#there has not been an inciting event or issue

[benchwarming]

what if i just quit my job. like what if i just......quit it.

[demilypyro]

So I reread Gwenpool Strikes Back and I think I actually like her "616 mutant origin" more now than I did before. Because I didn't fully get what they were doing before.

The inciting incident that starts the miniseries is Gwenpool discovering a new ability. It isn't very well explained in the moment, but it boils down to this: she can imagine things happening before or in-between the panels of the story, and if she then "flashes back" to them in her thoughts, they will retroactively become real events that really happened.

The best way to explain this is using the battle royale she organizes in issue 3: she imagines having set this up off-screen, and it became retroactively true. She initially didn't have a prize in mind, but just has to imagine that Tony Stark donated a bunch of money to be a cash prize, and suddenly it's like that happened. It became true retroactively. She seems to be able to just decide things happened off-screen, and the universe will agree.

As far as abilities go, this is absolutely King Crimson levels of convoluted, and this definitely makes Gwenpool a ridiculously powerful character, but for the purpose of the story, sure, let's say she can do that now.

Now, as we all know, at the end of the miniseries, Gwenpool has a conversation with Ms. Marvel. Kamala doesn't believe Gwen's claims that the Marvel universe is a comic book, and suggests an alternate theory: she may actually just be a mutant with amnesia.

We the audience know this is not true, and so does Gwen. She IS from the real world, and Kamala simply can't comprehend Gwen's perspective on her universe.

But what matters here is that while listening to Kamala's theory, Gwen imagined it. While unintentional, she used her power. She had a "flashback." Which made it real. Retroactively real.

Entirely by accident, there are now two truths:

Gwenpool is from the real world, and is a normal person

Gwenpool is from the Marvel universe, and is a mutant

Though this wasn't Gwen's intention, these statements are now both equally, irreversibly true, and always have been. And so, the Krakoan gate opens. The universe now considers her a mutant.

It's not just that she was accepting Kamala's version of events. She WASN'T a mutant. But now she is. Her powers changed the past. She accidentally retconned herself into being a mutant. Gwen and the audience both know that her 616 mutant origin didn't really happen, but as far as the universe is concerned, it did. Her power made it true.

I feel like they could have done a better job explaining this, but they probably didn't have all the pages in the world to spend on exposition. Either way, I like GSB more now that I properly understand what they were going for.

[lalunanymph]

PLEASURE IN PAIN

✧.* SUMMARY tangled in sylus's web, you discover the many insidious ways he can make you break even without causing you any pain

✧.* WARNINGS dark content, interrogation kink, sex drugs, injections, blindfolds, coercion, forced confessions, captivity, mentions of drugs, non-con, bondage, restraints, mean onychinus leader sylus, fantasies, role play, lingerie kink, mentions of alcohol, edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, clit play, vibrator play, petnames (kitten, sweetie, bad kitty), Dom/sub undertones, language humiliation, twist at the end, established relationship, MDNI, 18+

✧.* DAWN SAYS listen, i can explain um,,,, so basically,,, i have no excuse

✧.* A03 | twt/x

It was acrid and dark behind the blindfold.

The material was one of the good kinds, made from thick cotton which barely allowed any light to seep through. As you shifted in the cold, hard seat, you caught the faintest tinkling of chains. Your fists clenched, heart tripling in speed as you remembered the events which led you here in the first place. 

The sparkling mini dress you wore for the night out. Strobing lights. Pulsing excitement. Hands on your waist. 

The shot of vodka you accepted from a handsome stranger in a bar, his dark eyes glossing over your flushed features. 

All you remembered was the lights fading into pressing darkness and now, here were were.

Restrained and right in the hands of someone dangerous. 

The tap tap tap of sharp dress shoes on the floor pierced through the blood rushing in your ears, stealing your attention instantly. 

Whoever it was, he smelled of a rich cologne, the fragrance of his piney aftershave filling your nose when he bent forward, the heat of his body close enough to seep into the thin material of your dress. 

“Good morning. I trust you had a good rest, Y/N.” 

Horror jolted deep in your chest at the fact that he knew your name. The deep, dark cadence of his voice incited a faint stirring of familiarity. Hands that were warmer than you expected. reached out to touch your face. 

“W-who are you?”

God, what a fucking clichéd question. You squirmed in your bonds, and yanked your head back, mustering a glare twisting on your lips.

“I asked you a question—”

“And I heard you,” he shot back, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I see we have not yet been introduced to each other—how rude of me. My name is Sylus…”

The tapping of his dress shoes made a circle around you, and you craned your neck around to keep him within reach, your entire body tense from anticipating what he would do next.

“... and you have some information I want.”

Your mind went to the gun strapped to your thigh, and you tried to shift around, wondering if it was still on your body.

As if he could read your mind, his dark chuckle touched your ears.

“Oh, are you looking for this?” 

The cold tip of your UNICORN-issued firearm touched your cheek, and you recoiled back, seething.

“Give that back—!”

“Only if you tell me what I want to know.”

The sound of the gun clicking, its barrel pressing right to your head, made you flinch. A hundred thoughts raced through your spinning mind; if the other Hunters knew where you were. If your watch had given off a signal when you were kidnaped. Did anyone notice you leaving the club? How could a man kidnap you without anyone putting up a fight? 

“They know where you are,” you warned him. “The other Hunters. They know where I am because my watch has given them my signal.”

His response was a confident scoff. “You’re mistaken, sweetie,” condescension dripped from his tone, and you felt the barrel of the gun move right to your forehead, pushing back a stray lock of your hair. The cold tip traveled right to your jaw, teasing the swell of your lower lip. 

Without warning, he pushed the metallic chamber past your lips, forcing you to suck on the cold metal. 

“Mhmph—!”

Rough fingers twined in your hair, locking your head in place. Forcing you to take it.

His reply exacerbated the humiliation and fear you felt when he said, “I’ve disabled your signal and your location. It’s simple really. The Hunter’s tech you use is so poorly outdated, I could laugh at it.” 

Sylus retracted the barrel, and you his sadistic glee shone when he chuckled at your sputtering and gasps. The taste of bitter gun residue coated your tongue, and you spat it out, complete fear threatening to steal the last fragments of your composure. 

Your chest heaved, mind narrowing down onto the meaning of his words. 

Hopeless despair bled right into your next words when you uttered: “You're wrong. They’ll come for me. I know they will.”

“Oh, you pretty little delusional Hunter,” he muttered scornfully. The sound of your gun clattering to the ground made you flinch; your years of training at UNICORN to withstand interrogation slipping from the frenzied state of your mind. 

Theory was vastly different from practice, especially when confronted with the lord of the N109 Zone himself.

“The Hunters are not coming for you. Not when I don’t want them to find you.”

Casually, he draped an arm around your shoulder, toying with the ends of your hair. The heat of his body was almost unnatural, and with him this close, you could feel the expensive silken material of his shirt rasp against the bare skin of your back. 

“But, I have a proposition. A proposition for you to leave with your head intact. Do you want to hear it?”

He spoke before you could say another word. “An armory of mine was raided by a group of Hunters. They appeared to have insider knowledge as none of my security feeds can catch sight of them. I had a hunch it might be Jenna’s doing when one of them explicitly mentioned your name on the recording—”

The sound of panting filled your ears, and with a jolt, you recognized Tara’s heavy breathing.

“We need to get out of here… Y/N….”

A clicking sound and the clip ended.

“Recognize her?” 

His fingers danced along the column of your throat, playing with the silver necklace you wore. The tips of his nimble digits were calloused, rasping against the delicate softness of your skin; a sharp contrast of sensations which drew an unwilling shiver running down your spine.

“I don’t know her,” you denied, needing to protect Tara. If Sylus got his hands on her, there was no telling what he would do—how he would break her.

You had more experience than this, a class above other rookie Hunters. If anyone could withstand a sticky situation, it would be you. 

His exhaled chuckle touched your ears, drawing goosebumps down your arms—and not the good kind. 

“Listen here, sweetie. Let me make you a deal. You tell me all the names of your little Hunter friends who dared to raid my armory, and I let you go with your life intact. How about that?” 

You turned your head to the side, unable to bear the arid heat of his hot breath on your cheek. Clearing your throat, you shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair, buying time to form a reply. 

“H-how do I know you will keep your promise?” 

In response, Sylus chuckled, a low, hearty, expensive sound.

You could picture him laughing like that on golf courses, or while slicing someone’s throat into ribbons.

“It seems your perception of me leans towards error, kitten,” the sudden nickname took you off guard. “I always keep my promises, especially to enticing little Hunters like you.”

His forwardness made your head spin. There was little doubt of the desire bleeding through the untoward advances he disclosed onto your unwilling ears. 

Your cheeks ran warm, and you fought to contain your level headedness, licking your lips as you considered the realities of sharing such delicate information with him. 

On one hand, you might risk compromising the mission framework that Captain Jenna had likely concealed from you to protect your other comrades. 

But, on the other hand, if you didn’t leave alive, you would never have a chance to bring down Onychinus again. 

The choice was in your hands.

And you chose silence.

The tap tap tap-ping of his shoes on the metallic floor was back again, and this time, it echoed the panicked palpitating of your heart.

You flinched when Sylus grabbed you by the shoulder, pushing some weight to dig you deeper into the chair. You winced, but remained firm in your pretend, nonplussed silence.

But, you forgot this was Sylus you were dealing with. The infamous, ruthless Onychinus leader. The man who could bring entire empires down to their knees.

He would never take ‘no’ for an answer, much less your stubborn silence. “Cat got your tongue, kitten?” He swept a hand underneath your chin, toying with you as he tugged your face up, forcing your lips within an inch of his.

“That's not very nice, isn't it? Not responding to someone's question.”

His tongue flicked out, touching the corner of your mouth and you resisted the urge to part your lips, firmly keeping your jaw shut.

“Mhm. I see how it is. But, don't worry, kitten,” his voice had taken on a silken quality, dangerous and Low. “I have ways of making people talk—of making you talk without laying a single finger on you.” 

He let go of your face and you heard his footsteps receding away. Alone and afraid, you tugged on the chains, trying to get in touch with your Resonance. Maybe you could break through these chains, using your Evol to melt through the metal links.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Another voice joining the fray stopped you from squirming around, your head whipping up to catch who else was here.

“The chain is fortified to withstand any Evol attempts. It's made of a Protocore material that dulls the biological linkage reaction to the atoms surrounding the area. It's a Deepspace damper which means you won't be able to work around it.”

His footsteps were heavier than Sylus’s, and he moved with purpose, setting down what sounded like a metallic plate, where items clinked together. 

What he did next hit you like a freight train when you felt the cooling sting of an alcohol swab on your bare arm.

“No—”

“I propose you stay still or else the needle would break off and stay stuck in your arm.” There was a sadistic edge to his warning, an undeniable joy he got from being Sylus's puppet.

A sharp sting pinched your arm and you gritted your teeth, holding your breath when you felt the ice cold fluid siphoning into your veins.

The man gently pulled out the needle, using another swab to staunch the light bleeding. 

“There. You'll feel the effects soon.”

Your mouth was drier than a desert when you forced it to speak past the terror lodging in your throat.

“What did you give me…? What did you inject inside of me?!”

Barely paying your hysterics any mind, the man chuckled.

“That, my darling, was a patented N109 Zone aphrodisiac. A new formula we are testing and lucky you—you're the first one to receive it!”

His maniacal laughter grated your ears, and you shook your head from side to side, gasping. 

“Shit! Stop this—don't do this to me!”

“In a minute you will feel your entire body growing warmer, and then, that's when the fun begins,” he muttered gleefully. 

Whether it was a placebo effect of his words, you felt your entire body growing heavier. As if you had downed an entire row of shots, you felt heat suffuse across your face, creeping down your neck and arms, curling into a ball right in the pit of your stomach. You gasped, fighting against the manacles to try and touch your cheeks. They were hot enough to melt off your skin; the shivers wrecking you apart and driving you close to the brink of committing arson. Except the only thing on fire would be your self-control.

Embarrassingly, your nipples began to stiffen underneath your dress. A fresh wave of slick dampened your panties and you felt your heart triple in speed at the sound of the door opening, more footsteps entering the room.

“Is it done?”

Clenching your thighs together, you fought back against an obscene moan about to rip free from your mouth at the low timber of Sylus’s voice.

“Yes, sir. She's undergoing metamorphosis now.”

Flickers of flames lapped down your neck, stoking the heat in between your thighs to a terrifying level. 

Like your senses were heightened, you could smell him from where you sat; the spicy heat of his cologne permeating your senses.

It brushed over you in waves when he stepped closer, the heat of his body grazing your bare shins.

Sylus ran a finger across your jaw, smiling to himself when he noticed how you gritted your teeth and squeezed your thighs together. 

“My, my. Already feeling it, aren't we? You've always been such an overachiever, haven't you, kitten? You’re the fastest reactor we’ve ever had.” 

You felt the imprint of him kneeling next to you, the restraints around your ankles keeping your lower body open and vulnerable to him.

“Let's try this again.” His touch on your thigh was possessive, circling higher and higher to where you needed him the most. Sylus leaned in, his cheek pressed to your inner thigh, inhaling the musky scent of your pussy underneath the tent of your dress, which was hotter than any desert air he had ever put his mug through.

You jumped. Clearly not expecting his face to be so close there.

“The names of the Hunters who raided The armory. Now.”

In a tone which broke no give, Sylus was not a patient man waiting for you to toe around and beat the truth from the bush. He preferred to take matters into his own hands; he would edge the truth of you if he could.

Your breathing caught. Looking like sin in that little dress which dipped under the valley of your tits, and the flimsy, silky hem which rode all the way up over your plush, pretty thighs… What else was he supposed to do?

Not give into his desires?

“You're so unfair.”

Your hips rocked upwards, an obscene giveaway to the need building inside of you. Sylus wasn't a man who was built on inexperience; he had seen a good number of women in his days who needed a little bit of rope to get themselves loose for him.

But you were a goddamn natural.  

Your tits stretched across that sorry excuse of a dress, the see-through fabric showing off your tight nipples ready to be sucked and played with. The sight of your bare shins bathed under the fluorescent light of the interrogation room added to the allure, the forbiddenness of this situation.

You came to life in that chair, writhing like a possessed wave and keening softly, the drugs working their magic to keep you sensitive to his every touch.

“I never said I would play fair, kitten.”

Your cherry red lips puckered into a despairing snarl, and he imagined them around his cock, sucking him off. Milking him dry. 

One single touch to your neck and you jerked as if you were bitten by a snake. Strapped to the chair and trembling from every innocent onslaught, you were the perfect picture of a helpless slut, ready to be devoured.

Sylus moved to the two-way windows, switching off the tinted end so whoever was on the other side could not see what was happening. Not for the sake of giving you privacy—hell no.

He wanted to enjoy his little captive in peace.

The sound of items being rummaged around perked your ears up. You felt him approaching you, the blunt tip of something rubbery pressing right on the dent of your lower lip.

“Do you know what this is?”

Shaking your head, your eyes twitched behind the blindfold. 

Clicking a button, the rubber tip suddenly came to life, and you jerked back, hearing a familiar hum.

“Oh… oh no…”

Biting back a chuckle, Sylus watched as you could do nothing but whine in the chair. You twisted around, testing the bonds, feeding right into your helplessness when you realized there was no way out. Your nipples were two little cherries ripe for the picking underneath your dress, your arms covered with a carpet of goosebumps.

The sound of adhesive tape tearing rang loudly in your ears, and you tensed, feeling him stick the vibe right to your inner thigh. Sylus taped the purple head of the toy right at your opening, making a dent on the pretty pink panties you wore stretched tightly around your cunt.

He switched it on and the effect was immediate.

You twisted and writhed; grounding your ass on the chair, trying to dislodge the vibrator.

Dulcet mewls spilled from your lips, and Sylus did nothing but cross his arms and watch.

It was one thing being a slut in private, but there was something absolutely delicious about watching a woman lose it in such a public setting. Especially when she knew you were watching her.

You groaned. You gasped. Throwing your head back. The vibrations rocked through your world, leaving your mind a blank, humming state.

You grounded your ass in the chair, feeling more juices slick up your pussy. Sylus used more rope to pry apart your legs, stretching your panties even further until the vibrator dipped into the cleft of your pussy, purple head enclosed by slick folds.

“Feels good, right?” His low, dark voice resonated from your right side, lips close enough to brush against your ear. 

Sylus had interrogated enough people in his life to know when their reactions would be telling. He could tell when someone was close to tapping out and revealing their grand master plans.

He could tell when they were on the last leg of their resolution before they broke down and spilled the truth to him.

But for you, Sylus could tell you were on the verge of the biggest release on your life

Please, please… your writhing body seemed to beg. Don't make me do this. Don't shame me like this.

Taking it a notch further, he grabbed your head, twisting your hair painfully in his grasp. 

The sharp bite of agony was enough to tip you right to the edge, your thighs trembling. Pretty little Hunter who always got what she wanted, he thought. If only your captain could see you now… if only your teammates could see how easily you folded to me.

Back arched, mouth hanging open, you were the picture of submission.

And he ripped it away from you at the last second.

Sylus switched the vibrator off, watching as you crumpled back into the chair, a gasp ripping past your lips.

“Did you think I would give it to you without getting something back in return?”

His amused, silky tone cut through the blood rushing in your ears.

“Names, sweetie. I want them.”

Your tongue felt like a bloated fish in your mouth, the words unable to swim past the gasps struggling to fight past the surface.

Amused by your breathless gaping, Sylus ran his fingers down your chin, scratching it lightly as if you were an unruly cat.

A whine slipped past your defenses and he grinned. Such picture perfect submission delivered to be seen. Sylus wanted to further rub in how hopeless you were without him.

Ripping the blindfold off, you blinked your pretty eyes, like a baby deer seeing sunlight for the first time. Your irises dilated at the sight of him, the look of bewilderment morphing into a spiteful glare. 

“Let me go!”

It was adorable, really. You actually thought you could order him around. Be the boss. 

Sylus wanted to show you who ran this show; whose ship you were standing on. 

He leaned against the wall, one perfectly groomed brow raised. “And why would I want to do that, sweetie?” Taking another step towards you, he was pleased to find your eyes roving after him, determined to monitor his every movement.

Poor, naive little Hunter. Haven't you realized by now? You were never the predator—you were just prey. His prey. 

“Don't glare at me like that, sweetie. It is very unbecoming of your pretty face.”

Biting past a scathing remark, you wanted to tear these shackles off you and give him a piece of your mind. But, Sylus was already bored with the games.

“I'll keep on asking if you don't tell me everything you know, sweetie. And we can do this everyday.”

The threat stopped you short, a trembling exhale hanging between your parted lips.

Sylus could see the fear swirling in your eyes, the singular look of apprehension going right to his cock.

Not every captive could get such special attention from him, and yet, you were given a premium experience.

"You should be more thankful, sweetie. I'm not this nice to anyone and I'm doing a lot for you."

He caressed your cheek, and even that simple act could make your pussy clench, hips grinding against the static vibrator. 

“I'll see you in a few moments, sweetie. Till then, rest well.”

You should've known Sylus Qin was a man of his word. 

The serum injected remained strong for what felt like a day, but they kept on replenishing it, especially after the first signs of waning began, which mostly happened after meals. You grew to dread the sound of the door flap opening, because it meant another day of writhing with your hands tied in front of you, unable to relieve the tension between your legs.

You were in a light doze, slumped against the chair, when the door opened, and you opened your groggy eyes. Sylus stood over you, a smirk etched on his face. 

He was dressed in a fancy suit the color of a bright flame, his silver hair slicked back. A black stud adorned his left ear, silver necklace with a ruby pendant hanging from his throat. 

“Going to officiate the opening of Hell?” you sneered, and he snorted.

“How creative of an insult, sweetie. But, no.”

He stepped closer, and you had no idea what would come next until he clicked a button inside his jacket’s lapels, and the shackles holding your wrists behind your back melted to the ground with a loud clang. You winced, rubbing your raw wrists. 

Wordlessly, he extended a hand out towards you, and you scrutinized it with a glare. Sylus chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to bite. Well, not yet, at least. You’re still important to me, sweetie.”

Gingerly, you extended your hand toward him, cautious but accepting of his touch. Your fingers, still stiff from the lingering tension, trembled slightly as they wrapped around his warm palm. The firmness of his grip grounded you, offering reassurance despite him being the reason why you were captive in the first place.

Sylus gently pulled you to your feet, his other hand around your waist to keep you steady. The sensation of pins-and-needles surged through your legs as the blood slowly circulated. You wobbled slightly, but his presence was solid, anchoring you as you found your balance.

“Careful, kitten.”

Your blood boiled at his casual use of that nickname for you. Firm hands pressed against his pecs, and you tried to push away from him, nearly falling flat on your face in the process. Sylus’s arms immediately shot out to catch you, holding you close to his broad chest where the heat of his body radiated the warmest, burning right into your flushed cheek.

“Let me go—”

He removed his arms from your frame, lifting them up in mock surrender. Ignoring your glare, he procured a velvet shopping bag from god-knows-where behind his bag, handing it to you with a smug smile.

“I bought these for you, kitten.”

You stared at him in blatant confusion, but took the bag. From inside the smooth depths, you procured a skimpy pair of lingerie, made of lace and held up by wisps of mesh. The bustier was low-cut, easily showing off your chest, and to your mortification, the panties were crotchless.

“I thought you could use something to cover up that sorry excuse of a dress you’re wearing,” he said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. 

You spluttered, eyes wide, staring at the garment he gifted to you with disbelief. Of all things he could’ve chosen for you, this was his idea of an improvement? “And you thought this was the better alternative?” you snapped, incredulous. 

Sylus was unfettered by the rising pitch of your voice, and simply grinned, a mischievous glint in his ruby red eyes. He chuckled softly, as if your frustration fueled his amusement, his lips curling into his familiar, devilish smirk. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, kitten. Now, do you want to throw a hissy fit, or do you want to put on a fresh change of clothes?” 

Insane. He was completely deranged for thinking you would go through with this. Resisting the urge to throw the skimpy piece of lingerie in his face, you shot him a look of complete vitriol. A sharp, crass curse hovered on the tip of your tongue, barely restrained as you fought the urge to spit it at him. 

“And what if I refused to do it?” 

As if he anticipated your stubbornness, Sylus snapped his finger and two attendants entered your cell. Taking you by surprise, they stepped forward, grabbing your arms, shockingly strong for two, short women. One of them drags your dress down, ripping a few buttons in the process. The other restrained you with her arms locked around your torso, while her comrade grasped the band of your panties and tugs it off your legs in a fluid motion. 

They brought out a pair of scissors to deal with your bra, cutting through the material as easily as a knife slicing through hot butter. Scraps of lace fluttered to the ground, looking like dead butterfly wings. In the same breath, they tugged the bustier over your head, tightening the ribbons behind your back, ignoring your cry of pain and flailing hands trying to bat them away.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Sylus remained quiet, staring at you with an inscrutable expression you couldn’t read. Was it indifference? Amusement? Something more? You couldn’t tell and his stillness only heightened your discomfort. Meanwhile, the tinier attendant, a brunette with nimble fingers, knelt by your feet and lifted your leg gently, slipping it one-by-one through the crotchless panty holes. 

The cool material slid against your skin as she dragged it up your thighs, adjusting it with practiced ease until it rested snugly on your hips. The sensation of the garment was both unsettling and intimate, made worse by Sylus’s unwavering gaze.

Another snap of his fingers. The attendants disappeared, taking your discarded clothes and destroyed underwear with them.

Sylus took measured strides toward you, hands behind his back. Those crimson eyes flickered over every inch of your body, drinking you in.

“Much better. And you look good in red, my dear.”

The sensation of humiliation ravaged along your skin, settling like a disgusting pit of tar right at the bottom of your stomach.

“What do you want with me?” 

Your whisper drew a smirk on his handsome, but dangerously sharp features.

“Oh, my dear. You have no idea of the things I want to do to you.” 

A dark mist shot out from behind his back, splitting into two tendrils that swiftly wrapped your wrists in its foggy hold. It half-dragged, half-led you towards the bars of your prison, forcing you to your knees. Your hands dangled helplessly through the cold metal, your body contorted painfully into this uncomfortable position the mist held you captive in. Sylus chucked a pillow he took from a hidden pocket of space behind him, nudging it right under your knees. Bound and with no way of fighting him off, your back was arched, body exposed to his sinister will.

A low desk with a piece of paper and pen was set right in front of you by the same mute attendants. The sight of the blank page filled you with an indescribable sense of dread.

Sylus stood over you, his presence looming and intimidating, expression unreadable. His red eyes flickered to the prepared pen and paper. “I want the names you’ve been keeping from me in an hour, sweetie.”

Struggling against your unnatural bonds, you opened your mouth, but stopped when he shot you down with a look.

“And to give you some incentive…”

On cue, the cell door opened and in walked a short doctor with wiry, salt-and-pepper curls. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose with one hand, precariously balancing a tray filled with syringes in the other. Knowing what he was about to do to you was terrifying. At least with the blindfold on, you weren’t aware of how thick the needle was, or how the milky fluid in the syringe sloshed around when the doctor tapped on the glass vial. 

Your stomach churned uneasily, a nauseating mix of dread and unease churning inside you. Every muscle in your body was taut with tension, coiled like a spring as you braced yourself for the inevitable. 

The air was thick with tension, growing denser at every step the doctor took towards you. Your breathing came out in ragged, shallow bursts, the misty restraints offering no give no matter how much you tried to recoil away from the approaching syringe.

“Relax now, love,” the older man warned you, trying to keep his leering eyes away from your scantily clad body. “It will hurt if you move too much.”

You had no choice but to succumb to his orders, holding your breath at the inescapable bite of pain in your arm. In a few seconds, the syringe’s contents were emptied into your bloodstream, and within less than a minute, the effects started again.

But, it felt different this time. The pulsating contractions made a spurt of slick trickle down your leg, the overwhelming heat traveling across your body like a contagious rash. Your nipples stiffened underneath the lacy bra cups, popping out almost painfully hard. The blood rushing straight to your clit made it sensitive to the slightest rush of air, your split legs kneeling on the floor exacerbating the vulnerability of your bare and swollen pussy.

“Sylus—”

You gasped, your breath hitching as you shook your head from side to side, as if the motion could dislodge the hazy cloud of lust creeping into the corners of your mind. The warmth pooling within you blurred the lines between resistance and surrender. Your vision wavered, becoming unfocused, as you struggled to keep him in the edges of your sight. But, his presence danced just out of reach, leaving you feeling unmoored, teetering on the brink of losing control.

The sensation of a hard object slipping past your clenched teeth roused the slightest bit of your interest, but with the lust pumping hard in your veins, it wasn’t easy to hone in your focus on anything else.

Sylus forced the hard, rubbery object deeper down your throat, ignoring your heaving chest triggered from your gag reflex. Plunging it in and out of your mouth carelessly, he lubed it up with your spit, and with a flick of his wrist, trailed it down the length of your body teasingly, before slipping it right into your pulsing pussy. 

The toy stretched your muscles, your walls rippling around the rubber conqueror to greedily suck it in; the vibrator sinking down to the hilt effortlessly from the amount of slick you were producing. 

“... a special one, sweetie.” His fingers in your hair brought your attention back to the buzzing between your thighs. But, that wasn’t what caught your full focus—it was the whirring silicone tongue lapping right at your clit which made you flinch, an intoxicated gasp falling from your puffy lips.

“This toy is designed to measure your sweet, little cunt’s contractions and when it senses you’re on the edge…” Sylus trailed off, intentionally stringing along your curiosity until it was hanging by a tenacious thread. “... well, you’ll see,” he finished, standing straighter, admiring the view of you bound, gasping and gyrating your hips as if fucking the thin air.

He had to admit, the sight before him was a wonder, pumping his desire to do unholy things to you.

But, he tightened his hands into fists, knowing he had to put on an air of nonchalant to get what  he needed from you. 

Judging from your broken moans and hitched gasps, his patience might win out soon.

Your hips stuttered, the fuzzy look in your eyes signaling your approaching release. Poor, little Hunter, he thought, a cruel smirk curling on his sculpted lips as your tensed body shook and heaved, hovering right on the precipice of a huge orgasm. As if a switch had been flipped, your entire body slumped forward, knees nearly buckling and bringing you to the floor if it weren’t for his Evol restraints around your wrists keeping you up right through the bars. 

“Aw. Were you close, sweetie?” His saccharine sweet voice dripped with sarcasm. “Tsk, tsk. This little kitten can’t listen, can she? I did say the vibrator could sense your orgasm approaching but did you even attempt to control your urges? No. Of course not. You don’t want to listen to me.” 

His words cut through you with their faux sympathy and you mustered enough anger and dismay to shoot him a terrifying glare.

“Fuck you, Sylus.”

“Oh, you wish, sweetie.” 

He chuckled at your affronted expression, circling closer to your bound body. You tensed when the tip of his shoe touched the innocuously static vibrator still lodged in your pussy, toying with the loose grip.

“Hmm. If this little plastic demon falls out of you, should I be kind and put it back? Or, do I leave you to your vices.”

Deciding in an instant, Sylus chuckled, a smug look on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back, clearly satisfied with what he was about to say. 

“Perhaps an hour with the vibrator might make you change your mind. One can only hope you will find relief, sweetie.” The mock sympathy in his voice left you breathless and disoriented, too stunned to muster an insult fast enough. 

Like a shadow in the night, he disappeared from your view, leaving you to your torment.

It felt like hours of unending torture. Where one cycle of edging began, it left you feeling more unfulfilled when the vibrator denied your pleasure, stopping dead every single time you were poised to fall off the precipice. 

Full body shivers tore through you, the smell of your own arousal burning through your nose. Your thighs began to cramp, the constant onslaught of arousal and edging making your pussy almost numb and sore, the muscles tense from teetering on the edge of a release for the past hour. 

The paper and pen swam in your vision, symbols of both your promised release and your comrades’ death sentence—thoughts you tried to push aside. Despite your best attempts to ignore them, they flit in and out of your consciousness, reminding you of where Sylus’s true displeasure lies. It wasn’t your fault; you were merely collateral in his fight with the other Hunters who had stepped on his toes. 

The vibrator pulsed, massaging your G-spot. Your thighs clamped down, going tense, breathing growing heavier. 

As soon as you hoped the toy would give you relief, the promise was snatched from under your nose—bringing you back to square one. Breathless, sore and full of hot, slick juices which were constantly denied, you finally gave in with a hitched sob. 

The pen shook in your hand, your words shaky and almost illegible. But, you managed to scrawl the names of the Hunters who were involved in the illegal raiding of his armory. Hanging your head forward, you tossed the pen aside like it was venomous, hearing it clatter onto the floor. 

Footsteps resounded around the small cell, mingling with your silent sobs. 

A pair of shiny dress shoes appeared in your vision, calloused fingers tilting your head up to look him right in his red eyes. Sylus thumbed your tears away, an indescribable depth swirling in his gaze, leading you close to the waters for you to drown in. 

But, he severed the tenacious connection with a hollow sigh, withdrawing his hand from your jaw to pick up the paper with the list of names. 

“Good girl.”

Your head dropped back to your chest, a sob rising in the back of your throat. Sylus snapped his fingers and the mists holding your hands hostage melted off, retreating back to him. 

You crumpled to your knees, and blindly groped for the vibrator still stuck in you. Whimpers slipped from your clenched teeth, and you fumbled with the smooth head of the toy, trying to find its switch.

Sylus, who was watching the entire ordeal with an unwavering gaze, chuckled softly, strolling up to you. 

“Need some help, kitten?”

Not waiting for you to respond, he lifted you up into his arms, whisking you out of the cell. Sylus was a few heads taller than you, his brawny build overshadowing your tinier one. It made sense how easily he manhandles you, setting you down on a wide bed, propping you on your hands and knees.

Instead of giving you relief since you had complied with his request, Sylus gripped the edges of the vibrator and slid it out of your clenching cunt, leaving you gasping from the sudden emptiness. 

To your mortification, he dropped the toy to the floor and crushed it under the heel of his dress shoe; a smug grin plastered on his face. Your head lolled limply, as if the exhaustion and frustration had become too much to bear. But underneath the weariness of having every single drop of your pleasure denied, you curled your hands into fists, knuckles pale with tension. Anger surged in your chest, simmering and growing with each shallow breath, threatening to implode as the frustration clawed its way through the fatigue, demanding to be released.

“You… you son of a bitch—”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to finish your insults. Without warning, the mists shot out from his side, racing to ensnare your limbs; four tendrils holding you open and vulnerable under his darkening gaze. The tendrils lifted you up slightly from the bed, your body hovering over the dark, satin sheets. Sylus padded over to you, reaching to touch the rise of your ass appreciatively.

“You do cut a stunning, submissive figure, kitten.”

The sound of clothes shedding to the floor made you freeze, panic pumping hard in your veins when you felt his calloused hands around your waist. Sylus’s lips touched the nape of your neck, this position offering you little resistance from his advances. Under his careful control, he could shift you around using the mists, like you were a puppet to reposition and possess. 

The trunk of his thick, muscular waist was warm underneath your split thighs, your arms restrained behind your back, the tendrils around your ankles keeping you immobilized and wide open. Sylus clicked his tongue in sympathy when he took in your swollen folds, your puffy clit poking her little, overstimulated head out from the hood.

“Look at your pretty kitty, sweetie. She looks so neglected…” 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and from his command, the mists dragged you close enough for your pelvis to bump his chin. The realization of what he was about to do next shocked you into a loud moan the second you felt his tongue glide through your puffy folds.

Mhm… you taste divine, love.

Such a pretty kitty.

You feel like heaven, my darling. 

His praises flowed freely, each word dripping with reverence, momentarily overshadowing the raw desire simmering under the surface. The hunger in his gaze was undeniable, the act of praising you bringing him as much pleasure as the act of watching you come undone.

Sylus’s large palms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips. The feel of his tongue massaging your clit, sucking on your folds, drew you deeper into an inescapable ecstasy.

You did the right thing, sweetie, he hummed, voice a low, approving timber. You made the right choice in betraying the Hunters for me. 

Your eyes fell tightly shut, hoping to block out his words. But, you could still hear everything; his ragged breathing, the rustle of his body on the sheets. You could feel his mouth and teeth sucking love bites into your plush thighs, marking you as his for the world to see.

Slick dribbled from your opening in silver strings, dripping onto his chin as he continued to lap and lick your clit.

Sylus knew your body too well. The second he felt your thighs trembling under his touch, he switched up the rhythm, going slower, with light kitten licks on your folds. You groaned, dropping your head, trying to grind your hips to feel more of his tongue. 

Bad kitty, he licked a path from hole to clit, slurping on your juices. Be good and don’t move too much. 

Holy shit. Curses tumbled from your puffy lips, each one escaping in ragged breaths as you fought to keep control. Your nails dug sharply into the soft skin of your palm, leaving crescent-shaped indents as you desperately tried to stave off the cresting release building deep inside of you. 

Every muscle in your body trembled with the effort to hold back, yet the tension only seemed to heighten the intensity of the moment. 

Your pussy trembled, contractions expelling more juices running down his face.

The dark look in his ruby eyes was thrilling, stealing your breath.

“You taste like sin,” his deep voice rumbled against your flush folds, tightening the pit in your belly. You looked ethereal on top of him, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, pussy spread so obscenely open for him.

Sylus took a moment to admire this wet dream come to life, as he trailed his middle finger to your fluttering cunt, sinking the tip of it past the loosening muscle. He didn’t have to exert much effort; your body welcomed him without much resistance—taking in another finger. 

Sinking knuckles deep into you, the pad of his thumb came to rub firm circles on the swell of your clit. Your hips shunted, damp pussy right above his mouth (Sylus wanted to make you cum your brains out until you forget your own name).

He had to take a moment to admire your pretty pussy. Bare. Glistening. All for him. 

Once he was done appreciating her, Sylus snaked his tongue over your clit, replacing his circling thumb. Sucking on the little swollen nub while he continued to pump his two fingers deep inside of you. 

Your cries rebounded around the room, head tossed back to reveal your unmarked neck.

That had to change. And quick. 

Withdrawing his fingers from your damp depths, Sylus slipped it into your mouth, watching with dark eyes as you sucked your own essence off them. The fog of submission had already clouded over your gaze, leaving you pliant under his control. And what he wanted now more than anything was to fuck you senseless.

Using help from the mists, Sylus shifted you lower, your pretty cunt hovering over his cock. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, kitten.” 

Vulnerable and compliant, you found yourself instinctively nodding, ready to agree with anything he wanted without a second thought; lost in the depths of your surrender.

Simmering with pride at how easily you conceded to his words, Sylus grasped the base of his thick girth, slapping the head a few times on your clit. Shallowly dragging his sloppy tip over your folds, he nudged it past your opening. The sight of your quivering cunt slowly sucking him up shot bolts of electricity up his spine. 

You squeezed down perfectly on him—a vice-like grip that drove him delirious.

“Fuck… kitten…”

The room quickly began to fog up from the heat of both your bodies meeting. Driven by lust, the damp squelches rang across the walls, along with your dulcet moans.

Sylus… oh god… oh god… fuck—you feel so good…

Hours of edging and denial left your pussy sore, but you still rode him with zealous delight. The mists had released its grip on your limbs without your realization, but Sylus couldn’t blame you.

The way your hair fell in your face, down to the twist of your lips in a snarl, showed you were too far gone to care.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you used it as leverage to grind and shunt your hips up and down; spelling out your name on his dick, bouncing on it like you were the one who owned him.

And Sylus was more than happy to give you the reins.

He propped an arm under his head, one hand resting on the swell of your hip, using it to steady you as you rode him in a frenzy. 

Your splayed thighs covered in his hickies brought his attention to your toes scrunching in his periphery. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Sylus dragged down the edges of your bra cups, forcing your breasts to spill past the lacy material. Your nipples tightened instantly under his dark gaze, tingling when he started to pinch and roll them between his thumb and index finger.

Horripilations of shivers wracked your frame, and you whined.

— God… I’m gonna cum. 

Heavy breaths puffed past your parted lips. So close… Sylus… can I…?

“Good girl—you remembered your manners,” he praised, twisting your nipples harder, laughing in his low and smooth baritone when your hips stuttered and you squealed. Knowing you were a hair's breadth away from the biggest release of your life, Sylus gave a lazy nod. 

“Cum, kitten. It’s time for you to finally taste the sweet release.”

But, god, did it hurt. 

Hours of edging had worn the muscles of your lower body down, and your contractions came as painful pulses, each one more stinging and sore than the last.

It was hardly a pleasant experience, and the tears welling up in your eyes was undeniable proof of the discomfort. Each moment seemed to stretch unbearably, and the burning behind your eyes only intensified, leaving no room for pretenses. 

“Agonizing, isn’t it?” Sylus grunted, breathless from how good you were squeezing down on him. 

Poor little kitty, he slurred against your throat, fucking into you from below. Sylus had taken back his control, large hands on your hips forcing you to grind down on him, prolonging your pleasure and pain.

But, you can take it, can’t you? My good girl… my strong, brave, little Hunter.

At the breath of his final praise, the two of you fell off the edge of surrender, spiraling out of control and into each other’s arms. You came together: your body convulsing as waves of pleasure overtook you, while his hot release flooded inside of you, coating your insides with the mark of his claim, each pulse of his cock intensifying the sensation.

You began to shudder uncontrollably, your walls tightening and pulsing around him; the shared climax binding the both of you in a moment of raw intensity, your bodies locked together in the aftermath. 

Sylus caught you in his arms when you slumped forward, cock pushing his cum deeper inside of your trembling, little cunt.

He held you for a long moment, rubbing his hands soothingly across your back—doing his best to ground you back to reality. The fog of submission lifted one breath at a time, as your eyes fluttered open, slick and sweat-coated face breaking out into a smile.

His heart melted at your kind expression, and the shell of his dominance started to crack too, exhaustion evident on his handsome face. Your ears were still ringing from the intensity of your orgasm as you instinctively arched into his touch, seeking the soothing comfort of his gentle hands stroking you back into calmness.

“Was that satisfactory enough to quench your wicked whims, little dove?” Sylus teased, returning to his role as your lover.

You grinned and gave him a shy nod, resting your head on his chest.

“Quite so. The doctor you hired was a very persuasive actor, indeed.”

Sylus snorted, amused by your remark. After all, the man he hired was a retired professional bound by an airtight NDA, ensuring he’d never speak of this again once the scene was over. 

“And the maids? How did you like them?”

You hummed, tracing your finger down the hollow of his chest where the faint outline of a suspicious, unhealed stab wound lingered.

“I quite liked how they weren’t gentle with me. You should give them a small compensation, you know—a gift for how well they performed.”

“You know I’d have to fire them after this, right?” he mused.

You made a face. “Can’t they stay on in our household?” 

Sylus grumbled, tightening his arms around you. “You know what I absolutely find fascinating about you, kitten?” Your raised brows incited him to rush through his words, trying not to give you the wrong idea. “What I meant was, you’re too kind for your own good. They’ve seen you at your most vulnerable and you still think it’s a good idea to keep them around to serve you breakfast?” He snorted. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But, think about it this way,” you argued. “If they stayed with us, they wouldn’t have a reason to spill our secrets to anyone else. Closed mouths are a gold mine in the N109 Zone… or did the person who told me that lied?”

Sylus had to admit, ever since marrying you, your negotiation skills had significantly sharpened.

“Fine. I’ll take your advice this time, Mrs. Qin.” He leaned closer, rubbing his nose against yours. “My wife is far more intelligent and cunning than I ever imagined. Her words are sound and reliable.”

You rolled your eyes at his efforts to butter you up. “Alright, alright. Quit it with the sweet talk.”

He smirked, his expression a mix of playfulness and concern as gently took your hand in his warm grasp. “Are you alright? I didn’t go too hard on you, did I, sweetie?” Despite his layers of muscle and rugged exterior, his voice was soft, laced with genuine care.

The lengths to which Sylus would go for you were immeasurable, each sacrifice a testament to his devotion. 

In that moment, you caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes—an unspoken need for reassurance. A desire to know that despite all you had witnessed, you would still choose to stay with him. The weight of his worry tugged at your heart. 

“I’m fine,” you murmured softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss on his cheek. “I’m always fine when I’m with you.” 

Your words were sincere, wrapping around him like a protective embrace, ensuring him that no matter the darkness you faced whenever you were by his side, your bond would forever remain unbroken.

— comments, feedback and reblogs are appreciated !! your support for my work means the world to me <3

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, feed my works to AI and claim them as your own.

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Alexia has an epiphany after everything comes to light

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 5 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion.

A/N: it’s finally here, 2 months later! 3.7k words in this one, i’m super proud. happy reading, and please let me know what you think! 💝

With the intention of falling asleep, you slunk in between the mattress and duvet.

Moonlight peeked at you from behind the blinds and danced across your sheets, warping with every movement you carried out beneath the blanket. Reaching out, your fingers were coated in the light, and every crevice in the surface of your skin was emphasised beneath the moon’s pale white illuminance, reminding you of just how many years those fingers had lived through. They’re just hands to hold things with, but it goes beyond just physical things — in between each finger is the phantom of your little brother’s hand when he’s one and learning to walk, bracing you to keep his balance as he toddles around the living room, evoking a proud smile on your face. Scars were peppered along the back of your hand, some little scratches originating from football and others taking the shape of teeth marks inflicted by your siblings. A silver bracelet dangled on your wrist and the charms clinked together, while the blonde hair tie that certainly wasn’t yours sat tightly below it and dented your skin.

Hands would always be hands, no matter how sacrilegious it felt to call them that due to the amount of deep-cutting memories they held. You placed yours down by your side once again, a deep exhale navigating its way out of your body as your muscles relaxed, and you further settled into the uncomfortable makeshift mattress you laid on. The room was cold, the sort of chill that was bliss to fall asleep in but not so lovely to stay awake in. Beside your face, the sheet of the bed flitted gently with every little exhale you let out, and it grazed the tip of your nose, inciting a tickling sensation on your skin. Your legs were constantly shuffling around underneath your blanket, your body tossing and contorting into different positions as you searched for the cold patches of the sheet you laid upon, desperate to fall asleep. You were exhausted beyond belief, yearning for nothing else but the relief of rest, yet you couldn’t find yourself relaxed enough. Deep thoughts, if not worries, were the perpetrator of your sleepless night.

It was hard enough to be sleeping on the floor, let alone trying to sleep while being tormented and jeered by your own flurry of thoughts and criticisms of the day’s events that overwhelmed your mind. For a time in which you wanted silence in your own head, your mind was obnoxiously alive, every thought amplified and incoherent. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to fall asleep, knowing the few hours left with your siblings would waste away during your slumber and you’d wake up to spend one more fleeting moment with them before they were gone, possibly forever.

There hadn’t been a word from the police about your mother all week. That was one more thing to be worried about, as you wondered how she was doing. Had she been admitted to the rehabilitation facility, like the social worker said? Would she even get the help she needed; proper, meaningful help, to get her life back on track? Most importantly, would it be enough to make her less of a hazard and more of a backbone in your siblings’ lives, contrary to all these years they had spent raised among her bottles? You were still afraid to return to your home. Whether she was there or not, it would feel like stepping into a graveyard of everything you had ever loved. The walls that could’ve once recounted the tales of the happiest of families… would they be traumatised into silence? It was a house, but it was nobody’s home anymore.

You hadn’t even given so much of a thought to work, and the sudden acknowledgement of your career’s existence awakened another restless surge of emotions inside of you. You had little faith in hoping that Alexia would understand your situation, regardless of what Vicky had advised. There wasn’t much to lose anymore if you did tell her, because your siblings were getting taken away anyways, but you still wanted to keep that deeply corrupted part of your life hidden away from her for as long as possible. You had yet to tell Vicky about the fostering conversation that happened at the police station earlier that day, but you hadn’t even fully processed it yourself; it would be virtually impossible to focus and get anything done at work, no matter how hard you tried, and you’d rather just stay home instead of get an Alexia lecture special to seal off your already shitty week of ordeals.

It made you sad, honestly. When you first got promoted to the first team you were everything; Barça's stargirl, the promise of a bright future for the blaugrana and the telltale signs of a worthy successor to Alexia's captaincy. Now... despite the performances you put up on the field that still won over the support of the public, you felt like the complete opposite was happening. With every step forward in football came five steps backwards in your personal life, and another step back in your relationship with Alexia.

Some would probably ask you why you were so afraid to come clean to your captain about your situation, the real reason why you're so tardy and 'irresponsible', and the worst part was, you couldn't give them a reason. It was daunting to tell Vicky — probably the most understanding person you could've confided in — so you couldn't even begin to imagine how you'd tell Alexia. Such a decision was made harder when you paid attention to the part of yourself yearning to tell her; though you didn't know if she had any experience regarding the foster system, alcoholism or anything relating to your ordeal, she was older, wiser, and had authority. You wanted to be able to open up to her about everything that has maimed you since you were 13, seek help from your captain, and receive the help for yourself that you’ve always provided for others. It was easier said than done.

The pursuit of help in itself was difficult. Confiding in anyone was a concept that you feared, even if you weren’t explicitly aware of that fact yourself. In a way, it felt like admitting that you had failed at fulfilling your only purpose — protecting your siblings from harm, and keeping them safe.

You glanced up to the bed beside you. You could just barely see a sliver of Magdalene’s forehead and the tip of her pinkish nose; the duvet was bunched because of her curled fist that was closed around it; the sound of her barely audible breathing was a daunting reminder that indeed, she was real. She was living and experiencing this just as you were. Yes, she would wake up and, as well as Dani and Lorenzo, they’d be whisked away for who knows how long — thrusted into the foster system, likely to be seen as mere charity cases and troubled kids with virtually nothing good going for them. Nobody would genuinely care about them. Someone would tolerate them out of pity, maybe, because they'd feel like they're obligated to be some sort of token of goodness in their poor, miserable lives. They'd hardly be tolerated because they deserve it; hell, their own father couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. The social workers saw tha, heard that and witnessed that, then still proceeded to think that there’ll be someone else out there that does, if not their own blood.

Pathetic, you thought. He was pathetic, lame, and utterly so. Everything in your life seemed that way since it began to crumble before your eyes. So, despite the fact you really didn’t want to at this moment, you shut your eyes and prepared for sleep. Those few moments of unconsciousness were your only refuge. At the end of the day, you always came back craving that moment of ignorance towards the rest of your calamitous reality.

The next day, before you could even open your eyes, you were weighed down by insurmountable feelings of dread. You were awake, but you just refused to open your eyes, because that would indicate that the day had begun and you’d have to face the events that were waiting. The sun replaced the pale moonlight as it seeped through the gaps in the blinds, much to your dismay — it was yet another reminder of the day that awaited you, another thing for you to scorn at and curse about under your breath as you turned your back away and buried your head back in the pillow. With only half of your face in the pillow, you opened your exposed eye ever so slightly and squinted at the screen of your phone as it lit up with a message. For a moment, a surge of fear coursed through your body as you considered the possibility of the text being from Alexia. An angry text was the last thing you needed right now, and you couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at your features as you mulled over the many things she could’ve texted you to convey her annoyance. Would it be a simple three word text, so she could really get into you at work, or an extensive paragraph so she could give you the cold shoulder for the entire duration of training? You never knew what it would be with your captain.

You crawled out of your pitiful excuse of a bed on the floor, your muscles slightly stiff from the lack of a comfortable surface you had been forced to sleep on. Dropping the blanket to the floor, you trudged over to the door, adjusting your shirt that was sitting askew on your torso. You shut the door behind you silently, so as to not disturb your siblings, before proceeding to walk down the hallway and towards the kitchen of Vicky’s home. You were eternally grateful for both her and her mother’s hospitality during this time, and you made a mental note to make that explicitly clear to Vicky as you walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Before even entering the room, you knew she’d be awake and ready for training; she was young and eager, like you had been at one point.

“Bon día,” you mumbled, your voice still hoarse and riddled with exhaustion as you slumped into a chair at the dining table. Vicky, who had been chopping up an apple, paused in her tracks and looked at you. For a moment, her eyes examined your state, and the slight wrinkle of her forehead was far from lost on you, but she still offered a smile and a ‘bon día’ in response. A snapping sound echoed through the kitchen as Vicky sealed the container she had put her apple slices into, and she turned around to walk over to the dining table and pull a chair out beside you. She looked at you for a moment, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, brown eyes roving over your face again, before she spoke; “How are you?”

It was obvious enough, but you still humoured her. “Honestly, Vicky, I’m horrible. I texted Jona and told him I’m not coming in today,” you responded, your voice flat and completely devoid of the energetic lilt it usually possessed. The main reason you weren’t going into work was because you physically couldn’t bring yourself to play any football while knowing your siblings were being taken away from everything they’ve ever known. The reason you gave Jona was, you didn’t feel well and had been up all night with a stomach ache. That would have to suffice.

“Okay. Well, text me if you need anything — and I mean it. Actually text me, don’t just nod and say you will,” Vicky said sternly, pointing a finger at you to further make a point. You rolled your eyes playfully, and your lips curled into the faintest of smiles as you nodded. “I will. Promise.”

“Good,” Vicky replied, standing up from the dining table and bending down to pick her training bag up, slinging it on her shoulder. She knew the real reason for your day off, but she didn’t mention it or ask you what your excuse had been. The telltale signs of uneasiness that were written all over your face gave her the answer she was looking for anyway. “I’m heading off. I’ll see you later, alright?” she spoke again, and you nodded, your smile broadening ever so slightly. “See you.”

You watched her leave the house and shut the front door behind her with a click. For some reason, watching her leave for training made you miss playing football, but you simply weren’t anywhere near fit for training — mentally or physically. The sport used to be your reprieve from all sorts of upsetting emotions and a distraction from your troubles, but now… it had turned into one of those troubles. God, how you missed the early stages of your career, the time when you had been a promising young talent on the rise, when football was fun. You still had time, and you definitely had the potential; you were only 18, you had heaps of time, but even then, it felt like every day, your talent dwindled even more, and soon you’d be left with none. You’d merely be another ‘what-if’, a wasted talent, and that’s not the outcome you had worked so hard for your entire life, back when it was good. Back when your family was still intact.

“Hermana,” a little voice called out from the stairs. You turned to look in the direction of the sound, and your eyes settled on Magdalene, who was standing on the last step and rubbing her eyes. You could hear faint bickering from Dani and Lorenzo upstairs in the bedroom, and a little smile tugged at your lips. Something about the sound of their childish arguing warmed your heart, despite knowing you’d have to tell them to cut it out. It was good to know that they still indulged in the trivial things, like children their age should be doing. You beckoned Magdalene over to the table and stood up from your own seat, walking over to the kitchen. “You hungry, hermanita?” you asked her, opening cupboards to see what there was to make. “Sí, tengo mucha hambre,” she responded softly. You nodded as you opened the fridge, and your gaze landed on a carton of eggs.

The eggs turned into golden pieces of French toast that you put onto four plates and served with drizzles of maple syrup and icing sugar dusted on top. Magdalene was practically salivating, her little face lit up with excitement as she watched the process, and she let out an excited exclamation when her share was slid across the table to her. Dani and Lorenzo’s expressions mirrored hers almost exactly, and from the moment the plate touched their placemats, they began to ravage their food. You took your seat and ate like a normal human being, enjoying and savouring every bite, secretly surprised at how well the French toast had turned out. Cooking was — surprisingly — something you possessed a fair bit of skill in. You had to learn how to cook so you could continue to feed your siblings good, nutritious food; occasionally, you’d treat them to a restaurant dining experience, but oftentimes you’d make them something at home. They loved whatever you put on the table for them.

Breakfast that morning was something you’d hold close to your heart. All four of you sat around the table and talked, bantered, laughed and ate your food. Dani and Lorenzo went back and forth with their opinions about how they thought the upcoming Barça men’s fixture was going to go, while Magdalene updated you on the latest doll she had her eye on. You nodded along enthusiastically, of course, while occasionally chipping into the boys’ conversation with your opinion. To them, they probably just got carried away with their conversations, but for you, it was a bit more… calculated. Usually, you’d tell them to hurry up, and you’d eat your food faster, but you took only a couple bites every few minutes, and you were doing quite a bit of talking too. You were trying to stall as much as you could to avoid the inevitable.

Vicky arrived at the pitch twenty minutes after leaving home. She gave her mother a brief kiss on the cheek before grabbing her training gear and hopping out of the car. The things you had said to her the day before still loomed over her head. She was worried for you, more than she had expressed, because she knew you would just insist that you were fine and worrying about you was a waste of time… but she still worried. She could see the toll it was all taking on you, and Alexia didn’t make it any easier on you. She’d watch from afar, the type of interactions you two would have, and it honestly made her more irritated than she would like to admit. She would watch Alexia’s gaze harden whenever it settled on you, and the venomous lilt to her words when she addressed you. Not to mention, the fact she would never let you explain yourself; Vicky had to be honest, she was growing a little concerned and curious as to why you were beginning to show up late more often, but now, she realised you actually had many reasons to show up a few minutes late to training.

Her training bag hit the pitch with a dull thud as she dropped it beside the bench. She sat down beside it and pulled her boots up, a few specks of dirt flying out simultaneously, and she hit the studs together to get the mud off the soles of her boots. As she was preparing to put her right boot on, a figure stalked over to her and towered above her, simply watching. When she looked up, she internally groaned when she saw Alexia, and the annoyed look on her face. Vicky already knew where this was heading.

“Vicky, where on earth is (Y/N)?” she asked, her tone slightly speculatory. Vicky let out an inaudible sigh before responding. “She doesn’t feel well, so she isn’t coming in today.” It was a lie, and a blatant one at that, but it wasn’t the truth, which was what Vicky had to avoid revealing.

Alexia gave an exclamation akin to a scoff, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I see. She’s still as irresponsible as ever! She’ll take any excuse to not come into work, I’m sick and tired of it, seriously. She shouldn’t be playing for the first team if she behaves like this—”

“Alexia, just stop! She isn’t ‘irresponsible’; she has a lot going on, and it would put you to shame if you knew about it. I respect you — you know that — but come on,” Vicky cut her off, her tone of voice slightly exasperated. It took Alexia aback, because up until now, she hadn’t heard Vicky talk back in such a way, and it stifled her for a moment. ‘A lot going on? What is that supposed to mean?’ Alexia thought to herself. Her contemplation was written all over her face, but Vicky merely got a glimpse before she stood up and grabbed her bags, walking away from Alexia with a disbelieving shake of her head, leaving her captain to mull her words over and decipher the meaning behind them.

When she was far enough away from Alexia, she sat back down on the grass with a huff, and the reality of what she just did dawned on her. It was indirect, but still, the notion was there, and she felt a prominent sense of guilt settle in her abdomen. Shit. How was she going to explain that to you, if it came to that?

Meanwhile, Alexia stood by the bench like a statue, in a state of deep contemplation as she tried to work out what exactly Vicky meant. Her words replayed in her mind over and over again, and her eyebrows furrowed as she thought long and hard about it. ‘She has a lot going on, and it would put you to shame if you knew about it’… What could you possibly have been going through that elicited such a defensive response from Vicky, who was hardly one to react in such a way? She thought about trying to get more out of Vicky and do a bit of probing, but she was rooted to the spot.

She glanced over at Vicky, subconsciously gnawing at the inside of her cheek, before she finally took a step towards her. She hesitated for a second, but then she continued, deciding that it was irreversible, now that she had taken the first step. Her expression was softer now, and her forehead was devoid of the irritated wrinkles it previously donned, as she approached the younger girl.

“Vicky,” Alexia spoke, taking purposeful strides towards Vicky. She sank down to the grass beside her, lazily extending her legs outwards and leaning back on her forearms. Vicky looked up, and her face was ever so slightly riddled with worry, but she didn’t protest against Alexia sitting down with her. “What did you mean about (Y/N)? What does she have going on?” the older woman asked, curiosity seeping into her words.

Vicky sighed. She knew this conversation was inevitable, and there was no way she could backtrack on her words, so she just steeled herself for the explanation she had to offer; Alexia was the captain after all, and like Vicky had tried telling you, maybe she could help you out, if she just knew what was happening. Alexia picked up on her expression of resignation, but she stayed silent and waited for Vicky to speak. Something about the tense air that lingered between them told Alexia that this conversation wasn’t a simple one to be having.

“Get comfortable,” Vicky finally responded, tying the laces of her right boot, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I am, because…”

“I hope you’ll help her, Alexia. She needs your help.”

[alwaysbewoke]

At a Black Student Union meeting at UCLA's Campbell Hall on January 17, 1969, Bunchy Carter and John Huggins, another BPP member, were heard making derogatory comments about Karenga, the founder of Organization Us. Other versions mention a heated argument between Organization Us members and Panther Elaine Brown. An altercation ensued during which Carter and Huggins were shot to death. BPP members originally insisted that the event was a planned assassination, claiming that there was a prior agreement that no guns would be brought to the meeting, that BPP members were not armed, and that Organization Us members led by Ron Karenga were. Organization Us members maintained the meeting was a spontaneous event. Former BPP deputy minister of defense Geronimo Pratt, Carter’s head of security at the time, later stated that rather than a conspiracy, the UCLA incident was a spontaneous shootout. The person who allegedly shot Carter and Huggins, Claude Hubert, was never found. During the Church Committee hearings in 1975, evidence came to light that under the FBI's COINTELPRO actions, FBI agents had deliberately fanned flames of division and enmity between the BPP and Organization Us. Death threats and humiliating cartoons created by the FBI were sent to each group, made to look as if they originated with the other group, with the explicit intention of inciting deadly violence and division. Following the UCLA incident, brothers George and Larry Stiner and Donald Hawkins turned themselves in to the police, who had issued warrants for their arrests. They were convicted for conspiracy to commit murder and two counts of second-degree murder, based on testimony given by BPP members. The Stiner brothers both received life sentences and Hawkins served time in California’s Youth Authority Detention.

america has NEVER been great. never ever.

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia AU: What Happened on Friday

An Ambush Simulation comic.

Fair warning, this is not one of my usual lighthearted ones. If you’ve read the fic, you’ll know the scene, but if you haven’t, be warned there is brief domestic violence and some blood. Nothing more serious than what's already in My Hero's canon.

Read right-to-left.

Ah, yes. The inciting moment for The Summer Camp Ambush Simulation.

Addressing the reason why things escalated so quickly, since the answer is not really given in the accompanying fic either, we need to look at Endeavor’s point of view. He’s invested twenty-three years into his goal of trying to complete his perfect successor. He has almost succeeded with Shouto, except the events of Hosu City nearly jeopardized that beyond repair. Shouto is his last chance. He can’t have another kid, it’s unlikely he can train a grandchild to succeed him. (You can’t tell me he didn’t consider that.) Shouto being charged with vigilantism and having that black mark could have ruined everything he’s worked so hard for.

And now Touya, his past failure and current problem child who has been charged repeatedly with vigilantism, is stepping between him and Shouto and mouthing off. He’s interfering, just like his mother did.

Old 'habits' die hard.

...

I thought about cutting the comic short with the brothers heading to the bathroom, but I thought it was important to also include Touya's toxic behavior. Yeah, he has PTSD, abandonment trauma, and who knows what else, but acting like this isn't healthy either.

In Chapter 2, Touya fixates on the fact that Endeavor hit him. He barely pays attention to the fact Shouto was there.

In Chapter 3, Shouto is the one whose pov provides the whole picture. He was being scolded and then Touya stood up for him. Touya has never stood up for him, nor does he really understand why he did it. During the confrontation, Endeavor hits Touya. Endeavor has never done that before. Two of Shouto's 'normals' got overturned in the span of two minutes. He's confused, but he still tries to do the right thing by his hostile sibling.

And rather than accept his help, Touya lashes out at him again once the shock wears off. As he is in canon, he is still spiteful, self-destructive, and a bit self-pitying and returning home after the coma in this AU did little to change that because the core issue is Endeavor being a bad parent.

...

And if there's any confusion as to why Shouto sees Rei briefly after Touya is knocked to the floor, this is a bit of dialogue from the fic it's from:

"I spent my entire childhood listening to my mother crying because you hurt her over and over.  I refuse to live through that again with my brother."

...

Fun fact: I did not draw these pages in order.

Through the whole bathroom scene, all I could think was, "Shouto...baby...gloves."

...

Further comics for this AU, click here.

[odinsblog]

“I sometimes hear people say that Russia was forced to attack Ukraine because Ukrainians wanted to join NATO. Those people also often say that NATO promised it would not expand to the East, but later broke this promise. And this, allegedly, is the reason why Russia keeps attacking its neighbors.

If you have ever heard people say something like that, please know that this is not true. And it will take me less than five minutes to prove with facts that both statements are false.

First, let's have a look at the timeline of events.

Russia first invaded Ukraine in February 2014 by occupying the Crimea peninsula. At that moment, Ukraine was a neutral country by law and expressed no intention of joining NATO whatsoever. For instance, during the Revolution of Dignity, the protesters insisted on Ukraine joining the EU, not NATO. It was only in autumn 2014, after many months of war, that Ukraine abandoned neutrality.

So what came first? Russia attacking Ukraine, or Ukraine wanting to join NATO?

The answer is clear.

Had Russia not threatened Ukraine's existence, there would be no reason for our country to seek collective security. So please do not repeat the lie that, I quote, “Russia attacked because Ukraine wanted to join NATO,” end of quote. This does not correspond with the facts.

Now let's have a look at the story of NATO allegedly promising not to expand to the East.

If you ask people who say this, when exactly, such a promise was made and who made it, most of them will not be able to provide a clear answer. Spoiler, because no such promise has ever been made and the whole story is a Russian fairy tale.

Those more sophisticated will tell you that the promise was made to the President of the USSR, Mikhail Gorbachev. They may even refer to the 1990 U.S.-Soviet negotiations on the reunification of Germany. Again, let’s consider the timeline.

In summer 1990, when these talks were held, the Soviet analog of NATO, the Warsaw Pact, still existed. Its dissolution, let alone the Soviet Union's dissolution, was not on the cart. No one even talked about it or imagined it. It was only next year, in 1991 that the Warsaw Pact, and later the USSR, quite unexpectedly ceased to exist.

Now explain to me just how the very issue could be even discussed in the summer of 1990. It is not surprising that Mikhail Gorbachev later himself refuted this falsehood. When asked by a journalist whether any such promise had been made, he said this was a myth.

Now let's look at it from another perspective. How could NATO even promise anything like that?

Initially, it is not NATO that decides which country joins it. Countries themselves need to want it. And actually, the membership criteria are very difficult. It requires a lot of political will and reform. All the NATO members that joined it after 1991, really wanted to be part of it.

Their people wanted this.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question for Russia: Why were all of the nations that had been part of the Soviet Union or the Socialist bloc so eager and desperate to join NATO?

Well, maybe because in three decades, Russia has invaded or incited war in at least three of its neighbors, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine. At the same time, Russia has not dared to invade any of its NATO neighbors.

Do you see the pattern?

The only reason for countries in the vicinity of Russia to seek NATO membership has always been and remains the need to protect their people from Russia.

Therefore, Moscow has only itself to blame for the fact that all of the central European and Baltic nations ran away from it and hid under the NATO umbrella as quickly as they could.

Do not let Russian officials or their supporters in the West fool you. Russia attacked Ukraine not because NATO expanded to the East, or because Ukraine wanted to join NATO. Russia attacked because it denies Ukraine's right to exist and wants to conquer our land and kill our people. It is through our shared strength that we can and must stop Russia and put an end to its aggressive plans for the rest of Europe.

For this to happen, keep supporting Ukraine and don't buy Russian lies.”

👉🏿 https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2014/11/06/did-nato-promise-not-to-enlarge-gorbachev-says-no/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/686191406300184576/appeasement-does-not-work-appeasement-didnt

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/684530801484922880/believing-putins-reasons-for-invading-ukraine

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/742088177664344064/violated-agreements-1991-russia-cosigns

[sunflowerwizard]

We Don't Talk About Abdel: the ""Canon"" Gorion's Ward and Why I Hate Him

If you've only played Baldur's Gate 3 you may have heard of Abdel Adrian. The Hero of Baldur's Gate, late Grand Duke, and Bhaalspawn who died, badly.

There is, unfortunately a lot you might not know. Spoilers ahead for the original Baldur's Gate, Baldur's Gate 2: Shadows of Amn, and Baldur's Gate 2: Throne of Bhaal. And their shitty novelizations you should not read.

Your choices matter. Allegedly.

There are many ways to handle continuity in a series of choice-heavy RPGs with custom main characters. There's the approach the original Fallout games did, by setting the second installment long enough after the first, that your player character can be vaguely alluded to without much friction. There's the Bioware approach, of uploading your save data from previous games to slightly effect the world in the next one. And then there's the Baldur's Gate series, which splits the difference and makes the worst of both worlds: a century has past and there's no cheeky vagueness to transplant your own player character as the Hero of Baldur's Gate. It is Abdel Adrian's world and we are merely living in it.

I'd argue there's one thing that very clearly separates a Commander Shepherd from an Abdel Adrian, and that's serving a role in a game that lines up with the story being told.

What's the deal with Bhaalspawn?

I'd like to get one thing out of the way first. Bhaalspawn =/= The Dark Urge. I only mention this because I've seen some people assume all Bhaalspawn operate on the "sleeper cell turbo murderer" framework that the DU does. The majority of the first Baldur's Gate game, the player character themself doesn't know they're in any way unusual. You get ominous dream sequences as the story progresses, up until the Big Reveal.

At which point, one of the themes reveals itself: nature versus nurture. Your PC is a 20-something year old young adult who lived inside a walled town, and had their entire support system torn away the second they left. Unless you've chosen to roleplay that way, they may not have ever felt a particular inclination towards violence. This is in stark contrast with Big Bad, your half-brother Sarevok whose upbringing was filled with struggle and violence.

It's even more apparent in Throne of Bhaal, when you're confronted with it outright: what if your places had been switched? Maybe you would've committed even more atrocities than your half-brother.

We now have to talk about the books. Unfortunately. Canonically the novelization of Baldur's Gate is the origin of Abdel Adrian. He is Philip Athans' brainchild and there's fuck all we can do about it. Unless I get a word of god response from Wizards of the Coast or story beats are directly contradicted in other BG-related media that has come out since, I am treating the events of the books as canon.

A narrative treadmill of a character arc

The game starts out in relatively bog-standard hero's journey fashion. It's morning in Candlekeep, you're leaving home for the very first time with your adoptive dad, and he's been very cagey about the details other than "we need to leave, I'll explain later."

Abdel Adrian, has already left Candlekeep at the start of the novel. He's already in his mid-twenties, and has been traveling the Sword Coast as a sword-for-hire for nearly a decade (presumably cornering the child soldier market). He also really likes killing people, hence his line of work. The big inciting incident with Gorion happens because he sent Abdel a letter about needing to talk, at which point Sarevok shows up, kills Gorion, who tells Abdel to seek out Jahiera and Khalid with his dying breath.

I'll break down my issues with this point by point. -Abdel is very clearly not a level 1 character. Perhaps this is a petty point, but isn't half the fun of this style of fantasy story watching the protagonist grow in skill, until they can eventually face off against the seemingly indomitable Big Bad? Spoiler: Abdel is already at the peak of his Swordsmanship Power™ and we will not see any growth on that front.

-What are the stakes, actually? We went from "everything I know and love has been torn away from me. I'm a level 1 adventurer in a big, dangerous world and cannot go home." to "I'm a big tough fighterman with a penchant for murder who's going to avenge the father figure the book tell-not-shows you I cared about" Like my previous point, we have no baseline, no sense of what the main character has truly lost. I'm much less interested in watching someone start from the middle and fight their way to the top, than seeing someone from rock bottom getting there.

-His Bhaalspawn heritage manifests itself as murdergremlin tendencies. If you've not encountered a player with murdergremlin tendencies while playing a ttrpg, you've almost certainly heard horror stories about them. The guy who loves to escalate encounters into combat, who threatens and maims because "it's what my character would do" and often times view themselves as the main character.

If that sounds exhausting, this is the character whose head we're trapped inside. A guy whose two big motivators are murder and sex, whose external moral compass is his love interest (Jahiera deserved better). AND EVEN THEN by the end of the second book, the only growth he has experienced as a character is "maybe sometimes I won't murder everyone who makes me angry" when he just point-blank refuses to kill the antagonist of BG2. Oh, but not before he had sex with and violently murdered the other main antagonist who was also a woman.

"Okay the books are awful, but why be angry at Abdel?"

Because by virtue of WOTC continuing to use "Abdel Adrian" as THE Hero of Baldur's Gate and a canon character, those books are still canon. SOME elements had to be retconned for being incongruent with the games (did I mention in the first novel Abdel leaves Khalid to die during a fight in the first novel?) but otherwise? I've seen no revisions to his base character. And now every piece of Baldur's Gate media is built on this shitty, rotten foundation.

Are these points somewhat petty? Yes! Either Wizards should've come up with an entirely new stand-in Bhaalspawn to wash the shit taste of those novelizations out of everyone's mouths, or they should've written future material to only vaguely allude to BG 1&2's protagonist. The Bhaalspawn saga was wrapped up perfectly fine in Throne of Bhaal. Either he should've stayed dead with Cyric taking on his domain, or find another way to bring him back. Abdel Adrian having .0001% Bhaal Juice still in his blood and thus turning into The Slayer is a "Somehow, Palpatine returned" way of doing it.

On the off chance anyone is morbidly curious about the terrible novels, me and some pals did a live-reading not too long ago. If this post gets 100 notes I will make a Greatest Hits compilation of terrible moments. Spoiler: one of them includes the "spider in her cleavage" scene.

[thebusylilbee]

A United Nations legal expert has called for Western media to be investigated over their role in “obscuring” news coverage of the clashes on Friday between Israeli forces posing as football fans and locals in the Dutch city of Amsterdam.

In a post on X, formerly Twitter, Francesca Albanese, the UN special rapporteur on the rights situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, said that Western media has repeatedly disseminated disinformation which has served to conceal the atrocities that were being carried out by the Israelis across the globe.

“Once again, Western media should be investigated for the role they are playing in obscuring Israel’s atrocities,” the Italian international lawyer said.

The legal scholar, researcher, and author specializing in human rights and Arab refugee issues said media figures who disseminate false news are complicit in Israeli crimes and should be held accountable.

“In other contexts, international tribunals have found media figures responsible for complicity, incitement, and other international crimes.”

The call by the UN expert came after some Western media outlets failed to report on or minimize the actions of the Israeli thugs posing as fans of Maccabi Tel Aviv ahead of and during the violence on Thursday and Friday.

Israeli thugs travelling to Amsterdam as football fans wage chaos and vandalism in the Dutch capital by committing acts of anti-Palestinian and anti-Arab violence.

Upon arriving at the Dutch capital ahead of the match, videos online showed so-called Israeli football fans tearing down Palestinian flags hung from residents’ homes.

In one video from the clashes, Israeli fans were heard singing, “Let the [Israeli army] win, and f*** the Arabs!” while another showed them tearing down a Palestinian flag from a building.

Maccabi faced Eredivisie side Ajax Amsterdam on Thursday, where they were thrashed 5-0 by the Dutch team in the city’s main arena and Ajax’s home stadium.

The impudent Israeli regime forces' brutal instincts intensified outside the Johan Cruyff Arena after the match, spreading to other areas, and inflicting heavy damage to the Dutch city.

Western media, however, cited pro-Israeli officials describing the clashes as “anti-Semitic” and claiming Israeli hooligans had been attacked for their “Jewishness.”

Six Israeli airplanes were dispatched to bring the hundreds of Israeli forces in Amsterdam back to Tel Aviv following the riots in the Dutch capital triggered by their racist behavior, reports said.

Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu and the Mossad spy agency were involved in the events.

Israel acts with impunity with the complicity of the United States, says the Cuban ambassador to Tehran, adding that every moment of impunity for action, passivity, double standards or silence will cost more innocent lives in the besieged Gaza Strip.

During the 2024 Paris Olympic Games, human rights advocacy groups had called for barring the Israelis from all sports events over the ruling by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) about the occupying regime’s barbaric crimes against Palestinians in the besieged Gaza Strip amid the Israelis ongoing genocidal war in the region, killing over 43,500 Palestinians.

Hundreds of Palestinian athletes have been killed since October 7, 2023, when the regime began waging the war in Gaza which it now extended to Lebanon.

Western governments’ support for the Israeli war machine and indifference to human life is the source of the Zionists' continued impunity, experts say.

[centrally-unplanned]

Let's talk about narrative formation for a sec:

I saw this thread going around as a counter-narrative "explainer" around the Supreme Court decision. First off Russell, "I don't have a tribe" is just such a line. I'm sus tbh? But the important thing is you found a way to feel superior to the other tribes, good for you. Still, if you deliver you deliver, what is the "just the facts" summary?

Right now the "headlines" around this case are essentially "the president granted immunity for official acts", which is a bad headline, because of course the president had immunity for some definition of official acts. You could never sue the president for the consequences of vetoing a congressional bill, or for the unintended civilian damages of a military operation, and this is true in most all countries. You might be saying "well sure obviously" but in law these things have a process - do you think laws around monetary damages liability have a clause at the end saying "oh except the President, this doesn't apply to him"? No, every law does not have that rejoinder - the way the president is immune to those laws is via having immunity above those laws, in the US via court precedent supposedly derived from the constitution - in other countries you might have an explicit bill about this, or an explicit constitutional clause.

Which is why OP can say things like this:

Executive immunity has always been a thing. The underlying rationale is that presidents cannot be encumbered in carrying out their necessary official duties with fear that they will be sued into oblivion for doing so... ...SCOTUS today laid out the tension: the president needs to be able to act within the scope of office without fear of politically-motivated prosecution after leaving office; but the president also cannot be "above the law."

And be correct; most headlines were setting up the idea presidential immunity as shocking, when in fact it is normal. He proceeds to explain that the court set up the terms of immunity, denying Trump X while affirming Y, and make it look very balanced, like they just defined the parameters of immunity a bit. So he can conclude with this:

And it can be a strong "calm down" note, which can even be true to an extant - but only because he is buying into the narrative social media set, and setting up his conclusion against that as the barometer.

In reality, everyone in the court knew that presidential immunity existed, that wasn't what the case was really about. It was always and forever about those parameters. And these are the parameters it set:

Taking into account these competing considerations, the Court concludes that the separation of powers principles explicated in the Court’s precedent necessitate at least a presumptive immunity from criminal prosecution for a President’s acts within the outer perimeter of his official responsibility.

Outer perimeter is defined in the document as essentially the maximum possible breadth of presidential power. There is nothing inherent about this - presidents could, for example, have immunity for every veto they issue, but still be liable to libel & incitement laws for speeches they give as president. This is explicitly rejected:

The indictment also contains various allegations regarding Trump’s conduct in connection with the events of January 6 itself. The alleged conduct largely consists of Trump’s communications in the form of Tweets and a public address. The President possesses “extraordinary power to speak to his fellow citizens and on their behalf.” Trump v. Hawaii, 585 U. S. 667, 701. So most of a President’s public communications are likely to fall comfortably within the outer perimeter of his official responsibilities

You see how outer perimeter comes back into play - any and all acts that could possibly be considered official fall into this bucket.

So the only place immunity doesn't fall is when an act is "unofficial", aka not part of their role as president: Which is where you get to the evidentiary standards pieces, things like:

In dividing official from unofficial conduct, courts may not inquire into the President’s motives. Such a “highly intrusive” inquiry would risk exposing even the most obvious instances of official conduct to judicial examination on the mere allegation of improper purpose.

Or the parts where they say evidence & testimony from "official acts" cannot be used as evidence in trial based on the context.

You saw a lot of headlines that were like "Trump has immunity for official acts, but not unofficial" acts, like that was ever in contention. Outside of the Trump campaign no one thought the President could wander drunkenly into a bar and murder someone and get away with it. The case was forever and always about where is the line for immunity, what counts as official, and how you determine it.

And at almost every possible avenue this decision pushed the line towards immunity, to expanding presidential authority. But it gets to appear balanced to our boy Russell when it does shit like this:

Finally, SCOTUS considers and rejects Trump's "far broader" argument for immunity. Trump's team argued that he can't be prosecuted for anything unless he is first impeached & removed for it. SCOTUS says there's no textual support for this argument.

See, they rejected ludicrously spurious claims that impeachment existing as an option made legal drunkenly murdering people in a bar. Compromise!

OP is a contrarian - they like to push against the mainstream. I get it, I have that instinct too. And he is smart, he noticed the radical redefinitions of evidentiary standards - but only in the replies:

But since the mainstream narrative around the case set up a sort of false dichotomy, of the case being about "immune or not", "official or unofficial", it makes the contrarian instinct push back on the idea that the case is a big deal. Trump isn't getting immunity for all his past actions! After all, he didn't have this ruling as a playbook and so fucked up by trying to do some of it in secret. So it's fine!! He gets to say this:

And be like "haha" because the narrative he is fighting against is that "official versus unofficial". It lets him ignore that Sotomayor understands that; what she is saying is that Presidents - who have killed American citizens before! - can probably just define actions as official under this doctrine if they do it right. Outer perimeter, baby. You cannot question their motives. Threat to national security, trust me bro.

(Do I think in practice the SC would actually ignore a murder? No - but they would waive immunity by contradicting their own case here. They would discard consistency for practicality. The real concerns are less fanciful, but still serious)

So this is an extremely long-winded way of saying that narrative formation does matter vis a vis truth. I can't blame the headlines too much or anything, this shit is very complex, but because they misrepresent the details of why the case is so worrying, it gives easy fuel for people to dig a little bit, feel superior to the headlines, and ignore them. And the majority opinion did a lot of work to brand it that way - casually dismissing, even mocking, the dissent opinions while misrepresenting their concerns. As a news org you shouldn't carry water for them like that. Don't let Russell get his "I have no tribe" points that easily - make him earn it.

(And, to cover my own base - the one big place the court wasn't maximalist was that they extended presumptive immunity, not full immunity, to the outer perimeter. Which is vague, that is not some precise term, but it does give them an out)

[screamingfromuz]

Recap- morning of day 6 12/10/2023 correct as 10:00

official numbers

Israel

1300 dead

3300 injured

100-200 held by various groups. Hamas claims for a 100, the Jihad claims for 30

340000 displaced Israelis

Gaza

1200 dead

5700 injured

190000 displaced (Amnesty)

1500 dead Hamas operatives (according to the IDF this is the body count that was found withing Israeli borders)

Major events and important facts

several hundreds of tons of explosive have been dropped on Gaza- there is no official new number, but from my calculation, over 2000 targets were hit. There is nonstop bombing of Gaza. Anyone in the command chain of Hamas is targeted

Israeli authorities have publicly told Gazians to flee to Egypt for their safety. there are reports that Hamas is ordering citizens to stay around places that are known to be marked to be bombed. Egypt shown displeasure with the idea that they will have to take the fleeing Gazians in, and told Israel off for telling the Gazians to flee to Egypt. The Rafah Border Crossing is being opened and closed periodically due to Egypt and Israeli actions.

Gazians are struggling to get people out of the rubble- therefore numbers are probably bigger.

still no official number of captured Hamas operatives.

Estimations of missing people due to the Saturday attacks are around 250.

Israeli counts (including kidnapped) include foreign citizens and Palestinians that are Israeli residence/citizens. unknown at the moment about foreign casualties inside of Gaza. there are foreign citizens in Gaza.

Israel shut both electricity and water to Gaza, Egypt is being talked with in order to arrange humanitarian aid. There are talks of airdropped supplies. The UN took a stand against the siege and are pressuring Israel to tone down the attacks and allow humanitarian aid.

Hamas reported that at least 4 prisoners were killed as a result of the bombing- I don’t have confirmation of more.

Hamas issued Monday night a warning that if Israel will not stop attacking, they will start killing captives- no new information in the matter. Hamas posted a video where they claim to have released an Israeli woman and her 2 children. I am working to verify it.

Northen Israel situation is messy. The Jihad and Hezbollah on one side and the IDF on the other are attacking each other with gunfire and missile fire were exchanged. A missile launcher that was directed toward Israel was found and dismantled by Lebanon’s army. Yesterday there were warnings of a few unmanned drones that crossed the border into Israel. There are definite tension there.

Syria is apparently trying to stay out of it.

there are still regular attempts to enter Israel by Hamas operatives, most are killed immediately. Unconfirmed reports from social media claim that Gazians that try to flee are presumed as Hamas operatives and are shot. No official confirmation by any side.

The west bank is getting more and more tense. Settlers are using the opportunity to attack Palestinian civilians; Hamas supporters are encouraging Palestinian youth to preform attacks; there confrontations between the IDF and Palestinians in the Palestinian and mixed cities.

In the past Few days Israeli and Palestinian groups have been arranging a community peacekeeping groups to help protect each other from extremists.

Yesterday evening Israel has declared a unified war cabinet with several opposition members. Israeli coalition members were met with anger and disdain by the Israeli public, blaming them for the situation.

Ben Gvir tries to incite a civil war.

The hostages are treated as bargaining chips by both sides.

[ragnarokhound]

puts this on your list of things to do

Skcnwksks *adds another stone atop the mountain, and the world sinks another inch closer to hell

But okay fr. I actually read Knight Terrors: Robin today, and with the enormous grain of salt that I am working mostly with fandom osmosis, esp re: their established relationship, I think they alllllmost wrote something that worked. Almost. Long rambling nitpicks under the cut:

I think if they had about three more pages they could have established Tim and Jason's relationship and their problems with working together a little better; and either cut Babs out as the middle man who introduced their individual issues to the audience, or used her more effectively as a mediator.

They very clearly wanted to showcase two problems: Tim is working himself to death trying to save everyone, and Jason is suffering by insisting on working alone. Good! I like this concept. It's annoying to me that Babs is the one who tries to reach out to both of them about these issues, gets rebuffed, and then is never heard from again. I'd much prefer it if they tried to talk to each other on their own and it went poorly at first, only to be forced to open up in the nightmare realm. It would tighten up their combined arc if they'd had one single conversation before the Inciting Incident occurs.

Like, don't get me wrong. I am waffling about this because Babs is a good entry voice to help introduce our primary actors. She is the person they have in common, and by having her be the voice in their ear, we see that other people in their support networks are worried about them.

But man, why not just have Tim monologue to himself about being ready to wrap up his third bust of the night and consider hitting up Jason to see if he needs help on the intergang drug bust he's in the middle of. It could be on Tim's way to the next place he's going, demonstrating that he's stretching himself thin and looking for even more to do; even with people like Jason who he isn't all that close with. And then Tim and Jason have their own snarky conversation (with some veiled flirting) about not needing each other's help or each other's nagging, and that's when the nightmare mist hits.

Because the story is only tangentially about people other than Jason and Tim. They're both too wrapped up in their own problems to notice other people reaching out to them about their fucked behavior. So Babs could have been used as a yardstick for each of them - Tim dismissed her fears at first, Jason hung up on her outright - but only if she comes back.

If Babs had also been there at the end to check in with them, yeah, it might have lessened the impact of Jason's plea for help and getting only Tim in response, but it would have been the indicator that they were now ready to hear the worries expressed by their loved ones. A very *clear* indicator of what has changed in the narrative that justifies Babs' involvement in the first place. You could have her come in right as Tim and Jason are catching up after the initial plea, having just escaped her own nightmare (*editors note: see Babs' knight terrors issue, lmao). She could groggily direct them to someone who needs help. All three of them are working together now, Tim and Jason are on their way to opening up to more people; huzzah

And hell. If you want to justify why Tim knows stuff about Jason he shouldn't - or why Jason might know something about Tim that he shouldn't for that matter - a little extra time spent together in the nightmare zone is great for that. Make them see each other's worst memories. Make them see each other's defining moments. Make it the twisted, terrible, self-directed-blame version of events that exists in their heads, and then they can separately call bullshit.

You literally put them into a shared mind palace!! Why did Tim know that about Sheila? Because he just saw it in Jason's head. How does Jason know Tim has a savior complex too big to shoulder? Same deal. IMO, this would have made their insistence that the other person is better than they think much more natural. It's not an empty sentiment because 'I've literally seen what you think of yourself and I am telling you that it isn't true'. (They're in a shared mindscape. Why not imply that they are seeing what the other is seeing too. That they're having a shared experience and are privy to each other's thoughts, emotions, and memories? Easy to do. "I feel like I'm walking to class in the 10th grade...but when I was that age, I was 6 feet under." "And I'm positive I'm picking up ammo for a gun I don't own. I think it's safe to say we're sharing a dream.")

I'm also ??? about why the nightmare zone let them talk at all?? Maybe that's something that we don't have time to explain/ it doesn't need explaining, but if I were a terrible nightmare creature and I was menacing two people at once, I simply wouldn't let them exist in the same space. Isolation is key to breaking someone's will. If you let them talk to each other they could help each other. Fool. Buffoon. Literally the only reason to let them talk to each other is if you think they'll make each other worse lmao.

There was a clever visual trick in which Jason hits the void barrier and Tim sees the ripples he makes - but iirc that is the closest we get to an explanation of how they might be breaking through to each other. And it happened after they were almost done with their second conversation. Too little, too late, IMO.

Arguments could be made that they were able to break through because they were approaching a hard limit. Jason hears Tim again when he yells at his double to shut up, when Jason himself is just about ready to throw in the towel. The moment of deepest despair, the realization for both of them that they're not cut out to solve the problem with their current method. Something something, breaking the pattern - but why let them, unless the nightmare can't do anything about it? I do like a monster with a secret weakness, so I'm willing to let it slide now that I've talked it out lol but still. It feels like an unearned conversation when the only convo they had before was mostly exposition.

Anyway. Tldr; if the writers had a few more pages and shown us Tim and Jason's conflict with each other rather than water it down via Babs (OR BROUGHT HER BACK TO TIE IT ALL UP WITH A BOW) it would have been a tighter & more interesting story.

[she-is-ovarit]

This is... huge.

GENEVA (22 May 2023) – Threats and intimidation against women expressing their opinions on sex and sexual orientation is deeply concerning, said Reem Alsalem, the UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women and girls in a statement today. In the context of disagreements between some women’s rights activists and transgender in a number of countries in the Global North. Alsalem warned that violence against women and intimidation against people for expressing differing views.

“Discrimination based on sex and sexual orientation is prohibited in international and regional human rights law.

I am concerned by the shrinking space in several countries in the Global North for women and feminist organisations and their allies to gather and/or express themselves peacefully in demanding respect for their needs based on their sex and/or sexual orientation.

Law enforcement has a crucial role in protecting lawful gatherings of women and ensuring women’s safety and rights to freedom of assembly and speech without intimidation, coercion, or being effectively silenced. It is clear that where law enforcement has failed to provide the necessary safeguards, we have witnessed incidents of verbal and physical abuse, harassment, and intimidation, with the purpose of sabotaging and derailing such events as well as silencing the women who wish to speak at them.

I am disturbed by the frequent tactic of smear campaigns against women, girls and their allies on the basis of their beliefs on non-discrimination based on sex and same-sex relations. Branding them as “Nazis,” “genocidaires” or “extremists” is a means of attack and intimidation with the purpose of deterring women from speaking and expressing their views. Such actions are deeply troubling, as they are intended to instill fear in them, shame them into silence, and incite violence and hatred against them. Such acts severely affect the dignified participation of women and girls in society. 

I am also concerned by the way in which provisions that criminalise hate speech based on a number of grounds, including gender expression or gender identity, have been interpreted in some countries. Women and girls have a right to discuss any subject free of intimidation and threats of violence. This includes issues that are important to them, particularly if they relate to parts of their innate identity, and on which discrimination is prohibited. Holding and expressing views about the scope of rights in society based on sex and gender identity should not be delegitimised, trivialised, or dismissed.

According to international human rights law, any restriction on freedom of expression should be carried out strictly in accordance with the human rights standards of legality, necessity, proportionality and to serve a legitimate aim. Those disagreeing with the views of women and girls expressing concerns related to gender identity and sex also have a right to express their opinion. However, in doing so they must not threaten the safety and integrity of those they are protesting against and disagreeing with. Sweeping restrictions on the ability of women and men to raise concerns regarding the scope of rights based on gender identity and sex are in violation of the fundamentals of freedom of thought and freedom of belief and expression and amounts to unjustified or blanket censorship.

Of particular concern are the various forms of reprisals against women, including censorship, legal harassment, employment loss, loss of income, removal from social media platforms, speaking engagements, and the refusal to publish research conclusions and articles. In some cases, women politicians are sanctioned by their political parties, including through the threat of dismissal or actual dismissal.”

ENDS

Reem Alsalem is the UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women and girls, its causes and consequences;

The Special Rapporteurs, Independent Experts and Working Groups are part of what is known as the Special Procedures of the Human Rights Council. Special Procedures, the largest body of independent experts in the UN Human Rights system, is the general name of the Council’s independent fact-finding and monitoring mechanisms that address either specific country situations or thematic issues in all parts of the world. Special Procedures’ experts work on a voluntary basis; they are not UN staff and do not receive a salary for their work. They are independent from any government or organization and serve in their individual capacity.

[uboat53]

Well, FEMA was forced to curtail rescue and recovery efforts in Rutherford County, North Carolina after militia threats. They still have aid locations where you can come in and get help, but they're not going door to door anymore which means that they won't be able to reach the most vulnerable people.

When one of those people is harmed because FEMA couldn't reach them, you know exactly what's going to happen: the militia and conspiracy theory people who caused this in the first place with their lies and threats will declare that that person's suffering was caused by FEMA rather than their own actions. And they won't be acting alone. One of the reasons they feel so strong in the nonsense they're doing is that one of the two major-party candidates for president agrees with them, amplifies their paranoid conspiracies, and celebrates their acts of terror and violence.

Honestly, more than any policy or official act, the greatest damage that Donald Trump has done to the United States of America is that he has encouraged the worst, most paranoid and violent people in our society to act on their basest impulses. He has emboldened white supremacist militias to attack minorities and public events, he has incited the worst attack on our democratic institutions since the Civil War, and he has consistently spread misinformation that urges his followers to attack and disrupt the efforts of real heroes to help fellow Americans; most memorably during the Covid pandemic and even now as the southeast struggles to recover from back-to-back hurricanes.

If you're willing to accept this behavior in return for vague promises that "Republicans are good for the economy" or even a more explicit promise of a tax cut, I think it's valid that reasonable people begin to question your humanity. Nine years ago when Trump first entered the national stage, there was reason to wonder whether his public persona was an act or whether he truly was this kind of terrible person. It's been nine years now, and he was president for four of them; there's no longer any doubt that this is who he is and will continue to be.

Kamala Harris, the only other viable candidate, may not be to your taste on any number of policy issues, but if you value first responders and all of the lives that they save, vote accordingly.

[reasonsforhope]

"More than 150 workers whose labor underpins the AI systems of Facebook, TikTok and ChatGPT gathered in Nairobi on Monday [May 1st, 2023] and pledged to establish the first African Content Moderators Union, in a move that could have significant consequences for the businesses of some of the world’s biggest tech companies.

The current and former workers, all employed by third party outsourcing companies, have provided content moderation services for AI tools used by Meta, Bytedance, and OpenAI—the respective owners of Facebook, TikTok and the breakout AI chatbot ChatGPT. Despite the mental toll of the work, which has left many content moderators suffering from PTSD, their jobs are some of the lowest-paid in the global tech industry, with some workers earning as little as $1.50 per hour.

As news of the successful vote to register the union was read out, the packed room of workers at the Mövenpick Hotel in Nairobi burst into cheers and applause, a video from the event seen by TIME shows. Confetti fell onto the stage, and jubilant music began to play as the crowd continued to cheer.

The establishment of the Content Moderators Union is the culmination of a process that began in 2019, when Daniel Motaung, a Facebook content moderator, was fired from his role at the outsourcing company Sama after he attempted to convene a workers’ union called the Alliance. Motaung, whose story was first revealed by TIME, is now suing both Facebook and Sama in a Nairobi court. Motaung traveled from his home in South Africa to attend the Labor Day meeting of more than 150 content moderators in Nairobi, and addressed the group.

“I never thought, when I started the Alliance in 2019, we would be here today—with moderators from every major social media giant forming the first African moderators union,” Motaung said in a statement. “There have never been more of us. Our cause is right, our way is just, and we shall prevail. I couldn’t be more proud of today’s decision to register the Content Moderators Union.”

TIME’s reporting on Motaung “kicked off a wave of legal action and organizing that has culminated in two judgments against Meta and planted the seeds for today’s mass worker summit,” said Foxglove, a non-profit legal NGO that is supporting the cases, in a press release.

Those two judgments against Meta include one from April in which a Kenyan judge ruled Meta could be sued in a Kenyan court—following an argument from the company that, since it did not formally trade in Kenya, it should not be subject to claims under the country’s legal system. Meta is also being sued, separately, in a $2 billion case alleging it has failed to act swiftly enough to remove posts that, the case says, incited deadly violence in Ethiopia...

Workers who helped OpenAI detoxify the breakout AI chatbot ChatGPT were present at the event in Nairobi, and said they would also join the union. TIME was the first to reveal the conditions faced by these workers, many of whom were paid less than $2 per hour to view traumatizing content including descriptions and depictions of child sexual abuse. ...Said Richard Mathenge, a former ChatGPT content moderator... “Our work is just as important and it is also dangerous. We took an historic step today. The way is long but we are determined to fight on so that people are not abused the way we were.”

-via TIME, 5/1/23

[Note: In addition to Big Tech outsourcing and exploiting workers for social media and AI moderation, many companies also exploit and vastly underpay mostly overseas workers to straight up pretend to be AI. I'm really glad issues around this are starting to get attention AND UNIONS because exploited overseas labor is so often the backbone of AI--or even the "AI" itself.]

[mariacallous]

Earlier this year, a Pennsylvania man beheaded his father, who worked as a federal employee, and displayed the severed head in a video where he urged viewers to rise up against the government. Another man in Illinois was building bombs he hoped to one day use against a “corrupt government.” In two separate cases, people were arrested for threatening to kill President Joe Biden and federal officials. An Arizona man plotted a mass shooting at a rap concert in Atlanta because he wanted to spark a race war ahead of what he believed was “impending martial law.”

All five of these cases, which occurred over the past eight months, have been linked by the Department of Homeland Security’s Office of Intelligence and Analysis to what it sees as a concerning trend: fantasies and conspiracies of an impending civil war mobilizing individuals toward violence surrounding the US election.

The memo, first reported by WIRED, was circulated last month to law enforcement agencies.

“Some domestic violent extremists (DVEs) are reacting to the 2024 election season and prominent policy issues by engaging in illegal preparatory or violent activity that they link to the narrative of an impending civil war, raising the risk of violence against government targets and ideological opponents,” the memo states.

Online chatter about civil war has become an inevitable knee-jerk response to any divisive sociopolitical news event in recent years—from prosecutions of Capitol rioters and the attempted assassination of Donald Trump to disputes over enforcement at the US–Mexico border. And that chatter has, perhaps unsurprisingly, only continued to ramp up ahead of the 2024 election.

Intelligence analysts say that they have seen online discussions about preparing for future violence against public officials and federal agents and are aware that some extremists are using the heightened political environment as an opportunity to engage in “illegal preparatory or violent activity,” according to the DHS report. The assessment aligns with earlier WIRED reporting that indicates the paramilitary movement has been organizing and training ahead of the election. The report was first obtained by Property of the People, a nonprofit focused on transparency and national security, under open records law. “Donald Trump is yet again inciting election and immigration-related violence," says Ryan Shapiro, executive director of Property of the People. "The documents make plain that many of his followers are listening.”

DHS also cautioned that it is unable to get a grasp on the full scale of the threat. “We lack a complete threat picture due the ability of some DVEs to evade law enforcement using advanced encryption,” the agency wrote. And because extremists have gotten tech-savvier, intelligence officials don’t really know whether they’re joining forces.

This is a trend that researchers and experts have observed especially since the Capitol riot nearly four years ago. “We’ve seen people move from mainstream platforms, where they were active in organizing January 6, and shift to platforms that offer more perceived anonymity, less moderation, and less reporting to law enforcement,” said Katherine Keneally, US director of threat analysis and prevention at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue. “It is a law enforcement intelligence gap, it’s a gap for the whole field. We don’t see everything we once did.”

Regardless of whether extremists are coalescing or whether the threat remains atomized, the assessment recognizes that online chatter about civil war had already inspired plans for real-world violence.

In January, Justin Mohn, a 32-year-old man from Levittown, Pennsylvania, beheaded his father, a federal employee, and displayed the severed head in a 15-minute tirade uploaded online. In the video, titled “Mohn’s Militia-Call to Arms for American Patriots,” Mohn urged viewers to rise up against the government and hunt down federal agents and judges.

Months later, in March, federal agents arrested Benjamin Brown, a 45-year-old man in Waterville, Maine, for making threats to kill President Biden and other officials. The man allegedly claimed he was stockpiling weapons and ammo for a civil war and, according to an affidavit, said he wanted to hunt migrants and “burn Washington to the fucking ground.” Brown was charged with making interstate threats.

Then, in May, a stop for a minor traffic violation in Pekin, Illinois, led police to discover a padlocked canvas bag inside the vehicle containing a .45-caliber pistol and two homemade pipe bombs belonging to 34-year-old Dalton Mattus. When investigators searched Mattus’ home, after a brief standoff, they allegedly found more pipe bombs. A local radio station reported that Mattus told police he hoped to use the bombs defensively against “undocumented immigrants and a corrupt government.” It turned out that Mattus also had an extensive social media presence; for years, he had promoted QAnon conspiracy theories and civil war fantasies, advocated violence against federal officials, Democrats, and immigrants, and urged his followers to prepare for imminent conflict.

In June, an Arizona man who worked as a vendor at gun shows was indicted for allegedly plotting a mass shooting targeting Black people at a rap concert in Atlanta with the goal of inciting a “race war” ahead of the 2024 election. According to an affidavit, Mark Adams Prieto, 58, believed that “martial law will be implemented shortly after the 2024 election.” He also said he hoped to leave confederate flags at the site of his planned mass shooting, to send the message that “we’re going to fight back now and every whitey will be the enemy across the whole country.”

Also in June, 27-year-old Joseph Rose, a US veteran living on New Mexico’s White Sands Missile Range, was arrested for making threats online against Biden and federal employees. He vowed to declare war on the US and “attack federal employees on sight” over Biden’s immigration policies and said if anyone voted for Biden, “I'll shoot you on sight for supporting pedophiles.”

Intelligence analysts say that they’re most concerned about lone offenders or “small cells” taking violent action in the coming months, citing the ongoing prosecutions of the January 6 rioters as well as “false flag allegations that an event is orchestrated by the government to entrap and arrest attendees” as likely deterrents to large-scale mobilization.

DHS says it is continuing to advise federal, state, and local partners and urges law enforcement and the public to remain vigilant and report suspicious activity to authorities.