#not someone elected in a separate race

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 14

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Darling, I appreciate your faith in me," Bucky said, his voice low as he stepped closer, eyes searching yours. "But…I still want to live."

You didn’t flinch. "I’m serious."

He paused, letting the weight of your words settle. "Just because I told you about Steve doesn’t mean I’m going to stab him in the back."

His gaze dropped for a moment, conflicted. Steve was more than just a mentor—he was the older brother Bucky had always wanted, someone he had looked up to for years. Shawn was never that. Steve had been there when he needed guidance, someone to show him the ropes. But now… now everything felt twisted.

"I didn’t know before this election," Bucky continued, his jaw clenched. "I’ve learned things that should’ve been obvious to me. And now, you probably see me as a coward for turning a blind eye all this time."

He swallowed hard. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay silent forever."

Your brow furrowed as the room fell into silence. Bucky reached out, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, his touch both grounding and electrifying. "There’s a time for everything. Please, believe in me."

His voice held a plea you hadn’t heard before, and suddenly, you remembered what the priest once said: Timing. It all felt too coincidental. You could see the puzzle coming together in your mind, but the picture was far from complete.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, realization hitting you like a wave. “He picked you because he knew you wouldn’t say no to him. You’d follow his lead without question.”

Bucky’s face hardened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, a mix of frustration and guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to respond.

“And our divorce?” you added, the words sharper than intended. “It was all part of the plan. To tarnish your image, while he hides his own cracks."

Bucky took a step closer, the tension between you two thick enough to cut. His voice was steady but soft. "For now, please stay quiet about what you’ve found. This could ruin both of us. Or do you want Edgar and Brock to win instead?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. "This is so fucked up. There’s only two candidates."

Bucky's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Hey… we’re not that bad."

"Don’t campaign in front of me," you said, narrowing your eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The tension between you was undeniable, the heat rising in the small space as you tried to keep things civil.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, but he didn’t push any further. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was fighting some inner battle to keep his distance. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away, letting the moment pass.

That night, sleep was impossible. Nate slept peacefully beside you, his small body curled into yours for warmth. But your mind raced, replaying every conversation, every hidden piece of the puzzle that had yet to be uncovered. You needed help, someone with answers. But who?

Then, it hit you. The perfect person. Someone who could get you the information you needed, though asking them for help would open old wounds.

He’s going to hate me for this, you thought, your chest tightening at the idea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Ian stood near the check-in counter at the airport, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited in line. Just as he was about to move forward, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—Greg.

"Follow me," Greg's voice said on the other end, no further explanation given.

Ian's brow furrowed slightly, but he complied, stepping out of the line and trailing Greg down a series of quiet corridors. They finally reached a private room, and Ian’s eyes immediately found you sitting there, alone.

He glanced around the room as if expecting someone else. "I’m by myself," you assured him, noticing his brief scan of the area.

Ian folded his arms, his tone cool as he tilted his head slightly. "What honor do I get to have this meeting?"

You met his gaze, trying to keep steady, though the weight of the situation made your heart race. "I know you hate me," you said softly, not beating around the bush.

"More like at your soon-to-be husband," Ian shot back, his gaze flickering with barely concealed disdain.

You straightened in your seat, squaring your shoulders. "Whatever the Barnes family has done, I won’t defend them," you said, a quiet resolve in your voice.

Ian narrowed his eyes, reading the tension in your body. "You must be desperate to come to me."

A small, nervous laugh escaped your lips as you looked down at your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. "I am."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, the lines of old memories creeping in. This felt too much like the past when you both used to dig into dangerous territory. "Just tell me what this is about. I’ve got a flight to catch."

You took a steadying breath, locking eyes with him. "Do you remember the article I wrote? Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability?"

He nodded, curiosity flickering behind his otherwise guarded expression.

"I think I’ve found someone involved in that conspiracy." Your voice was low, every word heavy with the truth you'd been holding back.

Ian’s face hardened, eyes searching yours. "Who?" he asked, his tone more serious now.

You hesitated for just a second. "It’s Steve."

Ian's eyes widened, and for a moment, the tension between you both disappeared. "Whoa…"

You nodded grimly. "We need to watch out for him. I’m starting to see how deep his connections run. There are scandals tied to him—things you wouldn't expect."

Ian crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. "Is this about his sons?"

You flinched slightly, your heart skipping a beat. He couldn’t know about Nate. You prayed he didn’t. "What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

"My friend was writing a piece on Steve’s twin sons. They’re apparently bullies at their school, leaders of a gang. But before the article could go to print, the entire office lost power. Threats were made, just like when we published Deals in the Dark."

Your stomach tightened. It made sense now why you always felt uneasy around Steve's sons. You wanted to feel shocked, but it only confirmed what you’d been sensing all along.

Ian smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "This is getting interesting. I’ll dig deeper, see what I can find."

He turned to leave, but you stood, calling after him, "Ian."

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Be careful," you said, your voice soft, almost pleading.

Ian gave a small, crooked smile and nodded. He took a last look at you, he felt that, this might be the last time he'd see you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Back at Bucky’s apartment, Nate sat on the couch, holding his phone up for a FaceTime call. Hazel's face appeared on the screen, still in Paris, her voice warm and comforting despite the distance.

“I miss you, Mommy,” Nate said softly, his eyes wide with longing.

“I miss you too, baby,” Hazel replied with a tender smile, her expression softening as she spoke to her son.

After a moment, Hazel’s tone shifted. “Baby, can you give the phone to your uncle for a sec?”

Nate nodded, handing the phone to Bucky. “Here.”

Bucky took the phone, glancing briefly at Nate before turning his focus to Hazel. “When are you coming back?” he asked, a bit more urgency in his voice than he intended.

“Not until the election is over,” Hazel replied matter-of-factly.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Seriously?”

“It’s for the best,” Hazel added with a sigh, her gaze flickering briefly before she continued, “Please watch over him while I’m gone.”

Before Bucky could respond, the FaceTime call ended, the screen going dark. He stared at the blank phone for a moment, lost in thought.

He knew Hazel had her reasons for staying away, but it still didn’t sit right with him. Nate needed his mom, and even though he was doing his best, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that things were spiraling beyond his control. Watching over Nate wasn’t the issue—it was everything else that came with it.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Across town, Steve Rogers stood in a dimly lit room, facing a massive window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The city lights glowed faintly outside, reflecting off the glass as he stared into the distance, his hands resting in his pockets. His phone buzzed on the nearby table. He glanced at it, seeing the text message he’d ignored for hours: When are you coming back?

Unread. No reply.

Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the window, his mind running over the countless decisions he had made in the last few months. The weight of the campaign, his connections, and now…this.

Knock, knock.

A sharp sound broke through the silence. His eyes flickered towards the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice low.

The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside, her expression as serious as always. “We’ve got another notification,” she said, her eyes locking with his as she handed him a folder.

Steve sighed, feeling the tension crawl up his spine. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about the twins,” Natasha explained, her tone clipped and efficient. “We tracked the IP address involved.” She handed him the information.

Steve took the folder, scanning the contents briefly before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I should’ve known,” he muttered with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the line to connect, he leaned against the window, the cold glass pressing against his back. When the call picked up, his voice was calm but determined.

“Can we meet?”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky arrived at the golf course as soon as he received Steve’s call. The air was crisp, and the sun was barely cutting through the clouds, casting a muted light over the manicured greens. As Bucky approached, Steve was already mid-swing, the soft thwack of the golf club meeting the ball echoed in the quiet morning.

Steve didn’t turn around, eyes following the ball as it soared across the field. “Bucky, you know why I want to be President, right?” His tone was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, his expression unreadable as he stood a few feet away, watching Steve with his hands in his pockets.

“We’re this close to winning,” Steve said, setting up for another swing, his movements precise, controlled. He took the shot, the ball cutting clean through the air. “One mistake could ruin us. Our rivals will use any kind of ammo to tear down our image.” His voice lowered with emphasis, a hint of menace lingering in his words.

Bucky stayed silent, but his mind was working. He knew Steve had meticulously planned every step, had considered every angle. Steve’s obsession with maintaining a perfect image wasn’t new. He had a way of knowing when someone so much as whispered behind his back.

Even the online comments rarely escaped his notice. Bucky suspected Stark Technology had something to do with that. Howard Stark, Steve’s long-time friend and the campaign’s biggest sponsor, had deep resources. It wasn’t hard to believe that some of those resources were being used to monitor any potential threats.

Just as Bucky was deep in thought, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Natasha. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. His hand clenched around the paper as he saw the name: Ian.

Steve took another swing, his voice calm but laced with tension. “This lackey of Edgar and Brock is persistent.”

Bucky folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, his jaw tightening. “I’ve made sure to shut him down.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his club. “But you’re still too soft.” He walked towards Bucky, each step deliberate, his gaze unflinching. Reaching him, Steve lifted the golf club he’d been holding, pointing it at Bucky with a steady hand.

“I’ve cheated death a couple of times to get here,” Steve said quietly, the weight of his words settling between them. His eyes were cold, calculating. “I’ve sacrificed so much. I won’t let anything stop me.”

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[imagitory]

I've never been more heartbroken in my life.

I was gobsmacked in 2016, don't get me wrong. I was devastated and frightened and shaken beyond words. I even had to go behind a wall and collect myself at one point that horrible November 9th, 2016, after colliding with a man wearing a red MAGA hat at work. A good chunk of us at work talked amongst ourselves about it, offering each other comfort.

But this? This is different. I could imagine dumb people making excuses for voting for Trump in 2016 -- saying that they thought a businessman would be good for the economy, saying that they wanted someone who wasn't a "Washington insider" like Hilary Clinton. Sure, it was stupid, but people can be stupid. Quite frankly, a lot of people are stupid, in this country and otherwise.

But now? Anyone who voted for Trump now has voted for a man who not only rounded up immigrants and put them in concentration camps separated from their families; bungled the response to COVID-19 so badly that the American death toll easily surpassed every other country on Earth; has poisoned the Supreme Court to the extent that they overturned years of precedence with Roe V. Wade and has basically given Trump cart-blanche to do whatever he wants while he's president; was the first president in history to refuse to concede on election day; was impeached for crimes in office not once but TWICE; was instrumental to and passionately supportive of the full-on attempted coup at the U.S. capitol on January 6, 2021 that could've very easily resulted in the deaths of his own Vice President and multiple members of Congress; has spoken glowingly of despots like Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un and even said he will be "a dictator on day one" if elected again; has both used slogans originally used by modern American Neo-Nazis ("America First") and purportedly told one of his ex-subordinates that he wanted generals like Adolf Hitler's...but also has by the day proven more and more just how mentally inept, vindictive, and mean-spirited he truly is.

And unlike in his previous races, Trump is ahead in the popular vote too. We can't just blame this on the electoral college being antiquated and gerrymandered AF like in the Trump-Clinton or Bush-Gore elections. Even if all of the third-party voters in this country had grown a bloody brain cell and voted for Harris so as to show solidarity against Trump and his form of American fascism, it still somehow wouldn't be enough. We could potentially blame this on lower voter turn-out -- according to what I'm seeing so far, even with all the votes not counted in this race yet, it looks like there were far less votes cast this election than in the last one, though likely still more than the 2016 race. But even so, I don't think that's the only problem. I truly think there were just a lot of people who turned out en-masse to vote for Trump. And all I can think in regards to those people is...

This is beyond stupidity or even selfishness. This is cruelty. This is large swaths of people deciding that they want fellow American citizens to suffer -- because in their minds, if those people suffer, that'll somehow make them happy. This is a large chunk of America saying, "yeah, you know all that crap about 'liberty and justice for all'? Screw that, I want a 'strong man' to bully people different from me for my own amusement." And -- perhaps -- there's also an element of feeling like their vote doesn't really have any consequences for them, so why should they care if the man they voted for is a god-awful person? It's not like that man will hurt them.

I had hoped. I had hoped, seeing the outpouring of support from liberals, independents, and conservatives for Harris/Walz. I'd hoped, seeing how many ex-Trump appointees were standing up against him, how much people were shouting their disdain for Project 2025 from the rooftops, and how many women were protesting in the face of Roe V. Wade being overturned. I truly had started to hope that America would prove we'd grown beyond our country's own original sin -- how our United States preached freedom for all while still being built on the backs of slaves and refusing to grant a vote to over half their population -- by electing a smart, successful, charismatic woman of color who sees our country as great in potential and wants us to pursue that potential as our first female president, rather than backtracking all the slow progress we've made over the last 200+ years.

But now...my hope has faded. My heart is in pieces and the world is so dark. I hardly know how I'll function at work tomorrow, even if I know somehow, I have to try. We'll all have to stand somehow. Somehow, someway...we'll have to find the strength. We'll have to stand, and we'll have to keep moving forward, even when it feels like we're a Little Mermaid walking on knives.

We'll have to stand.

[ahyperactivehero]

i asked on election night if anyone wanted a little drabble to help with the stress, and unfortunately it has taken me a little longer than i would like to get them out!

@det-agency: please write Edwin getting turned into an orb for the first time pre-canon and Charles freaking out i think itd be so fun

(fun fact, this is my first orb fic! i've wanted to write one for a minute, but this is the first that i've actually sat down and wrote out!)

Drabble 5 (Orb Fic)

London, 1991

Getting chased by a vengeful ghost was not exactly what Charles had planned for when they’d set off to speak to their client, but he supposed that’s what you get being a ghost detective.

Edwin sprinted ahead of him, his long legs easily giving him the speed that he needed to leave their client in the dust. 

“Who woulda thought our client was the guilty one?” Charles yelled out to Edwin, who glanced over his shoulder. 

“It is certainly a twist,” Edwin said. He suddenly veered off to the right, racing towards the bedroom mirror they had come through earlier. If they could get there, they could head back to their newly established office and regroup. They’d certainly need to think of a better plan now that their client had turned on them and absolutely wasted their original suspect.

Edwin reached the mirror, his hand outstretched as he concentrated on getting them back to the office. Charles turned around, his hands immediately finding comfort in his cricket bat. If that bastard even thought about getting close to them he’d smash him.

“Come on,” he heard Edwin mutter under his breath. “Find it, find it, find it.”

Mirror travel was something Charles had yet to master, but Edwin was aces at it. It would probably only take him a second before–

A choked, gasping sound came from behind him, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone stepping through a mirror. He spun around, worried for a moment that Edwin might have fallen through the mirror and been separated from him, when he felt his soul go cold.

Their client, Geoff Mann, stepped from the mirror. His hand was already through, and in his fist was an iron knife.

An iron knife covered in ghostly blood.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled, rushing forward just as Edwin staggered backwards.

His hands were on his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Charles felt panic like he never had before. Iron hurt ghosts, but could it kill them? Was stabbing enough to obliterate a ghost? Maybe not, but what about cutting their throat?

Edwin fell straight into his arms, and Charles would have dropped his cricket bat if it weren’t for the vengeful ghost of their client standing over them. Blood dripped off of the knife and pooled on the carpet and it seemed wrong that it wouldn’t actually stain it. Not that Charles wanted anything to be stained with his best friend’s blood, it just seemed wrong that it wouldn’t.

“Hold on,” he said in what he hoped was his most reassuring voice. Gently, and without looking away from Geoff, he slid Edwin to the floor. He ignored his hand dragging down Charles’s arm, begging him to stay– to not leave him alone.

This would only take a moment. Besides, he needed to take care of the threat before he tended to Edwin.

“You fucked up,” Charles said, twirling his bat. Geoff didn’t even have the decency to look the least bit frightened. 

“You’re gonna make me move on,” Geoff said. “And I ain’t doin’ it.”

They weren’t. That’s not what their Agency did. They couldn’t force someone to move on if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t even what Geoff had originally hired them for!

But none of that mattered now. Not when Edwin was behind him, gasping and potentially dying. 

(He wasn’t even sure what dying would mean for a ghost. Would he go back to Hell? Disappear?)

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. He swung his bat against his arm, almost enjoying the way it cracked and forced him to drop his knife.

Charles wasn’t a violent person, no matter how much he feared being like his father. But the satisfaction he got from seeing that man drop to his knees in pain after what he’d done to Edwin? Well, he might need to reflect on that.

The urge to keep going was strong– after all, what was to stop him from coming after them later? – but he forced himself to stop. 

“If anything happens to him,” Charles warned, holding out his bat against the other man’s head. “I’m comin’ back.”

Quicker than the other man could react, he bent down and picked up his knife and turned back to get Edwin. 

He laid there, air and blood gurgling as he tried to keep his wound closed. At some point his eyes had screwed shut, like that might help block out the pain. They sprang open at the first sign of Charles’s touch, that faint bit of panic he’d seen when something reminded him of Hell shooting across his face before flattening out into something more manageable.

“Let's go,” Charles said. He put his hands under his armpits, intending to haul Edwin up if he had to, but a flash of light overwhelmed his vision and Edwin disappeared.

“Edwin!” he yelled and looked from hand to hand as if he might have somehow been hiding there. 

A small orb, just a bit bigger than a cricket ball, floated there in front of him. There was no trace of Edwin, just the small, pulsing yellow orb.

“Edwin?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The orb bobbed for a moment, as if it were answering. The yellow seemed to glow brighter for a second before dimming until it was a faded, off-white color. 

Forget it. Charles had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t have time for this. He snatched Edwin up and booked it through the mirror,  no destination in mind– only intent on getting them as far away as possible.

It took several tries before he got back to the office, and by then his nonexistent heartbeat had slowed down to something far more bearable. Without even thinking he tossed his bag and bat to the floor and uncovered the ball of light he’d been keeping safe in his hands.

There was an unexpected feeling to it, not quite a weight but certainly a warmth. It reminded him of when he was alive and he’d stick his cold finger next to a heater or run them under warm water once they’d gone numb.

It was the first time he’d felt warmth since he died.

He held the orb closer to his face and chest for inspection. It was perfectly round, the edges of it reminding him of an impossible mix of glass and a cloud. It wasn’t solid, but he also couldn’t put his hand through it, even if he tried.

“Edwin?” he asked again. Could this really be Edwin? What had that ghost done to him?

The orb pulsed, yellow light coming back to it before fading again into that cool, white light.

So it really must be Edwin. 

He glanced over at Edwin’s slowly growing collection of books and wondered if there was something about this in one of them. The subject of orbs had never come up before, but then again, neither one of them had ever been as hurt as Edwin was before. 

Was this what happened when something hurt them? How badly did they need to be hurt in order for it to happen? 

“Hey,” Charles said as he ran his hand over the orb. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

There was another pulse. The orb seemed to hover above his hands for a moment before gravity seemed to take over it and it dropped back down. 

In a sheer panic, Charles caught it. Or not it, he supposed. Because this thing had to be Edwin. If it wasn’t that would mean that either Edwin was gone or he’d left him behind with their insane client. 

The idea that he might have done that nearly sent him into a tailspin. Should he double back and check? What if this was a trick and the real Edwin was somehow still there? Or what if there was something special about his knife that had turned Edwin into an orb?

Gently, he cradled Edwin to his chest as he turned to look for his bag. He’d picked up the knife, hadn’t he? Thankfully, it only took a few tries before he successfully pulled it from his bag. Ha, take that Edwin, he was getting better at using it.

“See, mate,” he said, his voice low and soft as he spoke over the orb. “I told you this bag was worth it. Already earnin’ its keep, hm?”

The handle of the knife was thankfully not iron coated. Charles hadn’t even thought about that earlier when he’d grabbed it. All he’d been thinking about was that Edwin was hurt, and he’d needed to disarm the guy.

Blood covered the blade, but aside from that there seemed to be nothing interesting about it at all. Not strange markings, no traces of magic that he could tell. It looked exactly like every other boring knife out there.

Except this one had hurt his friend.

The orb– Edwin, Charles supposed– pulsed again, the light from it peeking out between his fingers. Had Charles squeezed it by accident? He’d been so focused on the knife, so caught up in thoughts of their client hurting him that he hadn’t really…

Slowly but with more force than Charles anticipated, the orb pulled free from his hand. It bobbed around the room, floating here and there as if it were looking for something. It lingered above Edwin’s chair, the space where the other boy spent most of his time in the office. 

Yet there was nothing for it to do. It’s not like the orb had hands. It couldn’t hold a book or write or do anything that usually interested Edwin. 

As if it had realized this, it lazily floated back over to Charles. That yellow light seemed to be getting even stronger, calming Charles’s nerves just a bit. A strong light had to be a good sign, yeah? Surely that meant that Edwin was fine. 

Except what if he wasn’t fine? What if yellow was bad and he was trying to warn Charles? What if he needed help, and Charles couldn’t understand him? How was he meant to do anything if Edwin couldn’t talk to him anymore?

The orb bumped into his head, the softest, gentlest headbutt Charles had ever experienced. His thoughts slowed down as he lifted his hands up to cup the orb again.

“Well, mate,” Charles said. “What do you think we should do?” 

Edwin didn’t answer. Not that Charles thought he would.

“What if I read to you?” he asked. “I love it when you read to me. Helps me relax, yeah?”

Edwin seemed to warm up in his hands again. Charles took that as a good sign.

He strolled over to Edwin’s bookcase (our bookcase, Charles, the Edwin in his mind reminded him) and browsed their selection. Most of them were detective novels, but Edwin had recently started to collect more on magic and the supernatural.

No, he thought, should really stick to a classic.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? You love him,” he said, as if Charles didn’t also love him.

He grabbed one of their Sherlock Holmes books at random and made his way over to the couch. “Might as well get comfy, eh?” he asked and sprawled out.

For a moment, Charles was sure Edwin was going to float away. Maybe he hadn’t been as interested in reading to him as he’d thought. Instead, Edwin merely rolled down until he was resting on Charles’s chest, that warm, familiar feeling spreading all over him.

So Charles read to him. He read to him until he had finished one book, and then started on another that he could reach. His voice was a low rumble, the sound fading into the background as he split his attention between the words and Edwin. Time passed slowly and hazily, the sort of dream-like quality that only came when it didn’t really matter.

Eventually, when he thought he might go insane from reading so much, he talked. He told Edwin how he was sorry he hadn’t been fast enough to stop him– because really, Charles had been right there after all– and how he hoped that Edwin forgave him. He told him that when Edwin felt better, he would do anything he wanted. He’d even go see that play he’d been talking about that Charles couldn’t remember the name of if he wanted. And there was a show that Charles was interested in going to, but they could stand at the back where it was quieter and they were less likely to get stepped on if Edwin wanted to come.

He told him how much he missed him. How worried he was about him. How he knew that it had only been about a day since he’d gone into this form, but he didn’t think he’d missed anyone this much. Not his mum or dad, not his friends or teachers. No one.

Finally, he fell silent. He was sure that if he dug down deep enough there was more for him to say, but what was the point? Edwin was still stuck looking like the world’s brightest cricket ball, and he had just spilled about everything he had in him.

“I’m just worried,” Charles said. His arms wrapped around the orb so tightly it doubled as a self-hug. “Y’know I worry.”

Then again, maybe Edwin didn’t know. Charles loved to portray himself as this confident, friendly guy. Sure, he could be protective, but did Edwin know he was serious enough that he could worry?

Something shifted. The solid, golden color the orb had been since he’d started reading to him briefly changed. It flashed blue, a color that Charles normally loved but reminded him too much of Death in this instance, before it faded, and the orb was gone.

Before he could worry whether or not Death had actually come for them, he felt a solid weight pressing down on him. And there, in his lap, laid out across him, was Edwin. His feet were tucked up, allowing his long body to fit neatly onto the couch, his head cradled against Charles’s chest.

“Edwin?” he breathlessly asked.

Edwin shifted, his head tilting back just enough to look up at him. Charles had to loosen his death grip on him to allow even that. “Charles?”

Immediately, Charles hugged him closer. He smashed Edwin’s face into his chest and pressed his chin to the top of his head. “Don’t ever do that again, mate,” he said. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Edwin was frozen. Then, he thawed and relaxed himself into Charles’s hug. “I did not mean to worry you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Charles said without any heat to it. Finally, he let his arms slide away from Edwin and allowed himself to get his first real look at his friend.

The first thing he noticed was that he looked tired. Dark bags lined his eyes and blood still smeared his collar, although whatever wound had been made was gone. He seemed paler than normal as well, but Edwin was always so pale it was hard to tell. 

“Alright?” he asked, still looking for any sign that he wasn’t.

Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded stronger than before, and God if it didn’t sound like Heaven to Charles. The idea that he might never have heard his friend speak again hadn’t truly hit him until this moment. “I believe I am unharmed.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “You were stabbed. In the neck,” he said. Or close enough, anyways. “And then you turned into this glowing ball, and… well, I didn’t know what to do.”

Edwin flinched at the mention of his wound before soothing his expression into one of fondness. “Yes, I… seem to remember that,” he said. His hand came up to touch his throat, only to find no wound there. “It would seem I have healed.”

“Maybe that’s what that was?” he asked and made a gesture with his hand to show orb-sized Edwin. “Maybe that was like ‘ghost healing’?” 

Something between annoyance and acceptance flashed across Edwin’s face. “I believe you have it right,” Edwin said. “It would seem that would be the form ghosts take when they heal.”

Charles nodded. “Kinda brills, honestly. Like a turtle goin’ into their shell or something.”

Edwin squinted his eyes at the comparison. “I suppose,” he said. And then almost immediately collapsed when he tried to get up.

“Oi!” Charles said and wrapped his arms around him. “What’re you doing? You wanna be an orb again?” 

Edwin huffed as he settled back down. His face had washed out even more after his ill-advised attempt. “No, I do not,” he said. “But it hardly seems appropriate for me to just… lay all over you.”

Before he had died, Charles might have agreed. There was a certain amount of weirdness to it, he supposed, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Edwin to get up. In fact, he wanted Edwin to stay right where he was until he was strong enough to stand without passing out again.

Edwin rolled his eyes when he said this. “I did not pass out. Ghosts cannot do that,” he said. Yet he laid his head back down against Charles’s chest, his now ruffled hair tickling Charles’s chin. 

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said. Before Edwin could argue, he held a hand up and used it to gently bop him on the arm. “And don’t say ghosts can’t sleep. That’s basically what you were doing before.”

Edwin started to shake his head, but the motion quickly became him snuggling down against Charles. “I am merely resting my eyes.”

Charles grinned, a sudden wave of fondness he’d never felt for anyone else overtaking him. “Yeah, well rest your mouth too.”

Edwin tried to flip him off but failed. “Almost had it,” Charles teased.

“I’ll figure it out one day,” he said before fading back off to sleep. 

At least this time he stayed a ghost.

[syndrossi]

Do you remember ages and ages ago when we were discussing the idea of the mountain clansmen from the Vale coming down and accidentally falling in love with Jon because Jon + wildings, you know? I was just thinking about how Jon might manage to interact with some Vale mountain clansmen in Reverberate AU or Regnal AU when he and Rhaegar could ostensibly spend parts of their childhood in the Vale with Daemon and Rhea both. Maybe he gets in a huff and goes out on his own, leaving Rhaegar/Daemon/Rhea at Runestone, and gets lost and/or hurt and then picked up by a clansman. It's probably more likely if Daemon isn't at Runestone at the time... considering Caraxes' sniffing abilities, lmao. I could see Daemon or Rhea and the Runestone knights finally finding him only to discover he's gotten himself into mischief, like... the clan that found him has elected him their new leader, or he's accidentally gone and gotten himself married without knowing how. 😂

Meanwhile the angst of Rhaegar and the family when they realize they let Jon run off in an angry huff after a fight or disagreement and he's BEEN KIDNAPPED BY MOUNTAIN CLANSMEN. The ultimate enemy of the Vale! Oh no! Any thoughts?

We might need a way to take Qelebrys (and Shadow) out of the picture too, because if you think Caraxes's sniffing skills are impressive, Qelebrys and Shadow are uncanny at finding one another and their riders. (They don't have infinite detection distance by any means, of course, but you'd need quite a lot of separation.)

Perhaps a hunt in the Vale of Arryn gone awry while Daemon is called away to business in King's Landing and the boys want to do something with Rhea? The dragons are left at home, because they'll scare the prey and are jealous of the boys' falcons. Or it could be a hunt hosted by Lady Jeyne, where it's DEFINITELY expected that the dragons aren't coming along.

What age were you thinking them being in this scenario? Obviously it's scarier (and potentially funnier) if they're 8-10ish, though I wish Jon good luck going off in a huff with Ser Willam ready to sit on him if necessary. I feel like Allard would be along so that Daemon could go I TOLD YOU SO after all these years, even though he's innocent and just trying to aid in the search.

There are likely other young boys along if it's a bigger hunt, so it could be a game of chase (or hide) gone awry, where eventually someone (Rhaegar) notices that Jon's nowhere to be seen. Then there's the angst of "how could I let him out of my sight?" and "why did I suggest playing the game?"

(If they're older, it could be a horse race or something more adolescent/teen-driven.)

And now you've got Runestone a two week trip on horseback away, meaning they can't go get Qelebrys and Shadow without abandoning the search for that long, so an urgent raven is dispatched to KL. For the 4-5 days before Caraxes gets there, though, there's all manner of trouble Jon can get himself into...

(Poor Rhea, half convinced her baby boy is dead given the cruel savagery of the mountain clansmen, but trying not to make her fears obvious for Rhaegar's sake which of course fails because that boy is stupidly tuned to anyone's emotions but especially a mother's. So now she has to wrangle Rhaegar to keep him out of harm's way seeking Jon because she can't lose them both.)

[swiss-mrs]

EDDIE MUNSON X SINCLAIR!READER

just me rambling on again about how Eddie loves a black woman from infinity to infinityyyy

there's a 'face claim' under the cut because i said so. you've been warned

okay, listen here.

Ever since your family moved to Hawkins, life has been... different

You just turned 13 when your family uprooted to the small town in Indiana. Lucas was 10, and Erica was only 6.

It was a bit easier for your younger siblings to adjust, but you had to start fresh during your last year of middle school, going into high school. That sucked like a bitch.

Transitioning from a larger city with a decent mix of races to a predominantly white town was about as smooth as it sounded, not at all.

Though racism was not terrible, there were plenty of backhanded compliments, passive aggressiveness, and snarky comments.

You were always so "well-spoken", "well-mannered", "presentable".

You didn't "sound black".

You didn't "act black".

You were "pretty for a black girl."

Whatever the fuck that means.

You knew that begging your parents to move elsewhere was not an option, waste of time, so you always knew that the moment you had the chance, you weren't gonna stick around for too long.

Going into high school at the end of '82, just shy of a year after moving into Hawkins, was how yours and Eddie's paths crossed, just barely.

Since you could practically count on one hand how many black families were in Hawkins's population, not knowing one another by name was near impossible.

You know Jeff by proxy.

Your parents knew each other, and you were the same age, so of course you knew each other.

You wouldn't call him a friend per se, but you were friendly enough to exchange quick greetings in passing.

Jeff was with three older kids when you passed him in the hall.

A chubby, curly haired, white boy, a pale brunette girl, and a slim, lanky kid who looked like he was trying to grow out a bad haircut, all of which were decked out in jean and leather.

The polite smile and wave he gave made the lanky boy to turn and see who Jeff was waving at.

As soon as you caught each other's eyes, his curious expression turned into a lovestruck one.

You didn't pay much attention to it, though.

"Who is that?"

"Oh, no one. She's just the daughter of some friends of my parents."

Since you were in separate grades, you didn't regularly cross paths with any of the people you saw with Jeff often, but you did end up having an elective class with the brunette girl.

It was a couple of weeks in when you were partnered up with her for a project.

"Veronica is my government name. Call me Ronnie."

During lunch, Ronnie mentioned to Jeff how adorable you were.

"You got to meet her?!"

Ronnie would then go on about how you were so nice and polite, but you were also extremely smart and sassy.

She got to witness your wit first hand when you made a sneaky comeback at someone who gave one of those stupid 'for a black girl' comments.

"I think Eddie is going to blow a fuse."

"You got to meet HER?!"

The boy was starstruck every time you would unknowingly pass him in the hall or when he saw you from across the cafeteria.

"Would you just go up and talk to her, numbnuts?" Ronnie would say as she smacked the back of his head when she caught him staring a bit too hard.

"I can't just 'go up' to her!"

"The fuck not?"

He'd reply with silence, not really knowing what answer to give.

You were too good for him? He'd have no chance? You'd dismiss him? Reject him? What would he even say?

"I wouldn't know what to say..."

"Maybe try, 'Hello'."

He spent the next four years pining over you from a distance.

Now, in your senior year, you were more excited than anything to get out of this shit hole.

The cute super super senior with the loud mouth, long hair, and less than stellar reputation had always caught your eye, but you both still had yet to actually say anything to each other. Paths never crossing further than beyond the hallway.

You never bothered to make a move on him.

You were convinced that you weren't his type, or anyone's type for that matter, especially not here.

But you're both seniors now.

Much to Eddie's surprise and delight, you now had classes together.

He never once liked being in high school for longer than necessary, but here he was, oddly thankful for being held back.

Your schedules are almost completely aligned, save for the fact that you had a couple honors classes.

For the first few days of your senior year, Eddie was a ball of anxiety every time you were around.

He sat either behind or beside you in the back of all your shared classes.

It wasn't until one fateful Tuesday, in the second week of that school year, that your pen ran out of ink, and you finally said your first words to him.

"Hey, do you have a pen I can barrow?"

You were turned around in your seat to look at him behind you. He was stuck for a few beats before he blinked away his shock.

"Uh, y-yeah. Here." He handed you the very pen he was using to doodle in his notebook instead of actually taking notes.

The small smile and the gentle brush of your fingers against his nearly made his heart stop on the spot.

He was absolutely gone.

It was in that moment that he realized he'd never properly heard your voice before.

He wanted to hear it again.

You even remembered/bothered to give him his pen back at the end of that class.

He spent every single one of his classes for the remainder of that day coming up with a full ass tactical plan to approach you.

Every day that passed, he for some fucking reason just couldn't find the right moment to put his plan in action.

It wasn't until a few weeks later when you threw his plan through a loop.

You showed up to a Hellfire meet just as they were all leaving out the drama room.

He heard your voice coming from outside once some of the freshman members walked out the door.

"Hey, Baby Bro! How'd it go? Have fun?"

Eddie eyes widened, and he stilled for a second before he dropped what he was doing to rush out the door.

He tried to play off his stumbling by leaning against the wall right outside the door.

"Oh, Hey! You're in this club too?"

"This is Eddie. He leads the club." Your little brother's curly haired friend, Dustin, clarified immediately.

Before Eddie could give Dustin a look to 'shut the fuck up before he ruined his shot', you raised your brows with somewhat of an impressed look on your face.

"Oh, so you're Eddie."

The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him want to melt into the floor.

All the false confidence he once had completely depleted, and he was back at a loss for words. Thank God you didn't leave room for him to make a fool of himself.

"The boys talk so highly of you. Thank you for looking after them for a couple hours after school. See you tomorrow!"

He watched, awestruck, as you walked away with your brother and his friends.

"Y-Yeah, no problem!" He'd finally yell after you a you made it to the exit doors.

You turned to wave bye before fully exiting the building to the mostly vacant parking lot.

Eddie waved back weakly.

"See you tomorrow." He says to himself in the empty hallway, still waving even after you couldn't see him anymore.

A cheesy grin would grow on his face as he went back into the drama room to collect his DM stuff.

"Holy shit. You actually exchanged words!" Jeff would say.

"~See you tomorrow~" Gareth mocks, clasping his hands together, resting them on his cheek and batting his eyelashes.

Eddie glares at the younger drummer. "Shut up, asshole."

Early October is when he finally leaned forward to ask you a question.

"Hey, I don't really understand what's going on. Could you help me?"

There it was.

You accepted, falling right into his hands.

His plan was now officially in motion.

You were smart and nice. Of course, you would help tutor him.

Eddie knew that would work.

You were well aware of his academic status, or rather lack thereof.

You couldn't help but let that little 'I can fix him' part of your teenage brain take over.

You really wanted to help him pass and graduate, ESPECIALLY since he reached out to you for help.

You couldn't say no. wtf

You two had spent all of October studying together.

Even though he was distracted by you most of the time and always going off topic to get to know you, he actually was kind of learning something.

A win-win for him.

"Hey, so, uh, you know, Halloween is right around the corner, and, uh, there's a special rescreening of 'Alien' this weekend. Would you, uh, you know, if you're into it, would you like to go see- watch it, like, with me, I mean?"

The question came at the end of your recent study/tutoring session.

Over the last few weeks, you had shown nothing but kindness towards Eddie. You two even had conversations with one another out in the open, outside of the safe privacy of the library.

He finally had the courage to ask you out.

You hesitated.

"Oh, uh..."

Your apprehension was not for the reason he was thinking, but it was enough for his mind to start caving in on itself.

"I mean, I just want to show you my appreciation, you know, for all your help. There's no- no pressure at all. I get it if you don't wanna be seen with me too much. I won't blame you."

His response takes you aback.

"Hold on. That's not what I was trying to get across at all."

Your firm tone made his chest tighten with anxiety. If that wasn't it, what was it? Did you have plans already? Maybe with a boyfriend? Shit, why didn't Eddie make sure to get your current relationship status out of you before asking.

"It's just that, uh, I'm kind of a... wuss... with scary movies. The sci-fi part of it seems intriguing enough, but I heard that it was pretty scary... The Boys snuck the VHS during one of their movie nights a couple years ago. I just remember Lucas being on edge for weeks after watching it." You chuckled nervously.

Eddie chuckles, relieved by your answer.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there to protect you from all the monsters." The use of his DM voice at the end goes straight to the pit of your stomach like hot coals.

You hold back a girlish giggle, not wanting to show how much that effected you.

"Okay, fine, but if I fail our test due to a lack of sleep, I'm blaming you."

After you agree to go on a date with him, he fully unleashes his inner flirt.

His surprising change in attitude towards you makes butterflies erupt within you.

His overt flirting brings out your sassy side as you two go back and forth.

That movie-dinner date was the first of many.

Eddie wasn't huge on physical PDA.

He was always super respectful and reserved in public, but he almost always made a show of you.

"There she is! The most beautiful woman to ever exist!"

"Look at her. A goddess among us mortals!"

"Here she comes! Make way for the queen!"

You eventually got used to his over the top antics, going from telling his to "shut up" with a shy grin to just embracing your new 'royalty status' with your head held high and a bright smile.

You'd been dating for months.

Your tutoring actually helped raise Eddie's grades, especially after you told him how much you wanted him to graduate with you this year.

Come spring, Lucas is now unsuccessfully splitting his time between Hellfire and basketball.

When Dustin and Mike bring in the third Sinclair into the drama room, Eddie can't help but cave quickly once she shows off her dnd knowledge.

Erica definitely gets her sass from you, though she's a lot more blunt with it.

Eddie can't help but form a huge soft spot for her, even after the game is over.

While Erica, Dustin, and Mike were waiting in your car to leave, Eddie stopped you.

"So, you know, we've been dating for quite a while now-"

"Five months and counting." You beamed.

Eddie grinned happily. So, you were keeping count.

"Yeah, soon enough it'll be six, then seven, then ten, then 12, then-"

"OK, OK" you giggled. Eddie's smile only got bigger.

"So, I was wondering..." That shy boy who could barely ask you on a first date returns, bringing a soft grin to your face. "Do you... Would do... I... Will you be my... my girlfriend?"

"Of course." You smiled without missing a beat.

"Really?!"

As the news sunk deeper and deeper, it became harder and harder for him to physically contain his excitement.

He jumped up and down, grabbing you by the shoulders to pull you into a hug, bouncing up and down with you in his arms.

Your shared laughter filled the empty parking lot of Hawkins High.

From that moment on, the word 'girlfriend' was used in place of your own name for months.

"I'm convinced you've forgotten my name."

"I could never forget such a thing, girlfriend~"

He introduced you to metal music.

You introduced him to leave in conditioner.

You two were high school sweethearts, ones that would last forever.

🥹🥹🥹

[thorntopieces]

SNIPPETS!!!! I'd love to see them!

snippets under the cut but! bit of context first because i can't resist talking. if you don't care for the context you shouldn't need it for the small bits below!

this contains spoilers, both implied and explicit for persona 5, including 3rd semester general information. if you have started playing 3rd semester you are fine. if not you should wait to read this :) the snippets all take place before the end of november

basically i headcanon goro to have a condition called OSDD-1 (other specified dissociative disorder), which is basically like the condition i have (DID) but with either no amnesia or less elaborated identity states. i think the trauma he went through as a kid (neglect even if not intentional, his mother's death, foster care, social isolation, the inherent traumatic nature of being an assassin) caused his mind to fail to integrate properly, causing different 'personalities' (outdated term) to protect his mind. he has amnesia for traumatic childhood events and his assassin work, only keeping objective knowledge of it because it would be dangerous not to. so he knows roughly what happened, he just can't remember it. this translates interestingly to the metaverse, where you obviously show your true self. so if you don't have one true self, what happens then...?

on top of this, i have elected to explore the protagonist (named akira) with depersonalisation-derealisation disorder and sumire with OSDD-2 (caused by brainwashing/torture/etc)

at the end of the day it essentially rewrites all of the second half of p5 (october - end of 3rd semester). it's a massive undertaking but i'm having a lot of fun

if you have more questions i'd be happy to answer them. but here are a few snippets from the first few chapters (separated by **) :) general content warnings for: depersonalisation, derealisation, talks of murder, mild body horror (feeling puppeteered), general discussions of mental illness. nothing should be more explicit than the darkest tones p5 hit

And then, eyes cast to the floor, “And — Sakura-san, Okumura-san. I truly am sorry.”

Then he leaves, the silence of the gym faculty office oppressive.

“That was weird as hell,” Ryuji says into the quiet. “He’s been hounding us for months, harassing Akira to have someone to talk to, being a dipshit on camera but now he wants our help? Fat chance.”

Akira wants to retort, to say that no, actually, he’s really been enjoying the outings with Akechi to all sorts of places, but the words are trapped in his chest and nothing feels real. Distantly, with the last of his strength, he thinks that he really shouldn’t be as put-off by this as he is. He’s been through this four times before. This isn’t the first time he’s had his less-than-socially-appropriate part-time job revealed by someone he cares for.

But he’d been like this the past few times too, hadn’t he? With Tae he’d almost fainted, the world blurring in and out for almost an hour before he was stable enough to leave. With Iwai, he’d frozen up for minutes on end as his mind raced through all the possibilities of what would happen now. With Chihaya, he had for a moment felt true fear that the supernatural could be used for evil and work against him. Then, with Kasumi, where he’d gone home afterwards and only barely managed to send Morgana away to Futaba before majorly breaking down, unable to go to school the day after and claiming a very real migraine.

Akechi is a whole different threat. Tae only really knows him with the mask he wears there, Iwai with another, Chihaya a third. Kasumi, like always, is an exception. He’s pretty sure Akechi is the only one that might have been able to see past all twenty-something of his masks (one for each of the confidants, one for his parents, one for school, one from the court and police) to see what truly lays beneath. And he’s affiliated with the police.

Akira hasn’t felt so threatened by the very concept of Existing as he does right now in this moment, standing in the faculty office where his life had almost ended for a second time that fateful day in mid-April.

**

“So you’re the Black Mask we keep hearing about,” Sakamoto says, his voice rippling over the tense silence of Leblanc. “The Palace Rulers ‘cept for Kamoshida and Futaba almost pissed themselves even mentioning you. Are you really that scary?”

Akechi almost wants to laugh. Is he, per every definition a serial killer, scary? Maybe. “Yes, that would be right. He often had me go around the known Palaces of those funding his political campaign and check that their Rulers were compliant to what He wanted.”

“And you killed Futaba’s Ma,” Sakamoto continues. “And Haru’s dad. You’re an awful person, Akechi, you know that right? I can’t understand what Akira could possibly see in you.”

“Yes, I did,” Akechi says. The marionette strings in his face prevents him from acknowledging the second statement entirely.

“Why?!” Sakura-chan almost yells at him and he flinches involuntarily. “You killed my mum! What gave you the right?!”

For a moment his vision swims and his head hurts more and he’s sleepy and the tendrils expand in his jaw and curl around his body. He could sleep. He should sleep. But almost by a miracle, his voice keeps speaking, sounding different to his ears. His mouth moves on its own.

“She was a cognitive pscientist,” his mouth says. “She worked in a research facility closely related to Shido. I was ordered to spy on all of the employees’ Shadows for some weeks to ensure they weren’t hiding any progress from him. Your mother recognised the true potential— and danger —of the works he was doing and attempted to muddle the data she submitted while keeping a true copy elsewhere. Somehow Shido found out about it and ordered me to cause a psychotic breakdown in her. The intention was to incapacitate her, not kill her but—”

The sleepiness gives way for an onslaught of memories. Isshiki Wakaba’s Shadow walking around him, muttering about fractured minds and the outcomes of child abuse and how he’d make for an ideal test subject, being the son of one of the most distorted men in the country—

“I lost control,” he whispers, barely loud enough for the others to hear. The strings, the tendrils, the sleepiness is gone. It’s just him, now. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I really didn’t. It was an accident. He was overjoyed.”

He feels so conflicted … about everything really. His victims. His victims? The victims? He should feel shame and guilt and remorse and the entire spectrum of human social emotions, it should be drowning him, filling his throat with tar and choke him out, slowly killing him. But Goro’s not entirely sure he does. Is it because any feeling except the drive to keep fighting is thoroughly repressed and compartmentalised or is it because he genuinely doesn’t care? Has his upbringing led him to be this immoral? Surely not, killing people doesn’t mean he’s evil. What other path of survival was there for him if not getting fished off the streets by him? A revenge plan, but that’s almost secondary. Staying alive is the primary goal. Because it’s not just his life he’s fighting for but also—

If he can take down Him for being willing to to abandon his mother and also hire a 15-year-old as a supernatural assassin? He might as well. He has to save his life and save—

“And my father?” Okumura-san asks. “You kept going after you took out Futaba’s mother. You’ve caused so much hurt, what’s the justification for that?”

Goro shakes his head, swallows down the disgust at the memories of his unhinged cackles ricocheting off the bloody walls of Mementos. That’s him, the murderer, the killer. He doesn’t think about it much.

Can’t.

Won’t.

Shouldn’t.

The marionette strings are back, speaking for him, existing for him. “I make no justifications. I have no excuses. If I’m allowed to be entirely honest with you, your father’s downfall was inevitable. He became an uncontrolled piece in His game. Please trust me when I say that the fate he suffered was by far not the worst that could have befallen him.”

**

He brings his phone out and opens the Metaverse Navigator. The red eye stares ominously up at him and for a moment it feels like it blinks. But it’s gone as fast as it came, a trick of the light, and he speaks the necessary code words into the navigator. “Nijima Sae — Tokyo District Court — Casino.”

The world around them warps and turns and reddens and there are lines covering his vision. A headache tears through Goro’s skull and the voices he doesn’t usually hear grow louder and louder, a cacophony in his skull, reverberating through his brain, one crying, one laughing, one speaking in hushed tones and one reassuring him hat it’ll be okay. The marionette strings settle into his joints, into his skin, molds his face into the appropriate expression and leave him ready to fight and defend and protect. The Metaverse is hostile, he’s not safe here. Correction, none of them are safe here.

Goro’s grateful for the support he has, even if the voices ring in his ears and distracts him from the environment he’s in. At least it’s only in the Metaverse that it’s this loud and clear. In the real world he barely hears anything ever. Once it’s safe— if it’ll ever be safe enough —he should look into it. Not see a therapist though, he’s not like Akira. He doesn’t need a shrink to tell him that his mind’s fucked up beyond repair.

Ideal test subject. Fractured mind.

Safety first, a voice whispers. You know enough to survive. You know where to find us, when you need it. You’re doing enough for now, Base.

That’s true, admittedly. He can live for now with the knowledge that there’s him and … and him and him and him and him and it’s through their shared efforts that he’s still alive. And the one that’s currently guiding him that’s allowing him the use of his Persona.

Despite being in the Metaverse for years now, Goro hasn’t Awakened to his own Persona yet. He’s been through five Awakenings taking place in his body, aware but not in control for them. All the way since the beginning he’s borrowed one of the Personae. The marionette strings in his body allow him use of Robin Hood, the tendrils Loki. He hasn’t needed the others for some time now. He doesn’t pretend to understand it exactly, and the only person that would know is dead at his hands.

The casino comes into view in front of him, bright and brilliant and garish and … and partially his construction. To some degree he’s helped build this hall of delusion for one of the few people in his life that sees him as a whole, real and valuable human. It’s almost sickening. Will his influence be visible in the Palace?

You’re fixing it now, the voice whispers intently. Isn’t that atonement? Isn’t that sufficient?

**

Half an hour later sees them sitting in a booth at the now-empty Leblanc, hot cups of (decaf) coffee in front of them.

Akechi sighs again— he’s been doing that a lot since they entered Mementos earlier in the day —and anxious tugs at a loose strand of hair. He’s discarded the jacket and tie and folded the sleeves of the button-down up to the elbows. It’s almost like the person sitting in front of him is someone entirely new, but Akira knows better. He’s seen many facets of Akechi— every person is multitudinous after all —and this is just one of them.

A faded memory of a class back before the Hawaii trip pops up in his mind. A random statement from Kawakami right before a question. He mentally shakes his head, willing the memory away. He’ll listen to Akechi and make no judgments.

That anxious tug at his hair almost makes Akira giddy on the inside, though. Is that a habit Akechi picked up from him?

“I don’t know where to start,” Akechi says quietly. He doesn’t meet Akira’s eyes. “Do you remember the conversation we had some weeks ago about the influence of personae in the real world?”

Akira nods. It had been an enlightening conversation over a game of billiards, an exercise in speaking in tongues to avoid warranting suspicion, an hour and a half where Akira had felt blissfully present, the world around him loud and vibrant and alive.

“I suppose it’s as good a starting point as any. My — to say it plainly, my personality isn’t quite … intact. I don’t have a name for the condition, nor do I necessarily want one, but it’s a protective mechanism.”

“A trauma condition?” Akira asks with a small grin. “No offence, but yeah, checks out.”

That makes Akechi laugh, quiet but genuine. “Yes, well, you know most of my tragic backstory. I’m sure you can imagine how that may have affected my faculties.”

“Sure,” Akira says, then as a thought springs to mind, he quickly stutters out. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. It’s personal, I get that.”

Akechi nods and for a moment they sit there in silence.

Suddenly. “Do you think you could remove your glasses?”

Akira blinks, but obediently removes them and places them on the table, lenses up. “Sure. Any reason?”

Another tug at the loose strand. “You use them as a defence against the world. I thought it would be more fair like this. Both of us unmasked.”

“Sure, makes sense,” Akira says, and it’s genuine. It does feel more … intimate, to be without the glasses. They hide his eyes when he’s surveying his surroundings for threats, provide a cover for when he fades in and out of reality, make him appear less threatening to those he encounters. Without them — it feels almost special.

Another few minutes of silence. Akira doesn’t need to look at the clock to know that the trains will stop running long before they finish talking. That’s alright, he has the spare futon for this exact purpose. Akechi’s never slept over before, but that’s a problem to tackle later.

“There are … multiple versions of me,” Akechi says eventually. “Multiple versions with multiple roles to protect me and keep me … well, I doubt sane is the right word. But there is one primarily for dealing with the public, one for handling my—” a shudder, “—extracurricular activities, and so on. They are sort of like your masks, but to an extreme degree if you’d like a point of reference. Your personae are all Shadows you have captured, with the exception of Arsène, my personae are quite literally fractured facets of myself.”

Akira nods (wow he’s been doing a lot of just nodding, hasn’t he?) and thinks over this for a minute. Truth be told, he’s noticed all the inconsistencies in Akechi’s behaviour, so minute they might not be picked up by anyone, but Akira’s observant, has to be to have survived his childhood, to keep his Thieves safe, to not go insane in the loud hustle and bustle that is Tokyo. He notices stuff.

Akechi’s voice, inflection, animation, from the higher and smooth voice he employs when on television or radio or talking to people he does not trust in the least, to this more flat tone he’s now hearing him speak in. His verbality, from unable to shut up about a topic that engages him, to fatigued hand gestures signalling his wishes. His curry preferences, his coffee tastes, and once— when he’d been sitting next to Akechi before a Phantom Thieves meeting doing homework —his handwriting. Minute changes, but visible. Softer rounded strokes in the kanji vs harsh straight lines. “Sometimes you take your coffee with milk and sugar, other times you verbally express that anything but black coffee is a sin.”

“Yes,” Akechi says slowly. “Coffee preferences … yes, that is one of the tells, I suppose. If my memory serves my right, you’ve mostly been in contact with me, like, me, the one you are talking to now and — well, the detective prince—” A pause, a muttered swear, “—this is really difficult to talk about, I’m coming to realise. Especially— promise you won’t?”

He promises. Why wouldn’t he promise?

“Up until now I have refused to truly acknowledge this. Of course, I have kept track of symptoms and written extensive notes on it, because it would be dangerous to let anything slip, to forget anything at all.” He pauses again, and takes another sip. “I am aware of the other parts of me, some of them appear to ‘possess’ me at times and puppet me around like I’m some doll. But despite being aware of them for a decade or so to varying degrees, none of them have names. We are all Goro, I’m Goro, the despicable prince is Goro. All of them are Goro equally as much as me. It makes it exceedingly hard to talk about.”

No wonder, Akira thinks, sipping his coffee. Decaf is never as good as the real deal of course, but he needs to sleep today, even if tomorrow is a Sunday. “You can stop at any time. All that matters to me is that you’re safe and how I can accommodate you when we’re in the Metaverse.”

“I don’t have my own persona,” Akechi says after a minute or two. “I expect that if I was in a situation to require one, I would awaken to one, but so far one of the other parts have always awakened first. I suppose as the … base part … I’m needed for more mundane matters than chasing criminals in the cognitive world.”

Akira frowns. That’s … certainly unique. He’s never heard of something like that occurring, but then again, there isn’t exactly a precedent for how someone’s presence in the Metaverse should work. He’s a fantastic example of that himself. “So when you use—”

“Robin Hood corresponds to the detective prince part of me,” Akechi explains. He’s sounding even more tired than at the start of the conversation. They should wrap this up soon. “It’s — imagine, I— the person that makes up me, this part of Akechi Goro —am almost always conscious. But there is almost always someone else that puppeteer me around. I’m a passenger in my own car, the car being driven by someone else. I can employ the persona of whomever is there with me at any given time. They lend me their persona so I can use it while they take possession of my mouth and limbs. So far with you I have used Robin Hood the most— you all know of my alternate Metaverse identity. I chose not to use him. Well, define chose, I don’t exactly get a say in the matter. But beyond that. Sometimes some of the other parts attempt to take over and what you saw earlier, both in Sae-san’s Palace and in Mementos, was the physical evidence of that process.”

[eternallovers65]

I hope each and everyone one of you who are sending hate to baghera fucking dies

She genuinely is a breath of fresh air in this server, not to mention she genuinely adores us brazilians, and it's always there to hear forever or cellbit crazy ideas. Not to mention, she always treated us with the most respect, and it's always happy to learn about our culture.

Cellbit said he was faking being "mad" and arguing with her, because of the elections. But he actually adores her and thinks she's a badass. He also said today that people need to stop sending her hate and separate real life from the server. And he's really disappointed with the fact she's dropping out (and you do not want to see this man angry)

Forever knows her for only two months and already considers they are like brother and sister. He is awe that she's a famous singer in France and a race driver, just like Cellbit he also thinks she's a total badass. He already defended her two weeks ago baning a bunch of people from his chat and getting new mods.

So yeah, stop sending hate to her!!! She hasn't done nothing wrong, it's just a minecraft server and because of some of you, she's pulling out of the elections because it's no longer fun.

Hope yall are happy with yourselves, assholes.

EDIT:

Also, as someone said it, what do you guys hope to achieve sending her hate??? Cause yall did this with rubius, spreen, and missa for not wanting to take care of the eggs that much. And what happened??? They stopped entering the server. If baghera decides to just stop entering the server, that's yet another cc who will not feel safe playing at this server. This means the other members will probably want to drop off, therefore ruining this incredible experience of getting to know other cultures that quackity loves and worked so hard for it.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Matt Davies :: Shirk. http://Newsday.com/matt

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

November 24, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Nov 25, 2024

Since the night of the November 5, election, Trump and his allies have insisted that he won what Trump called “an unprecedented and powerful mandate.” But as the numbers have continued to come in, it’s clear that such a declaration is both an attempt to encourage donations— fundraising emails refer to Trump’s “LANDSLIDE VICTORY”—and an attempt to create the illusion of power to push his agenda. 

The reality is that Trump’s margin over Democratic nominee Vice President Kamala Harris will likely end up around 1.5 points. According to James M. Lindsay, writing for the Council of Foreign Relations, it is the fifth smallest since 1900, which covers 32 presidential races. Exit polls showed that Trump’s favorability rating was just 48% and that more voters chose someone other than Trump. And, as Lindsay points out, Trump fell 4 million votes short of President Joe Biden in 2020. 

Political science professor Lynn Vavreck of the University of California, Los Angeles, told Peter Baker of the New York Times: “If the definition of landslide is you win both the popular vote and Electoral College vote, that’s a new definition” On the other hand, she added, “Nobody gains any kind of influence by going out and saying, ‘I barely won, and now I want to do these big things.’”

Trump’s allies are indeed setting out to do big things, and they are big things that are unpopular. 

Trump ran away from Project 2025 during the campaign because it was so unpopular. He denied he knew anything about it, calling it “ridiculous and abysmal,” and on September 16 the leader of Trump’s transition team, Howard Lutnick, said there were “Absolutely zero. No connection. Zero” ties between the team and Project 2025. Now, though, Trump has done an about-face and has said he will nominate at least five people associated with Project 2025 to his administration. 

Those nominees include Russell Vought, one of the project's key authors, who calls for dramatically increasing the powers of the president; Tom Homan, who as acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) oversaw the separation of children from their parents; John Ratcliffe, whom the Senate refused in 2019 to confirm as Director of National Intelligence because he had no experience in intelligence; Brendan Carr, whom Trump wants to put at the head of the Federal Communications Commission and who is already trying to silence critics by warning he will punish broadcasters who Trump feels have been unfair to him; and Stephen Miller, the fervently anti-immigrant ideologue.

Project 2025 calls for the creation of an extraordinarily strong president who will gut the civil service and replace its nonpartisan officials with those who are loyal to the president. It calls for filling the military and the Department of Justice with those loyal to the president. And then, the project plans that with his new power, the president will impose Christian nationalism on the United States of America, ending immigration, and curtailing rights for LGBTQ+ individuals as well as women and racial and ethnic minorities.

Project 2025 was unpopular when people learned about it. 

And then there is the threat of dramatic cuts to the U.S. government, suggested by the so-called “Department of Government Efficiency,” or DOGE, headed by billionaires Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy. They are calling for cuts of $2 trillion to the items in the national budget that provide a safety net for ordinary Americans at the same time that Trump is promising additional tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations. Musk, meanwhile, is posturing as if he is the actual president, threatening on Saturday, for example: “Those who break the law will be arrested and that includes mayors.”  

On Meet the Press today, current representative and senator-elect Adam Schiff (D-CA) reacted to the “dictator talk,” with which Trump is threatening his political opponents, pointing out that "[t]he American people…voted on the basis of the economy—they wanted change to the economy—they weren’t voting for dictatorship. So I think he is going to misread his mandate if that’s what he thinks voters chose him for.”

That Trump and his team are trying desperately to portray a marginal victory as a landslide in order to put an extremist unpopular agenda into place suggests another dynamic at work. 

For all Trump’s claims of power, he is a 78-year-old man who is declining mentally and who neither commands a majority of voters nor has shown signs of being able to transfer his voters to a leader in waiting. 

Trump’s team deployed Vice President–elect J.D. Vance to the Senate to drum up votes for the confirmation of Florida representative Matt Gaetz to become the United States attorney general. But Vance has only been in the Senate since 2022 and is not noticeably popular. He—and therefore Trump—was unable to find the votes the wildly unqualified Gaetz needed for confirmation, forcing him to withdraw his name from consideration. 

The next day, Gaetz began to advertise on Cameo, an app that allows patrons to commission a personalized video for fans, asking a minimum of $550.00 for a recording. Gaetz went from United States representative to Trump’s nominee for U.S. attorney general to making videos for Cameo in a little over a week. 

It is a truism in studying politics that it’s far more important to follow power than it is to follow people. Right now, there is a lot of power sloshing around in Washington, D.C. 

Trump is trying to convince the country that he has scooped up all that power. But in fact, he has won reelection by less than 50% of the vote, and his vice president is not popular. The policies Trump is embracing are so unpopular that he himself ran away from them when he was campaigning. And now he has proposed filling his administration with a number of highly unqualified figures who, knowing the only reason they have been elevated is that they are loyal to Trump, will go along with his worst instincts. With that baggage, it is not clear he will be able to cement enough power to bring his plans to life.

If power remains loose, it could get scooped up by cabinet officials, as it was during a similarly chaotic period in the 1920s. In that era, voters elected to the presidency former newspaperman and Republican backbencher Warren G. Harding of Ohio, who promised to return the country to “normalcy” after eight years of the presidency of Democrat Woodrow Wilson and the nation’s engagement in World War I. That election really was a landslide, with Harding and his running mate, Calvin Coolidge, winning more than 60% of the popular vote in 1920.

But Harding was badly out of his depth in the presidency and spent his time with cronies playing bridge and drinking upstairs at the White House—despite Prohibition—while corrupt members of his administration grabbed all they could. 

With such a void in the executive branch, power could have flowed to Congress. But after twenty years of opposing first Theodore Roosevelt, and then William Howard Taft, and then Woodrow Wilson, Congress had become adept at opposing presidents but had split into factions that made it unable to transition to using power, rather than opposing its use.

And so power in that era flowed to members of Harding’s Cabinet, primarily to Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon and Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover, who put into place a fervently pro-business government that continued after Harding’s untimely death into the presidency of Calvin Coolidge, who made little effort to recover the power Harding had abandoned. After Hoover became president and their system fell to ruin in the Great Depression, Franklin Delano Roosevelt took their lost power and used it to create a new type of government. 

In this moment, Trump’s people are working hard to convince Americans that they have gathered up all the power in Washington, D.C., but that power is actually still sloshing around. Trump is trying to force through the Senate a number of unqualified and dangerous nominees for high-level positions, threatening Republican senators that if they don’t bow to him, Elon Musk will fund primary challengers, or suggesting he will push them into recess so he can appoint his nominees without their constitutionally-mandated advice and consent. 

But Trump and his people do not, in fact, have a mandate. Trump is old and weak, and power is up for grabs. It is possible that MAGA Republicans will, in the end, force Republican senators into their camp, permitting Trump and his cronies to do whatever they wish. 

It is also possible that Republican senators will themselves take back for Congress the power that has lately concentrated in presidents, check the most dangerous and unpopular of Trump’s plans, and begin the process of restoring the balance of the three branches of government.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[ratasum]

The Lost Asuran City of Rata Cautis

The destruction at Quora Sum was chaos. Lives were upended, families were separated and destroyed, and thousands of asura went fleeing in every direction. Most wound up above ground, founding the capital city of Rata Sum in Metrica Province.

But not everyone wound up there.

A much smaller contingent of those that fled wound up on the border between the Straits of Devastation and Mount Maelstrom, in a cavern high up a cliffside overlooking the Unending Ocean.

It was here they would stake their claim, slowly rebuilding from the ruins of the homes they'd lost. Far fewer in number than the group that found their way to Metrica Province, they were forced to eschew their cultural values to take a more community-forward approach. Gone were the days of inner-krewe fighting, shoving responsibility off on someone you didn't like.

With so few of them left, barely enough to sustain a breeding population, they had to find a way to take care of one another. They're uniform, close knit, and while their population has grown in the years since they fled Quora Sum, the cultural shift required by their founding has not left them. There is a deep sense of obligation to the community, and the foundations of helping their fellows through knowledge and invention have formed the basis of their small, branched off society.

(The actual city looks a bit like this concept art of Quora Sum, just without the dragon in the background)

The city is focused on three colleges, the deans of which form the Rata Cautis Arcane Council, led by a single elected member from the alumni of each of the three colleges. An opening in the cliff face, too high up for the city to be seen from the water, provides natural light, and light pipes and arcane crystals absorbing solar energy provide light and energy through the darkness.

The asura of Rata Cautis still speak old asuran, and most have not bothered to learn New Krytan, as only recently did they even witness any other races and survivors during the occupation of Fort Trinity. In the years since Icebrood Saga, as they continued to observe the world around them changing, some scouts took tentative trips deep underground to the ruins of Quora Sum.

Since the end of End of Dragons, some scouts have started to gather information to learn the languages of the outside world so they can begin to scout, reaching out to their distant cousins in Rata Sum and reconnect the descendants of survivors of the exodus separated centuries ago...

Coming later: the three colleges of Rata Cautis. I'm having a lot of fun working on this, but please feel free to use Rata Cautis for guys of your own if you'd like as I hammer out more details!

[marvelsmostwanted]

North Carolina voters -

Please spread this link far and wide. Candidate Jefferson Griffin, who - according to two recounts - lost a race for NC Supreme Court, is refusing to concede and challenging 60,000 votes over voter ID - an obstacle no voter should have to face in the first place. He is a sore loser who is trying to overthrow the will of the voters - certainly not someone who should steal a state Supreme Court seat from Allison Riggs, the candidate who fairly won re-election.

Check the link above to see if your name is on the list, and if you know voters in North Carolina, share the link so they can check and share too.

Per WCNC Charlotte:

“After two recounts, incumbent Justice Allison Riggs holds a 734-vote lead over Griffin. However, Griffin says 60,000 of those votes should have never been counted in the first place, accusing many of these voters of not providing the correct identification to register.

Earlier this month, that same court blocked state elections officials from certifying Democratic Supreme Court Justice Allison Riggs as the winner.

U.S. Representative Deborah Ross (D-Raleigh) expressed her opinion on the matter more explicitly last week on the House floor.

"Her victory was confirmed by two separate recounts, but her opponent refuses to concede," Rep. Ross said. "Four years after January 6th, we're once again reminded about how fragile our democracy truly is. A judicial candidate does not accept the results of an election, so he is trying to silence voters in the pursuit of power."”

[sagevalleymusings]

Harris is actually a pretty decent candidate and here's why

I have seen a lot of the same talking points that lost us the 2016 election getting repeated - a lot of talking about the very worst parts of the Democratic candidate, mixed with a lot of "vote blue no matter who" nonsense and I just want to say... Harris actually is a pretty decent candidate and it completely kills me that NO ONE is talking about this. Is she perfect? No absolutely not. Are all American politics conservative compared to global politics? Well... they used to be. But lots of people have said that a rise of fascism here in the US have emboldened the right globally , so that's not great. In either case, yes they are conservatives. But their policies aren't completely terrible and in fact I agree with a decent amount of them. So here's the good things about the Harris campaign, and why you shouldn't just vote for her, but vote for her and feel good about it.

Economics

Harris has an 82 page PDF on her website with a plan to re-energize the middle class. It includes a ban on price gouging, a cap on insulin and investment in clean energy, among many other intersectional policies. It includes a bunch of affordable housing policies including banning large investor purchases. It simplifies taxes for small businesses. It would end unnecessary degree requirements on jobs. It's 82 pages densely packed with not just good policy but actionable policy, if I went through all of it, this post would just be nothing but the economic plan. The Harris economic plan is actually pretty good. Is it a socialist pipe dream? No of course not. I think it's better than that. It's progressive policy that benefits everyone in this country, which will make more progressive policies even more popular. This is the kind of economic plan that starts shifting you back to the left.

Race

Harris has made supporting Black men a priority for her campaign. This plan includes LEGALIZING MARIJUANA FEDERALLY in order to overturn unjust tough on crime convictions. Reading Harris' own campaign page for this post TODAY is when I learned Harris wants to legalize weed. The Opportunity Agenda which focuses on supporting Black men and the issues they told her they are facing also includes FEDERAL REGULATIONS ON CRYPTOCURRENCY. It includes 1 million loans for Black entrepreneurs (can't help but notice that one is carefully ungendered, Black women), invest in community violence intervention, launch a health equity initiative, and invest in combating discriminatory housing. Reading this policy on supporting Black men on Harris' own campaign page... this isn't just Democratic policy, this is legitimately left-leaning.

Queer Rights

One of the reasons I was pushed to write this up is that recently someone whose opinion I normally respect said that they didn't like Harris' answer that she would "follow the law" on providing trans care for inmates. A law her administration confirmed when they reissued the transgender offender manual, by the way. As far as I can tell Harris has a long and progressive history on queer rights, even with the nuance that she was legally obligated to defend the CA DoC when they sued over the matter in 2015. Harris treats trans healthcare as something obvious - a normal decision between a person and their doctor which should be protected like anything else while her administration also quietly enshrining access to health care into law. This is part of the problem. Biden has signed at least four separate executive orders about gender since he took office and no one talks about it. i think the conservative pushback on this topic has been so aggressive and widespread that it's been difficult to see what should have been the effects of Biden's progressive policy on LGBT issues.

Environment

Harris is very good on climate. I've already mentioned that it's worked into the economy stuff. She's got policy on reducing emissions, she investigated Exxon Mobil, and as a senator she co-sponsored the Green New Deal. She's waffled on fracking and seems to currently prefer making it economically nonviable as compared to clean energy, which isn't as good as a ban. But most of the policies she's supported aren't just "better than Trump" they're actually good.

Immigration

It would be dishonest of me to write all this up without getting into some of the things I dislike Harris on. I don't like Harris on immigration. No one does - she's either too lax or too strict. She wants to resurrect the bipartisan border security bill, which, although it does call to expedite asylum process, would also increase deportations and in my opinion makes too many concessions in the name of bipartisanship. Her stance has not been very vocal other than to say she supports this bill. But I've noticed that Biden's policies on immigration have often been softer than they appear, including caveats to keep families together and expand the possibility of legal immigration while controlling for illegal immigration. I'm not necessarily against that - a major source of illegal immigration is corporations trafficking workers across the border legally and then not helping them renew their work visas. That is something we need to crack down on at the corporation side in my opinion and I wish we could see a candidate who talked about that part of it as an immigration issues. This is something that I think Harris is too conservative on and I won't hide from that. I also don't think she's being given much of a choice. Conservatives are frothing at the mouth over immigration. It's really really scary. There are way too many people willing to take matters into their own hands on this one. I want something more progressive but I understand taking a stricter stance on this one as a form of harm reduction. If these people think the country is being "overrun," they'll just take the solution into their own hands. We don't want that.

Palestine

Yep, we had to get there. Look, no electable politician in the United States is going to give a good answer to Palestine. We are far too entrenched with Israel and imperialism and war profiteering for a leader to easily take the moral stance here - they would receive too much pushback from their peers. The bar is set really, really low here, and that isn't a good thing. I don't think Harris is going to call what's happening in Palestine a genocide while it's ongoing, and I don't actually think she'll withdraw military aid, though I am hopeful that she'll do what Biden has done before and restrict it. But I do know that Gazans say that Harris would be the better president and I do know that Arab Americans support Harris and I do know that Harris said Palestinians have a right to self-determination. I included this because it's an important issue for many voters and one of the biggest deal breakers for a lot of leftists in the US. I believe Harris will act in ways that make her complicit in genocide if she gets elected. And I believe she will try to limit that harm more than a lot of other politicians would. This is the one where I would say that in comparison the situation under her leadership would be much better than under Trump. Trump supports an Israeli victory, not a ceasefire. He's told Netanyahu to "finish the problem." In fact Trump has already contributed actively to the genocide in Palestine. He dropped the US commitment for a two-state solution in 2017 and declared Jerusalem as Israel's capital in the same year. He cut aid to Palestine and reversed US policy on the Golan Heights and the occupation of the West Bank. One of these candidates disapproves of what's happening, but might not have the backbone to stop it. One of these candidates will actively participate. And that's enough for my conscience to be clear.

In conclusion

Voting is about compromise and accountability. Who do I think will enact at least some policies I agree with, and how can I pressure them to enact even more? Elect Harris and then petition the White House to revoke military support of Israel and there is at least a chance they will listen. Elect Harris and we'll have at least a little longer to breathe clean air while fighting for a solution to all the other problems we have. Elect Harris and she'll LEGALIZE MARIJUANA WHY IS THIS THE FIRST TIME I'M HEARING ABOUT THIS.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Arrestibility and Jail Support Discussion

Prior to the action, discuss comfort level of people in terms of arrest. It’s important to talk about how different people will experience jail differently along the lines of race, class, body type, gender, sexuality, age, ability, health, diet, education, religion, language, citizenship/immigration status, record of arrest/incarceration or ties with criminalized/targeted persons, etc.

Jail support means coming to consensus ahead of time about what to do when someone is detained, arrested, jailed or disappeared. This should include:

Designated support people to make sure that no one is left to rot in jail

Making arrangements ahead of time for legal representation

Facilitating communication between people who are separated in different parts of the jail and between people inside and outside the jail

Pressuring city officials to get people out of jail (this can include finding personal contact information for “sympathetic” elected officials and other people who have power to help get the people out of jail)

Waiting outside of the jail until people get released—always bring food, water, love and other necessities

[astra-ella]

𝐙𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

fandom: haikyuu ship: nishinoya yuu x oc/reader status: complete ao3 link

"I think you're really pretty. Will you go out with me?" That was the first thing he's ever said to her. And needless to say, Amari Chiyo was not impressed. So as promised, Nishinoya Yuu will get to know her better and confess again. And again. And again. And again. It'll take 6 years and 9 confessions, but he'll get there. Eventually.

⌦ content: fluff, light angst, love at first sight, friends to lover, slice of life

⌦ note: you are free to insert yourself into Chiyo, just keep in mind she has her own character/backstory. i know some people don't like that, so just a heads-up.

story masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The second time he confessed was almost a year and a half later – at their second-year sports festival.

During their first year, Nishinoya joined the volleyball team. And in just one year, he managed to make the starting lineup as the team's libero. Apparently, he was so good that he received the 'Best Libero Award' in a tournament during late spring, despite the team coming in second within the prefecture. The award made him famous, not just within the middle school volleyball scene but also throughout the school.

Not that Chiyo has been paying any attention.

Sure, she made sure to congratulate him when he immediately came bragging to her about his accomplishments. But she was far too stressed out with her personal life to pay attention to Nishinoya's growing popularity.

Between her first and second year of middle school, Chiyo's parents got divorced. Her father's start-up business took a turn for the worse, and her mother decided to jump ship while she was still somewhat financially stable. And though the Amari family had three children, she decided to only take Chiyo — the eldest child, along with her. But after living with her mother for two months, Chiyo decided, of her own accord, to return home to her father and siblings.

Despite all that, Chiyo did her best not to let any of it slip. She kept up with her grades, laughed with her classmates, and occasionally entertained Nishinoya's attempts at getting to know her better. And in her second year, she was elected as one of the two class representatives for their class.

And after four weeks of endless planning and stress, Chiyo was just glad the Sports Festival seemed to be running relatively smoothly. A few minor hiccups aside, everyone was having fun, which was the most important part.

After an eventful morning and fulfilling lunch, Chiyo was busy looking through the list of classmates she needed to gather when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Amari!" It was Nishinoya. "Whatcha doing?"

"Trying to round up the people for the tug-of-war and class relay." Chiyo gave him a tired smile. "Speaking of which, you should probably go get ready."

Chidoriyama Junior High was a school that separated sports festival teams by class, and tug-of-war and the class relay were the two most important events. Both had the class's pride and dignity riding on the line. And being one of the fastest runners, Nishinoya was chosen to be the anchor of the relay.

"Yeah, I know." Despite the acknowledgement, he continued to linger. In spite of the heavy burden he carried, Chiyo noted that he looked relatively carefree.

"Are you gonna watch?" He suddenly asked.

"Hm?"

"The class relay," he clarified. "You're gonna watch, right?"

She shrugged. "Of course. What kind of class rep would I be if I didn't?"

"Great. And you're gonna cheer for me, right?"

Chiyo raised an eyebrow. "I'm gonna cheer for the class, Nishinoya. Not just you."

"Yeah, but I'm the anchor," Nishinoya thumped his chest with an air of unyielding confidence. "Nothing gets the crowd going more than when you're neck and neck against an opponent. Especially in the last leg of the race. And I'll need all your love and support to squeeze out first place for our class."

She rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Now go get ready." Spinning him around by the shoulders, she gave him a light shove in the direction of the announcer's booth. "We're counting on you to win."

After being coaxed along for a few steps, Nishinoya began to walk on his own. He quickly glanced over his shoulder with one of his big goofy grins.

"You betcha!"

If Chiyo were being completely honest, that smile had her heart fluttering.

Just a little.

The tug-of-war event came and went, with their class barely scraping by at third place amongst the second-years. Now everything was riding on the class relays, and the runners were beginning to look especially nervous.

Chiyo pressed her lips together. She wondered if she should say something to encourage everyone when Nishinoya suddenly slapped one of the other runners on the back.

"Hey now, don't start freaking out," he hollered. "You guys got me running the anchor! There's no way we'll lose." He gave the guy beside him a reassuring look. "Come on, let's show 'em how we Class 2-2 do things!"

Upon hearing his call, the class exchanged a quick look amongst each other before raising their fists and letting out a collective battle cry in agreement.

Watching as the tension that loomed over her classmates vanished into the cool fall air, Chiyo couldn't help but feel impressed. She briefly glanced in Nishinoya's direction, who quickly caught her gaze. He winked at her, and she immediately turned away. Then, a familiar jingle played through the PA system, followed by a voice.

"Participants for the 4 x 100 class relay, please gather by the starting line. The race will begin shortly."

Upon hearing the announcement, the runners shared one last cheer with the rest of the class before heading towards the gathering point for the race.

"Good Luck!" Someone called after them.

"We're counting on you!"

"Yeah!" Nishinoya yelled back, raising a fist in the air. He looked like the protagonist of a shounen manga.

"He's pretty cool, isn't he?" Someone suddenly whispered into her ear, causing Chiyo to jump.

"Honoka!" She shot the dark-haired girl a look of annoyance before clearing her throat. "I mean, yeah, Nishinoya's part of the volleyball team. He's probably used to encouraging his teammates and stuff."

"Now that I think about it, you've never really been to his volleyball games, have you?"

Chiyo shrugged. "I'm not interested in sports."

"You sure you're not just saying that 'cause you're bad at it?" Honoka snickered.

"I'm not!" Chiyo frowned. "Besides, how fun can volleyball be? It's just a bunch of guys trying to hit a ball over the net, and wow, touch down! Three points!"

Honoka raised an eyebrow. "Okay, first of all, there were so many things wrong with that sentence. Second, you know he's gonna lose interest if you don't take some level of interest in his hobbies, right?"

"Why would I care?" Chiyo gave her friend an incredulous look. "He literally asked me out without even knowing my name! He's shallow, and cocky, and, and-!"

"Uh-huh," Honoka hummed dismissively. "Regardless, you gotta admit he's pretty cool. Enough to make your stomach get all the butterflies. I mean, your face is all red," she playfully poked at Chiyo's cheeks, to which she immediately slapped away.

"This is... It's 'cause it's hot out!" Chiyo reasoned. Honoka was right — her cheeks were scalding.

"Hey, Amari! The nurse is looking for you!" One of their classmates called out from the back.

"Anyways, excuse me." Huffing out a breath, Chiyo began to march off while Honoka waved after her.

"Good luck~!"

The meeting with the nurse was uneventful. One of her classmates got hurt during the tug-of-war event, and the nurse simply called her back to update her on how said classmate was doing.

By the time she returned to the field, the relay race had already begun. She climbed onto the upper landing of the staircase and hugged the concrete pillar. From there, she could just see over the sea of heads to get a good idea of how the race was going.

They were in the third quarter of the race, and the batons were just about to be passed to the final runners. Their class was second, and the batons were coming in. Nishinoya began jogging forward, then broke into a full sprint the second the baton was safely in his hand.

Chiyo's hand clenched into a fist, resting stiffly against her chest. She could see Nishinoya pick up speed as they rounded the final corner, catching up to the girl who was in first place. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she realized Nishinoya wasn't kidding. Nothing gets the crowd going more than when two runners are neck and neck for first place.

"You can do it," she murmured.

She saw him clench his teeth and started yelling, summoning the last of his energy as they crossed the finish line. Chiyo's eyes snapped to the scoreboard, elated to see Class 2-2 highlighted in red at first place. She figured Nishinoya must've seen the same thing because she soon heard him screaming.

"Let's go!" He threw his arms up in the air. Then immediately pointed his finger towards the crowd, skimming through the students in search of someone. "Crap, where are you?" He cussed before eventually giving up and opting to scream at the sky. "Did you see that?! That was for you, my future girlfriend!"

Chiyo jolted. Was he talking about her?

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, only to feel them heat up once more. Quickly, she climbed down the stairs and began weaving through the crowd of students. She wanted to talk to him — she needed to.

But by the time she reached a distance where she could call out to him, she realized that he was surrounded by people. Guys and girls, some from their class, some she didn't recognize. He was being praised, high-fived, and getting his hair ruffled. He laughed and threw his arms up in another cry for celebration.

For the first time, Chiyo noticed.

When did he get so popular?

story masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

[cyarskj1899]

You better Women’s March Deez nuts bxt*h 🤣🖕🏽😭 black folks ain’t doing nothing for you hews anymore even after four years

NAURRRRR. Black and Jewish women marched to the polls yesterday and showed tf out. 💅🏼 Everybody else fucked us over. Y’all got what you voted for. White and Latina women, you’re on your own. Leave us alone.

The amount of sistas telling her to kick all the rocks is HILARIOUS! You must’ve missed the memo. We’re done with this BS. You broke it(yet again) YOU fix it. My daughters and I are staying home and watching you all make complete fools of yourselves.

and When the recession hits, I'm going to buy so many foreclosed properties it will make your head spin

And Fuck Cinco de Mayo and Ocho Cinco! Fuck all the Cincos for that matter! It’s may the 5th as of today, MAY 5th! No thoughts and prayers for the soon to be deported just CONCEPTS OF THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS which is really none at all Latinos let be real so many of you are not good allies. Black people including Afro-Latinos have every right to be pissed off. 46% of you told us white adjacency and “the economy” mattered more than helping us keeping our rights. Can’t wait to sit back and watch the same 46% cry wolf when he start separating their families for being Latino or Hispanic. We tried to protect them, but they screamed “pick me pick me”. Your wannabe tan supremacy won’t save you🖕🏽Moving forward being called a “person of color” is a slur to me as a BlkPerson & I will respond accordingly!

Sisters, beware of those ones on the job going forward Do NOT trust them

I had half of mind to leave this twitter account but I decided not to because talking to all of you is how I'm going to get through the next 4 years. Assuming we're allowed to have a vote in 2028. That is if there’s a possibility

and no, I’m not marching in no protests or buying no shirts. This what yall wanted, timer set for 2028. 2026, midterms. Wonder if we can hold on to the House and get the Senate back in 2 years That is if there’s an election. Enjoy.

I’m not putting myself on the line for any causes for the next 4 years (or probably ever, no one listens to black ppl until it’s too late I’m sick of it). it is about to get real ugly for so many ppl, it’d be stupid to protest anything right now, no I’m not signing no petitions, no I’m not donating to no gofundme, no I’m not praying for you, no I’m not reposting shit about wtf y’all got going on fuck ya , If it ain’t a black woman or someone from the LGBTQIA+ community, I’m not batting an eye. Yall got it , It’s beyond clear. They don’t need or want our help. I’m not needed nor wanted. So I’m doing me and betting on (the non self hating) black! There will not be a second, third, or fourth, not even a FIF time. I'm done. Now as for the White people and Latin people who voted for Vice President Kamala Harris, thank you, I see you, I respect it... but y'all still have plenty of work to do when it comes to your community. Don’t give up on us. We need you as much as we ride on your races. We need you. we need you. Don’t give up the fight for change and democracy.

Texas , Louisiana , and Florida won’t get one prayer out of me next hurricane season either. Suffer you guys

My best day after advice: Go live your best life, stack your paper and don’t watch cable news during Trump 2.0. Starve the media and give his bad energy no attention.

[gwydionmisha]

Primaries are Ongoing:

Important! Remember to vote in all primaries, not just presidential!!!

NOTE: There is a call for people to vote "uncommitted" in the Democratic primary as a protest against Biden's Israel policy. The time to pressure Biden with your vote is now, not in November. The pressure from all the different types of protests do seem to be working, if far slower than we'd like.

NOTE 2: There is a similar protest against Trump where people vote for a candidate who isn't running. Check your state to see who people are promoting.

NOTE 3: Important non-Presidential Primaries are also ongoing! Vote the whole ballot!

Texas (Run Off Election): 5/28/24

Iowa (House Primary), District of Columbia (Democrats), Montana (General Primary, Important!), New Jersey (General Primary, Important), New Mexico (General Primary, Important!), South Dakota: 6/4/24

Guam (Democrats), Virgin Islands (Democrats): 6/8/24

Maine, Nevada, North Dakota, South Carolina (All these are congressional, some down ticket. Important!!!): 6/11/24

Know your state's schedule and where to vote. Make sure you and your friends are registered. If you are voting in person, plan how to get there.

If you live in an open primary state consider voting strategically. Otherwise, vote your heart in the primary. Remember how all those votes for Sanders and Warren pushed Biden and the party platform further left?

Remember to vote in all the races, not just the top of the ticket even if it's in a separate primary (as it is in my state). Who runs congress, your state, and your local government really matters. In some states this is a separate primary. Check the rules for your state.

Never, ever sleep on a chance to vote.

It is always better to vote for someone who will listen to us than to let someone who is actively trying to kill us.

[samueldays]

Racial Gerrymandering

This New York Times Article (archive) can be practice in noticing the thing separately from the name. It doesn't use the word "gerrymandering", but that is what it's calling for.

Most other states would be ashamed of the tongue lashing issued against the government of Alabama on Tuesday by a trio of federal judges, all of whom were clearly furious that the state ignored their order to create a second majority-Black congressional district.

This is court-ordered racial gerrymandering, but I suppose the NYT doesn't want such negatively-loaded terms near their client race.

In doing so, Alabama illustrated how contempt for the law — not to mention for equal representation and basic fairness — is an animating value in whole swaths of America. There are days when it feels as if defiance is defining large parts of the country, as represented by so many politicians who feel comfortable only when they are resisting someone else’s agenda rather than coming up with their own.

The journalist cries out 'basic fairness' as he demands your state be gerrymandered. Journalism delenda est. When the NYT has the reputation of the Daily Mail, I will be happy.

The journo's take on 'equal representation' is race-first quotas, and as for 'law', the Voting Rights Act talks about the right to vote and participate in the political process with an end in mind of electing a representative; the court interpreted "opportunity [...] to elect representatives of their choice" very broadly to demand blacks as a racial collective must get two set-aside districts so they can racially win two elections to get representatives, plural, of their choice to be elected. This has a severe case of Proves Too Much regarding every other protected class minority. Reductio ad absurdum.

An aggravating context, then, is the fact that congressional districts are a finite and small number in a zero-sum game. To be specific, Alabama has seven. Demanding two of those for a specific minority is a hell of a lot.

Demanding any districts be racial set-asides at all is dubious gerrymandering, but from a glance at the census data, Alabama's population does not even divide neatly into racial sevenths to gerrymander with. The state is majority white, between one and two sevenths black, less than one seventh hispanic, less than one seventh 'other'. How do you feel about a court-mandated hispanic-majority district too? 🙄

The census brings me to another issue: the implicit requirements of surveillance state and segregation that are needed to get these black-majority districts.

To make it informationally possible to draw black-majority districts, one needs to know where the blacks live, in great detail, with recent updates. It is not obvious that the state tracking this is a good thing.

And to make it topologically possible to draw black-majority districts, one needs the blacks to clump very tightly together. The more black-majority districts one tries to draw, the more every other district in Alabama must be a whiteland. Again, zero-sum game. (Math below.)

Perhaps you want to argue that this is still worth it! But to argue for the racial gerrymandering you should face the costs and trade-offs. You should have the courage to say "I want segregation, so I can have black-majority districts", because a high degree of segregation is a prerequisite to black-majority districts. Can't draw black-majority districts through a thoroughly integrated population.

The NYT instead decides to go with guilt-by-association to George Wallace, pretending it's a continuous history from a man who wanted segregation to Alabama refusing segregated districts. Piss on journalists.

---

Electoral district math: at seven districts, each one gets 14-15% of the population. (The current districts are all in this range.) Alabama has a 26% black population. To be the majority in two districts, one has to assign at least 8 percentage points of blacks to each. That's 16% in those two, leaving 10% for the other five. Possibly even more lopsided if the black majority districts are to have more margin for error and discrete subdistricts.

Splitting the remaining 10% or less gives an average of two percentage points or less in the remaining five districts. In practice some will cluster unevenly around that average, because Alabama's black population is very unevenly distributed.

Meanwhile, the majority-black districts by necessity have fewer whites than average for the state, so the remaining districts must have more whites than average, in a state that was over two-thirds white to begin with. Moving people around between districts does not change their sum.

The cost of two majority-black districts is that the other five districts will be so white, the whites in one of those districts outnumber the blacks in all five of those districts put together. 5:1 is a lower bound, 10:1 is likely to happen due to nonlinear scaling.

Trivia: with arbitrarily complex boundaries, you could gerrymander Alabama to have a whole 3 majority-black districts with a slim eight-to-seven majority, at the cost of the other 4 districts getting white:black ratios exceeding thirty-to-one.