#in charge of pollution either

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June - 

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten. 

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?” 

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins. 

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton. 

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks. 

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.” 

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs. 

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!” 

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up. 

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do. 

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face. 

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her. 

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house. 

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house. 

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail. 

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it. 

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him. 

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years. 

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun. 

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves. 

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation. 

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink. 

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive. 

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though. 

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“ 

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more. 

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare. 

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh,  you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs. 

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge. 

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?” 

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. 

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!” 

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food. 

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout. 

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight. 

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission. 

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap. 

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up. 

“Does she know that?” 

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer. 

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!” 

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.  

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat. 

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?” 

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one. 

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s. 

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt. 

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door. 

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more. 

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it. 

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him. 

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall. 

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington. 

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.  

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch. 

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room. 

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway. 

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of. 

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen. 

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters. 

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget. 

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse. 

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light. 

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement. 

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat. 

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.” 

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. 

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him. 

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” 

“Is this the bad news?” 

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck. 

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?” 

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch. 

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath. 

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes. 

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A media literacy handbook for Israel-Gaza

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Media explainers are a cheap way to become an instant expert on everything from billionaire submarine excursions to hellaciously complex geopolitical conflicts, but On The Media's "Breaking News Consumers' Handbooks" are explainers that help you understand other explainers:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/segments/breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-and-gaza-edition-on-the-media

The latest handbook is an Israel-Gaza edition. It doesn't aim to parse fine distinctions over the definition of "occupation" or identify the source of shell fragments. Rather, it offers seven bullet points' worth of advice on weighing all the other news you hear about the war:

https://media.wnyc.org/media/resources/2023/Oct/27/BNCH_ISRAEL_GAZA_EDITION_1.pdf

I. "Headlines are obscured by the fog of war"

Headline writers have a hard job under the best of circumstances – trying to snag your interest in a few words. Headlines can't encompass all the nuance of a story, and they are often written by editors, not the writers who produced the story. Between the imperatives for speed and brevity and the broken telephone between editors and writers, it's easy for headlines to go wrong, even when no one is attempting to mislead you. Even reliable outlets will screw up headlines sometimes – and that likelihood goes way up in times like these. You gotta read the story, not just the headline.

II. Know red flags for bullshit

The factually untrue information that spreads furthest tends to originate with a handful of superspreader accounts. Whether these people are Just Wrong or malicious disinfo peddlers, they share a few characteristics that should trip your BS meter and prompt extra scrutiny:

High-frequency posting

Emotionally charged framing

Posts that purport to be summaries or excerpts from news outlets, but do not include links to the original

The phrase "breaking news" (no one has that many scoops)

III. Don't trust screenshots

Screenshots of news stories, tweets, and other social media should come with links to the original. It's just too damned easy to fake a screenshot.

IV. "Know your platform"

It used to be that Twitter got a lot of first-person accounts from people in the thick of crises, while Facebook and Reddit contained commentary and reposts. Today, Twitter is just another aggregator. This time around, there's lots of first-person, real-time reporting coming off Telegram (it runs well on old phones and doesn't chew up batteries). Instagram is widely used in both Israel and the West Bank.

V. "Crisis actors" aren't a thing

People who attribute war images to "crisis actors" are either deluded or lying. There's plenty of ways to distort war news, but paying people to pretend to be grieving family members is essentially unheard of. Any explanation that involves crisis actors is a solid reason to permanently block that source.

VI. There's plenty of ways to verify stuff that smells fishy

TinEye, Yandex and Google Image Search are all good tools for checking "breaking" images and seeing if they're old copypasta ganked from earlier conflicts (or, you know, video-games). The fact that an image doesn't show up in one of these searches doesn't guarantee its authenticity, of course.

VII. Think before you post

Israel-Gaza is the most polluted media pool yet. Don't make it worse.

There's plenty more detail on this (especially on the use of verification tools) in Brooke Gladstone's radio segment:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/episodes/on-the-media-breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-gaza-edition

The media environment sucks, and warrants skepticism and caution. But we also need to be skeptical of skepticism itself! As danah boyd started saying all the way back in 2018, weaponized media literacy leads to conspiratorialism:

https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2018/03/09/you-think-you-want-media-literacy-do-you.html

Remember, the biggest peddlers of "fake news" are also the most prolific users of the term. For a lot of these information warriors, the point isn't to get you to believe them – they'll settle for you believing nothing. "Flood the zone with bullshit" is Steve Bannon's go-to tactic, and it's one that his acolytes have picked up and multiplied.

It's important to be a critical thinker, but there's plenty of people who've figured out how to weaponize a critical viewpoint and turn it into nihilism. Remember, the guy who wrote How To Lie With Statistics was a tobacco industry shill who made his living obfuscating the link between smoking and cancer. It's absolutely possible to lie with statistics, but it's also possible to use statistics to know the truth, as Tim Harford explains in his 2021 must-read book The Data Detective:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

There's a world of difference between being misled and being brainwashed. A lot of today's worry about "disinformation" and "misinformation" has the whiff of a moral panic:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/10/are-we-having-a-moral-panic-over-misinformation.html

It's possible to have a nuanced view of this subject – to take steps to enure you're not being tricked without equating crude tricks like sticking a fake BBC chyron on a 10-year-old image with unstoppable mind-control:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/28/fog-o-war/#breaking-news

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

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

Ambulatory - capable of being altered

Attainder - the termination of the civil rights of a person upon a sentence of death or outlawry for treason or a felony

Bestiality - the crime of engaging in sexual relations with an animal

Blasphemy - the crime of insulting or showing contempt or lack of reverence for God or a religion and its doctrines and writings and especially God as perceived by Christianity and Christian doctrines and writings

Brownfield - a tract of land that has been developed for industrial purposes, polluted, and then abandoned

Clemency - willingness or ability to moderate the severity of a punishment (as a sentence); an act or instance of mercy, compassion, or forgiveness

Cold blood - a state of mind marked by premeditation and deliberateness—usually used in the phrase in cold blood

Concubinage - the relationship between persons who are cohabiting without the benefit of marriage

Days of grace - period of time beyond a scheduled date during which a required action (as payment of an obligation) may be taken without incurring the ordinarily resulting adverse consequences (as penalty or cancellation); also called "grace period"

Donation mortis causa - a donation that is to take effect on the donor's death and that is revocable

Ex maleficio - arising from wrongdoing; created by law in response to a wrongdoing

Exonerate - to relieve especially of a charge, obligation, or hardship; to clear from accusation or blame

Express malice - the knowledge that defamatory statements especially regarding a public figure are false

Extreme cruelty - behavior toward a spouse that involves physical violence or threats thereof, acts calculated to destroy the peace of mind or health of the spouse, or acts destructive of the purpose of the marriage

Floodgate - something serving to restrain an outburst (as of litigation)—usually used in pl.

Flotsam - floating wreckage of a ship or its cargo

Flying squad - a usually small standby group of people ready to move or act quickly; especially: a police unit formed to respond quickly in an emergency; called also "flying squadron"

Fourth degree - a grade given to less serious forms of crimes

Freedom of the seas - the right of a merchant ship to travel any waters except territorial waters either in peace or war

Golden parachute - an agreement providing for generous compensation to an executive upon dismissal

Great bodily injury - physical injury suffered by the victim of a violent crime that causes a substantial risk of death, extended loss or impairment of a body part or function, or permanent disfigurement; physical injury that is more serious than that ordinarily suffered in a battery

Indemnify - to secure against hurt, loss, or damage

Messuage - a dwelling house with the adjacent buildings and curtilage and other adjoining lands used in connection with the household

Moiety - half of something

Moot - deprived of practical significance; made abstract or purely academic

Next friend - a person appearing in or appointed by a court to act on behalf of a person (as a child) lacking legal capacity

Nunc pro tunc - now for then—used in reference to a judicial or procedural act that corrects an omission in the record, has effect as of an earlier date, or takes place after a deadline has expired

Primogeniture - the state of being the firstborn of the children of the same parents; exclusive right of inheritance

Prurient - marked by or arousing an unwholesome sexual interest or desire

Putative - thought, assumed, or alleged to be such or to exist

Sedition - the crime of creating a revolt, disturbance, or violence against lawful civil authority with the intent to cause its overthrow or destruction

Seriatim - in a series; individually in a sequence

Strictissimi juris - according to the strictest interpretation of the law

Wrongful death - a death caused by the negligent, willful, or wrongful act, neglect, omission, or default of another

Wrongful life - a malpractice claim brought by or on behalf of a child born with a birth defect alleging that he or she would never have been born if not for the negligent advice or treatment provided to the parents by a physician or health-care provider (Note: Wrongful life claims have usually been rejected by the courts. The injury is not the birth defect, but the life itself, and courts are reluctant to declare life an injury. A specific calculation of damages for wrongful life would entail affixing a monetary value to the difference between life in an impaired state and nonexistence. There is no legally established right not to be born.)

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

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 8 (5.3k words)

Summary: Valeria unsettles Y/N with her scheming during prison. Alejandro is the first to know about some disturbing news. Warnings: mentions the term "rape" but it doesn't happen in this fic!! It's just mentioned so a heads up. Also Valeria being kinda scary and toxic but like what's new. Also lesbian smut Note at the end Link to A03 Links to masterlist with all the parts

Valeria watched you sleep, your face softly illuminated by the moonlight that leaked through the casement window. The sounds of your soft breathing, watched as your chest moved up and down, as you burrowed your face to Valeria's side. Circumstances were grim at the moment, you'd been jailed for about a fortnight in less-than-ideal conditions. None of your normal luxuries were available, your favourite items; trinkets and creams, the beautiful things you liked to surround yourself with. And yet, you never complained, not even once. It was amazing how much women could adapt, Valeria thought. How they could mould themselves to survive under any conditions. Valeria thought you'd be complaining throughout your whole jail period, but you didn't. Not when the water turned cold in the showers, not at the filth that clung to these walls no matter how much they were scrubbed. You did not complain about the constant surveillance, the lack of space or how hard the bed was. Valeria knew that it was because you were kind and did not want to make her feel guilty. Valeria wasn't happy about these conditions either but a part of her enjoyed this more than she should be. The two of you were constantly together, it was more time than you spent together even back home. Without the interruptions of work, you clung close to each other like puppies in a litter. Valeria stroked your hair and looked up at the sky. It was full of stars, the facility was so far out in the country that there was no light pollution. Each star shone brightly, the sky was a map of blinking constellations and the occasional shooting star. Valeria closed her eyes and made a wish. When she opened them, she gazed at the moon. It was full to the brim, shining a light on all this darkness. Valeria felt the culmination of all her efforts. As the moon filled up in the sky, she counted down the days.

She thought back to the nights the two of you spent together when you first got together. When you'd run to the beach to see the moonlight glimmer on the water. A towel stretched beneath you, the two of you bathed beneath the moonlight, it shone on your skin and you glistened like a diamond. You looked beautiful, ethereal even. Like a creature that had emerged from the depths of the ocean, sweet and otherworldly, reaching the shore just to lure your love back to the water. If you were ever to enter the glistening water and entice Valeria to follow you, she knew she'd follow you to the deepest parts of the sea. Anything for you. Valeria felt the moon as a steady passage of time, she'd think of how much life changed since the last full moon. And now that she gazed down at you, she knew you were ready for your next part. You were unaware of what would happen, of course. Things would go back to the way they were before, with Valeria in charge of the business and the hard things. The bills, payments, money, property. And you could go back to your world of trinkets and beauty, to whatever wonderland existed within your mind. A wonderland that Valeria never wanted you to lose, a spectral place that she'd guard forever.

When morning came, you went through your current routine. Washing first, breakfast at the dinner area, and you were now taking your daily walk. It was a privilege Valeria had managed to extract from the management's claws. The two of you paced the courtyard, exercising your legs. Finally, you sat on a patch of sunlight, plucking at the dry weeds with your fingers and scattering the whispy remains into the air. "What's wrong, my love?" Valeria asked as she leaned against the wall, watching you. The wind carried the muffled yells of the men from their side of the courtyard, which was separated by a tall stone wall and barbed wire. It disturbed your peace. "Nothing," you mumbled and grabbed more weeds. Valeria took a big breath. She felt you enter one of your special moods, grumpy and touchy but ultimately attention-seeking. There were moments where, to her shock, you'd grow insecure or impatient. When you weren't getting something you wanted fast enough, or when a negative thought burrowed itself so deeply in your mind that you struggled to move on. "Having troubles in your little mind palace, princess?" Valeria cooed and pouted down at you. You looked up at her and frowned back. You returned to your weeds. "I want to go home." You said finally. It was the first time you'd expressed your displeasure. Guilt enveloped Valeria's heart and she tried to swallow it down. "I know, baby. I know." She said softly, looking away. "I'll get my period one of these days and I don't want to spend it here." You said and lay back on the grass. The sun shone on your face and your hair, and you glistened once more.

Valeria nodded and looked to the side where a guard stood, watching. She kept looking as the guard spoke to his radio and started making his way towards you. "If he tells us to go inside I'll start screaming," you said and turned to the side. You quietened down as the man approached. "Garza, you have a call." He said and looked at Valeria. She wanted to make him point out which of the two of you he meant since you'd taken Valeria's last name. But she knew it was petty and no one would make calls to you anyway. You stood up, alarmed. "Not you, you stay here till she comes back." He said and took Valeria with him. She waved back at you as she followed the man.

Valeria's hair had gotten slightly longer in the short time you'd been here. Her hair grew fast and thick, she needed regular trimmings and she maintained them religiously. You watched with enjoyment as her hair bounced to the side, it almost reached her shoulders. You tried imagining Valeria with long hair, she would look beautiful with it. But it wasn't her style, ultimately. As you saw her leave your line of sight, you wondered what she was up to. Probably scheming, she was always doing that. You thought back to your girlhood and what you'd imagine your future husband to be like. It was a husband because anything else was unimaginable. It was always a faceless man, a blank canvas where his face was. You'd tell your friends this was so because you were not shallow and did not care what he looked like. But really, it was because you couldn't think of him as real. No face would fit him, you just knew you were meant to look forward to this man, even though you could never see him standing next to you. You smiled at yourself, thinking of how your ideal husband was a wife. For the first time, you understood what people meant when they said that home was not a place, but a person.

You didn't know what had happened during Valeria's call, but she was in an ecstatic mood when she returned to you. There was a perpetual grin on her face and her eyes glistened with satisfaction for the rest of the day. Later, deep into the night when the prison was 'closed' for the day, she could no longer keep it to herself. Her elated mood was obvious from the rigour of her lovemaking. She fervently kissed your breasts, tugging at them with her hands, cupping them tightly and squeezing almost till they hurt. She left bite marks on your skin and hickeys on the sensitive spots that made you squirm. You tried keeping quiet throughout all these, biting your lower lip to suppress your moans from escaping. Valeria's fingers worked on you sweetly, caressing your wetness. She'd cover your mouth with hers when her touches made it impossible to keep quiet. Your cry of pleasure was muffled and safe in her mouth, where she'd lick and bite, unrelenting with her fervent passion. You came on her hand, her curled finger was still inside you when she whispered, "We're getting out." You blinked slowly, your lips red and pouty, your body still reeling from your orgasm. "Really?" You asked quietly. Valeria kissed you again. "Yes, my love." She said. "Is that what the call was about?" You asked and put your head on her shoulder. You caressed Valeria's chest, wanting to reciprocate. "Yes. But promise me one thing, Y/N."

You looked up at her. Valeria's cheeks were flushed, her mouth slightly agape and her lips glistened like rubies. "Whatever happens, don't ask any questions. You don't have to do anything. Just don't ask anything." You were acutely aware that her fingers were still inside of you as she started very slowly pulling them out and then reinserting them. It made you hum lightly and twitch from the inside. You mumbled your assent. "Say it, Y/N." Valeria mumbled, her fingers moving faster. "Yes," you whispered and felt that warm, tingly ball of pleasure in your lower stomach tighten again. "Yes what, Y/N?" Valeria teased and brought her face close to yours, her lips almost touching yours, her eyes gazing down at your own. Valeria's fingers entered with more force and involuntarily, your legs spread further apart. Valeria licked her lips. "Yes, I will." You said, half-dazed, wondering if that's what she wanted to hear from you. You sensed that there was no right answer right now. Her fingers pumped faster. "Will what, Y/N?" "Whatever you want, Val." You squirmed and tossed your head back in pleasure. "Whatever I want?" Valeria asked very slowly, giving you a small peck on the mouth. You nodded vigorously, unable to use your voice.

"I want your silence, amor. I mean it." She said and ceased moving. You pouted in disappointment and moved your lower body for any scraps of pleasure, when Valeria suddenly placed both her hands on your hips, firmly. She stopped your movements. Something dark and cold flashed in her eyes then. The tenderness in your intimate moment was lost, as though you'd been gazing at the soft ripples of a river and the water suddenly turned black; contaminated. Valeria held tightly onto your hips. "I've done something terrible, Y/N." Her whisper was so low you almost missed it, her words vanishing as they left her lips. She kept looking at your eyes but unseeing, she was looking at something else in her mind. For the first time, you were frightened of her. Not afraid that she'd hurt you, but afraid of what she'd done to protect you. You knew Valeria was capable of many awful things, you knew she was capable of incredible violence and that she'd hurt a lot of people in her lifetime. Valeria's closeness with chaos never disturbed you, it was second nature to her and you were blindly accepting of it. All the terrible things she did never caught up with you. Until now, that is. You wondered that perhaps you'd grown too merciful of her. For the first time, you despaired at Valeria's intimacy with darkness, how it dwelled so naturally within her. How it would follow her wherever she went. "What did you do?" You asked with a frightened voice. Valeria tuned into your eyes again, feeling the undercurrent accusation beneath your words; it stung her.

"I did it for us," Valeria said with an emphasis on the last pronoun, a retort to your question. "You know I'd do anything for you, don't you? " Valeria nodded at you as she said this. The moon had moved from where it was when your lovemaking started earlier that night, it now barely illuminated half of Valeria's face. It created the eerie effect of seeing a half-formed person in front of you, someone eclipsed by shadows, a creature emerging from the darkness. She seemed almost like a ghoul crouching in front of you. You shook your head to dispel the frightful image from your mind. "You don't believe me?" Valeria's words sounded like a hiss in your ear, there was pain in her words. You realised how Valeria interpreted that slight shake of your head; your hands rose up to cup her face, it was cold. "Of course, I believe you." You said and pressed your lips to hers quickly, your heart hammered against your chest. You chided yourself for doubting her in your heart. It was true that darkness clung to Valeria like a sheet, but that was not all. There was love, too and where there was love there was fear. She was afraid to lose you - she'd already lost you when you were taken from her. And she would not lose you again. The worst things in this world were not done by bad people but by desperate people. And since this was all for you, how could you not cherish this? You continued pecking at her lips, mumbling sweet words to her. "Thank you for everything, baby. You know how much I love you, right?" Valeria mumbled something back and lightly returned your kisses; it was the beginning of your absolution. "Whatever it is, Val, you don't have to tell me. I won't ask about it, I promise." You said and lightly coaxed her to lie down on the bed. She gave in and slowly lowered herself, but her eyes never left yours. Her face was completely blank, you felt that she was cautious of you still. She would not forget your accusation so quickly, but she would soften in time. You knew how to do it, you'd done it many times before but each time stood on its own, separate from the others. You traversed foreign, unsafe waters each time, you felt.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious of your nakedness, you reached for your shirt but Valeria got to it first. She tossed it away and shook her head at you, her eyes burned into yours and she placed you on top of her so that you were straddling her. You almost smiled to yourself about what was to come. This is (almost) how you always redeemed yourself when you'd done something to trigger insecurity within your incredibly jealous wife. It was like the taming of a wild animal, your sensuality was in many ways your superpower when it came to Valeria. It made you glow from the inside. First, you'd look away from her shyly, as you did now. The ends of your lips tugged downwards into a soft pout. "I'm embarrassed, baby." You complained lightly and raised your hands so that they covered your nipples. Enough to recover your modesty but the space between your fingers teased her with glimpses of what was behind them. Valeria stared at your chest now, entranced. The softness of your skin, the curve of your silhouette, the loveliness of your mouth. The way your lashes fluttered like a butterfly as you looked at her and then away again So lovely, thought Valeria. The loveliest thing she'd ever had. Valeria's hand grabbed one of your hips and then travelled lower, the tips of her fingers touching your bare buttocks.

Absolution was bestowed on you after many caresses and kisses, your transgression was finally forgotten when Valeria finished. The two of you lay on the bed after, your bodies entangled and shiny with sweat. Many minutes passed like this, you watched as the moonlight left the room and you lay there, in the dark. The final pangs of orgasm faded, and silence hung in the air. Per your word, you remained silent on the matter but your curiosity gnawed at you from the inside. What was so terrible that could not be said? It was not something that would affect you, presumably. But it seemed to involve you, though not directly. It was well past your usual bedtime, but your mind would not quit. You feigned sleep but could feel that Valeria was awake next to you. No matter how terrible, the deed was done. It was all for your sake, after all. You thought back to all your years with Valeria, to all the casualties your love had created but that you pretended to not notice. The first casualty was Alejandro, who was cheated on and then abandoned. Then was your family as you just disappeared off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again. Then there were all who'd died during Valeria's operations, all the people trambled on and double crossed to quench Valeria's thirst for money. Money that she swore would keep you safe, but hadn't. Then there were all the people killed recently during your kidnapping and then your liberation. There was a pile of bodies, both dead and alive, created just because you and Valeria wanted to be together. Yours was a selfish love, indeed. As you fell into an uneasy, guilt-ridden sleep, you wondered if that pile was to grow more.

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"Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love. It is a remarkable process. It is far more terrible than anything I have ever read about it, more terrible than anything I will ever be able to say." -from 'Giovanni's Room' by James Baldwin.

To be a man was not a given condition but a continuous effort, Alejandro believed. An effort that never stopped, it was a cup that needed to be constantly refilled as though there was a hidden leak. It was a condition that needed to be reinforced regularly. It took a lot to be a real man; hardened and unyielding. It was easy to be a man in front of women, you only had to be male. But to be a man in the company of other men meant to be singular. A real man had presence; he was the one barking orders and calling the shots, the one who made others avert their gaze when their eyes met. A real man changed a room when he stepped into it. A real man could outdrink and outlift his comrades. A real man was not fucked; he did the fucking. There was a hardness in his core that would never soften; rugged masculinity prevailed.

Alejandro's mind wandered on all these things and his accomplishments. He'd always dreamed of being the way he was now. A strong and feared leader of the Vaqueros, someone who ranked at the top of the Mexican Army. Someone who ran operations and succeeded. A man who got the job done. Masculinity was the armour he covered himself with when existing in the world, it was how he let others know he wanted to be treated - with respect. Not the respect that every person was owed, but the respect of a superior. And yet he never ceased to covet it, he always felt that he must reinforce his masculinity, to assert that he was a man. Alejandro had worked hard to make this happen. Blood, sweat and tears went into this work. It wasn't easy or natural for him. Sometimes, he wanted to give in to pain and desire so badly, to surrender control and indulge in what he really wanted. The foods he avoided because they would mess with his diet plan, the days of rest he craved but could not have because he worked out a lot to maintain his muscle. The touches he wanted to feel and deliver, but would never dare to. Because he was not soft enough to melt into love. He did not have the gentleness that was needed when handling women. And he was not sissy enough to dwell on the thoughts he had of other people. The intrusion of those images made him recoil in disgust when they materialised in his mind. No, none of these things would do. Because he was a man.

Alejandro looked at his reflection. He was in his dimly lit bathroom, touching his gruff beard, which was always trimmed but never cleaned-shaven. He could not stand the idea of having soft skin on his face, so he kept his appearance neat but not too fresh. His features were in no way soft, either. He had strong, intimidating dark eyes. The deep lines on his face - the marks of years gone by, the signification of his fast-approaching middle age - made him look experienced and yet, still, handsome. He brushed his hair roughly with his comb, no longer being gentle with his movements even though he still felt the remnants of pain from the injuries inflicted by Valeria. The savage slices on his wrists. Mentally, he was over it and he willed his body to do the same. Annoyingly, he'd been put on sick leave against his will immediately after Valeria's arrest. For his own good and recuperation, they said. Alejandro had sustained injuries, sure, but they were so minor and insignificant to him. It wasn't like he hadn't been injured before when answering the call of duty. He'd barely need anything more than some stitches and bandages. But no matter how vexed his protestations were, he could see that he was changed in his comrade's eyes and that he could not convince them that he was well enough to continue. As he walked around the headquarters, he noticed that soldiers could no longer meet his gaze. Their eyes darted to the side shamefully and with a jolt, he had realised it because they were ashamed of him. Over the course of this operation, he had become changed in their eyes; he was smaller, unreliable. Disgraced, he thought bitterly.

Alejandro's hands shook as he jolted the medicine cabinet open and reached for the white bottle containing his migraine medication. He shook the bottle and dropped two white, innocuous pills into his palm. He swallowed them dry, tasting their bitterness where they touched his tongue. He'd planned and executed this entire operation so quickly, he got them what they wanted! He said he would get Valeria and he did. He had achieved their goals, he ticked all the boxes. It was because of him that they were able to accomplish this mission! So how could they be so ungrateful? How dare they look down on him because he didn't go exactly by the book? It's not like he was the first to ignore some rules. Y/N wasn't the first (nor the last) civilian to be detained illegally. He didn't even touch her! He even expected Valeria's attack; she acted exactly how he thought she would, and he had let the 141 and Graves know this from the start. But now here he was, in his house in rural Mexico, under the guise of 'medical leave,' forced to take all the blame for the damage inflicted on the Mexican Army Headquarters. He returned the bottle to the cabinet and exited the bathroom.

He walked to his sparsely furnished living room with heavy steps, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his feet. He sat down on his sofa and opened his laptop. He looked at the time; two minutes till his scheduled call with Laswell, perhaps his only ally at the moment. Laswell was strict about protocol but she and him shared the same vision and passion when it came to accomplishing their goals by any means necessary. No matter what strings needed to be pulled. He thought of Y/N for a moment, how frightened she was of him. He felt the memory like a hot iron. His breathing quickened and he felt that warm feeling he so often denied himself traverse across his body against his will. He tried to shake himself free of this feeling, these memories that kept pestering him when he least expected. The way she sat there so girlishly. She was a grown woman of course, almost as old as Valeria. And yet that youthful vitality clung to her like a wet flower petal. It was something about her wide-eyed gaze that made her emit this permanent girlhood. It made him hate Y/N even more, how she effortlessly proved her superiority to him. Her ungrazed beauty and distilled vitality set her apart from people like him. Who wouldn't commit adultery for her? And yet there was something warm floating in that sensation of hatred. Laswell started the video call and Y/N vanished from his mind.

"Buenos Dias, Laswell," he said. "Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?" She said. Alejandro noticed the trailing smoke of a cigarette floating behind her figure. The cigarette itself was concealed, but its smoke danced across the air freely. Alejandro felt the pit in his stomach harden. "Good, good. It's so nice and quiet here, away from everything. But I'm missing all the action." Alejandro noticed the tightness of Laswell's polite smile. She wasn't someone who indulged in ornamental displays of politeness, she was an American after all. And the fact that she was entertaining him so falsely worried him. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. Silence hung in the air, her artificial charm was wearing off. Alejandro swallowed down his anxiety. "So," he said and looked around, pretending something had caught his eye. "What are the other-"

"Valeria and Y/N are being released from custody." Alejandro's eyes snapped back to the screen. If his eyes could burn a hole through the laptop, they would've.

"What?" He said and felt anger lit up his chest from the inside. Laswell was no longer smiling. "There's no easy way to say this." She took a deep breath. "You are already aware of how precarious this operation was, Colonel. The seizure of an uninvolved civialian-" "Don't give me that bullshit, Laswell." He interrupted. "We needed her and it was to get Valeria out of hiding." "Yes, that is true. But you fucked it up." Laswell spat out and deeply inhaled a puff from her cigarette. Her hand shook slightly as she placed the cigarette on its holder. "Were you aware that Valeria was recording?" Laswell asked. Alejandro's anger froze. He thought back to their encounter, but his mind was blank. "Recording what? "She was wired and recording when she found you, during the attack. Did you know that?" Alejandro felt like something heavy was pressing down on him. He thought back to what Soap told Valeria as she was placed in the detention vehicle. 'You're going down for what you did.' That's what Soap said and yet Valeria flashed a devilish grin at him, her eyes glimmering with delight. It doesn't matter what I did, she'd said. It matters what you can prove. Alejandro seethed in his seat. "So, what? She's a criminal. She's running a fucking cartel and aiding Hassan with his missiles. Who cares about a stupid recording?" Laswell looked at him, moving her jaw slowly as she calculated her words. "You're aware that Valeria disclosed the location of these missiles. And the missiles are classified, so there is no use persecuting her for-" "Okay, so she'll serve time for the cartel business-," he interrupted and was cut short. "Valeria is threatening to sue for the kidnapping and rape of her wife, Alejandro."

The world fell silent in his ears, he could only hear the ringing sound from his blood rushing. Laswell continued. "I've seen the recording, Alejandro. It's ugly work." She worked more on her cigar, inhaling deeply all that nicotine. "Think about the optics here. Shadow Company, the 141 and Los Vaqueros teaming up to kidnap an innocent civilian and enable rape during custody. Do you understand how serious this is?" She did not look at him as he spoke. Alejandro could barely stammer out his words. When they came out, they were soft and full of fear. "Laswell. I would never do something like that. She is lying," his teeth clattered, he felt his whole jaw vibrate. "I never touched Y/N. I swear it." Laswell shook her head with a frown. "You certainly alluded to something in the recording, Colonel. You all but admitted to it." "I was bluffing to piss her off, I would never do something like that." He said and heard himself sound like a scolded, pathetic child. "I'm not blaming you for anything, Alejandro. I'm just telling you what we're dealing with. During an already sensitive operation, we're now facing exposure. We cannot allow this to happen. You understand this?" "So they're being released..." "Quid pro quo. We got the missile locations and discretion, they get to walk free."

It was like the world was pulled under from beneath his feet. He thought back to when Valeria entered the container back at the headquarters, how flushed she was from her run up to that point. The creases of worry on her face, the way she frantically looked around the room for Y/N. Alejandro could not resist antagonising her. He'd lied about doing things to Y/N because it only seemed fair at the time. That Valeria would face some sort of punishment for what she'd done to him. That was her supreme crime in Alejandro's eyes. It was never about the missiles. And like always, she came out on top. He gritted his teeth, she was always getting away with things. And not only that, but she always found a way to ruin things for others as well. Alejandro saw the contempt in Laswell's eyes, and he knew that he was now debased in her eyes forever. No matter what he said from now on, he could never redeem himself in her eyes. The shame of it burned in his chest. His fall from grace showed no sign of stopping, he felt the walls around him collapse. And then there was the other thing in the recording, the thing about Rudolpho...

"Laswell. How much of the recording did you see?" He could not look at her. "All of it, I'm afraid." She said. He could burst into flames from the shame he felt. So, she had seen it. Is that why she was looking at him like that? Laswell had a wife, it was true, but did that really make a difference now? Alejandro didn't know what was worse: that Laswell would look down on him for his ambiguous desires, or that she'd feel a silent allegiance to him. Both potentials filled him with despair. "Has anyone else seen it?" He asked. "No. I wanted to tell you about it before destroying it. There is no use in keeping it." Alejandro felt his heart lighten. "Am I being dismissed from service?" He said, looking at his window and the world beyond it. It was a dry season now, and he could hear the cicadas sing. The sound lulled his mind, he could think of nothing.

"No, Alejandro. I also called to tell you this. You've been requested back at the base, your medical leave has been cut short. As far as the others are aware, you're ready to get back to work. No one else knows about this." She continued telling him about the details, the date he was to report back to base, and what he'd missed since he went on leave. What the 141 were up to, that they sent their regards and wished him well. He heard it all like it was spoken to someone else. "Thank you, Laswell. We'll talk soon." "Of course, Colonel." She said and closed the call.

He stood up with the laptop in his hands and tossed it to the nearest wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces; he did not clean it up. When he left his house for good, the pieces remained there, scattered.

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Note: Sorry guys I really wanted this to be the last chapter but this part already came out longer than I expected and I haven't finished the final scene to the point where I'm happy with it. And because I haven't updated in a while, I'll post this part and finish it off properly in the next part. Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed it! And to clarify, Alejandro didn't assault Y/N! But because he lied and alluded to something like that in a previous part, Valeria decided to use it against him.

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[aphidclan-clangen]

Wait- if starclan is like god in this universe. And sometimes clan cats say “ star damned” instead of “god damned” dose that mean pearls stars pronouns are: god and godself!?

I mean, if a Saint Tine made their pronouns glow/glowself it would definitely be a bit awkward lmao

(shine/gleam/light/glimmer/radiance/etc. pronouns would be fine however)

In that case it would be closer to giving yourself god/godself pronouns (which I’m certain is a real thing!), but in my mind Starclan, as an Aphidclan-specific religion, isn’t really…a religion so much as it is a generalized belief that 1. nature and the sky are interwoven with mystical, spiritual forces, and 2. belief in souls/an afterlife. (infodumping mode activated /lh /affectionate) As a wild cat colony, they’re just naturally very strongly and culturally connected to the spiritual side of the wilderness and the cosmos, more so than a kittypet or city cat ever would be. They don’t believe in any god or any central force controlling or designing the world, I don’t think they even have a “creation myth” or an idea that there could ever be a sole “god”/deity-like figure. They believe in souls and an afterlife because their ventures into the spirit realm showed them the souls of their ancestors, friends, and even complete strangers. They know the dead can go whenever they please after life, because some cats have reported seeing these spirits in the woods with them, or standing out amidst the plains. But they’ve also seen the spirit realm largely resemble the sky, so they probably assume the souls of the dead live up there, and may fly down to earth whenever they please.

(plus the sky is also just generally a very..incomprehensible, mystical, “larger-than-life” powerful force to look at, especially when you’ve got 0 light pollution and look up to see a whole wide galaxy of beautiful unknown above you each night)

Perhaps the souls of their loved ones can even grant gifts and boons, or even curses, since the spirit of the wilderness and the sky is woven everywhere, and can surely influence the movement of a log, the calling of rain, the way of the winds, and maybe even the sickness of the land. Nonetheless, the wilderness takes lives as it gives food and water and a home, they believe this to be an entirely natural cycle. The wilderness gives, the wilderness takes, the wilderness eats and devours whole, and when you die, you’ll fly up into the sky, where you might even get to speak with your loved ones again someday, either through random sightings in the woods, in dreams, or intentional astral projection in more…energistically charged locations.

Even the Saint Tines don’t believe in The Glow as a person, but nonetheless a more congealed, solid entity than what the clan cats believe. It is a force of nature as well, but a specific one. The force of decay, of sickness, of life, of glory and triumph in living, that is hungry and gluttonous and never satiated. In AphidClan, you’ll never have to prove your worth or character to the way the winds blow, but to a Saint Tine, if you are impure enough, the Glow shall eat you whole, and you shall rot for all of eternity (and this is a bad thing). It is a strict and demanding force that will punish the unworthy and the impure. It is all very morally attached, very heavily wrapped around the idea of sin and repentance and innate existential value. The Reverend has a very large influence over the doctrine and the opinions of The Glow, as its speaking voice and the head of the church. (In reality, “the glow” is just the nuclear radiation they saw in the power plant the colony used to live in, before the power plant horribly collapsed for reasons unknown.)

In that way, the Saint Tine Church is a closer analogy for a Christianity-like religion, while Aphidclan’s beliefs are closer to that of general pagan spiritualist beliefs. The Saint Tines are a god-fearing people, while Aphidclan just believes in the innate spiritual power of the earth and the universe, who would be confused by the idea of a central god or entity controlling the name of the game.

As for Pearlstar, I think like…they’d be totally chill with pronouns, names, or titles that call back to the spiritual nature of the wild in some way or another, and in fact, it’s already a common thing interwoven into the culture. I mean, they call their designated spiritual leaders of the colony “star,” to honor their leader’s connection to the spirit realm and their initiative to walk between both worlds. If anyone is expected to revere the spiritual and integrate it into their daily life and identity, it would be the spiritual leaders of the colony. Cats are given prefixes and suffixes to reflect aspects of nature that they see themself reflected in. If names are viable territory for integrating the wild, the natural, the spiritual, then why not pronouns? A cat with breeze/breezeself pronouns is respected as a reflection of the wind, a cat with star/starself pronouns is respected as a person with a strong connection to the cosmic aether and the universe beyond. I imagine their kintypes work under similar beliefs as well, as the creatures or entities or energistical forces they see themselves very strongly in. A cat could tell their clanmates that they believe they were once a bird, and feel such a strong connection to flight, to soaring through the air, the clouds, the breeze on their wings, and that before their life as a cat, their soul once resided in an avian animal, and that’d be a common precedent that would totally work with the general cultural belief system.

So to summarize, glow/glowself pronouns would definitely result in getting odd looks and judgemental comments from Saint Tines (not Aphidclan cats though), but star/starself pronouns are totally normal, common, respected, and even a little expected in Aphidclan, and are…pretty much on the same level as giving yourself leaf/sky/cloud/tree/growth/breeze/etc. pronouns. S’just another factor of one’s identity that the wild may influence and make its home in, as it often does

[metalomagnetic]

I asked a question about your house elf lore a while back, are you still sitting on that one or did it not get to you? or maybe you don't want to answer it? sorry to bother you I just wanted to see if I should resend it or not

I'm sorry! I looked back through my inbox until I found your question.

Sometimes asks pile up and I lose track of them! I hope no one thinks I am ignoring them on purpose.

Now, with that out of the way, here is your initial question (I hope this is yours, at least):

I love the world building you did around house elves/goblins/the fey in "it runs" all the little tidbits that get dropped make me hungry for more. Can you possibly elucidate on the full story behind the fey vs wizard kind conflict? was the black family and astral magic actually instrumental in the war or is that just black propaganda? i'm not sure how reliable of a narrator a black family elf should be considered.

So, I picture the High Elves more like the elves from Lord of the Rings. As human societies started developing and advancing, the high elves diminished in numbers, losing forests and also they were very sensitive to materials humans started using, like iron and copper and such, that was slowly poisoning them.

I like to imagine they started fucking around with humans sometimes in ancient times. Muggles weren't too perceptive to what was going on, since the elves used magical trickery, but wizards took notice. At the time, wizards coexisted together with muggles in the Harry Potter universe.

There were attempts made to accommodate both species, treaties brokered and then broken, on both sides, until the first war started.

It ended with high casualties on all sides, and with no clear victor. New 'borders' were agreed upon, places for the elves to dwell into, where humans weren't allowed, and vice versa.

Of course, as centuries passed, and muggles especially developed more and more, their villages spreading into larger areas, their needs greater, cities being raised all around, things escalated again. It didn't help that most muggles either didn't believe in the existence of elves, either considered them plights/enemies sent by their gods. Muggles have shorter life spams, and shorter memory. Besides, education and written history wasn't easily available to muggles at large. Elves, on the other hand, have incredible life spans, and while wizards don't come close, they, too, live longer than muggles and they do 'see' magic, so wizards were always more aware of such things, as they are aware of werewolves and vampires etc.

In the second war, the Black family and other great wizarding families were already established powers around Europe, far more organised than their ancestors; by now wands were much more in use, which was a vast improvement from the past, allowing all magical people easier access to magic.

Because they had means of quick communication, unlike muggles, and because the elves were far lesser in numbers than they've been previously, the second Elvish war was mostly between wizards and elves, with very little muggle involvement.

The elves didn't think they could survive as a species in this new, polluted world, so this time there will be no end to the war.

They fought to extinction levels.

The Blacks and their use of astral magic were, indeed, a big part of the war ( in my backstory for this, it was a man named Helix Black the First that was in charge of the family back then). But other families were as instrumental as them. Many great houses perished in the war, and even the Blacks were decimated in numbers, losing nine direct family members, and many other distant relatives or in-laws.

As the war was drawing to a close, and wizards were emerging on the winning side, they started hunting down what remained of small clusters of elves still surviving in deep forests .

They found the elvish children, having been kept hidden during the war (elvish children age far slower than human ones).

Some wizards wanted them killed, to end this once and for all. Others weren't so keen on this plan. A great council was made to decide on their fates.

The side against the slaughter won, but everyone agreed it wasn't a good idea to just leave them be, risking another uprising in the future.

A witch of great power came up with the idea of cursing the elvish younglings, and forcing them into complete obedience. The curse affected the development of the elves, leaving them stunted, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

A Sacred Circle was made out of witches and wizards that gave their lives to power the curse. From England, twenty eight wizards and witches participated in the Circle, including a Black (And because of this, all the families that lost members to this curse, are now know as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I know that's not what they are in canon, and it was simply a list made by one Mr. Nott, but this is just my head canon to give more depth and history to the wizarding world).

As the curse was cast (I like to imagine it took like two days of casting to manage such a feat of magic) some of the older elvish children managed to escape their makeshift prisons. They sought refuge underground. The curse still reached them, but because of their age (say around 30 years olds, which was still child by elven metrics) they managed to resist at least the compulsions and they remain hidden underground. Their bodies naturally adapted to the environment. They eventually became goblins.

The younger children that didn't escape, including a twelve year old Tessuth, were fully affected by the curse. They never grew properly, their bodies shifted, too, the dark magic wrecking havoc on them. They were then enslaved to wizards. There weren't that many children, but the Sacred Families that fought hardest in the war, and that sacrificed their own to cast the curse, had priority in picking. Helix Black demanded two elves. Tessuth, and her even younger sister (who will eventually become Kreacher's grandmother). People just thought he's a greedy dick for wanting two.

In reality, Helix had deep trauma from the war, had developed a begrudging respect for the elves in the years spent fighting them, but he had also lost his twin children in one battle. When he went to take one elf, he found Tessuth cradling her younger sister, and on an impulse, with his twins in mind, he didn't want to separate them, so he took them both.

Unlike many other houses that took their anger for the losses they suffered on the now newly made house elves, Helix never could put aside the tragedy of it all. He saw the extinction of elves as necessary, he never regretted it, it was wizards (in fact, all humans, not just wizards) or elves, and he served proudly in the war, but the horror of it all stayed with him, and he treated Tessuth and her sister more as prisoners of war than slaves.

He killed himself when his only surviving grandson, who was Tessuth's age, reached adulthood, leaving him in charge of the family.

Eventually, a century or two later, when goblins resurfaced, no one wanted another war. Concessions were made, goblins were allowed to live in the wizarding world, but it was never an easy peace, and that, too, led to many goblin rebellions.

In one of life's ironies, in the last goblin rebellion, the Head of House Black was another Helix.

By that time, however, house-elves had been completely brainwashed into hating goblins. The very old house elves like Tessuth and Kreacher's grandmother, were not only brainwashed, but held resentment for being abandoned by their fellow elven siblings, during the first war, that they escaped without them. The newer generations of elves, completely unaware of this history, simply hated goblins because their masters told them so. House elf magic was used heavily in goblin rebellions, to guard wizarding homes, because goblins and house-elves obviously share the same type of magic.

A true tragedy, and the story of the High Elves, regal, powerful, arrogant, that died off to make way for humans.

Some of the magic in the world died with them, which also affected wizards, turning them weaker. Wizards of today will never be as powerful as the wizards that lived in the time of the High Elves.

There will be short mentions about this in the fic, just a sentence or two, as we already had, but not very much. It is of no importance to Sirius and his journey, and we already know he doesn't care much about house- elves, even if he is fully aware of their history. He doesn't spend time thinking of this, he just barely learned to get along with Kreacher and he's a little scared of Tessuth, so there is no reason to have much of this mentioned.

[ninibeingdelulu]

A…date ? ✧

Plot: Your childhood friend ask you on a date.

A/N: @a-view-without-light-pollution I hope you’ll like it (I think it’s bad bc it needs more details but anyway) enjoyy xoxo.

From the first instant Zack showed up at your doorstep fidgeting like a hyperactive puppy, you could tell his normally boundless confidence was fraying hard at the edges.

All jittery hand gestures and flushed cheeks as he flashed those baby blues pleading silent messages.

"Heyy...uh listen, I was wondering if ya maybe wanted to, y'know, grab a burger with me later on?"

He finally blurted, scratching at those wild raven spikes crowning his head.

You arched an eyebrow, fighting back an adoring grin at how freaking adorable this human Golden Retriever was acting.

"Zack...we do that literally every other day already. Are you trying to ask me on an actual date here, mister SOLDIER Boy Scout?"

Brilliant crimson exploded across his chiseled features as a strangled noise escaped those plush lips.

He exhaled a shuddering breath, squaring those broad shoulders back as if preparing to charge into battle before nodding decisively.

"Yeah...I am. I really am asking you out on a legit date."

His glowing azure gaze caught yours with an intensity leaving you suddenly breathless.

"Getting all awkward about it won't do either of us any good though, right? Let's just keep it chill like always and have an awesome time."

That trademark sunny grin stretching dimples into those stubble-chapped cheeks was enough to melt anyone's reservations as you found yourself quickly nodding back.

"Definitely, Zack. Count me in - but I expect you to bring your flirting A-game!"

And bring it he did - that charismatic son of a bitch.

From snagging you a stuffed moomba at the carnival shooting range then refusing to relinquish you from under his arm for the rest of the night.

To dramatically serenading you with a botched rendition of "Starlight, Starbright" under the moonlit beach gazebo while passing tipsy couples howled laughter.

Everything felt so achingly, dizzyingly right.

Like this was the inevitable conclusion your lives together were always building toward...however unintentionally.

No more excruciating uncertainty or unrequited longing to agonize over. Just sinking into the warm, radiant glow of Zack's megawatt joy showering over you without restraint.

He was still unapologetically himself, of course. Full of wisecracks and theatrical shenanigans which only strengthened his magnetic charm in your eyes.

Yet now he'd occasionally stumble over his words or allow that velvet baritone to dip into husky dulcet purrs specifically for your ears alone.

Or the way his fingers innocently grazed yours, fingertips sparking little zings of electricity jolting straight to your core while flashing those bedroom eyes assessing your reaction with ardent hunger behind half-mast lids...

All too soon, the carnival lights and jaunty calliope music faded into late-evening stillness encasing you both.

Scuffing boots through sleepy lamp-lit lanes back toward home feeling weightless and intoxicated simply from his nearness.

Drunk on that inexhaustible charisma surrounding you in Zack's personal aura like wafting summer bonfire warmth.

Occasionally lapsing into hushed stretches you leaned in savoring the tactile crackle between close-orbit bodies before erupting into fresh peals of laughter over some locker-room wisecrack.

Until sneaking hesitant sidelong glances revealed his features backlit golden in flickering streetlamp radiance...expression stilled into a look you didn't recognize yet always dreamed of receiving from Zack.

Pure unguarded open adoration emanating in his gaze like you were the only thing in existence worthy of such singular focus.

Your footfalls stopped on instinct, swallowing thickly as those eyes roamed across your face in hungry, aching sweeps you felt tingling upon your skin like physical caresses.

Until Zack closed the short gap separating you in an achingly gradual drift - telegraphing his intent with everything but his voice.

Calloused fingertips glided across your jaw up to cradle your cheekbone with searing gentleness utterly at odds with his rugged stature.

Zack's bottom lip trembled for just a fraction of an instant before your name exhaled from between them in a ravished whisper devoid of the usual bravado.

All you could do was nod mutely and reciprocate the blazing tenderness reflected back at him.

Until those vivid mako irises fluttered shut in blissful surrender...

And you tilted up on tiptoe to lay the whisper-soft pressure of your lips in a gossamer brush across the corner of his own chiseled, perfect mouth.

Just enough for Zack's entire musculature to go rigid as scorching fire flooded his chiseled features - every single one of those battle-hardened sinews vibrating on the verge of deliciously shattering apart at your featherlight touch.

A barely audible whimper sighed out from the deepest caverns of his broad chest before stormy cobalt eyes flew wide in helpless stupefaction.

You drank in every minute tremor and nuance rupturing across Zack's statuesque handsomeness for endless suspended heartbeats...committing the details to permanent memory.

Until finally smiling wider than you ever had in recollection while he just gaped at you in stunned bliss unable to formulate words.

Reality no longer mattered in that divine slice of infinity cradled between you.

Only the dawning awareness of irrevocable, undeniable intimacy blazed in those locked pools of swirling cerulean endlessly dazzling.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Zedkiel Settling In

Author’s Note: This is the next fic in the Raised on Terra AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @bleedingichorhearts for allowing me to borrow their OC, Zedkiel!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: none, please tell me if there’s anything that bothers you

Summary: Zedkiel takes his charges away from the nursery for a little outing. 

Zedkiel hummed softly to himself as he rearranged the baby slings carrying his tiny charges a little, so that they sat better. It had been a couple of weeks since he had taken his first caretaking shift with the little ones, and while he still reserved his judgment on certain caretakers, he could see that the others did seem to be trying their best to care for the infant primarchs. He still couldn't quite believe that he had been chosen to care for his primarch while he was so young and vulnerable. It was an honor that he wore with equal parts awe and pride. Zedkiel was also mindful to try and give the other three primarchs as much attention and care as he did give his own primarch, as all four of them deserved all of the proper care and attention he could give them, and not to favor his own primarch over the other three, as such favoritism would cause bitterness and resentment that would be nigh impossible to overcome, from what he had been taught in the week-long childcare course. 

He had decided to take them all out of the nursery room that they'd been confined to since they'd been removed from the incubation chambers four months ago. Zedkiel had also been forewarned about the potential time-travelling assassins and saboteurs who might try and take away any infant primarch they could get their hands on, which was why he had not taken his four adorable charges very far - just to one of the covered courtyards in the same wing of the Imperial Palace, to show them what plant life looked like, and to get a mimicry of what outside air felt and smelled like (clean air, not the heavily polluted, thin mess that was Terra's current atmosphere). His charges were growing well, according to the growth and weight charts that he had memorized. Zedkiel had been sure to pack enough formula for the four of them for when they got hungry in a basket, as well as a large, soft blanket to lay out for the little ones to play on, and a handful of their most favored toys.

The little generals were currently teething, and none of them were taking the soreness in their mouths very well. His own primarch often gnawed unhappily on his own fingers, whimpering at the pain. Twenty-A and Twenty-O for some reason alternated between showing their fingers in the other's mouths and sobbing their little hearts out while clinging to one another. Thirteen was very frowny and whimpered quietly, rubbing at his gums with his tiny fingers occasionally, and had taken to stealing any pacifier he could get his tiny hands on - whether it was his own or a brother's and sucking on it with the grumpiest little frown on his face. Zedkiel used cool teething toys and small amounts of infant-safe pain medicine when they got particularly restless, which helped to settle them back down again. 

The Raven Guard had also privately been thinking about giving them nicknames. It felt wrong to refer to his charges by their assigned numbers, for all that the teams of very talented and clever scientists and medical doctors were almost disturbingly comfortable with referring to them exclusively by their numbers, as were the rotation of custodes guards who protected the little ones from potential threats. He had asked once, if they primarchs had been given actual names, and informed that The Emperor had yet to name them, and as far as the Custodes were concerned, the primarchs would remain being referred to exclusively by their numbers until either His Majesty decided otherwise, or they earned a name, like the Custodes themselves earned names. Zedkiel... Wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

Zedkiel had been given a room in the Primarchs' Wing of the Palace, but he'd taken to sleeping in one of the extremely comfortable sofa chairs that were available in the Primarchs' nursery, especially as he was the one to answer their cries when his charges awoke at night, a monitoring device having been given to him for each of them. The trip was much shorter if he stayed in the room, and he wasn't the only Caretaker to have made this decision. The twins always slept better if they were in the same bassinet - and he had to argue with the Custodes Guard about it for days before they would agree to let him try it. He had been proven correct, as with the twins sleeping together in the same bassinet, they had both slept through the night for the first time. Thirteen, despite being a fairly quiet and serious little babe, very much enjoyed being gently rocked to sleep while being held close, one of his tiny ears pressed to Zedkiell's chest so that he could hear the Raven Guards' hearts beating. As for his own, lovely, mischievous little Primarch, the tiny raven king enjoyed hiding in his blankets and trying to pounce on one of his hands. A regular ambush predator, and one who would grow more powerful and dangerous at times. Nineteen also liked anything shiny and tried to grab for anything that caught his eyes and hide them in his bassinet. 

Which Zedkiel found endlessly adorable and entertaining. The custodes found the habit irritating, but as the little one was getting better at his stealth skills by swiping little golden decals off of them and hiding them successfully... None of them could really do much more than grumble, as these habits were signs that Nineteen was learning to use the skills that the Emperor had hoped to instill within his Primarch, as Nineteen was to be one of the stealth-expert Primarchs, and encouraging him to be sneaky and stealthy would help him develop his skills. 

The Raven Guard set each of the Primarchs down on the blanket he had laid out on the rich, dark brown earth of this internal courtyard. Before Zedkiel had brought them here, he had personally checked and double checked that each of the plants in this courtyard were entirely harmless if consumed or touched - both individually and together in combination. He had also the earth tested for any possible parasites or sicknesses that lingered in soil, which had come back clean. So little ones could safely explore this place, maybe accidentally eat a little dirt or plants and not potentially get sick, even for a handful of moments. Zedkiel was aware of the heightened  immune systems they had been blessed with, but he wasn't going to be the one to test out that aspect of his charges if at all possible. 

The twins decided to cuddle one another as their teal eyes peered cautiously at their new surroundings, neither of them yet moving from where he had set them down on the blanket, snuggled into each other. 

His own primarch rolled from being on his back to being on his belly, before going up onto his hands and knees, immediately starting to crawl for a large, leafy plant, dark eyes fixated on the bright red flower a good foot and a half above the ground. As soon as one of his hands touched the dirt he froze, pulling the hand that had touched the new sensation back and staring down at the dirt with inky black eyes. Nineteen poked at the dirt a couple of times with his fingers, as if trying to figure out what the substance was.

Thirteen crawled over to join Nineteen, letting out an unhappy squeak at the texture of the dirt, sitting down at the edge and pouting a little as he rubbed his tiny hands into the dirt for several seconds, next to his brother.

Twenty-A started to move towards the other two, pausing when Twenty-O whined. Twenty-A paused and nuzzled his brother for a moment before crawling his way over to Nineteen and thirteen, stopping a couple of inches behind the other two. A look of intense concentration appeared on Twenty-A's face as he reached out and-

Shoved Thirteen forwards into the dirt.

Thirteen, who had been balancing on both of his knees and one of his hands as he used his other hand to inspect the dirt wailed as he went face first into the dirt, tiny fists flailing at the indignity as dirt stuck to his face and chin. 

Twenty-A giggled happily and clapped his hands together as Twenty-O made his way over to Nineteen, a nearly identical look of concentration on his face as he pushed nineteen over into the dirt as well, his giggles slightly quieter.

Nineteen also flailed and began to cry.

Zedkiel stood, about to intervene and gently scold Twenty-A and Twenty-O for their mischief when His Majesty spoke, startling the Raven Guard "Leave them be. Brotherly squabbles like this are something that they will need to learn to navigate on their own."

The Raven Guard visibly startled back, having not realized that the Emperor was there and scrambled to stand up at attention, saluting the other, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the now squabbling infants "S-sire! I... I hadn't realized you were here. My apologies for ignoring you." He internally cursed himself. His awareness of his surroundings was usually much better. How had he not noticed the most powerful and influential single being in the Sol System? 

"At ease, Zadkiel. I just popped in to see how some of my generals were doing, and you were understandably focused on your charges as they started to squabble with one another." His Majesty ordered, waving his formality away with an elegant gesture of one of his hands. "I am well pleased by their growth, since you have taken over as their primary caretaking duties, although I will request that you not indulge the twins' clinginess so much. As they grow they will need to learn how to exist apart from one another. As my spy masters, they will be often apart from each other for decades at a time, if not centuries and will need to learn how to cope with each other's absence."

Zedkiel ducked his head, swallowing down any arguments he had against the Imperator's words, and nodded "Yes sire."

"Carry on." The Emperor ordered before leaving the covered courtyard.

The Raven Guard silently sighed after the other left. Part of him suspected that he had been indulging the twins' desire for closeness a bit much... But the censure from His Majesty still stung. His gaze fell upon his charges and a small smile played on his lips as he noted that they had stopped scrapping with one another and were touching several of the large, leafy plants that were very carefully tended to, each fascinated by the texture and perhaps the bright viridian color of the plant in question.

Thirteen gripped one of the leaves in his hands, dragging it to his mouth and ripped off a small piece, trying to chew on it with his one and a half teeth, bright blue eyes lighting up at the taste. "Bah! Baah." He burbled, tearing off several  more pieces of leaf and shoving them into his mouth.

Nineteen promptly shoved his own piece of a leaf into his mouth and chewed on it for a couple of seconds before spitting it out, an unhappy burble leaving him "Gah!"

Twenty-O took Nineteen's spat out leaf bit and began touching and ripping it into smaller pieces, occasionally taking the smaller leaf-shard up to his nose and smelling it. 

Twenty-A decided that one of the leaf shards that Thirteen was trying to chew was his now, and grabbed it out of Thirteen's mouth, or tried to.

In response to one of his brothers shoving his hand into his mouth, Thirteen deliberately bit down, letting out an angry little growling sound.

Twenty-A began to wail as he tried to get his fingers free, managing to do so with difficulty, sniffling and holding the "bitten" hand close to his chest, sniffling and hiccupping.

Zedkiel sighed, torn between trying to intervene in order to keep the peace between his charges, and the new order he had been given by the Emperor Himself to let the young ones sort out their little internal conflicts on their own. He wasn't sure if the infants were ready for that just yet. They were still so very young...

Before the Raven Guard could decide what it was that he wanted to do, two Custodes walked in and one of them ordered "You need to return the Primarchs to the nursery."

The Raven Guard was tempted to ask them why, but knew that he wouldn't get a proper answer if he asked anyways, so he put the infants back in their carrying slings - switching up where they were placed so that Twenty A was on the far left sling and twenty O was on the far right with thirteen and nineteen between them before he grabbed the blanket and baby toys. "As you command, Lord Custodes." He murmured with a silent sigh in his voice, heading back to the nursery.

[peachdues]

Hey peach I know you said no lawyer stuff but can you explain the most recent post thank you bless

Mmmkay so basically, in the US, most of our day to day lives are controlled by federal agencies. Basically there’s an agency in charge of everything you can think of, but some major ones include the EPA, the FDA, USDA, Transportation, etc. that’s just some of them.

The people who head these agencies/work at them are largely considered industry experts — so you have environmental scientists at the EPA, engineers at Transportation, food and drug safety experts at the FDA, etc. etc.

These agencies, however, are created by the Executive or Congress (depending on whether it’s an executive agency or independent agency). Once the agency is created, Congress will then pass laws that speak to the agency’s authority, but more importantly, they’ll pass laws that fall within that particular agency’s expertise. So for example, there’s a limit on, say, the level of emissions a car can produce into the air. Congress passes that.

The problem (but not in a bad way) is that Congress is not made of experts in these industries — they’re politicians. So they don’t necessarily have the facilities to legislate as exact as they might like to, or the knowledge to make well informed legislative decisions.

Now, while Congress passes laws, agencies draft and pass regulations that enact those laws. The point of the regulations are to be specific and to conform to legislative intent as much as possible. These regulations are what actually affect your day to day life. So, for example, the FDA will enact regulations controlling food storage temperatures during transit that are specified to the kind of food that’s being shipped — think meat versus produce.

Obviously there are times where Congress isn’t exactly clear on the extent of an agency’s authority to enact those regulations — which opens them up to legal challenges. This is where Chevron comes in.

The Chevron doctrine is based on a Supreme Court case that basically said, when Congress’s language in a given regulatory/admin statute is ambiguous, courts will defer to the agency’s interpretation of that language since *they* are the experts. This made sense because, again, Congress is not made of experts and they also feasibly can’t think of every possible little thing that might come up/need definition/even understand what parameters need to be set. This was good — ideally, experts are acting in the interest of the field and not lobbyists (though don’t get me wrong — lobbying federal agencies is a lucrative business). But simply put, you *want* experts deciding what level of lead exposure is safe, or the amount of pollution being discharged. You don’t want Congress doing that.

But today’s decision overruled Chevron explicitly — meaning, deference to agencies is no longer the rule. Now, Congress will be expected to either legislate the crap out of things they already don’t know how to legislate for OR else leave the agencies unable to effectively regulate.

It’s a terrible decision (never mind the utter disregard this Court exhibits for stare decisis) but it’s one that WILL have very direct consequences on our daily lives.

Voting in November is important. I don’t like Biden, personally, but there is so much at stake in this election that we can’t afford not to vote for him at this point.

[russell-crowe]

Considering people were upset about missing the big northern lights event in May, here's a very early heads-up to pay attention on the night of October 4-5.

Last night, a major X7.1 solar flare peaked, which is the second strongest solar flare in the current solar cycle (the cycle our sun goes through roughly every 11 years). This has the potential to be another widespread aurora event, where many people will get to witness this magical phenomenon. However, since we're talking about space weather, there are always many variables that can either enhance or diminish the chances of it being visible.

Again, it’s too early to tell whether this will be nearly as spectacular as the event in May. But now that you're aware something could happen, here are some things you can do to be better prepared this time:

Follow local social media groups. There's a big Facebook group called "Northern Lights Alert," but there are also many local groups for specific countries and regions (e.g., Nordlysvarsel i Danmark, Stavanger Aurora Chasers, Copenhagen Aurora Hunters, Noorderlicht Nederland, etc.). Being part of these groups can help ensure you don't miss anything exciting when it's on the way!

Start making some loose plans. Is there a place nearby with a clear view to the north that you can reach by car or public transport? Is there light pollution where you're planning to go? Do you have warm clothes, a charged camera, a tripod, or a blanket in your car?

It’s possible that nothing spectacular will happen, but all of this will still be useful as the sun enters its most active period during the coming winter. So, be prepared, and you might get to see something wonderful! 💚

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

A New Beginning

Author’s Note: From what I learned, all or nearly all of the Primaris Ultramarines were murdered in the Warp, and they saw how Captain Meme Lord Cato Sicarius escape, leaving them to die in the warp.

Summary: Catius is awake, and is fully surprised that he is Not Dead. He decides that he needs to get the colors that he’d once been so proud of off of his armor.

Warnings: a bit of a panic attack, I think? Unreliable narrator, feelings of betrayal, I think. Tell me if I need to add more.

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @barn-anon, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Tagged again, just in case it doesn't work: @kit-williams, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @whorety-k

How could he abandon us? Is one of the last thoughts Catius had before the ship was torn apart by the warp predators in the massive storm. Watching as Captain Cato Sicarius of the Second Company abandoned him and the other Primaris Marines assigned to the illustrious and honorable Ultramarines. They had been proud, honored and intimidated by the fact that out of all of their fellow Primaris Marines, they were chosen to become apart of the Holy Avenging Son’s personal Chapter. He wakes up with a broken gasp as he looks around wildly, he’s no longer on a ship, he’s no longer in the Warp, but on a planet.

He looks around more slowly as his hearts beat, he’s, from the scent of the planet atmosphere that he can taste has pollution, but isn’t as bad as Forge Worlds or Mining Worlds. He doesn’t recognize the topography as he tries to scramble to figure out where he is. How he got here is going to be the next question as he going to see if he can figure out. He takes a few deep, shuddering breaths as he forces his mind and body to calm down. He had been betrayed by his, no the, no A, Captain of the Ultramarines. He closes his eyes and takes in a few breaths as he looks down at his feet, and feels something hurt inside him recoil at the holy ultramarine blue and gold.

Off, he needs to get these colors off his armor. He’s an Ultramarine no more. His brothers have died, or are scattered upon this planet, whether this is Real or if it’s merely an illusion or a hallucination meant to taunt and torment him, he will learn the longer he is here. He looks around, and uses his ears and eyes to asses his surroundings. He’s in a forested area, and tries to see if he can see or smell smoke, nothing. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly and then tries to strain his hearing to see if he can hear the faint sound of water running from a river or stream.

All he can hear is his own breathing and hearts beat as they slowly calm back down to his normal basal rate. He opens his eyes again and checks to see where the sun is located in the sky and to try to orient himself as he slowly walks five minutes in one direction, counting in his head the seconds as he looks around to see if he can identify anything as landmarks or a river or a road. He then goes back to his original location and walks five minutes in another direction, nothing useful, before going in the other two cardinal directions with no new information gathered within the last twenty minutes.

He tries to use his vox to call out for help- and gets back static, either his vox is busted, or there is no one near enough to hear him call for help. He checks his armor and pouches to see what it is he has on him. Several cartridges of bolter charges, as well as enough rations of nutri-paste and hydration to last him seven days with out rationing, and with rationing fourteen days. That is without finding something to supplement his rations, whether that is through hunting and foraging, or ideally, finding some sort of civilization. He also needs to find a way to scrub off the paint on his armor and the symbol of the Ultramarine off of his armor.

He can and will compartmentalize and delineate what is the most to least important tasks. Catius slowly moves in circles out from where he had… landed? Appeared? He does, in regular intervals let out a piercing whistle and try to comm some one on his vox, and pauses, waits, and doesn’t get a response from either the whistle or the vox call. So, he continues to move, slowly, carefully trying to hear a stream, or smell smoke of a campfire, he knows that there is civilization, there is the disgusting smell of pollution and smog, even if it’s only distant.

After several hours of walking in silence, his mind going over what’s happened to him and the feelings of hurt and betrayal bubble up and he tries to ruthlessly suppress them, and the thoughts that bubble up, he needs to compartmentalize, he needs to focus on survival and finding civilization and Orders for what to do next. Even his stomach squirms uneasily at the thought of that. He pauses in walking, when he hears something- the heavy footstep pattern he recognizes as First-Born Marines walking through a forested area. He has a moment to think before he nimbly climbs up one of the large trees that can take his weight in full ceremite armor as he gets up high enough to watch the First-born.

Some, cautious instinct had told him in the voice of one of instructors during his time with The Mechanicus that had him scrambling up the tree and hide from where eyes can spot him, hopefully. He’d taken the time to scrub his armor with the loam of the planet to hide the now skin crawling color of the Ultramarines. He’d taken a rock to strike the symbols and filigree off the armor, and it had worked, up to a point, his armor now soils brown and the symbols mostly scrubbed off as he made sure to be as silent as possible as his hearts dropped to his stomach as he saw First Born Chaos Marines tromp about, and their heads tilting from side to side as if they are searching for… something or someone.

Oh no, the vox messages he had sent out- even if he hadn’t heard someone, or more likely, they hadn’t responded, they might have heard his calls for aid. Fuck this is not good. He’s as silent and still as a shadow as he hears them call out on the vox, ensuring that he’s turned his internal and external vox silent.

“Little Cousin,” One of them croons out mockingly, “Lost little cousin, where are you?”

“Come out and be found, lost younger cousin,” Another calls out on the vox.

“We can help you traverse this world,” A third calls out. “it’s stranger and more complicated thank you think younger cousin.”

They are mocking him, lying to him. If they find out he’s a loyalist, he’s dead, or worse than dead and that is not something he wants to deal with. Especially with the betrayal from Second Captain Sicarius, he does not want to deal with a whole squad of Chaos Astartes of the First-Born kind, he notices that one is a Word Bearer, a second one is an Emperor’s Child, and a third one is an Iron Warrior. He is kind of curious why they think he is a younger cousin, it’s true, he’s likely much younger than all of them, and he wonders if his voice, even over a vox has betrayed him.

His training is screaming at him to reveal himself by trying to kill the Chaos Scum, but it was four to one, and as he scanned the surroundings using his HUD display it tells him that there are more astartes shaped individuals in-bound. The situation is bad, and going to worse. He’s mentally calculating his options and just what damage he can do to them, and have them do to him so he doesn’t suffer at their hands, captured alive, if at all possible. There is a near silent ping on his comms and he almost wants to let out a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t has he sends a silent vox message to Claude his location.

He's glad, as much as he concerned as to how Claude and Cedric are here when he knows that they are of and from other chapters, which are in opposite sides of the galaxy, at least as far as he was aware of at the moment. Claude signals him once he’s shadow-teleported down to the base of the tree. Catius carefully scrambles down the tree and embraces his dear brother who hugs him back as tight, before tugging him into the shadows, which are bitterly cold, he closes his eyes, so he doesn’t potentially go mad by seeing something he’s not suited to see, trusting Claude to guide him true and greets Cedric, alarmed that the other is out of armor. They both explain about where and when he is. Also, about the complete grox-shite that is the Alliance between the larger warbands of Chaos and the Loyalists.

[c-is-for-circinate]

god the way you feel about judges is how i feel about the school board so i almost skipped the section - glad i didn't, because there's a Majorly transphobic candidate (i'm in one of the most liberal parts of the country!! wth!!!!)

Oh my god I feel you. School board elections matter so much. That's the big race around here this year too -- we're electing a school board for the public school district for the first time ever, in my city's whole history, (previously it's been mayoral appointment) and I've gotten more school board election spam than presidential, and it took me an hour of reading websites and interviews to sort through platforms and figure out who I even wanted in there because there's so much.

Because like, everybody around here knows who our state electoral votes are going to (we are still voting anyway! we will not be complacent! but yeah we all know.) But we don't know what's going to happen in our schools, and like --

Look, if it all goes to hell. If god-for-fucking-bid, Trump wins. We still have to live here! Kids still have to go to school, kids still have to grow up, and if we're about to be living in a fascist dystopia the question is suddenly, who is responsible for damage control? If we're flooded with ICE agents, who's deciding how teachers will be allowed to support kids from immigrant families? If social services disappear, who's budgeting for hot lunches (and breakfasts, and dinners)? If the Department of Education gets dissolved, who are the locals making the decisions on curriculum and standards? Who's the official body ruling on what state and federal policies about institutionalized transphobia get applied and how?

In the face of a potentially deadly overthrow of federal power, our local governments can be either an enforcer for fascism, or our bulwark against it. They matter.

Hell, the fucking Metropolitan Water Reclamation District matters (where I live)! Probably like 5% of voters here know what that office is even about. They're the people in charge of how our wastewater gets treated and released back into public waterways. Half the people running for the board this year are ecologists and residents of the most heavily-polluted areas of the region, and the other half have worked for some of the biggest corporations doing the polluting.

Just. Also. There are 94 judicial elections on my ballot this year. Ninety-four. 77 of those are retentions. I do not have it in me to research 77 separate retentions. I just don't.

So BallotReady, and InjusticeWatch, and begging the universe for the strength to endure. And maybe just voting to fire everybody because judicial turnover is good for the system, and voting at all is better than not. If I can't do the judges at least I can do the school board. If you can't do the school board at least you can do the President. God help us, we do what we can.

[hellofanidea]

curt has a crush on arthur 🎤🎤

This got away from me so badly, and it now is its own ficlet! It does get heavy during the latter part, however, so tw for alcoholism, PTSD, character death, and people being shitty to each other in the throes of those.

"Y'know Curt's got a thing for you?" Bucky grins at him one night, closer to five sheets to the wind than three, leaning into Arthur's space outside of the O Club.

There had been a few of them who wandered out initially, chasing fresh air to clear their soaked heads, but then the band had started up again and they had followed the music inside in search of dance partners. Arthur had expected Bucky to be first amongst them to go, but he had stayed when Arthur lingered under the night sky, and now he understands why.

"Not sure you're meant to say shit like that, Major," Arthur laughs, mostly out of shock at the way Bucky seems perfectly at ease with the idea. "Gonna get somebody a blue ticket home."

"Naw," Bucky scoffs, still smiling, though it's starting to look more like a leer. "Ain't runnin' to tell nobody. Just figured I'd try my hand at bein' a wingman."

He laughs at his own joke, swaying away and hiccuping drunkenly.

There's no need, Arthur wants to tell him; him and Curt have been slipping into dark corners together for a bit of stress relief for nearly two weeks now. He wonders if he pieced together Curt 'having a thing for him' from the newly charged air between them, or if Curt really had said something to him. Wonders what either of those could mean.

"You're a good friend," he tells Bucky instead, and means it. "You're also drunk as a skunk. C'mon, we should head back inside before you sober up enough to remember this in the mornin'."

Bucky makes a dismissive noise, but turns towards the door with him anyway.

"You're not gonna give me anything to take back to him? What kind of a wingman are you makin' me, Foster?" He complains.

"Well, considerin' I didn't try to punch yours or his lights out when you said somethin', a real lucky one, sir."

Several Years Later

"Y'know Curt's got a thing for you?" Bucky slurs, and Arthur feels his heart drop to his knees.

It's hot in the VA hall they've piled into for the reunion, and Bucky's been on fine form all night, to the point that some of the boys who didn't know him as Air Exec or CO or POW had been looking at him funny, and Arthur had to volunteer to take him outside for a moment. Let him cool his head in the relative privacy of the side alley. Catch his breath. Shiver off some of the burn of whiskey in his stomach.

And Arthur has been doing so well recently, but now he wants that same burn something fierce. He should go back inside, send Viv or Buck to take care of Bucky. Find Ev and get out of here before he follows Egan the way he always does eventually, and throws away three months of stone cold sobriety over the invocation of a ghost that he's never without anyway.

He doesn't go back inside. He stays next to where Bucky has his head tilted back to the sky, his eyes closed. Ignoring the tremble of his fingers, Arthur takes out a cigarette and lights it.

"Yeah, Bucky," he sighs around the filter. He doesn't have the energy to play along, or the heart to stop him.

"What, no joke about a blue ticket?" Bucky asks.

Irritation abruptly curdles in Arthur's stomach. He can't tell if Bucky's really back in Thorpe Abbotts in his mind, or if he's just trying to get a rise out of him. It reminds him, bitterly, of the Stalag. Bucky growling at him at him like a cornered animal, digging his fingers into Arthur's bruises; Arthur letting him, because at least it made him useful.

"I'm a civilian, now," he reminds Bucky. "Me 'n' Ev get caught it's jail, remember?"

The other man has the decency to look uncomfortable at the reminder, kissing his teeth unhappily. His closed eyes remain turned up to the pollution-hidden stars.

"Yeah. Forgot that." A heavy pause, and Arthur feels himself tense. Bucky's winding up for something, drawing his arm back to throw a curve ball. Definitely looking for a fight of some kind, and Arthur hasn't taken any of the bait so far, but he's come pretty close. "You 'n' Ev moved pretty fuckin' quickly. After Africa."

"Don't," Arthur snaps.

"I mean, I've heard the stories, you practically jumped him right there in the desert, right? Fucked him all the way up until you got yourself shot down. Wrote him fuckin' love letters from a Nazi prison camp, for fuck's sake." Bucky's eyes open. There's something dangerous in their piercing blue. "I bet Curt's body wasn't even cold when you jumped on his dick."

Arthur had never snapped at him in the Stalag, had taken his licks from Bucky like a good little soldier and kept on trotting after him. It had been worth it then just to feel the ache. Even more worth it for the times when Bucky wasn't at his lowest ebb and he would try to silently make it up to him.

Now, though? Arthur doesn't have that kind of patience left in him. Not even for Bucky, not when it's about Ev, about Curt, and not really about either of them at all, but about Bucky needing something he thinks he can only get by finding a sore spot and poking.

He has to know it's coming, but Bucky doesn't dodge when Arthur throws the punch. It's a good hit, or a bad one, something crunching under Arthur's fist in a way that instantly overrides the fury that had risen in him at Bucky's provocation. Bucky goes staggering, hands up at his face, and Arthur stares in horror at the aftermath of what he's done.

"Jesus, shit, Bucky, 'm sorry, 'm so sorry, are you alright?" He jabbers, frozen to the spot.

Just out of reach, Bucky sways. He's making grunts and groans as he seems to fight to stay upright. When one of his hands moves, red spills from between his fingers like wine, trickles down the backs of his hands, and drips onto his dress uniform. It's all over his tie. It'll stain, badly, and Arthur can't stop staring at it, even as Bucky straightens out and makes a throaty 'whoop' noise.

"Always knew you had a helluva swing on you, Foster," he laughs thickly.

His own blood is all over his lips, and he's still laughing, and there's too much happening at once, too many pasts layered together in Arthur's head. The smell of burning skin draws him from them, then the pain in his fist. Not just his knuckles; he had curled his hand tight around his still lit cigarette to throw the punch, and the end was now searing into his palm.

Finally, he drops it. If he lets it burn him a moment more than he needs to, that's between him and God and his ghosts.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Joan McCarter at Daily Kos:

The Supreme Court’s MAGA majority has produced some of the most dangerous rulings in the history of the institution this session, not only declaring that presidents could be king but also that federal courts—not administrative agencies—should get the final say on all federal policy.  Democrats are fighting to stop that. Massachusetts Elizabeth Warren and 10 fellow senators introduced legislation this week to overturn the court ruling that usurped the power of federal agencies. And not a moment too soon, because conservative activists were preparing for this ruling even before it came down, ready to flood the courts with challenges to the environmental regulations that affect just about every aspect of our lives.

In fact, a group of red-state attorneys general have already asked for an emergency ruling from the Supreme Court to block new Environmental Protection Agency rules intended to limit greenhouse gas emissions. The rules would require that coal and natural gas power plants either cut or capture their pollution by 90% before 2032.  This is exactly why Warren and her colleagues are fighting.  “Right-wing extremist judges and politicians in the pockets of Big Oil shouldn’t have free rein to block basic pollution regulations,” Warren told Daily Kos Thursday, in response to the conservative-backed challenge to EPA rules. “Congress needs to make clear that scientists, not corporate interests, should write environmental rules.” That’s what the proposed legislation, sponsored in the House by Pramila Jayapal, would do. It would restore and codify the decades-long Supreme Court precedent that the Trump-packed court overturned this year, putting the experts in our federal agencies back in charge of protecting everything from our air and water to our food and medicines. 

Glad to see Democrats like Elizabeth Warren take the fight to the MAGA Majority on SCOTUS by proposing legislation to overturn the disastrous Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo ruling that significantly altered regulatory powers.

[ivys-garden]

The thing that continues to shock me about the modern world is the multitude of ways we let cars ruin are lives.

Private cars continue to be a Blight, an obsession and focus on speed and size in car culture leads to accidents becoming more and more deadly.

Counties like China used to be completely dominated by bikes, now Beijing has some of the worse air quality in the world. Globally respiratory conditions in adults and children continue to rise. And co2 drives us ever closer to climate collapse

Switching to electric and hydrogen doesn't fix this either, parts still need to be mined, rubber still needs to be produced, as does plastic and old cars and bygone petrol stations need to be scrapped as many cannot be converted

Streets and cities used to be a place of community, but now they are dominated by cars. Want to go to the park? Sorry, it was torn up for a parking garage. Want to cross the road? Yeah, just wait ten minutes for all the cars to pass and get over in 10 seconds before someone decides that getting to mcdonalds is more important than traffic laws. Oh, and I hope you've not got a motor disability or are in a wheel chair or your royaly fucked.

Pedestrians used to have the right of way always, never cars. You never had to teach children to look both ways because cars were expected to stop. Of corse motor companies started paying schools to teach traffic safety and over the decades streets became devoid of people to the point where some see hanging around on a conner or playing curby as a crime.

Cars themselves cut of connections, drivers get ever more angry at simply mistakes and spend acumelate years of there life in traffic Jams. And don't think Lane expansions help, that just means the jam expands to meet the new capacity

The private car in the modern day is pointless and dangerous, cars do have a place, like for businesses or the police or I'd your disabled and public transport in nonaplicable, but other than that the car is of a bygone era

There's a reason that more young people don't buy cars and not just because there expensive and bad for the planet - though that is a factor - cars are simply to dangerous and difficult to use.

Edinburgh has experimented with banning cars from several Streets, reinstating conections and allowing kids to play. They up parking charges to dissuade people from using there car and clogging up the narrow streets, they instal low emissions zones to stop the most polluting cars entering.

And it works.

More and more people in Scotland are using public transport, the tram lines have been expanded, as have the train and bus routes. Travel becomes cheaper and these measure have begun to spread.

It's not just Scotland either, Ireland and prodigal have done similar. Brazil has expanded bike lanes to make cycling safer and introduced a bike share system.

Spain went even further and made train travel free and German citizens even tried to get Berlin to completely ban cars

The era of the car is ending, and the sooner people accept that public transport is safer, more affordable and better for the environment, the sooner and smoother the change will occur.

One day, when I'm and old lady sitting on by garden chair, I will look out and smile because coming down the street will not be and endless cavalcade of cars, it will be the odd company van, the single decker bus carrying passengers and merry children running down the streets.

Or you know we could keep using the car and literally destroy the world via climate change whatever you want really.

[sirfrogsworth]

The reviews of the Cybertruck are starting to post today.

I think a lot of people want it to be extra terrible. And, like, everything that was clearly Elon's input is actually terrible. But the Tesla engineers tried really hard to put a quality, functional, electric truck inside of Elon's stupidity.

And I kind of feel bad for them.

It really seems like they did a good job considering the circumstances. But they were forced to put all of their engineering brilliance in a vehicle that looks like it was in the Super Nintendo version of Starfox.

Aside from the low polygon count, I think the most offensive thing about the Cybertruck is the official logo—which is plastered all over the truck.

Yikes.

The most concerning things about the truck that I could see are visibility issues. You can't see directly in front of you, which is actually a problem with a lot of oversized trucks in the US. And there is no visibility out the back either. There is a sliver of a window if you don't have the truck bed covered. There are rearview cameras, which are arguably better than craning your neck around, but screens and cameras can break or malfunction.

I'm also worried about the crumple zones. I just don't see how that is supposed to work with all the stainless steel panels. Crumple zones are probably one of the greatest car safety innovations along with seatbelts and airbags. Hopefully they found a way to make it work, but this car could be dangerous for the people driving it and the people this monstrosity collides into.

Also, don't ever dent or damage this truck. I have to imagine replacing bespoke stainless steel body panels that require special presses to manufacture is probably going to cost an exorbitant amount.

It's ugly and stupid and way more expensive than it needs to be and underneath... a decent electric truck.

And that is a shame.

An affordable EV truck which could be used by normal folks and not just Elon stans would have been a good thing. I don't think electric vehicles will save the planet. We should be building trains and more trains and then buses where the trains can't go. But that isn't happening, so transitioning to EVs is still *something.* Especially if they can be charged with alternative energy. If you are in an area with a coal plant and you charge your vehicle, the only benefit is not adding exhaust pollution to the area the vehicle drives. Which, again, is not nothing, but also not nearly enough.

The only good I can see in the Cybertruck is that some of the innovative engineering will trickle down into more affordable vehicles that normal people can buy and use. But that will take time. And they could have probably just made a simple, normal truck that costs half as much and sped that process up. Which is part of the reason it is clear Elon is not interested in saving the planet. He just wants his whims attended to.