical security at voting stations, and real-time and post hoc verifiability of vote counting.

Put all those things together into a system, and you have election integrity. Omit one or more of those things, and you have a system which begins sliding toward unacceptable levels of error and election-changing fraud. At the point where error or fraud produces false outcomes, or can no longer produce the requisite level of confidence in reported outcomes, the system becomes incompatible with representative democracy—meaning that any representative democracy which continues to use it, is ipso facto either degenerating into a non-democratic form of government, or has already completed that transition. That would be true regardless of surface appearances, or what citizens believed.

To put it more plainly, representative democracy requires legitimate elections. As Ol' Blue Eyes once claimed about love and marriage, you can't have one without the other.

You can guess where I'm going. America has done all sorts of things right, but—as Mark Steyn has pointed out many times over the years, most recently on Tucker Carlson Tonight shortly after the election—its presidential election process ain't one of them. It violates nearly all the requirements for electoral integrity and for inspiring confidence in itself. It's no wonder that, as you read this, the president of the United States, his entire legal team, and tens of millions of citizens, believe outcome-changing fraud occurred the night of November 3rd, 2020.

What I mean to say is that even if there wasn't any fraud at all, we'd all still have lots of reasons to suspect there was. That alone is completely unacceptable.

One reason for suspicion is at least one presidential election has been rigged before—election fraud in America is nothing new.

Other reasons include the hundreds upon hundreds of people convicted of voter fraud over the past two decades (virtually all of them Democrats), large-scale electoral dysfunction in other recent races, and even a recent detailed confession from a professional East Coast election-rigger.

But more relevant are the reports of misbehavior on election night: poll watchers barred, ballots re-dated, tens of thousands of votes of mysterious provenance suddenly appearing, improbable-to-the-point-of-impossible statistical anomalies and other oddities, etc., as well as questionable recount behavior.

But the most compelling reason of all is the amply documented vulnerability to manipulation of the computerized voting machines now used so commonly. To what extent these machines were in fact manipulated, in this recent election, I can't say; but again, even if they weren't manipulated at all, their mere existence necessarily casts doubt on the integrity of any reported electoral outcome. For that reason alone, they should be discarded.

Let me just list a few indications of how lousy these machines are.

The day before the election, USA Today investigative reporter Pat Beall published a zinger of a piece detailing a number of disturbing voting machine vulnerabilities. Entitled "Will Your Ballots Be Safe? Computer Experts Sound Warnings on America's Voting Machines", Beall's piece chronicles things like spontaneous vote-switching, the instant disappearance of tens of thousands of votes, and erratic vote registering. That was days before anyone heard Sidney Powell alleging the same things.

Beall's piece is not the only credible account of vulnerabilities in voting machines. The House Administration Committee issued a report in 2018 noting some of the same problems (and, interestingly, pointed to Georgia as one state most vulnerable to computer vote-rigging). A number of other such reports have emerged in recent years, including a 2018 New York Times piece reporting the discovery of voting machines manufactured by Election Systems and Software with remote-access software secretly pre-installed, and—as if that weren't alarming enough—that the machines had a history of reporting vote counts at odds with votes actually cast.

Not that this is new material. Evidence indicating the fraud-friendly nature of computerized voting machines has been out there a long time. As far back as 1974, the US General Accounting Office was warning of serious accuracy and security problems with America's new vote-counting computers. (As for possible vote-tampering culprits, the CIA at least had the decency to admit during the 1975 Church Committee hearings it regularly tampered with vote-counting machines in foreign elections). In 1985, New York Times reporter David Burnham, in an eyebrow-raising piece, reported that the National Security Agency had begun investigating reports of vote-manipulation in voting machines used by a full third of the American electorate.

By the late 1980s, the potential for manipulating computerized voting machines had become even more undeniable—and unnerving. In a magisterial 1988 New Yorker piece on the topic, journalist Ronnie Duggar wrote:

"Some officials concerned with elections think about the unthinkable in their field; namely, the stealing of a Presidential election by computer fraud in the vote-counting in metropolitan areas of key states. Steve White, the chief assistant attorney general of California, said to me last spring in Sacramento, 'It could be done relatively easily by somebody who didn't necessarily have to be all that sophisticated. Given the importance of the national election, sooner or later it will be attempted.'"

Journalist Jonathan Vankin was another early chronicler of electoral computer fraud (taking time to revisit the topic in a 2000 piece, in which he pointed out compelling evidence of serious computer-rigging in Miami-Dade, Dallas, Orange County, and several other locations). A book-length exposé even arrived in 1992 courtesy of James and Kenneth Collier.

And yet here we are, nearly a half century after that first US General Accounting Office warning, still using the same easily manipulable computer systems, which bad actors have almost certainly manipulated before to fix election outcomes; and partly as a result, we're all still wondering if Joe Biden really got 15 million more legitimate votes than Barack Obama did—a gap which must strain the credulity of even the most partisan Democrat (not that they'd mind illicit victory). (We're also now wondering how many of the presidents over the past thirty years won their elections fair and square).

So as I say, it's no wonder that now, half the country suspects fraud; it's because fraud on a huge scale, thanks to the voting machines, remains eminently possible.

As for how to reduce the possibility of voter fraud, the steps are simple. And it's not like they're secret. Nations around the world use them. A functional, trustworthy, election system of integrity would look something like this.

First, it's run by a single-purpose, rigorously impartial, devoutly transparent federal entity overseeing federal elections (about which more below).

Yes, I know we're all sick of the federal Leviathan. I know it already has far too much power. It's just that in this case, we don't have much choice, do we? We're going on well over a century of chronic Democrat Party presidential vote-rigging; and it appears they just ran one of their classic tricks again just a few weeks ago. At some point, pro-America voters have to stop making excuses for why they shouldn't try solutions to these nation-destroying problems, and just try them.

Yes, I know this would require a constitutional amendment. But let's assume for now we could get one of those passed.

Second: The new federal entity—let's call it Elections USA—would then divide the nation into voting districts of equal size for purposes of federal election (that could occur within pre-existing congressional districts). Elections USA would then further subdivide the voting districts into smaller units. Working with the postal service, Elections USA would then draw up a list of voters in each unit and designate a voting station for residents of that particular unit.

Third: In preparation for election day, Elections USA would send out flyers informing households of where to vote. The information would also be made available on the Elections USA website.

Fourth: On election day, voters travel to their designated voting stations: an elementary or high school, a union hall, a community center, whatever.

Each voting station is watched over by police or other security guards.

As voters approach, they join a quick-moving line. At the front, they present two pieces of government issued ID, at least one with a photo. A volunteer finds the voter on her list of voters for that unit. (If they've come to the wrong polling station, they are redirected to the right polling station).

The voter then approaches the voting station in a large, open room, where another volunteer hands him a paper ballot. Picking up the provided pencil, he marks the ballot behind a screen, folds the ballot, and drops into the voting box in full view of the poll clerk and attendant witnesses sitting a few feet away—typically, a few volunteers from political parties who act as "scrutineers", or official observers and verifiers. The voter then leaves. The entire process never takes more than fifteen minutes.

Once polls close, no one is allowed to enter or leave the premises until the vote count is completed.

The poll clerk—still in full view of the scrutineers—dumps the ballots on to a table and sorts them into piles according to the candidate/party voted for. She then counts the votes for each, showing them to the scrutineers as she goes. Once the votes are counted, a supervisor is called over to the table. After verifying that the scrutineers are satisfied with the counting, and resolving any lingering concerns, the supervisor signs off on the count, and the ballots are immediately placed in a special, sealed envelope. The sealed envelope is then stamped, and cannot be opened without subsequent detection.

The ballot count numbers are then phoned into Elections USA, right then and there, again in view of the scrutineers, who verify that the numbers called in match the numbers they witnessed during the count.

Once all the numbers are called in to Elections USA—a process which never takes more than two hours—the supervisor then physically transports the sealed envelopes (each marked with information like Voting Desk #4 at Poll Station #15) to the Elections USA depot, where she hands them over.

The sealed envelopes are then transported to Elections USA employees, who will then verify, and eventually formally certify, that all the numbers called in from each desk of each polling station of each voting district in the country matches the number of actual ballots. In the unlikely event any question arises about accuracy, the ballots can be accessed and counted again.

In a simple process like this, the media will have accurate election results within two hours of the polls closing, and there is virtually no opportunity for fraud. I can attest to that, because I myself have witnessed this exact process in real life quite a few times, and am friendly with several people who volunteer as election workers on election days. What I described is how elections are conducted in Canada, but not only in Canada: an identical or similar process is used in most other English-speaking countries. A few simple security protocols—not least of which is, no computerized voting machines—and your election is as fraud-proof as this mortal realm would ever allow.

When you compare this typical voting procedure to the morass of conflicting voting regulations representing fifty states, many of which—incredibly—do not even require that the voter present identification before voting, and which are being manipulated by the very state party hacks tasked with preventing fraud, you begin to see just how desperately America needs electoral reform. Credible stories of poll watchers being denied access, for example, in any normal country, would be regarded as completely unacceptable, to the point where the votes in that area would be likely thrown out as a matter of course. And yet, that type of chicanery is now so common in the United States, most people take for granted it goes on. That's how far the window of acceptable behavior has moved.

Lastly, I point out the outrageous absurdity of Democrats screaming for four years that Russia hacked the nation's vote-counting machines in 2016, only to suddenly demand—once their salaried goons in mainstream media prematurely declared Biden the victor—that we all instantly fully accept that no hacking or vote manipulation could ever have occurred in the 2020 election...when almost all the machines remained the same.

Trump's currently demanding recounts, and that's great. But America needs more than recounts. It needs something like a constitutional amendment federalizing the federal elections and banning voting machines. It also needs an exhaustive investigation—although by whom, I don't know anymore—to identify just which bad actors have been manipulating those easily manipulable voting machines for the last forty odd years. Given the frame-up jobs we've seen the last four years, I have a few hunches about the culprits—and I don't think they were Russians.

[ghost-chance]

In honor of Neil Elwood Peart,  9/12/1952  -  1/7/2020

The reports are not a hoax. Neil Peart has died...brain cancer. The music world won't be the same without him. More than that, I owe this man my life...literally, as in, if not for him, I would be dead. In his memory, I’ve decided to share this story.

This story is personal and it’shard to tell, but it’s entirely true. Back when I was an angsty teen dealing with angsty teen problems (and, tbh, a lot of problems most people are lucky to not face until adulthood) Rush’s music was the soundtrack I lived my life to. (Yes, I’m somewhat dating myself here.) As silly as it sounds as an adult, I practically idolized Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, and Neil Peart; I lived my life in accordance to the lessons in their music and their stories and looked up to them as role models of a sort. I exercised to Marathon and By-Tor and the Snow Dog. I read to Rivendell and Tom Sawyer. I powered through homework with YYZ and The Gangster of Boats trilogy, and brooded about bullies to Subdivisions and Scars. At a time in my life when just existing was painful, Rush’s complex, thought-provoking, and sometimes amusing music proved to me that the people in my world weren’t all shallow, cruel, and dull. Teenagers, after all, tend to get stuck in their own little world and forget that life exists beyond that which they experience day-by-day.

A death in the family and a sudden and traumatizing spilled secret was the last straw - the depression I was fighting was only getting worse without support, and every day, certain classmates encouraged me to just end it. Most were malicious - “Everyone hates you, just die already,” was a common one which unfortunately is still spoken generations later. Other culprits were friends just tired of seeing me hurting; they thought a ‘failed’ suicide attempt would make a difference. “Maybe if you got hurt, the bullies would back off,” they suggested. “Maybe you have to take drastic measures before someone will help you!” 

Me? I was just tired...I was tired of hurting, of being afraid, and breaking down only to be told that my feelings weren’t valid and I was ‘embarrassing my family.’ Support or lack of it really can make or break a person when they’re falling apart. Now, it makes me cringe to admit that I was ready to give up before I had a chance to really begin; at the time, it felt like the only option. Age certainly brings things into perspective. 

One night, at my absolute limit, I was compiling goodbye notes to my friends and simultaneously forming a list of pros and cons for various methods while listening to a ‘new’ borrowed Rush album. I didn’t care whether or not I survived to see if there were improvements in the bullying; I was tired of trying. I was searching my calendar for days to try and searching my health textbook for advice on how to achieve a painless death. That night was the turning point, and that album was Presto.

Even after how many years have passed, I still remember the first time I heard those distinct, somber, skin-tingling bass notes at the beginning of the song. Even after all these years, I remember hearing the first lines and feeling as if they were written just for me, or rather, for someone just like me. Someone understood...someone else knew what I was going through and they were talking about it! I paused in my planning, turned up the volume, and listened...and I thought...and my stomach fell down to my feet when I realized what I was hearing.

“No hero in your tragedy.  No daring in your escape.  No salute for your surrender,  nothing noble in your fate.

Christ! What have you done?!”

“What have you done?!” Not please don’t. Not don’t be ridiculous, you don’t even know hurt yet. Not if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. This was a punch in the gut and a horrified demand for answers all in one. It wasn’t a hug, it was a bitch-slap and a demand for answers. Suddenly, and finally, it hit me all at once that what I was planning was permanent and would have repercussions far beyond my tiny world. I suddenly connected how I felt about my grandfather’s suicide with how he might feel about mine if the roles were reversed. I felt sick. What had I almost done?!

It was, as sickening as it sounds, the first time I’d heard someone outright condemn suicide as an option. Times were different then, and most people reacted to discussion of depression and suicide by going silent then awkwardly changing the subject. Those who didn’t ‘change the channel’ begged and pleaded instead. “Please hold on a little longer - just a little longer! It’ll get better, just wait and see!” It never got better, so I eventually stopped listening. Some people, like a certain male relative who-shall-not-be-named, considered suicide to be ‘a matter of choice,’ and ‘not anything to judge as right or wrong.’ His reaction to my grandfather’s suicide was “He lived his life the way he chose; this was his choice, we had nothing to do with it.” This particular relative never tried to dissuade me or offer support when I needed it most. He never once asked “What would your parents think?” He never asked “How do you know things won’t get better if you keep trying?” Instead, he rolled his eyes and walked away, saying “I don’t have time for this shit.” Yes, he’s always been a wonderful role model. We don’t really talk anymore.

I’m not going to say everything changed over night because of a song. I’m not saying no one was ever around to support me, or that no one ever tried to talk me into holding on just a little longer every time I felt like I couldn’t hold on for another second. I won’t say I never stumbled again, or that I never had second thoughts. The Pass didn’t ‘fix’ my depression, nor did it ‘fix’ me - it was, however, the turning point and the slap-in-the-face I needed. The people who wrote the music I lived by condemned suicide, and knowing that, I felt horrified that I ever considered it an option. Again, teenager logic can be a little weird to say the least.

It took time for me to really get my depression under control. Lifestyle changes, counseling, medication, meditation, new friends, and support from my family were some of the most effective methods I found. Every time I felt ready to give up, I played music that reminded me to keep trying. The Pass reminded me giving up is not an option - Emotion Detector reminded me that people can be assholes but it’s worth it to be myself despite the assholes in life - Mission reminded me that what I was dealing with was, in a roundabout way, helping me grow - when I felt like giving up - Bravado encouraged me that everything would work out in the end - The Enemy Within made me angry with myself and reminded me to never give up. There are too many songs that helped me to even begin to name half of them. 

Some years later, I was fortunate enough to have a chance to see Rush in concert during one of their final tours. The concert was everything I expected and lots more I never expected, and it’s one of my favorite memories. The stench of marijuana, cigarettes, sweaty bodies, and stale beer filled the stands around me and burned my lungs. The crowd cheered so loudly my ears rang for hours afterward. Someone on our charter bus tripped over a car on the way back from concessions, sprayed beer everywhere, and laughed it off with “At least it’s Rush!” Another woman, drunk beyond reason, yanked her panties off and flung them at the stage, then promptly passed out; at the time, I rather envied her opportunity to fling lingerie at Geddy Lee without being arrested. After the concert, a couple of people had to be bodily dragged back to the bus and laid across the seats because they were black-out drunk. I bought a tee-shirt for enough to feed a college student for a week and left with a migraine that lasted three days. It was, to say the least, a lifetime of stories and jokes all in one night. 

Craziness aside, the concert was an event like none I’d ever thought to experience. As the music played and the fans screamed, I stood in the crowd feeling both separate from the world and part of something great all at once. At the end of every song, I thought to myself, “This...this is why I’m still alive. This is what I would have missed out on.” With the beginning of every song, my heart soared, my skin prickled with elation, and I became more and more certain I had no regrets. I was beyond considering suicide an option before then, but that concert was the final bit of evidence; turning around and trying again was, without a doubt, the right decision. I knew I was meant to be more than yet another victim of depression.

Today, I’m alive despite many accidents and disasters which could have easily led to a different result. I still get swamped with intermittent depression, and I still spend somedays wondering why I even bother trying. Depression, unfortunately, is just part of who I am; it’s written into my genetics as deeply as my hair and eye color, and it isn’t going to go away permanently. I’ve made my peace with that. Despite the permanency of that struggle, I have defeated the part of me that previously wanted to give up and ‘go away’ when I'm at my worst. I haven’t considered suicide an option since I was bitch-slapped by The Pass; I refuse to ever consider it an option again, no matter how far I may fall. 

There are so many things that had to go right in order for my view to change. If Neil Peart hadn’t joined Rush, “The Pass” wouldn’t have been written. If it had been on any album before Presto, I would have heard it before from my many other albums and grown tired of it. If I hadn’t borrowed the album and chosen to play it just that night at just that moment, I wouldn’t have gotten the musical slap in the face I needed so badly...and, no exaggeration here, I would be dead. Nothing else had been able to change my mind; I honestly suspect nothing else could have changed my mind. 

I was a suicidal teenager when I first heard "The Pass," which was a condemnation of the glorification of suicidal teenagers. That song accomplished what nothing else had been able to, and I owe my continued existence to it and its writers. I still get lost in the darkness sometimes, but as the song goes, I've learned to steer by the stars. No matter how hard it can be sometimes, I’d rather walk the razor’s edge than let my depression win.

I'll pour you a dram this evening, Mr. Peart, in memory and appreciation. Thank you for my life; I’ll never forget yours.

[startaryat]

I posted this recently to a Facebook discussion that exploded under one of my comments to a Bill Maher post.

The original post, responding to a link to a news report about Trump saying that Google cost him “16 million votes.” “ Cool.  Can it cost him more?  Lots more?  Enough to get him elected out of office in 2020? Oh, I sincerely hope people don't fall into the same apathetic attitude of "Isn't he supposed to serve eight years?"  No...  He has to answer to the American people after four years of failure.  Don't treat this like George Jr.  It's been a painful three years, I would hate to have to endure five more. “ There were 68 replies to this.  Very few of them were mine.  Most were Trumpers trying to call me stupid.  It’s unfortunate that’s the best argument they’ve got.  Others were Democrats, Liberals or other “Bluesiders” who would usually volley insults back at the Trumpers.  A few of them actually posted facts to disprove Trumper lies and propaganda.  It’s telling that the Trumpers couldn’t provide any information to support their claims. So, sick of the discourse, I posted this.  It’s probably going to fall on the same deaf ears there.  Maybe somebody here will appreciate it. ========== It's really upsetting that this is the best the discourse can produce.  Now, say what you will about Bluesiders insulting Redsiders, at least Democrats and Liberals are bringing facts to the debate.  Republicans and Conservatives seem only able to spew insults, insist at the inevitability of their victory and make veiled threats.  The few who do little more than "express pity" (a subset of "insist at the inevitability") still can't provide any credible evidence at any of the nebulous "good" Trump has done for this country.  Everything he has clumsily tried to spin has been repeatedly shot down with the mountains of evidence against it.  The refugee situation at the southern border, the failed trade war with China, the tax breaks that benefited his rich friends and cost the rest of the American people a larger portion of their paychecks, the tearing down of the ACA with a promise to replace it with something better, only to drop the ball and have to default back to the original ACA.  He even failed to revitalize the coal industry or put anymore research into "clean coal" like he said he would, abandoning all of those miners after lying to them that he would be saving their jobs. This, in the face of mounting scandal, both old and new.  There is evidence that the man is a repugnant human being, a sociopath of the worst kind.  There's his refusal to pay his contractors, his "burn it and run" approach to business the second the business takes a downturn and starts reflecting poorly on him, his manipulation of a porn star so he could sleep with her while his wife was giving birth to their child, and the list goes on and on and on.  It is baffling that people who otherwise would be decent people are so eager to support him when he isn't a reflection of them, nor is he supporting their interests. The reality is that Donald Trump is lying to you, and always has been.  He is only saying what he thinks will get him a cheer and secure your votes, but he's not making any actual plans to run the country.  His entire Presidency has been little more than pageantry, a big show, and you've all bought the tickets.  What you don't realize is what the price really is.  In his vain, vapid approach to being a world leader, he has brought harm to our environment, our politics and our discourse.  Under Bush Jr. and Gingrich, the Republicans were clearly corporate aligned, but now they are seen as being in league with those who would like to see the nation as being the way it was in the fifties, back when white men were oppressing women and anybody who was two shades darker than them.  And Trump is doing nothing to assuage that appearance. The discourse has become so Hellish, that now the entire Blueside is gearing up to unite under whoever we decide in the Primaries, because we've already seen what we're left with if we don't.  The first comment under here is Debbie Sobolewski saying "VOTE BLUE no matter who".  I can't tell if it's sarcastic or serious.  Some people like it, others love it, others think it's hilarious.  I think it's a sad state of affairs that because of one man's sociopathic personality, this is the genuine mentality we're under. Biden?  Sanders?  Buttigieg?  Harris?  It doesn't matter who it is.  We Bluesiders are going to vote for them.  We're not going to grumble and groan that we wanted somebody better this time and abstain.  We're going to cut that orange tumor out of the White House and restore some dignity back to the office. That this is the only legitimate method available to us should leave everybody terrified of the future.  You Republicans need to learn to see the wisdom of change and us Bluesiders need to re-appreciate the necessity of compromise. For now, though, the single greatest accomplishment we can make to repair the damage is keeping Trump from getting another term in office.  He has proven to be wholly incompetent at the job, and I for one am sick and tired of watching him perform it so poorly.