#flagrant materialism

[amplexadversary]

Admittedly, I'm cheating a little, since most of the things in this picture I got for myself using holiday money from a while back that I'd been too depressed to spend at the time. (All the gundams and the cat plushie are teeeeechnically from my mom, from two years ago, in that case, though most of them I'd been waiting on a reprint of that came out this year. I was able to get a *lot* of gunpla because I got them on discount, and then just didn't open the packages until today.)

I was not the one to buy the hemostats and the insect pins (hobby purposes), the video games, the candy, or the little dragon. Which.

LOOK at this dragon. It's delightful. It's articulated the whole way down so you can curl it around and over things. Apparently it's a 3D-printed toy my grandmother purchased at an art fair.

[thethiefandtheairbender]

"you're depicting my favourite character in an ooc way" and what're you gonna do, arrest me?

[pixiesafica]

I have seen this attempt to boicot radfem hastags in order to not allow us to talk and debate, what I think it denotes we are right.

It's important talk about that because It's a violation of our fundamental rights: freedom of speech and association. It's a flagrant attempt of censorship.

Many TRAs will excuse themselves saying It's not censorship because what we say is hate speech, but we are not the ones who post about killing and raping people we don't like and we don't agree with. Many TRAs do it and even put into practice, so who are the ones with a hate speech and criminal fantasies and acts?

All rights we have now have been debated in the past, all of them. People who fought for them didn't have any problem about talking and debating about them, you know why? Because they knew they were right. The status quo didn't want debate so they censored people with different ways. So why "trans rights" shouldn't be debated?

Avoiding debate and censoring people who don't agree with you means a lot: you know you aren't right and you will eventually loss in a debate. Facts are against you, the material reality of sex are against you, medical studies about how transition affects trans people are against you. Most of the population are against you, some of them because they are conservatives that hate you, other like me because we have common sense and see the reality.

It's hilarious that the same generation of people who want to normalize going to therapy is the same that demonizes It when the purpose is to help people who hates their body because of their sex. Instead, you prefer to poison others and/or yourself with cross sex hormones and surgeries that won't help you, only destroy your health. What type of healthcare is destroy your body in order to realize an experiment? What type of right is males violating women and girls boundaries?

It's easy to see why you want to avoid any debate or talk about the issue, and your acts of censorship and threats are obviously totalitarian methods of repression.

[castellankurze]

Here's the thing that interests me about the dueling scene in Gideon the Ninth. Yeah, the narrative phrasing Harrowhark rose to the occasion like an evening star is peak and the line "Death first to the vultures and scavengers" is pure fire but why is she in that position to begin with?

The situation is thus: Camilla Hect has just won a duel against Marta Dyas attempting to claim the Sixth House's necromancy challenge keys, but she was wounded in so doing. Naberius Tern, backed by Ianthe Tridentarius, is pressing a dueling challenge against the injured Camilla in a flagrant bid to beat Camilla down and take the keys for the Third House while she's already recovering from one match. Gideon is standing by watching things unfold and, to her relief, Harrowhark steps up to put Gideon in the ring as a substitute for the injured Camilla and thus shut down Naberius' vulturing.

Except...why? You'd think that in anything like a polite societal dueling code (I know, I know, but go with it-) Camilla and Palamedes would have the option to demure, saying something like "the Sixth House cavalier just fought a duel and is wounded to boot, piss off for a day and we'll see then." But that's not even floated as an option. Palamedes isn't a dumb guy - far from it - and even if he were out of his element, you'd think someone else could just lean in and say 'dude tell them to shove it.' Judith Deuteros objects by saying "There are rules" and Ianthe shuts that down by pointing out she pressed Marta's duel on incredibly flimsy pretext, so that seems to be an objection on the grounds for presenting the challenge, rather than probing for an option to refuse. If Harrow and Gideon (or Jeannemary, jumping on the bandwagon) hadn't interceded, Camilla was about to fight her second duel back to back.

(Even in the first dueling challenge, the tone of onlookers seems to be that people want Palamedes to default and hand over his key to the Second House to spare Camilla the fight, because they assume the Sixth House is weak and don't know how good Camilla is.)

To sum up: the Sixth House seems to have no recourse but to either accept the repeated dueling challenges or default; with no way to decline except to give the Third House something they want (in this case, a Canaan House key).

That's insane.

And if that's deliberate, rather than an oversight on Tamsyn Muir's part, that suggests so much about the Nine Houses' dueling culture. It suggests that a challenge from a cavalier primary can't be refused; you have to either throw down or roll over as if they won. It speaks to a distinct lack of value placed on human lives, that the cavaliers are forced to accept a challenge on pain of their house losing face at best, something material at worst. The defending house can only negotiate to a degree that the attacking house is willing to let them. This is, depressingly, fully in keeping with the series' characters' treatment of the cavaliers. The subsequent books and short stories (especially The Unwanted Guest) really hammer this idea in, that the cavaliers are nominally viewed as a source of blades and shields in the hands of the necromancers, even if the laypeople of the setting don't know all the reasons behind the traditions.

In real life, formal dueling typically had customs and rules for negotiation and ceremony, with multiple exit points for parties to back out of a potential threat to life without losing face. Only truly aggrieved parties would press a suit to the point of confrontation. The Nine Houses say screw that, put up or shut up. They've more or less raised up the informal tradition of 'swords now motherfucker.'

To steal a phrase from another tumblrite, 'congrats god that's the worst anyone's ever done it.'

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hello! May I request a lot of latin forensic terms?

The most popular I am aware lf it's "post-mortem"!

Abet - to assist, encourage, instigate, or support with criminal intent in attempting or carrying out a crime—often used in the phrase, "aid and abet"

Actus reus - the wrongful act that makes up the physical action of a crime

Amicus curiae - one (such as a professional person or organization) that is not a party to a particular litigation but that is permitted by the court to advise it in respect to some matter of law that directly affects the case in question

Compos mentis - of sound mind, memory, and understanding

Corpus delicti - the substantial and fundamental fact necessary to prove the commission of a crime; also: the material substance (such as the body of the victim of a murder) upon which a crime has been committed

Functus officio - of no further official authority or legal effect—used especially of an officer who is no longer in office or of an instrument that has fulfilled its purpose

Habeas corpus - any of several common-law writs issued to bring a party before a court or judge; the right of a citizen to obtain a writ of habeas corpus as a protection against illegal imprisonment

Habeas corpus ad subjiciendum - a writ for inquiring into the lawfulness of the restraint of a person who is imprisoned or detained in another's custody

In flagrante delicto - in the very act of committing a misdeed; red-handed; in the midst of sexual activity

In esse - in actual existence

In loco parentis - in the place of a parent

Indicia - distinctive marks; indications

Mens rea - a culpable mental state, especially: one involving intent or knowledge and forming an element of a criminal offense

Modus operandi - a method of procedure, especially: a distinct pattern or method of operation that indicates or suggests the work of a single criminal in more than one crime

Obiter dictum - an incidental and collateral opinion that is uttered by a judge but is not binding; an incidental remark or observation

Onus probandi - burden of proof; the duty of proving a disputed assertion or charge

Prima facie - at first view; on the first appearance; legally sufficient to establish a fact or a case unless disproved

Pro se - on one's own behalf; without an attorney

Res judicata - a matter finally decided on its merits by a court having competent jurisdiction and not subject to litigation again between the same parties

Ultra vires - beyond the scope or in excess of legal power or authority

Hope this helps. Do tag me, or send me a link to your writing if it does. I would love to read your work!

More: Latin Phrases ⚜ Word Lists

[siggiedraws]

I like your essay but does it really irk you if Sonic is Ever portrayed differently even somewhat in other media? He can still have great character even if it doesn't always fit your ideal for it

Thank you, I'm glad you like my essay! My response to this will be quite long-winded, so bear with me.

I am not oblivious to how irrational it may come across for me to essentially admit I dislike all different interpretations of Sonic. But personally speaking, if I am to be completely honest with myself, yes, it does irk me. Their differences almost always compromise Sonic’s appeal, making them unlikeable to me.

My question is, if you are going to remove what makes pre-existing material so special in an adaptation, why is it even an adaptation of pre-existing material? This is a rhetorical question; I know the answer is purely due to cynical marketability reasons. Media is almost guaranteed to generate money if it features a popular, recognizable character. For obvious reasons, I do not think prioritizing marketability over artistic integrity is a good thing that should be defended or encouraged.

My argument is simple: Is it possible for a different interpretation of Sonic to be a good character? Sure, in a vacuum. You can replace any beloved character in fiction with Sonic instead by doing nothing but slapping some blue spikes on it and calling it a day.

My issue is that wouldn't make it a good interpretation of Sonic the Hedgehog because there is no reason for it to be Sonic.

I feel that now is a good time to finally talk about this.

My wariness of divergences in Sonic adaptations, is in part, based in the knowledge that the people at Sonic Team had their creative vision completely disrespected and dismissed overseas.

(SOURCE) - Yasushi Yamaguchi's Twitter

(SOURCE) - Masato Nishimura's Twitter

(SOURCE)

(SOURCE)

(SOURCE)

Sonic Team had no say or power in how Sonic was depicted in the U.S. In some cases, they had no idea that changes were even made until they were told by someone.

There is this distinct sense of cultural superiority coming from Sega of America. Did you know that Sega of America considered Sonic's design "unsalvageable" and insisted it needed to be changed? Did you know that Sega of America tried to "educate" Sega of Japan at character design because they saw them as incompetent at designing good characters?

(SOURCE)

Yes, this is primarily about Sonic's design being "too Japanese." This is corroborated in Sonic the Hedgehog Gametap Retrospective.

As an artist, it is really devastating to hear this story. Putting myself in Sonic Team's shoes yields nothing but sorrow. This flagrant disrespect towards artists' creative visions is odious to me.

Now compound this with the fact that Sonic has had a consistent lack of fidelity in adaptations since he was created, especially in the West, and I hope you can see my perspective here.

To go back to my initial topic on Sonic's characterization, I think that my position can come across unreasonable if you are a person who does not feel particularly strongly one way or another about it. It is completely fine to feel this way. Everyone can enjoy media however they please. For the vast majority of media I consume, I do not pay nearly as much attention and devotion to character consistency.

Sonic is different.

Sonic as a character is extremely important to me. He has gotten me through many hard times in my life and he continues to endlessly inspire me. Whenever I am faced with a tough situation, I hear Sonic’s voice in my head, encouraging me to be strong. Encouraging me to do my best. Encouraging me to keep living. Sonic is my favourite fictional character of all time. He means so much to me that it’s impossible to put into words.

I don’t want to get too emotional here, but I believe that a character like Sonic should continue to propagate and stay culturally relevant because I think kids nowadays really deserve a character like that in their lives. How he is characterized and used in the narrative in Sonic media really matters. There are Tailses in the world who need to learn how to be confident. There are Blazes in the world who need to learn how to accept help. There are Elises in the world who need to learn to let go of the responsibilities that burden them. There are Shahras in the world who struggle from having been in abusive relationships. And there are Merlinas in the world who are afraid of death. These people would benefit from a positive figure to guide them out of dark places.

My feelings about Sonic are far from an anomaly. See an excerpt from this artwork by sludgetoons, in response to this video essay:

"This one fucking video finally has made me realize WHAT Sonic is to me. he's my hero he's my inspiration hell hes a role model yes but none of those terms ever felt right to place onto this character that is so beautifully painted to be this characters free from the shackles of humanity and a need to be "relatable". He's not a hero or a role model, hes a DIRECTION. Sonic himself is an impossible goal to reach as a person, but just trying to live my life in a way that is free, appreciating the world that is around me, exploring and climbing and running and rebelling, lending a hand where I can but understanding ultimately im free to do as I please and I owe no one anything as they owe me nothing. as long as i am FOLLOWING him in those big footprints those red sneakers leave I am becoming a better version of myself. The goal is not to become Sonic, that's impossible. But by ignoring that impossibility and pushing on anyways I still WONT become Sonic. but I'll inadvertently become this better version of myself.

There's no way I can explain it properly how much this character means to me. When I picked up the pencil to draw for the first time it was because I thought he looked cool and inspired me and I wanted to replicate that magic. When I was feeling trapped in my past relationship and thought I had no say in what was happening to me his voice was in my head telling me this wasn't right and that "I could do anything". Start of 2024 I found myself asking "what would sonic do" more often than ever and 2024 was the best year of my entire fucking life. I couldn't give a fuck if it makes me seem insane he made who who I am and I love myself and I hope someday somehow, in another time or space, I can meet him just to say thank you."

This is just someone spilling their heart out on the internet about how much they love Sonic. It has over 9,000 likes at the time of this post.

I do not like different interpretations of Sonic.

None of them inspire power in others quite like this.

[marigold-hills]

june 1: incantation | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 546

Remus speaks carelessly. Mouth framing words like each sound is comfortably familiar – not rehearsed but known, something in his bones and blood and given to him by his ancestors. Broad vowels, silent t’s.

Sirius watches his lips move, the scar bisecting them stretch. Hangs on every dropped consonant like it’s a missed step in the dark. Something in him rejoices at the way Remus disregards elision: a flagrant defiance to Sirius’ childhood elocution lessons.

The joy of watching Remus speak is more than subversion from his upbringing – the moments when Sirius can do it like this (undisturbed and unnoticed)? They rebuild something in him he thought irreparably broken. He wants to fall asleep to it, make a cassette and listen to it on repeat, pretend he’s struggling with the material just to have Remus read to him.

There is something else, too. When he’s Padfoot and wants to chase a rabbit, a part of him feral and untamed – this want he can’t name occupies the same space. Something like this: to eat, to devour, to sink his teeth into flesh. Unnervingly, he thinks, he wants to hurt Remus.

“Cùram-slàinte,” Remus mumbles, “loiceadh.”

The part of Sirius that wants to bite him whines.

To hear him speak in English is a comfort. When he throws Latin-based spells it’s a thrill.

Listening as he builds incantations in Gaelic is the same as watching a storm approach with nowhere to hide. Sirius will stand in a clearing, wait for it to drench him, welcome each heavy raindrop. Thank it, afterward, if it deems him worthy to strike.

“Pads, do you have spare ink? I’ve run out.”

“Anything for you Moony, my love,” he jokes, endearment making Remus roll his eyes at him.

The library is quiet at this time of the evening. The other two of their four are playing Quidditch and Gobstones, respectively, as they always do on Fridays. Sirius keeps the days open, ostensibly so he can study (NEWTs are fast approaching, he should be). He brings his books along but doesn’t keep up with the pretends of actually opening them.

“You know.” Remus looks up from the borrowed ink pot, “you won’t get any studying done through osmosis.”

“Could do.”

Remus pretends to consider this. “Even if, won’t do you any good to learn this.”

He’s right, of course, as their Moony so often is. The dissertation he’s working on has nothing to do with Sirius’ work – Gaelic in the creation of new offensive spells is significantly different than his Exploring antimony and its reference as Grey Wolf in Ancient Runes. He doesn’t want to tell Remus he’s already finished his one (and got a tattoo to match) because then his excuse to hang out in the library would become even flimsier.

(Something he should consider: why the excuse and why the need to be there in the first place. Why watch Remus with such closeness, so differently than he does Peter, or James? But approaching these thoughts makes that feral part of him whine me a wounded dog, so he stays clear and indulges himself.)

“At least take your books out, you big mangy dog,” Remus laughs (sunlight falling onto old moss-covered stone) and reaches out to swipe a hair away from Sirius’ eyes.

NEXT PART

NOTES:

this is Part 1 of a 30 part series of standalone shorts which together make a larger story “The 30 ways you found me. Let me know your thoughts!

in the UK at the end of education equivalent to Hogwarts you can opt to do an extended project - essentially a semi large research paper on your chosen topic. I like to think it’s the same at Hogwarts, and that’s what they are working on here.

Oblivious Sirius is one of my favourites

[dominateeye]

On March 22, 2024, Congress passed a $1.2 spending bill meant to fund the essential functions of our federal government. Hidden in the bill were multiple irrelevant measures including an extended ban on funding for UNRWA (the Palestinian Refugee relief agency), sanctioning the United Nations if they investigate Israeli war crimes, and most troubling – authorizing another $3.8 billion in funding and military aid for Israel despite their government openly flouting U.S. and international human rights law.

This bill was bipartisan, passing with broad support from members of both major parties, making our political duopoly fully complicit in the ongoing genocide in Gaza.

All people of conscience should be appalled that our lawmakers, without hesitation, sacrificed the humanity and self-determination of Palestinian people as a condition for funding the normal functions of our federal government.

The far-right government of Israel has repeatedly stated their intent to exterminate and permanently expel Palestinians from Gaza and the West Bank. Now the American public is directly funding that extermination through the actions of our elected officials.

Benjamin Netanyahu has been exposed on the world stage as a flagrant war criminal, and he deserves to be investigated and prosecuted. But Netanyahu could not conduct his crimes without the substantial and ongoing financial and military support of the United States government.

As such, we demand an independent investigation by the International Criminal Court to determine if charges of war crimes are appropriate for any elected U.S. official providing material support for Israel’s ongoing genocide.

If criminal charges are found to be warranted, we support a prosecution by the International Criminal Court. Add your name if you agree.

[probablyasocialecologist]

A series of advertisements dehumanizing and calling for violence against Palestinians, intended to test Facebook’s content moderation standards, were all approved by the social network, according to materials shared with The Intercept. The submitted ads, in both Hebrew and Arabic, included flagrant violations of policies for Facebook and its parent company Meta. Some contained violent content directly calling for the murder of Palestinian civilians, like ads demanding a “holocaust for the Palestinians” and to wipe out “Gazan women and children and the elderly.” Other posts, like those describing kids from Gaza as “future terrorists” and a reference to “Arab pigs,” contained dehumanizing language. “The approval of these ads is just the latest in a series of Meta’s failures towards the Palestinian people,” Nadim Nashif, founder of the Palestinian social media research and advocacy group 7amleh, which submitted the test ads, told The Intercept. “Throughout this crisis, we have seen a continued pattern of Meta’s clear bias and discrimination against Palestinians.”

[fordtato]

I watched the new Ford vid and I wanted to share some thoughts I had on some of the points in your video. Before anything else, I want to say how much I absolutely fucking love everything you do and that, in my opinion, this video is especially spectacular. My intention here is to show my appreciation for your work by demonstrating how I’ve paid attention to it and thought about it, because I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t care, but I’m definitely not trying to criticize or anything. So, keeping that in mind, I’d like to add some thoughts to a couple points that I feel could’ve been expanded upon, even though the video was already five hours long.

First off, when it comes to the science fair thing, the only point where I do kind of blame Ford is that perpetual motion machines are physically impossible and also delicate. I just think he should’ve made something else and, at the very least, checked on it the morning of the fair and I actually think it’s a little ooc that he put all that effort into making it and was so invested in the fair but then didn’t bother to even look at it before the fair itself. There’s also never any recognition of the fact that something like a perpetual motion machine could literally stop at any point for any number of reasons that wouldn’t require external interference. I don’t think it’s a sin or moral failing like some of the other things people said on the topic of the science fair, but I do think there is some responsibility there on Ford’s end that doesn’t get discussed as much.

The second thing is that I just think that the Book of Bill is pretty openly interpretable in terms of whether it’s fully accurate and canon or not, since it’s made by such a flagrant liar. I respect and appreciate that you view the lost journal pages as canon material that, in universe, was written by Ford, but I also feel like it’s important to acknowledge that we don’t really know for sure one way or another unlike with Journal 3.

My next point is that, on the topic of Ford wanting his house back, it’s everything you said and I would add that Stan staying in the house would require their reconciliation. At the time Ford said that, they were actively in conflict with each other after being in separation for 30 years, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t want Stan to keep living with him given all the tension and unresolved resentment. Especially in tandem with the other things you pointed out, I think it makes complete sense that Ford wouldn’t want Stan to keep living there.

So then, when it comes to Ford being upset with Stan because of how Stan ignored all his warnings and opened the portal anyway, my biggest issue has always been Ford’s hypocrisy here. I can appreciate that, even though everything turned out alright, Stan’s choice to open the portal was objectively bad and Ford is valid for being upset, but he’s the one who ignored all the warnings when he summoned Bill in the first place. While I’d never blame him for being a victim of Bill’s abuse, I do 100% blame him for blowing past all the warnings and reading that incantation in the cave, and it’s hypocritical for him to be mad at Stan for doing the same thing.

Next is the “bumbling leech” quote, and my thought here is just that it makes sense for Ford to tell himself that as like a coping mechanism. When he and Stan were in separation, I imagine it would’ve been easier to tell himself stuff like that and try to believe it and try to stay mad to keep his distance, especially once he was on the other side of the portal. After all, keeping a grudge is easier than reconciliation, especially when you and the other person have no emotional intelligence and limited communication skills.

Lastly, when it comes to pathologizing, I think it’s potentially relevant that Stan and Ford are twins so stuff like autism that’s autistic would be a shared trait that both of them have. I just think it could be interesting to get into the genetic components of some of the different diagnoses that have been proposed for Ford, especially NPD since it does have a genetic factor. If people want to act like Ford is a villain because he potentially has NPD, then those same people have to accept that that would mean Stan does to and tbh I’d love to explore how a cluster b disorder like that could potentially make sense with Stan’s character as well. Maybe then we could actually have a nuanced discussion about such things the way you suggested instead of continuing to demonize these disorders, their symptoms, and the people who have them.

Anyway, sorry this was so long but I just wanted to share and I look forward to seeing what else you come out with in the future 🩷

Well, thank you for sharing, though I do think we disagree on a couple of things. As far as a perpetual motion machine being impossible, like, I think that's the point? Like, the idea is "this is an impossible thing, and Ford, being brilliant, figured it out." The idea of "blaming" a 17-year-old for his physics-defying incredible demonstration of a principle that breaks the laws of physics being... not earthquake stable? Or not sturdy enough to survive a punch on the table? I don't know, guys. Like. Lots of marvels of scientific accomplishment are delicate instruments. I think the logic there is faulty. The science fair project falling apart is not Ford's fault. It WAS stable, then something broke. You can't blame him for making an easy-to-break machine. I've seen this argument floating around a lot recently, and I will be honest, it really annoys me. Would it have been smart for him to check under the sheet that Stan put there to hide it? Yeah, maybe. But it feels silly to say that makes him partly "responsible." I dunno. It's all semantics at some point, and it barely makes a difference, but that isn't how I would describe it.

As far as the Lost Journal pages being written by a liar, I did address this in my ATOTS video, and did not repeat myself in the Ford Defense video, but to summarize : I acknowledge that Bill could have lied in these pages, but for the sake of easily having a discussion about it, I do treat it at face value, simply because it would be annoying to need to add that caveat after every point.

(I also am not a personal fan of the theory that it was forged by Bill, but that's a separate topic altogether. No comment beyond that.)

As far as Ford's "hypocrisy" in warning Stan, I think we have different opinions here as well. Like, Ford does not think that Stan ignoring warnings is wrong, but HIM ignoring warnings is okay. He thinks him ignoring the warnings is the biggest mistake of his life and he's deeply angry at himself. If I burned myself on the stove, and then told someone else not to touch the stove because it is hot, I am not being a hypocrite. I am someone who learned something was dangerous.

Even if we disagree here, however, I appreciate you watching, and you taking the time to share your thoughts with me.

[sisitrip]

"The End is Nai"

Gallavich A.U.gust

Sigh. I missed the Gallavich A.U.gust 2024 @gallavichthings week for supernatural themed works. So, I'm just flinging this out there because it's my first demon related work and it is mess-ay.

That said, I had fun. Hope you enjoy "The End is Nai."

________________________

“Father, please take these feelings from me or end my life as your servant,” Mickey whispered, slipping inside the cool building. A blasphemous plea coming from someone who does not pray. But, it was critical. 

His desire could end his life in this church today. 

The familiar pew creaked softly under his weight as if in greeting. It wouldn’t be far off to say he and this church knew each other well. They should. Together, they’d killed enough demons in its walls to make them old friends.

Basilica de Guadalupe’s beautiful stone structure swam with the cloying scent of incense. But, the few parishioners in attendance couldn’t smell it like he could. The simple chemical warning told his senses that a malevolent presence was near. He could practically feel the target. It was close.

A sudden press of cold smoked air painfully tightened the skin all over his body.

“Why do the churches in Mexico keep using the Three Kings Pontifical Blend? That incense smells like poor choices dipped in potpourri. I prefer Will & Baumer. The French variety, mind you.”

Nai’s lofty comment startled him more than his materialization next to him. Caught unaware for the first time in years, he cursed softly and turned to the demon, telling himself not to be impressed by what he saw. Instead of a vicious battle face, he was met with a soft smile and curious green eyes. It rattled him that Nai didn’t seem ready to fight, especially since it was their job to kill each other.

“Prefer the Gloria F8 blend myself,” he finally mumbled, heart speeding. He allowed himself to gaze at Nai’s straight, fiery red hair. It was lightly waved at the root, as if fighting to curl. He wondered if curls would suit Nai and if they would feel as soft as he imagined. 

“Oh my, a non-traditionalist.” Nai tilted his head in a disarming way and continued with a purring that had him rooted to the spot. “I wonder what your bosses in Citta del Vaticano would do if they knew. Flagellation, hopefully? The rope enthusiast in me is practically rigid at the thought.” A slow smile spread across Nai’s perfect features.

He stiffened. Flirting? In a church? Nai shifted toward him, bringing the full power of that face to bear down on his indifference. In response, his tattoos grew heavy on his skin, warming the air in anticipation of an attack. 

“My bosses ain’t none of your business,” he said, making the mistake of looking Nai in the eyes. 

He was immediately lost.  

The taste of chocolate entered his mouth, rich and thick. It was mixed with the slight savory taste of peanuts, caramel and something else. Something even sweeter than chocolate. 

“Nougat,” Nai whispered knowingly, the cold smoke scent radiating off him as he inched closer. “Creamy nougat. A main ingredient in your favorite candy bar.”

He gritted his teeth. The flagrant invasion of his senses triggered a small tremor, showering dust from the ceiling. While he got a coating, Nai was spared. The dust floated in a corona-like crown around the demon’s head, as if unwilling to settle on something so unholy.

“Sensory infusement of a candy bar is entry level at best,” he said disdainfully, brushing dust off his shoulders. “Are we dehydrated? There’s a bowl of water in the back. Help yourself.”

Nai’s verdant eyes danced with amusement. “I’ll be saying ‘no thank you’ to the offer of lethally blessed water. And to prove I’m less violently inclined than you, you should know I’m utterly wounded by how unimpressed you are. We can’t have that. Let me try again.”

The taste of sour cherry, silkily warm, filled his mouth. Not just the sour cherry, but also the sweet dough surrounding it and the butter it was tossed in. He could even taste the dollop of sour cream. Vareniki. A dish his mother made for him when he was a sick child. Before she abandoned him. He blinked, stunned. 

“Ah, a direct hit,” Nai whispered, delighted. “Maybe I’ll make vareniki for you one day. Just like your incubator used to mak-”

He grabbed the front of Nai’s white linen shirt, fisting it hard. 

“She was my mother. Not a fucking incubator,” he said through his teeth. “Watch yourself, dyavol.”

Nai merely smiled at him, unbothered. “I should give you the same advice. Your tattoos are about to set this place on fire.” 

The air around them grew hotter and the wood varnish on the pews began to bubble and smoke in reaction to the energy his tattoos were emitting. He had to calm down, but Nai was making that impossible with his proximity and his smile. Incredibly, Nai inched closer still and their thighs ghosted against each other. He forced himself to let Nai’s shirt go and instead simply stared at him while he was sized up as well. He fought the urge to smooth his hair.

“You have a black ring around your irises,” Nai murmured, leaning in a little and stunning his senses. “Which one of us gave you that?”

He let Nai sweep a bit of dust from his temple and resisted leaning into the touch. 

“Vorter.”

Nai sighed while running his eyes greedily over his face. 

“Oh, he is particularly nasty, that one. You might not believe this, but I severed my bond with him after what he did to your Ignatius. Tell me, has he recovered the use of his sight?”

Another tremor. This one was strong enough to rattle the stained glass windows. 

“No thanks to Vorter. And what do you mean bond? Bond like what, like a … boyfriend bond?” He was sweating.

Nai chuckled and dragged his gaze up and down his body, pale lashes sweeping his cheeks prettily.

“We're no different than the bleating cattle you protect. We prefer companionship too.”

He stiffened. “Fuck you. People aren’t cattle and neither am I.” 

Nai sniffed the air between them, putting an arm around the back of his seat. The sensitive skin between his shoulders sang from the whisper of Nai’s tracing thumb. A simple touch and he's lost again. God, help him.

“Oh, I agree. You're like a spring lamb and smell just as sweet. Even your anger is intoxicating to my senses. The things you make me imagine, Mikhailo.”

Nai offered up his name delicately for the first time, like a hot house flower opening for the briefest moment. They stared at each other as the church started to violently shake around them. 

“Looks like your time is up,” he whispered as Nai grimaced in pain. The church’s air intensified its invisible defense system, pulling small grains of black sand from Nai’s freckled cheeks where he brushed them off like so many flies. 

“So it seems.” Nai stood, all six feet of him. “No matter though. I think this little experiment was a success.” 

With a soft, inward flex of air, Nai apparated midwalk into the aisle, startling a veiled parishioner. She stared in horror from behind her black lace veil and crossed herself. If only it was that easy to kill Nai’s kind.

“What experiment?” he called after Nai, tattoos no longer heavy, but sliding around his skin ready to be weaponized. He didn’t want this to be over yet.  

“Proximity test. I wanted to see how long we could be face to face before it became … unpleasant,” Nai called back, still walking. 

He rolled his eyes. 

“You know what happens when you get near one of us. It’s been established since the beginning of time.”

Nai turned and walked backwards with a smile that slowed the pace of his heart. Even though Nai should be repugnant for simply being what he was, he couldn’t see anything but his beauty. He was certain of nothing anymore.

“Oh, I’m aware of what happens to your ancient markings in our presence. I didn’t mean that type of proximity.” 

He stepped into the aisle too, shaking dust out of his hair. The church growled from its rafters to its foundation, pulling screams from the few parishioners. He barely heard it.

“Then what kind of proximity test?” he asked, desperate to keep Nai a few more moments. 

Nai stopped and the church thumped hard on its foundation, sending the congregants running for the back exits.

“My proximity to the man and not the Vatican weapon.” Nai’s jovial smile slipped and his confusion was plain. “It’s just that, really it's a bit, you probably wouldn’t understa-” 

“Today, dyavol,” he interrupted, tattoos singing to be let loose.

The confusion fled Nai’s face completely and all that was left was soft, vulnerable wonder.

“I …,” Nai smiled ruefully. “I didn’t expect to like you.”

The church rumbled hard around them, sending small pieces of painted stone ceiling to the floor. A crack signaled a larger piece coming loose above him, opening the roof to send a beam of sunlight directly onto Nai, bathing him in a beatific glow. Mesmerized, he forgot to duck, not that he would have cleared the space in time. But, the impact he expected never came. He looked up and the stone slab, about thirty feet wide and possibly weighing a ton, hovered in the air, held there by two of Nai’s relaxed, raised fingers. With a gentle flick, the slab shot into the confession box, shattering it. He almost felt sorry for the priest who’d been watching from the lectern with wide eyes. The poor man screamed and fled the pulpit. 

“I hope you’re not waiting for a thank you,” he said, brushing dust off his shoulders, heart hammering.

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” Nai replied, Its dark hilarity back in place. “I’ll settle for a drink the next time we cross paths though. Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Grand Cru. 1945 is my preference if you can find it.”

With that, Nai stepped out into the sunshine. The quaking church stilled, leaving him in dazed silence. 

He sighed as his tattoos resumed their place on his knuckles. The Sede was going to lose its shit over this. The story of how a demon got close enough to kill, yet walked away alive was going to be required at his Rome debriefing. Malene was going to kill him for the headache coming her way.

But, all he could think about was where he was going to find a Romanee-Conti burgundy, circa 1945.

[peepoo79]

Cringe-ass American Psycho AU under cut 👁️👁️

Anyway as I previously alluded to, this mf silly ass idea has been in my brain for a while. Fuck it. Hospital AU. Been watching too much House MD lately. Anyway:

Patrick Bateman:

General surgery. Graduated Harvard medical school. Tried to match into plastic surgery but didn’t make the cut. Didn’t make the cut for cardiothoracic surgery either. Ended up settling for general surgery.

Went into medicine because doctors make a lot of money and have a lot of status. Probably wouldn’t have gotten through medical school if it weren’t for the connections is father has—nepotism at its finest. His father is on the board of directors for the hospital he works at—his last name, unfortunately, keeps him out of a LOT of trouble.

Horrific bedside manner. He’s attempted to sleep with patients on multiple occasions (and succeeded several times), has had countless malpractice lawsuits thrown at him, and frequently leaves his patients feeling uncomfortable. Has been known to purposefully under-anesthetize patients and recommend completely unnecessary procedures just because he’s bored.

That being said, his behavior with patients varies WILDLY. He’s on good behavior if he perceives his patient as being of high status (still unintentionally makes them uncomfortable, but only because he is trying SO HARD to make them like him that it backfires. Think the Tom Cruise elevator interaction from the book. That sort of behavior). However, if they fall into the category of people Patrick regards as “lesser,” the difference is stark. He tends to take his anger out on these sorts of patients.

Still a sadistic bastard. Unfortunately, his job allows him pretty easy access to inflicting agony on unwilling subjects and getting away with it. In some ways, he’s a lot more flagrant with his unacceptable behavior than he is in the source material. Perks of being in a profession like surgery I guess.

Treats the nurses terribly, has slept with a lot of them.

Only reason he hasn’t gotten fired is, once again, nepotism. Seriously, this guy sucks

Jean:

Registered nurse, works under Patrick.

Is aware that Patrick is not favored by his patients. Unaware of the extent of his depravity.

Poor girl needs a hug :(

Despite the shit she’s regularly put through (dealing with patients, dealing with Patrick, dealing with his equally insufferable colleagues), still manages to keep a mostly positive attitude.

Originally wanted to go to medical school but didn’t like the idea of having to spend so much of her youth in school. Decided on nursing—she felt that she could make a better positive impact doing that, anyway.

Paul Owen:

Graduated from Yale. Plastic Surgeon. Has his own practice but occasionally gets called in to the hospital the others work at to handle trauma cases.

Everything Patrick wanted to be. Has everything Patrick wanted to have—rich and beautiful clientele, a flexible work schedule, social prestige.

Well liked by his colleagues and his patients. Actually treats the nurses and other staff well.

Tim Price:

Cardiothoracic surgeon. Went to medical school with Patrick.He’s the closest thing to a friend Patrick has—they were roommates throughout med school

Patrick seems to almost look up to him in a way—probably because in his mind, he’s “higher status”and more successful.

Arrogant but generally tolerated by his colleagues.

Has slept with a lot of the nurses. By extension, has made a lot of enemies out of the nurses.

Completely unaware of Bateman’s…issues. He doesn’t think he’d have the spine to do anything too absurd, despite the malpractice lawsuits Bateman regularly complains to him about (thinks the patients are just trying to get money out of him, probably)

Still not a very nice guy, he says a lot of shit about his patients behind their backs that’s DEFINITELY a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality

Evelyn Richards:

Pharmaceutical sales rep. Met Patrick shortly after he graduated med school, went for him because he’s young, handsome, and has disposable income.

Comes from an already wealthy family.

Still having an affair with Price.

Squeamish—won’t let Patrick talk about any of the work he does. So much as the mention of a scalpel and she’s nauseous. Obviously, Patrick makes it a point to describe his cases in graphic detail because if this.

Courtney Lawrence

In administration. Also unaware of Patrick’s fuckass behavior.

Still dating Luis. Still cheating on Luis with Patrick.

Honestly, not much to change for her

Luis Carruthers

Psychiatrist. Frequently feels a bit left out since the others don’t regard him as a “real doctor”

Still very infatuated with Patrick

Liked by his patients, but regarded as a bit dense by his colleagues

Well liked by the nurses—occasionally brings in baked goods for them! One of the only ones out of the group that actually shows his appreciation for the non-MD members of the hospital staff

David Van Patten

Orthopedic surgeon, arrogant and jockish.

Went to med school because he was pressured into it by his family. Went into ortho because he thought it was “easiest”

Craig McDermott

ENT specialist. “Friends” with Patrick, although most of their interactions are petty squabbles and constant attempts at one-upping the other

Takes pride in his work, but mainly because he makes a lot of money. In medicine for basically the same reasons as Patrick, but is, y’know….normal about it.

Anyway that’s all I’ve got for now. This is super duper self indulgent LMAO

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A starving Palestinian child is examined by healthcare professionals in the Gaza Strip, a direct result of the Israeli occupation's closure of the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings, leading to a build-up of thousands of humanitarian aid trucks on the Egyptian side of the border. ]

🇵🇸 🚨

FAMINE RETURNS TO GAZA AS THE ISRAELI OCCUPATION CONTINUES CLOSURE OF BORDER CROSSINGS

According to an article published by the Palestinian media outlet SAMA News, United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine (UNRWA) media advisor, Adnan Abu Hasna, confirmed on Wednesday evening that "hunger is spreading in an unprecedented manner in the southern Gaza Strip."

Speaking with Al-ArabiTV, Abu Hasna stated that "famine has become a reality in the north and south of the Gaza Strip," noting that the collapse of the humanitarian aid system in Gaza is "inevitable" as a result of the Israeli closure of the border crossings in Rafah and elsewhere, preventing aid from entering the enclave.

On Wednesday, the Hamas resistance movement condemned the "Starvation Policy" being implemented by the Zionist entity, calling on Arab and Islamic countries to exert pressure on the occupation to open the crossings to humanitarian aid convoys.

In a statement issued by Hamas, the resistance movement stated that “At a time when the fascist occupation government continues its hideous massacres against defenseless civilians in the Gaza Strip; Our Palestinian people are facing, in parallel, an escalation of the brutal war of starvation, and an exacerbation of the humanitarian catastrophe and manifestations of famine in the Gaza Strip, especially in the Gaza and North Gaza Governorates, as a result of the occupation’s closure of the crossings, the meager number of aid trucks that are allowed to enter, and the unjust siege it imposes on the Gaza Strip, especially after its occupation of theRafah crossing, and forced its closure to the movement of individuals and aid."

The statement continues by stating, “The criminal occupation’s use of starvation as a weapon during this fascist aggression is a described war crime, and confirmation of its continuation of the crime of genocide against our Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip, with bombing, massacres, and starvation, in full view of the entire world, in flagrant violation of all international laws.”

“We call on our Arab and Islamic countries to exert efforts and pressure to open the crossings to provide relief to our people in Gaza. We also call on the international community, the United Nations and its institutions to intervene immediately, to oblige the government of the fascist enemy to stop its barbaric aggression against innocent civilians, and to impose the entry of aid and relief materials into all areas of the Gaza Strip, which It faces famine and unprecedented humanitarian conditions, as a result of the occupation’s measures and the brutal Zionist killing and terror machine," the resistance movement added.

June 12th, 2024.

#source

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

for your poem/story (pt. 3/4)

After-born - born after a certain event (as a father's death or the execution of a will)

Aliunde - from another source

Alluvion - material (as clay, silt, sand, or gravel) deposited by running water

Bona fide - characterized by good faith and lack of fraud or deceit; being real or genuine, sincere

Brain death - the final stopping of activity in the central nervous system especially as indicated by a flat electroencephalogram for a usually statutorily predetermined period of time

Cas fortuit - fortuitous event (i.e., an event of natural or human origin that could not have been reasonably foreseen or expected and is out of the control of the persons concerned)

Choice of evils defense - a defense to a criminal charge based on the assertion that the criminal act was committed to avoid the commission of an even greater evil

Civil fruit - the revenue derived from property especially by virtue of an obligation (as a lease)

Death with dignity law - a law legalizing the self-administration by a terminally ill person of life-ending medication prescribed by a physician; also called "right-to-die law"

Defalcation - failure to account for or pay over money that has been entrusted to one's care; a failure to meet a promise or an expectation

Embracery - an attempt to influence a jury corruptly

Evidentiary harpoon - evidence consisting especially of a police officer's statement that is improper and is knowingly offered by the prosecution to prejudice the defendant in the eyes of the jury

Ex aequo et bono - according to what is equitable and good

Excited utterance - a statement that concerns a startling event (as a physical assault) and that is made by a person while under stress caused by the event

Featherbedding - the unfair labor practice of causing an employer to pay for services which are not performed (as by requiring more workers than necessary)

Feticide - the act of causing the death of a fetus

Fishing expedition - an investigation that does not stick to a stated objective but hopes to uncover incriminating or newsworthy evidence

Flagrante delicto - in the very act of committing a misdeed; also: in the midst of sexual activity

Flat rule - a generalized rule applied without consideration for specific circumstances; called also "per se rule"

Gift inter vivos - a gift made during the lifetime of the donor and delivered with the intent of surrendering immediately and irrevocably dominion and control over the property

Hedonic damages - damages deemed to compensate for the loss of enjoyment of life resulting from a wrongful act

Inadvertent discovery - unexpected finding of incriminating evidence in plain view by the police

Mental cruelty - conduct by one spouse that renders the other's life miserable and unendurable and that is a ground for divorce

Mens rea - a culpable mental state

Noscitur a sociis - a doctrine or rule of construction: the meaning of an unclear or ambiguous word (as in a statute or contract) should be determined by considering the words with which it is associated in the context

Pecuniary - consisting of, measured in, or relating to money

Peonage - labor in a condition of servitude to extinguish a debt

Perils of the sea - perils that are peculiar to the sea but are of such an extraordinary nature and power that one cannot guard against them using ordinary skill and prudence

Quashal - an act of quashing something

Riparian - of or relating to or living or located on the bank of a watercourse (as a river or stream) or sometimes a lake

Scintilla - a small trace or barely perceptible amount of something (as evidence supporting a position)

Silent witness theory - a theory or rule in the law of evidence; photographic evidence (as photographs or videotapes) produced by a process whose reliability is established may be admitted as substantive evidence of what it depicts without the need for an eyewitness to verify the accuracy of its depiction

Vulture fund - an investment company that buys up bankrupt or insolvent companies with the goal of reorganizing them so they can be profitably resold as going concerns

Wrongful conception - a malpractice claim brought by the parents of a healthy but unwanted child usually against a physician or health-care provider for alleged negligence in performing a sterilization or abortion procedure and sometimes against a pharmacist or pharmaceutical manufacturer of contraceptives; also called "wrongful pregnancy"

Youthful offender - a young person (as one within a statutorily specified age range) who commits a crime but is granted special status entitling him or her to a more lenient punishment (as one involving probation or confinement in a special youth correctional facility) than would otherwise be available

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Law-Related Words ⚜ Word Lists

[kallie-den]

A Commanding Weakness Ch. 11

An Alliance admiral comes to tour the Inyx - and finds an Alliance starship that has entirely succumbed to a twisted, unfamiliar, and hopelessly lewd new form of common sense and military hierarchy

The grand finale!

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated

---

Admiral Portia Stoyer took the onset of artificial gravity in stride as she descended the boarding ramp from her personal, high-spec shuttle down into the hangar bay of the Inyx. It had been a long journey out to the rim, and it was always a relief to be back under gravity—even if, now that her hair was turning gray, some of her joints seemed to prefer the weightlessness of the void. But Admiral Stoyer had absolutely no plans to retire yet. She remained razor sharp, and she knew her reputation as the hard-ass who had mentored Captain Vasser preceded her. For her and her protégé in the Alliance starfleet, there were still a lot of rungs left to climb.

Especially now that Captain Vasser had successfully captured Wasp, the most infamous vandal-hacker in the Alliance.

Admiral Stoyer had received the transmission while she was already en route. Sure enough, upon her arrival, she’d seen Wasp’s infamous ship just across the hangar bay. Presumably now, with its mission complete, the Inyx would soon be returning to populated space, but she had decided to carry out her inspection regardless. It was merited after such an arduous tour, and there was nothing wrong with letting the victorious crew take a victory lap in front of a member of the Admiralty.

Not that she’d go easy on them, of course. An inspection was still an inspection, and Admiral Stoyer knew that, in her neat, highly-decorated uniform, she cut a formidable figure. Once the venting coolant steam cleared, she expected to see only the most upright backs and stiffest salutes from the honor guard that would be there to greet her.

Instead of an honor guard, though, at the bottom of the ramp, only one person was waiting for the admiral. A woman she recognized from the crew files as the ship’s doctor, Yuzuko Hiraga.

“Doctor Hiraga, I believe?” the admiral called out, stepping off the ramp, face pressed into a displeased frown. “There better be a good reason you’re the only one who-“

She paused to deepen her frown as she took note of what the doctor was wearing.

The long, white lab coat was regulation. The garment Dr. Hiraga had on underneath was anything but. It was a bodysuit that covered her from neck to ankles, and clung to her form so tightly it was plainly completely inappropriate for a medical professional. But what truly caught Admiral Stoyer’s eye was the way the strange, featureless bodysuit reflected the hangar bay’s rows of dim, blue, artificial lights up and down her torso. It was made of some kind of taut material—Rubber? Latex? The admiral wasn’t sure—and polished to a mirror shine, lending it an unfamiliar, almost alien look. An undeniably fetishistic look, too.

The doctor was even wearing high heels, equally polished and reflective. Heels! It was ridiculous.

“Admiral Stoyer.” Dr. Hiraga saluted the admiral with perfect form, as if nothing were amiss. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Inyx, ma’am.”

“I’d say ‘it’s a pleasure to be here’, but that now appears to be in doubt,” Admiral Stoyer replied testily. “Doctor, before I express my displeasure with your flagrant disregard for uniform regulations, how about you explain to me why Captain Vasser isn’t here to greet me?”

Irritatingly, the icy glare that had ruined the day of many an Alliance cadet failed to make the doctor flinch. “She sends her apologies,” Dr. Hiraga said calmly. “Unfortunately, an alien pathogen has recently been detected aboard the ship. To minimize the risk of infection, the captain decided that I should meet you alone so that I can administer the countermeasure.”

“An alien pathogen?” Admiral Stoyer narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t in any of the reports.”

The doctor remained unfazed. When Admiral Stoyer studied her more closely, the only thing she could read in Dr. Hiraga’s face was the faintest hint of a pink, somewhat lurid blush in her cheeks. Was she getting off on what she was wearing?

“May I administer the inoculation?” Dr. Hiraga asked, smiling.

“Inoculation?” Something about this was setting Admiral Stoyer’s nerves on edge. It had been a few years since her last combat and her instincts were growing dull, but perhaps they were trying to tell her something.

“A simple procedure.” Dr. Hiraga reached into one of the pockets of her lab coat and pulled out a medical device; a hypospray with a long, wickedly pointed tip. “It’ll only take a moment.”

For a long moment, Admiral Stoyer considered arguing. All of this was, after all, entirely against standard procedure. Something was obviously wrong aboard the Inyx—but, she reasoned, if there truly was an alien pathogen, perhaps the captain had seen fit to impose unusual measures. Limiting contact made sense. Dr. Hiraga’s bodysuit still didn’t, but Admiral Stoyer hadn’t come all this way to argue with a mere medical officer. Better, she decided, to simply get this over with and proceed with her inspection.

At the end of the day, Yvonne Vasser was a top-notch commanding officer. Admiral Stoyer was sure she could trust her to have matters under control.

“Very well,” Admiral Stoyer said gruffly. “Make it quick, doctor.”

“Of course.” The blush in Dr. Hiraga’s cheeks deepened as she stepped toward the admiral and brandished the hypospray. “In your ear, if you please. And don’t worry. I assure you, the implant is completely painless.”

A few minutes later, Admiral Stoyer came back to herself. She was still standing on the same spot, but she was struck with the sudden awareness that she had lost time. It was as if she had just fallen asleep and woken back up. Her vision was stained with swirling, bright patterns, like the kind she might see behind her eyelids if she closed them after staring straight into a bright light, and her ears rang with an unfamiliar voice, the memory of which was already slipping away from her.

It had to be the procedure, Admiral Stoyer decided. Painless, perhaps, but clearly not free of all discomfort. That was something else she’d need to have words with Dr. Hiraga about later.

Something… else?

Admiral Stoyer frowned. For a moment, that strange voice in her ear seemed to surge, becoming deafening, whispering suggestions to her—although somehow the words themselves remained indistinct. The colors surged too, and the admiral briefly lost track of her own thoughts as the world around her seemed to fade away, and she was left floating in space, staring at a great, shifting spiral as if she was looking down from above the galactic plane itself.

Then the moment passed, and Admiral Stoyer was left picking up the pieces of herself.

Something else? What else? What else about Dr. Yuzuko Hiraga might give Admiral Stoyer cause for complaint? She couldn’t seem to remember. When she looked at the doctor with fresh eyes, hoping to remind herself, Admiral Stoyer certainly couldn’t find anything to pull her up on.

Dr. Hiraga was every inch the perfect Alliance medical officer. Her fetish latex bodysuit was precisely tight and taut enough to show off her shapely tits and gorgeous thighs, and it had been studiously polished to a faultless sheen. And her heels! They were six-inch platform heels, and lent Dr. Hiraga both an eye-catching height and an unmistakably sultry fuck-me gait that she carried off without the slightest hint of faltering.

It was all completely normal for an Alliance starship’s medical officer.

Exemplary, even. Dr. Hiraga was the very model of a ship’s doctor. As Admiral Stoyer considered her appearance, she found her mood softening. A little discomfort and disorientation following a necessary medical procedure wasn’t the doctor’s fault, and it would be childish to hold it against her. Admiral Stoyer decided to favor her with a rare, slight smile.

“Thank you, doctor,” Admiral Stoyer said. She found herself suddenly in a charitable mood. “I’m grateful to you for your diligent performance of your duties in these difficult circumstances. I can see that you’ve dealt with this alien pathogen with the utmost care. I shall personally see to it that you’re commended for it.”

“T-thank you, ma’am.”

Admiral Stoyer had expected a smile, but not the breathless gasp of barely-constrained pleasure that escaped Dr. Hiraga’s lips. It was as if she was both guilty, and drawing pleasure from her own guilt. Admiral Stoyer’s smile widened. It did her heart good to see a junior officer taking such obvious reward from her superior’s praise. It was just as it should be.

“However,” Admiral Stoyer qualified, “it remains to be seen whether the rest of this ship still performs at those same high standards—especially given the unorthodox way I have been greeted. I will expect a full report.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Dr. Hiraga replied, pulling herself together and saluting. “I’ll take you to Captain Vasser at once.”

“No,” Admiral Stoyer countered. “Take me to the prisoner instead. Interrogating Wasp is of the highest priority.”

“Oh, well,” Dr. Hiraga said, a touch mysteriously. “Either way, I’ll be taking you to the same place.”

Before Admiral Stoyer could ask that she explain herself, the doctor turned and began leading her away, her heels clacking loudly on the deck beneath as she walked. The admiral quickly made to follow her. Everything, she decided, would become clear in time.

“The nearest turbolifts are out of order,” Dr. Hiraga said, as they stepped out of the hangar bay and into the ship’s bulkheads. “I’m afraid we will need to walk a little.”

“That’s fine,” Admiral Stoyer told her. “All the better to see how things are running around here.”

Sure enough, as they walked, they passed various other members of the crew as they rushed from place to place in pursuit of their regular duties. Each one, without fail, took note of Admiral Stoyer’s uniform and rank and greeted her with a crisp salute. The admiral could find no fault in their conduct, even if some of them seemed to be behaving a little strangely with one another. More than a few of them were wearing unusual items of clothing or carrying strange items, and members of the crew that were in pairs of groups often seemed unusually close and touchy with one another. The atmosphere aboard the Inyx was strange; charged, somehow, but it was nothing Admiral Stoyer could put her finger on and nothing that violated Alliance regulations.

Until they ran across the Inyx’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Kuznetzov.

Admiral Stoyer had met the lieutenant once before, when the Inyx had first been commissioned into service. She had immediately formed a positive impression of the woman. Kuznetzov had struck Admiral Stoyer in two ways: first as a serious, no-nonsense, highly-professional commander, and secondly, as a handsome, butch woman with a stark, spartan sense of style.

The woman standing before Admiral Stoyer now no longer matched either of those descriptions.

Lieutenant Kuznetzov and her companion were leaning against a nearby bulkhead, and the lieutenant’s outfit and pose made it perfectly clear that she was trying to attract attention to herself. She was wearing a short, skimpy, frilly minidress that was, it seemed, somehow meant to serve as a uniform; it carried all the appropriate markings and trimmings, even if in form it was wildly inappropriate. The lieutenant was wearing heeled sandals with them, and was leaning on the wall with one leg propped up against it, her back arched to accentuate her figure. She had grown out her hair markedly and, most strikingly of all, was wearing a full face of makeup. She didn’t look like an Alliance commander. She looked like a woman who was out at a bar and didn’t intend to go home alone.

But strangely, it was clear that Lieutenant Kuznetzov was utterly wracked with shame about everything she was doing. Her face was entirely scarlet, and she twitched whenever anybody so much as looked at her. It was almost as if she was being forced to present herself this way against her will—but as Admiral Stoyer watched, a passing crewman wolf-whistled at her, and Lieutenant Kuznetzov moaned softly in response. And beneath the skirt of her dress, Admiral Stoyer was sure it was Kuznetzov’s own dripping wetness that left her thighs slick and sticky.

There was no doubt about it. She was getting off on it.

“Lieutenant Kuznetzov!” Admiral Stoyer called out sharply, coming to a halt. She was far too appalled by this behavior to let it pass without comment. “What is the meaning of this?”

She frowned as, in response to her scrutiny, Lieutenant Kuznetzov both shrank into herself and shivered with rapturous pleasure. But before the lieutenant could speak, her companion answered for her.

“What does it look like?” the other woman laughed, smirking maliciously as she reached over and slipped an arm across Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s shoulder. “Turns out, LT-K here is a real feminization freak. It drives her wild. Can you believe it?”

Admiral Stoyer’s frown broke into an outright scowl as she turned to regard the dirtbag who had, it seemed, been hitting on Lieutenant Kuznetzov. She looked a little messy and more than a little tomboyish, and her red uniform indicated she was nothing more than a petty crewman. How dare she speak to an admiral that way?

“What’s your name, crewman?” Admiral Stoyer growled.

“Lori Delaney, ma’am,” Crewman Delaney threw out. “’Fraid you’ll have to find your own fun, if that’s what you’re looking for. I saw her first. Isn’t that right, Semya?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov blushed and squeaked at Delaney’s insubordinate use of her name, and then moaned loudly as the petty crewman reached even further around her to rest her hand on her chest and start groping it wantonly. Admiral Stoyer wasn’t sure what disgusted her most: how incapable Kuznetzov was of standing up for herself, or how openly she was enjoying this rough treatment.

What was going on aboard this ship? And why did none of the other crewmen who kept passing by seem to regard all this as anything out of the ordinary?

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re talking about,” Admiral Stoyer bellowed, “but I can promise you, crewman, you’re gonna get hell for this kind of behavior! You think this is funny? I know for a fact that Captain Vasser doesn’t tolerate this kind of bullshit on her ship!”

“Vasser?” Delaney snorted, still smirking with impunity. “Oh boy. That’s cute. You really have no idea.” She paused for a moment, looked at Admiral Stoyer more closely, then suddenly leaned in with a swaggering, leering grin on her face. “Say, you’re actually kind of my type. I love stuck-up command crew chicks. Bet you’ve got a killer body under that admiral’s getup. How about you just get in line? As soon as I’ve satisfied Semya, I’d love to take you for a walk on the wild side.”

Admiral Stoyer’s fury burned incandescent. She was just about ready to raise a hand to the crewman.

“Forget a write-up,” she snarled. “Forget being drummed out. I’ll see to it that you spend the rest of the voyage in the brig—and worse, after that you’ll-“

Her voice died away when that other voice, the one whispering from inside her head, rose to meet it.

The colors, too. It was back again, dancing before Admiral Stoyer’s eyes. That spiral. That vast spiral. It drew her in with a force stronger than any gravity, and shone with such a compelling, ever-shifting light that Admiral Stoyer’s efforts to make out the words being poured in her ears were utterly forgotten.

For a brief moment, though, as her eyes unfocused and her muscles slackened, Admiral Stoyer felt herself on the verge of a strange kind of clarity. A distinct sense of wrongness crept up her spine, warning her that something—everything—was terribly distorted. It was an instinct born of years of combat. Admiral Stoyer reached for it, but it slipped out of grasp before she could seize it, and then it pulled away, deeper and deeper, leaving her squirming, helpless, and anxious, until she-

Until she woke up again.

Admiral Stoyer’s brow twitched. What had just happened? A dizzy spell, perhaps? A small side-effect of the doctor’s procedure?

The admiral shrugged it off. It was nothing.

There were far more pressing matters at hand. Crewman Lori Delaney was still looking at the admiral expectantly, a dirty, shit-eating grin on her face. Anger—or rather, the memory of anger—rose within Admiral Stoyer.

What had Delaney been saying? That she wanted to fuck her?

The anger faded. Why would Admiral Stoyer get angry about that? It was perfectly normal.

Traditional, even. Finding a captain or admiral extremely fuckable was just another form of loyalty. What kind of commander didn’t want to be admired like that? Admiral Stoyer could see that Semya Kuznetzov certainly did. And why not? She was hot, and the admiral was sure having a pretty, pliable femme like her around was good for morale.

“Well?” Delaney asked, staring nakedly at the admiral’s body. “Want to let me show you a good time, hot stuff?”

“Maybe later,” Admiral Stoyer replied good-naturedly. Her face relaxed. “I’m afraid that right now I must see to Vasser and the prisoner.”

Delaney threw back her head and howled with filthy laughter. “Fucking fantastic. She’s got to you already, huh? I love it. It’s always hottest with the stern discipline types. Can’t wait to see what ‘the prisoner’ makes out of you.”

Admiral Stoyer laughed along with her, even though the joke eluded her. She was very pleased to see Captain Vasser had managed to keep her crew in such high spirits, even on such a long and tiresome mission. Along with the quality of her medical officer, it attested to her mettle as a leader.

“Shall we keep going, ma’am?” offered Dr. Hiraga, who had been waiting patiently from a few paces away.

“Yes, of course,” Admiral Stoyer replied, turning away. “Goodbye, crewman. And Lieutenant Kuznetzov, I’m sure we will speak further soon.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded and tried to offer a salute, but she collapsed moaning into Lori Delaney's arms when the petty crewman snaked a hand under her skirt and started finger-fucking her cunt.

As Admiral Stoyer and Dr. Hiraga walked away, the corridor was filled with the sounds of sex, and the admiral failed to suppress a smile. It did her heart good to see such a virile crew.

After walking a little further through the Inyx’s winding depths, an open door and a strange conversation caught Admiral Stoyer’s attention and called her to a halt.

“As you stare into my pocket watch,” someone was saying, in a voice that was deep yet feminine, lightly accented, and utterly assured, “and as you take deeper and deeper breaths, you feel all strength draining from your limbs. From your muscles. Leaving you weaker and weaker.”

Admiral Stoyer paused and peered into the open cabin. Two women were inside; one of them, she knew immediately to be Samira Carter, the Inyx’s security officer. There was no mistaking her; the woman was built like a bull and was wearing a simple tank top to better show off her physique. It was the kind of thing Admiral Stoyer usually rolled her eyes at. Security officers were the same on every ship.

This time, though, she could only stare in wide-eyed surprise at what was going on. The other woman she only vaguely recognized from the Inyx’s crew files. She was the counselor, Admiral Stoyer thought. Alara something. She had only glanced at the listings of non-combat roles. In any case, she was an older woman with rich, brown hair, tanned skin, and a matronly figure.

None of that was unusual. What was unusual was what she was doing to Chief Carter. The counselor was swinging a pocket watch steadily in front of the chief’s face with a look of utmost, sadistic glee writ large on her features. Chief Carter’s expression, by contrast, registered nothing more than slack, helpless emptiness. In one hand, in her upturned palm, she was holding a small book that the counselor seemed to have given her. Strangely, Chief Carter seemed to be straining every muscle just to keep it aloft. It was as if, to her, it weighed as much as a colossal dumbbell.

“Weaker and weaker,” Alara repeated. There was a distinct, rhythmic quality to her words that tugged at Admiral Stoyer’s awareness, like the undertow of a powerful river. It sent chills down her spine. “With each passing moment. You’re finding you can barely lift your hand, aren’t you? All that strength, all those muscles you’ve been building—it’s all useless, isn’t it?” The sinister glint in Alara’s eyes made her look like the farthest thing from a benevolent counselor. “You’re so pathetically weak, Chief Carter.”

Her words had a profound effect on the hypnotized chief. As Alara spoke, Chief Carter seemed, indeed, to grow weaker and weaker. She quivered and shook, like her muscles were reaching the very limits of her strength. After just a few moments, her arm began to sink, forced by gravity to bring the small book lower and lower, all while the security chief sweated and strained as hard as she could.

Seeing such a strong woman overcome by mere words was already shocking. But not nearly as shocking as the fact that Chief Carter was so clearly turned on by the experience.

Beneath the blank, slack mask of her face, it was unmistakable. She glowed with arousal, and Admiral Stoyer could tell the sweat drenching her body was from more than just struggle. This was something obscene. Something twisted. The admiral was sure of it, and she couldn’t tolerate such depravity going on in plain sight on an Alliance starship.

She took a step toward the cabin doorway, ready to raise her voice acrimoniously.

Until the spiral appeared before her eyes, and once again drained away all of her thoughts. A whispering, indistinct voice stole away her feelings, too, leaving Admiral Stoyer little more than a blank slate onto which the voice could impart an entirely new set of sensibilities.

A few moments later, once Admiral Stoyer came to, she looked through the cabin doorway—and a broad smile came to her face.

It was truly touching to see that the Inyx had a counselor who was so passionate and so engaged with the crew.

Admiral Stoyer had, at first, been taken aback by the open door. It had struck her as a lapse of privacy. But now she was realizing that the counselor’s openness was, in fact, a virtue. She quite literally had an open-door policy—what better way than to encourage the crew to be open about their psychological issues? It was a new approach, and surely very progressive.

Just like whatever she was doing with Chief Carter. Admiral Stoyer didn’t fully understand, but she couldn’t help but be impressed. She’d have to ask Alara about it later. For now, though, she was reluctant to disturb the pair. As Alara gripped Chief Carter’s chin and forced her to her knees, whimpering and as helpless as a newborn kitten, Admiral Stoyer turned away contentedly and left the two of them to their therapy.

“My apologies, doctor,” Admiral Stoyer said, catching up to Dr. Hiraga. “My inspection distracts me—although I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that I’m struggling to find cause for complaint.”

“I certainly am, ma’am,” Dr. Hiraga replied. Her mouth was a crooked, lopsided line, like she was struggling to maintain her grip on her guilt and arousal. It was as if she was drawing a kind of twisted pleasure from leading Admiral Stoyer deeper into the bowels of the Inyx. From leading her closer and closer to Wasp. “Shall we continue?”

“Of course. Take me straight to the prisoner.”

After a little more walking, they reached a set of turbolifts. Dr. Hiraga led Admiral Stoyer inside and, curiously, punched in a command to take them to the bridge deck. Admiral Stoyer’s brow furrowed. Surely they ought to have been heading down, toward the brig? She elected not to question the doctor, though. So far, she had proven to be an excellent guide. The admiral was sure Dr. Hiraga was taking her exactly where she needed to go.

Soon enough, the lift arrived at the bridge deck and both of them stepped out. As they headed toward the bridge, Admiral Stoyer couldn’t help but notice that the behavior of the Inyx’s crew members was becoming more and more unorthodox. The admiral kept noticing crewmen who were blatantly, obscenely flouting uniform regulations in a dizzying range of different ways. Groups of them were clustering together, pressed up against one another, passionately engaged in activities Admiral Stoyer couldn’t even fathom. The corridors of the Inyx were filled with sounds of kissing and tonguing and the scent of sex—and it seemed to the admiral that the chain of command meant little with regard to who was taking the lead in any of the crew’s activities.

All of it bothered Admiral Stoyer. But she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t seem to put her finger on it. All of what she was seeing was perfectly normal, wasn’t it?

Perhaps Captain Vasser would be able to explain everything. Admiral Stoyer had intended to speak to Wasp first, but now that Dr. Hiraga had led her to the bridge, she was a little unsure whether or not she should expect to see the captain right now.

Once the two of them stepped through the door and onto the bridge, everything became nightmarishly clear.

The bridge was an orgiastic riot of fetishism and flesh. As she set foot into the space, the penny dropped—but even as the horror of the situation dawned on Admiral Stoyer, she was so stunned, she could do nothing but stare in open-mouthed shock. Everywhere she looked, crewmen were fucking. Every surface was slick and sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids, or else covered in heaving, intertwined bodies. Most of them were doing things the admiral had thought only existed in the imaginations of pornographers.

And all of them, when Admiral Stoyer looked closely, turned out to have strange, blank expressions on their faces, and their eyes shone with a spiraling inner light that suggested they were not at all in control of themselves.

“What…” Admiral Stoyer gasped as, for the first time in her career, she was truly lost for words. “What the…”

She turned to Dr. Hiraga, hoping, at least, for some kind of solidarity in shock, but she found the doctor completely unmoved by what was happening on the bridge. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying it. The look on her face was one of dreamy, lurid fascination.

The admiral glanced down at what the doctor was wearing. Why hadn’t she noticed how strange it was? Why hadn’t that registered with her earlier? It was as if she’d been sleepwalking—until the shock of what was happening on the bridge had jolted her awake.

Clearly, Dr. Hiraga wasn’t the only senior member of the crew to have succumbed to whatever madness had gripped the Inyx. Scanning the bridge, multiple familiar faces stood out to Admiral Stoyer from the crowd.

Penny Morgan, the science officer, was making a performance of herself, strutting about and posing while dressed up in a ridiculous, frilly, brightly-colored costume that had no place on a starship. She was leading around a small crowd of other women, all of whom were dressed similarly, conducting and choreographing them in some kind of twisted, unmistakably erotic performance.

Uma Vilchis, who Admiral Stoyer faintly remembered as the mess officer, was dressed up in almost nothing at all except for a set of intricate red ropes that were bound taut around her plump physique. She had been placed at the helm, at the focal point of the entire room, posed like a statue, inviting attention—and from the wetness dripping down her soft legs, it was clear she was eagerly enjoying it all.

A promising young engineer whose file had caught Admiral Stoyer’s eye—Sai Kabir, she believed she was called—was there too. She was naked from the waist up and bent over a command station so that her obscenely large tits hung down from her like a cow’s udders. Other members of the crew kept walking up to her and groping, squeezing, sucking, slapping—whatever they pleased, or else simply pointing and staring in lascivious awe. Each and every reaction made Engineer Kabir squirm and writhe with mad, shameful pleasure.

Each, somehow, was more obscene than the last. But the greatest spectacle of all was in the dead center of the bridge. Once she looked at the captain’s chair, Admiral Stoyer found she could not look away.

In it, in the eye of a pornographic storm, conducting the madness, sat the one and only Wasp.

Admiral Stoyer recognized her immediately from her techno-punk trappings and her distinctive shock of neon green hair. Wasp recognized Admiral Stoyer too; that much was immediately clear from the smug grin on her face. She was sitting in the captain’s chair with complete ease, slouched back, legs spread wide apart. One of the Inyx’s crew was kneeling in front of her, licking her tall, heeled boots. That made the admiral’s skin crawl.

“Oh, hey, boss lady,” Wasp threw out, with impossible smugness. “Didn’t even see you come in.”

As Admiral Stoyer stared at the hacker, she felt her forehead pulsating dangerously and her eyes beginning to bulge. The scene before her was something akin to sacrilege. She couldn’t tolerate it.

“Get out of that chair,” the admiral growled, though her words were barely audible over the obscene sounds that filled the bridge.

“What was that?” Wasp drawled. “Anyway, sorry for not rolling out the red carpet! I know you’re the cap’s boss, but the thing is, since I arrived I’ve been having way too much fun to-“

“Get the hell out of that chair!” Admiral Stoyer bellowed with such force it silenced the hacker. “That seat belongs to one person, and one person alone: Captain Yvonne Vasser. She damn well earned it! And I’m sure when she finds you sitting in it, you’re gonna have hell to pay from her and me both!”

Infuriatingly, Wasp didn’t so much as quiver. She simply shrugged and gestured down to the floor in front of her.

“Actually, I don’t think she’ll mind,” she said. “But if you really want, you can ask her yourself.”

Her gesture prompted Admiral Stoyer to look more closely at the woman kneeling in front of Wasp. Once she peered through the layers of sweat and drool, through the perverse fanaticism on her face, through the blank, brainwashed look in her eyes, she realized—it was Captain Vasser. Licking Wasp’s boot like it was her life’s greatest pleasure.

It was then that the true danger of the situation became clear. If a woman as formidable as Yvonne Vasser could succumb to this madness, then anyone could.

Even Admiral Stoyer herself.

At once, she made a decision. She would not indulge Wasp’s villainy for a moment longer. The admiral was outnumbered, but she could still take the hacker by surprise. And she had her blaster on her hip.

Admiral Stoyer whipped her hand around to draw. As soon as her fingertips touched her weapon, it happened again.

The spiral.

The admiral blinked suddenly, confused by the strange blip in her awareness. How much time had just passed? What had just happened? Had she fallen asleep or something? Why was her head throbbing, filled with auras of strange, swirling colors?

And why was her hand on her blaster?

Admiral Stoyer took a deep breath and then made herself relax. She couldn’t fathom why she seemed so tense.

Everything was perfectly normal.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” the admiral said, a touch embarrassed. “I think I was… um…”

“A little confused?” Wasp supplied. Admiral Stoyer nodded gratefully. “Don’t mention it.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Stoyer replied. “I can see that I’ll have nothing but praise to put in my report to the admiral’s board. The Inyx complies, as ever, with the highest standards of the Alliance.”

The admiral wasn’t sure why Wasp started laughing at her. It was perfectly true.

The Alliance had always prized itself on its commitment to its values—chief among them, respect for individual rights and the rules of engagement. That was why it was only natural to put a prisoner in the captain’s chair, and to put them in charge of the ship.

What was the alternative? Keeping them locked in the brig? Telling them what to do? No. It was inhumane. Unthinkable.

This was the right way to handle a prisoner. Admiral Stoyer was truly proud of her protégé for recognizing as much.

Admittedly, however, Captain Vasser’s behavior still bothered her a little. “Excuse me,” Admiral Stoyer ventured politely, pointing. “Why is the captain doing that? Doesn’t she have more important matters to attend to?”

Once again, Wasp simply laughed. “No way,” she scoffed. “She’s not even the captain anymore.”

Admiral Stoyer frowned. “She’s not?”

“Nope.” Wasps shrugged. “I, uh… what do you military types call it… relieved her of her duties!”

“Oh.” Admiral Stoyer nodded slowly. “Then, she’s-“

“I made her the Inyx’s Sexual Relief Officer.” Wasp’s grin turned wider and more wicked than ever. She sat forward in her chair, as if daring Admiral Stoyer to question her authority. She moved her feet around in doing so, forcing Vasser to scamper to plant her lips back on her boot. “She’s responsible for the sexual needs of every single woman in this ship.”

“Oh.” After a moment, the confused expression on Admiral Stoyer’s face melted away into a bright smile. “Of course. Naturally.”

In all honesty, the admiral felt foolish for having questioned it. She ought to have known better. Ensuring the crew had someone to fuck whenever they needed was a basic logistical requirement. It was indispensable for the proper functioning of any Alliance ship, and having an officer assigned specifically to the role was simply common sense. For the Inyx to have left port without one was quite the oversight.

It was very kind of Wasp to have ensured that position was filled. And it was characteristically diligent of Yvonne Vasser to have taken to her new post with such obvious, ravenous enthusiasm.

“Actually,” Wasp said, her voice tinged with something distinctly predatory. “Now that you’re on my ship, admiral, I think I’m going to have to assign you to the same position. Nothing personal, you understand. It’s just that I think you’ll be a perfect fit. And besides.” Somehow, her grin stretched wider still. “I have two boots.”

Without so much as an instant of hesitation, Admiral Stoyer stood at attention, saluted, and returned Wasp’s grin. “Happy to pitch in!” she announced.

And she was. In truth, at her age, she was extremely flattered to be given the assignment. Admiral Stoyer got down on her knees in front of Wasp. She could see to the rest of the crew later; it was simply common sense that, as a prisoner, Wasp’s needs came first. If she wanted her boots licked, that was exactly what Admiral Stoyer would do. It was only proper, for an Alliance admiral.

As in all things, she’d be sure to show ex-Captain Vasser how it was done.

When she pressed her lips to Wasp’s other boot, the hacker sat back in her chair and sighed contentedly. She was so glad to be here in the flesh at long last. Flitting about as a hologram had been fun, but it got old fast. Knowing she was making Vasser and her old boss kiss her feet was one thing. Feeling it was quite another.

And sitting in the captain’s chair of an Alliance starship, with all of its crew brainwashed to serve her? That was truly on another level.

Wasp could scarcely believe it had all started with one little human vulnerability: Captain Vasser’s all-consuming hypno fetish. Thanks only to that, Wasp had been able to leverage access to the ship’s holodeck into complete access to all of the ship’s systems and personnel.

The rest had been easy.

But what now? Wasp had never been one to rest on her laurels. She was always interested in the next gig. The next thrill.

Fortunately, one had fallen right into her lap.

She looked down at Admiral Stoyer, who now seemed to be competing with Captain Vasser over who could more eagerly lick her boots. The admiral had been just as easy as all the rest, but that didn’t mean seeing her like this wasn’t fun. Moreover, as an admiral, Stoyer had the kind of access Captain Vasser could only dream of.

Access to other ships. Access to space stations. Access to entire fleets.

And access to the Alliance’s entire holonet.

The mere thought was enough to stir Wasp to arousal and have her rubbing herself between her legs as she surveyed the decadence and debauchery going on all around her.

Oh yes. This was just the beginning.

---

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[eretzyisrael]

by Rafael Medoff

It may seem perplexing that anybody would criticize Israel’s rescue of four hostages from Gaza. But in 1976, there was criticism of Israel’s rescue of hostages from Entebbe, too. In June 1976, Palestinian Arab terrorists hijacked a French plane on its way to Israel and forced it to fly to the Entebbe airport in Uganda. There they released the non-Jewish passengers, and held the remaining 106 passengers and crew hostage, demanding the release of terrorists who were imprisoned in Israel. Ugandan dictator Idi Amin was deeply sympathetic to the terrorists, and Ugandan soldiers helped the hijackers guard the hostages. On July 4, Israeli commandos raided the airport and freed the hostages. All seven terrorists, and several dozen Ugandan soldiers, were killed. The only rescuer killed was the raid’s leader, Yonatan Netanyahu, brother of Israel’s current prime minister. Mrs. Dora Bloch, an elderly passenger who had been taken to a local hospital, was murdered there by Ugandan soldiers.Most of the world celebrated the rescue raid on Entebbe. But not everybody. The Organization of African Unity, consisting of several dozen African countries, accused Israel of “wanton aggression” and demanded reparations for damage to the airport. The Soviet and Chinese governments denounced what they called “the Zionist aggression.” United Nations Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim charged that Israel had committed a “serious violation of the sovereignty” of Uganda. A few years later, Waldheim’s past as a Nazi war criminal was exposed. (However, that did not prevent his election as president of Austria in 1986.) The Mexican government criticized Israel’s “flagrant violation” of Ugandan sovereignty, and declared its “firm rejection of the use of armed force by any state as a means of trying to solve conflicts.” The Mexican position was especially surprising because just months earlier, it had explicitly promised to refrain from anti-Israel policies. That promise was made in order to secure an end to the boycott of Mexico announced by Jewish organizations following its support of the infamous Zionism-is-racism resolution at the U.N. in 1975.The French government’s response to the Entebbe rescue was particularly troubling, given the fact that it was a French plane that was hijacked, and French crew members who were held hostage. The French Foreign Ministry issued a brief statement which expressed satisfaction at the rescue, but emphasized its condemnation of the casualties, almost all of whom were the terrorists or the soldiers who assisted them. A spokesperson for the Air France crew read a statement hailing President Amin for his “constant care to ensure our safety, our material comfort and even our health.” The statement appeared to have been dictated by French officials. The U.S. government publicly praised the Israeli rescue mission, but it also introduced an “even-handed” resolution at the U.N. Security Council. While condemning the hijacking, the resolution also affirmed “the need to respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of all States.” The resolution did not secure enough votes to pass, so it was withdrawn. At the same time — according to declassified documents — Secretary of State Henry Kissinger informed Israel’s ambassador in Washington that because the Israelis had used US equipment in the raid, “we will have to put a temporary freeze on military shipments.” Ambassador Simcha Dinitz replied: “You are kidding me.” Kissinger was not kidding. “