#they could have started with less divisive subjects

[formosusiniquis]

a smile for the in-laws at the holidays

written for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six-ber challenge - It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad

WC: 5414 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | platonic Stobin & pre-steddie | AO3

It starts with the red light on the Harrington answering machine. Blinky and out of place, he's shouting, “Who would leave you a message?” Before he even stops to wonder if anyone can hear him. Steve had followed Robin straight to the bathroom when they'd gotten back to his place, he's given up on trying to figure out just what had them joined at the brain, hip, and bladder preferring instead to just wait and see which of the hundred and fifty bathrooms in the McMansion they would re-emerge from.

“I talk to more than just you.” Steve’s voice echoes off the walls of the hall bathroom barely audible over the sound of running water and Robin’s half of the conversation the two of them were still actively having. 

Echolocated, he moves to the door they're hidden behind to continue to conversation at a volume that hurts his fucked up throat less.

“Jury's still out on that. But it's not like Wheeler is gonna leave a message.”

He can feel Robin’s spiritual hum of agreement, his conversation with Steve now interesting enough that she's paused hers.

“I keep telling you that Nancy and me are friends.”

His personal jury is playing a game of 12 Angry Men on that subject. Seven months post apocalypse and what started as one especially delusional voice insisting that there was “lip looking” and “chemistry between himself and the prettiest boy Hawkins has ever seen” has now become a beautifully hung 6 versus 6; with the part of him that was hoping he would get to learn if Steve Harrington was as beautifully hung as the rumors said gaining traction.

“If Nancy Wheeler needed you, she isn't leaving a message,” Robin picks up the track Eddie's wishful thinking abandoned, “she’s going to get your machine, hang up, and call me and then Eddie and then the Hendersons and then Family Video, the arcade, the-”

“Assuming it's life or death.”

“It's always life or death.”

Through the bathroom door, Steve's eyeroll is practically audible. “It is not.”

“I don't think Nancy Wheeler has ever once shot the shit, the breeze, or anything that wasn't an active threat on her life, so again not leaving a message.” Eddie calls out.

He's rewarded for his status as shit-head as the door swings open and he gets to see Steve's fondly annoyed face. Bitchy eyebrows raised and lip curled into something pretending it isn't a smile. He wipes his hands down Eddie's shirt in a failed attempt at returning the annoyance. First the backs then the front running down his chest from collarbone to chest.

Maybe it's his imagination but he could swear it lingers. The tips of his fingers taking their time on their pass down his chest to his sides. The jury will be accepting it as evidence.

“Dustin then,” Steve says.

“This is the Professor to the Hair, come in Hair.” Robin comes out of the bathroom mimicking the familiar sound of the walkie.

“Claudia then.”

“If it's Claudia, that means dinner.”

And that's the best thing about Robin, he thinks, her attention to the important details. Then there's her follow through, as she leads the charge back to the end table where the answering machine sits, all before Steve's hands have fully left his sides.

Her rewinding is unmatched, she takes the tape back to the final seconds of the outgoing message.

When it plays his first thought is honestly that Steve should probably replace the tape soon. The “Sorry I missed you,” has the warped and wobbling sound of an overplayed ribbon. But the woman speaking is not any more familiar as the tape levels out. “The lawyer recommended some time separated, I would have preferred actual separation. What's the point of this no-fault thing after all, but I suppose threatening to castrate a man at a public dinner doesn't make for a very good case for favorable asset division.

“Listen to me blabber on. I've got some things to see to here, but then I'll be on the first thing that gets me home. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving! I love you, Shadow, see you soon.”

There's enough detail there to pick out the obvious: he's now heard what Steve's mom sounds like. Which rattles his world the same kind of way learning that Freak lived with his grandma and her ‘best friend’ did.

And well maybe he has spent the last seven months, and a good five years before that, convinced that Steve doesn’t actually have parents. That he sprung into a fully formed, perfectly manicured existence like the Athena of Midwestern gay bait. Which is to say he’s too busy realigning his entire world view to notice how Steve is reacting to the sudden introduction of his mother until the door is already slamming shut behind him.

“Shit.”

The first time he sees Steve after that he’s alone.

It’s unnerving enough that he touches his back pocket to make sure his walkman is there. Steve might be smiling but it doesn’t meet his eyes, his hair flops at the awkward angle it does when he’s been tugging at it. It’s the Right Side Up Family Video, so he tries his best to approach the object of his possibly reciprocated affections like he’s a normal person and not like he's afraid that a secret pod person is behind the desk.

“Stevie, hey,” the probably Pod-Steve finches at the practically inside voice level way that Eddie has greeted him. He assumes that all further communication should be done in the same style he uses to talk to Tom Bombadil, the tray tabby he is going to coax into the trailer.

With both hands raised in a subtle non-threatening gesture, he tries for levity when he says “ I know it's Thanksgiving, but it’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad.”

“This is the first time she'll meet Robin.”

He says it in the easy way Eddie has learned is habitual for Steve. He tosses out facts like putting them out in the world like they aren’t a big deal will make it so. But unlike admitting he knows a teenager with psychic powers or that he helps reset Hawkins expiration date on a yearly basis, this time he can’t hide the quiet desperation in his eyes.

“Oh.” His rings tap on the clamshell box in his hands, the dull sounds of each contact annoying even him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s Robin.”

Normally he likes when Steve’s eyes linger on him. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart race, and it's the closest thing anyone will let him get to high now that he's technically died, twice. The vacant way Steve's eyes hold on his doesn't feel like that.

The thing is Eddie isn't sure if the jokes Dustin keeps making about Steve and Robin having their own little hive mind are actually jokes. It's sort of a reverse Clark Kent situation, he's never not seen the two of them in the same place at the same time, and now that he has Superman is looking pretty vincible.

“Exactly,” Steve says, after pausing for too long. “It's Robin.”

His improvisation fails him. It feels like his brain is moving a thousand miles an hour and not coming up with anything. His foot is on the gas but the road is wet, and his tires are spinning without catching on anything. He thinks maybe, maybe, he could bullshit something about good parents and families you make being just as important as the blood ones. When the bell above the door chimes saving him from fucking it up.

Steve straightens up like someone in the sky just yanked on his strings, smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world; and like Mrs. Johnson isn't glaring at Eddie like she has the Ronald Reagan given power to kill him with her eyes.

Eddie escapes before she can move to trying to bludgeon him with a copy of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that she's returning.

He's safely in the van.When he realizes he's still holding the movie Wayne asked him to return.

He'll try again later.

Robin is behind the counter when he comes back. Alone. She looks adrift. Staring out over the counter at the wide expanse of shelves and tapes, she doesn't seem to be taking any of them in. Just staring, empty.

There's a movie playing, Back to the Future, but it's noise. Just noise. Because Robin is in Family Video right now the same way that Steve is.

Video in hand once again, Eddie approaches the wide-eyed thing at the counter cautiously. Robin's shirt collar is popped on one side and he doesn't think it's a fashion choice. Her face is bare and it doesn't move when he reaches the counter. Not when he sets the tape down. Not even when he says, hey.

“Did you rewind that?” She asks. Her eyebrows don't furrow, her mouth only moves enough to get the words out.

“It's Wayne's.”

Robin grabs it from the counter, scans it, and adds it to a stack that only looks taller than it did this afternoon.

“Look, Robin,” he tries more gently than he spoke to Steve this morning, still smarting from the way he had responded. “It's just dinner. It can't be that bad.”

She blinks once. Twice. Three, four quick times before she finally seems to be looking at him. A lemon pucker frown twisted across her face. 

“She knows we're married.”

Robin turned 18 three days after the end of the world didn't happen. She spent the day in the hospital, in a chair that sat in the space between his bed and the bed they ended up putting Steve in. He hears one doctor call it, “Miraculous, really,” that he had been standing at all this long after his injuries and with the infection that had set in.

He collapsed in the middle of the Hawkins High gym with someone's donated sweater tossed over his shoulder.

And they won't let Robin in the ambulance. Tears streaking down her face, voice hoarse, and the EMT who survived doing his job in a place like Hawkins has the balls of steel to look her in her red faced, dripping nose glory, and tell her only family can travel in the back of the bus.

Wayne Munson, who was only in the gym to put up more posters of Eddie when he was caught by a limping Dustin Henderson, is the softest touch on this side of the Ohio River. Wayne Munson found himself playing taxi, making a quick stop at the Buckley house before taking all of the loved ones that the ambulance left behind to Hawkins General.

Inside the backpack she forced Wayne to let her grab, is a change of clothes for both of them. A strange amalgamation of pieces from both of their closets and, more importantly, a blank marriage certificate waiting to be signed.

You can, it turns out, get just about anything with the right forms mimeographed from the library or a bright enough smile when you ask for them.

And what Robin got with the correct forms was getting to request a marriage license without anyone at the county clerk's office looking at her twice. And with the smile she gets the hospital notary ready to officiate their marriage once Wayne and a sour faced nurse agreed to be witnesses. Eddie only gets to watch, too shaky still to sign his name on the license, he chose privately to think of himself as the flower girl with some extra special buds he could give the happy couple once he could get out of here.

It wasn’t storybook, but Robin and Steve were smiling so wide that it made the stitches on the side of his own face hurt. He could tell from the set of Wayne’s shoulders that he was trying not to cry and if they had him on a little less morphine he might be on the same boat. He called for the first cheers to the happy couple and it didn’t feel weird at all that neither the Harringtons nor Buckleys were there to watch their two children get hitched.

Eddie is the only witness left when later that night the cot comes out and Robin and Steve Harrington-Buckley bed down separately for their hospital honeymoon. It's not like he wants to overhear their marital pillowtalk, but even though he knows he's supposed to be asleep it won't come.

It’s Robin’s voice he notices first, a rough whisper that soothes something in him. The words wash over him for a second before his brain catches up. “In two years,” she pauses, but even Eddie who barely knows them can tell that Steve is and always is riveted to whatever she is saying. “When we get out of this shithole, I'm gonna have an affair with the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.”

"Is that the feminism Glory Steinway is teaching people, women doing men's jobs?” Steve’s little giggle makes his heart monitor jump, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes they think he’s just dreaming. “That would explain why my dad doesn't like her.”

“A Steinway is a piano. It's Gloria Steinem.”

“And you can try, but I've seen your taste,” Steve continues his part of the conversation like she hasn’t even spoken.

But Robin continues hers too. “And anyway, I don't know if that second part even applies anymore anyway, asshole. Not after that stuff we've been talking about.”

He’s not a good person, he knows that, that’s the only explanation for the way he was straining to hear like he could make his ear stretch across the floor toward them to hear better.

Steve blows a raspberry, surprising enough that Eddie flinches back in his bed. “I can't think about that if I can't sleep on my back.”

“That's not how it works,” Robin says with the confidence of someone who isn’t sure what she’s saying and lets Eddie be sure that he’s not going to learn anything else about whatever stuff they had been talking about.

“It is how it works. I've got to have my arm all funny to get comfortable enough to sleep.”

“Make sure I'm in here when Nurse Ratched comes to check on you and learns you dislocate your shoulder to sleep on your side.”

“I don't think that's Becky's last name, I think it's Collins.”

“Who cares. Now scoot over, one of us should get some sleep tonight and this cot is worse than Eddie's floor.”

He understood the bone deep instinct for protection Steve had now. The same drive that had Steve, still high on painkillers and a lack of sleep, stumbling out of the bed beside Eddie’s in the hospital. “They always say it’s gone, and then it comes back,” he’d whispered while clutching Eddie’s hand tight. 

Underneath the warning, he’d heard the want. The desire to take Robin and Eddie and the kids and everyone he cared about, to shove them all in the back of a car and drive as far away from Hawkins as he could. To stop them all from doing something stupid that shouldn’t be their responsibility anyway, to drive until Hawkins was a stain on a map that couldn’t be seen in the rearview mirror.

That’s how he feels right now.

It’s been three days and he hasn’t seen Steve and Robin in the same place at the same time. It feels like a sign he should have been looking for that this thing is coming back.

So he tries to think of his next steps as self-preservation. He has a certain reputation to uphold and going to the mall isn’t very counterculture. But Sam Goody is Sam Goody and getting his nearest and dearest their favorite tracks on cassette feels like the same kind of practical as the thick wool socks Wayne gave him last year. If he brought Steve and Robin then their presents wouldn’t be a surprise, is his reasoning And maybe that’s self-preservation too, it’s a long drive to Bloomington and it’s hard to imagine mirror-Steve and Robin being very fun to road trip with.

He’s talked himself around on it by the time he’s window shopping the Gap. Nancy is trying to organize a Christmas party from Boston with the single minded determination he would expect of a general arranging a siege. She had them pick names for Secret Santa while she was home for fall break and he’d drawn the short straw and ended up with the general herself. Which puts him outside The Gap, all he really knows about Nancy is her penchant for guns and a good sweater and he’d hate to get her a 9mm she’s already got.

The pastel colors are probably some kind of danger signal, but he’s already stepped inside and has his hands on a sweater he hopes says ‘I’m a badass and there’s a gun in my handbag don’t fuck with me’ in prep when he spots the danger.

The danger being Steve, alone still, with a dark plaid skirt pinched between his fingers.

He drops the sweater and slips back out the store, hoping he hasn’t been caught. He’ll find Wheeler a fancy pen or a nice notebook somewhere in Indy.

It's two days before Thanksgiving and when Eddie walks into Steve's place the first thing he hears is shouting.

Hand on the door knob, he pauses, listening as Robin's voice carries throughout the house. “I'm not wearing it.”

“Robin-”

“No, listen to me! I am not wearing that. I’m not gonna meet your mom looking like some, some-”

“Nancy.”

“You said that, not me.”

“Robin. Robin!” Footsteps, Eddie hears footsteps. Robin’s angry heels slamming down hard on the floors beneath her enough that he can track her movement through Steve’s house even though she’s only wearing her socks. He takes a step back toward the door. Puts his hand back on the door handle, ready to pretend that he had just walked in. Ready to pretend that he hadn’t heard the two most in-sync people in his life arguing like the Wheelers.

“Let me storm out! Let me leave. I can’t just stay here and argue with you until we both say something-” The knob twists in his hand to the sound of the desperation in Robin’s voice. Eddie’s feet don’t move, frozen in place by courage or cowardice or the seven years of high school engrained need to hear every last bit of gossip possible.

Steve has always been good at making good gossip. “Robin!”

“I’m not wearing that fucking thing just because you want to and can’t!”

He knows the sound of an argument ending when he hears it. The holidays always leave him a little more tuned in for the sounds of smashing glasses and raised voices.

The silence that comes after a landing hit. 

The door knob gives in his hand, pulling it just wide enough that he can feel the chill of the late November air, Eddie is a little surprised at what side of the door he finds himself on when he slams it shut again.

Footsteps moving faster toward him, heavy heel first steps. He starts putting on the production of arriving: shaking his shoulders like he’s shaking off the frosty chill of the early winter hitting Hawkins like the latest plague. He’s got a toe at the heel of one boot, ready to kick it off when Robin comes barreling toward him. Barrelling into him, he stumbles over his tangled up feet to keep them both from falling to the floor.

She’s got a hand pressed into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, using it to drag him impossibly closer. He can smell the coffee on her breath when she hisses, “As one of the people responsible for saving your life, I need you to put me in that death trap you call a van and repay your debt.”

“I-?” Closer than he thinks he’s ever been to Robin, the fight he just overheard playing through his head once again, he tries to parse through the pissed off urgency in her voice that’s now being directed at him.

Her eyes are wild and she only looks more insistent as Steve’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Is that Eddie? Eddie, come in here and taste this.”

“If you have never trusted me before, trust me now, if you value your life you'll leave.”

There’s a part of his brain that believes her. There really is.

But then Steve whines, “Seriously, Eddie, I need you.” It’s a tone of voice Eddie has only heard in his wildest fantasies, and sometimes not even then.

“Oh that's a cheap trick,” Robin snaps.

“Please?” He drags the word out into a moan. Something sultry that Eddie wouldn’t dare dream of, so it has to be real.

“Cheap trick,” he pats Robin on the shoulder as he walks toward the vision he can only just begin to imagine in the kitchen. “Yeah sure, put them on.”

“This is for your own good.” For a band geek, she’s strong. Maybe it’s the world saving. 

Eddie has only managed a step toward what has to be everything he’s ever dreamed of when her hand closes tight around his arm and pulls him back toward the door. The jury in his head has just reached the unanimous decision that he does actually have a shot with Steve Harrington as he’s being lifted kicking, but not yet screaming, by a scrawny band nerd and now they’re calling for her head.

“Eddie?”

“I’m taking him with me. Maybe between the two of us we can get the right onions.”

“Who would use a sweet onion for a green bean casserole?”

He’s stunned, still enough that Robin can finish pushing him back out the door he just walked through. Not because Steve was being a bitch, Steve’s always kind of an ass, but that Robin wouldn’t respond. The ‘god you never listen to me and I’m actually mad about something else but this is the thing that’s broken me’ tone is one he associates with the bitterly married Mr. and Mrs. O’Leary from the trailer two down, the frowning couples in the grocery, not Steve and Robin.

Steve and Robin had full conversations in their brains with nothing but facial expressions and laughter, they didn’t storm out of the house angry and resentful. 

It feels like something is broken, waiting to be fixed. Broken things have always preoccupied him, and they’re halfway down the road before he realizes they aren’t headed toward town.

And that he isn’t the one driving.

“Um, Buckley? Did you get your license when I wasn’t looking?”

“I have my permit. We have the beamer, it's not like we’re going that far.” He grabs the oh shit bar as she rounds a corner without breaking.

“All due respect to the royal carriage- Shit, brake. Brake! Arwen doesn’t exactly handle the same.” He recognizes where they’re headed now, if only because the edge of the quarry is quickly approaching. Maybe he hasn't given enough weight to the amount of stress she’s under.

“It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous.”The edge of the quarry is looming and her foot is too light on the brake. Even as the dust flies out behind the van, he’s torn between listening to her and watching the windshield. The brakes squeal as her foot finally presses down hard enough to actually stop the van all the while chanting. “It’s a dinner. A dinner. All this for a dinner.”

They stop. The car rocks back, Eddie lunges for the column to make sure it’s in park while Robin launches herself out of the cab.

He can see her pacing beside the van in the side view mirror, her mouth moving in a rant he can’t hear over the sound of his own panting breath. “Okay, this is okay,” the words leave his mouth but they might as well be coming from some third tag along in the van. “Robin is freaking out, so you can’t freak out.”

He scrambles into the back, knees smarting as he crawls across the blankets that aren’t doing enough to cushion the floor. Robin almost gets hit, when he tosses open the doors to usher her in.

“Climb in, we’ll partake in the time honored tradition of escaping from family, getting high, and bitching.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, hands shaking when he grabs ahold to help her get into the back. Eddie makes it a point not to look at her as she settles. She fusses, fidgeting with pillows and smoothing out the afghan that Steve picked out from the thrift store, and he holds any comment about how Steve had done the same thing the last time they hit the drive in mostly because he knows she was there for it. His time is better spent carefully rolling up a fresh joint, lighting it, and taking a big hit.

He still doesn’t know everything that happened to them before he got involved with the Upside Down. But he knows that the Harrington-Buckleys don’t handle being high well these days. But with the doors open, the ambiance, and the faint second hand smoke it isn't long before Robin is speaking.

“It was funny when he was showing me the best way to climb into a girl's window or scale a trellis.” She isn't looking at him while she speaks. Her eyes are locked on the toes of the new Chuck Taylors that she and Steve had lucked into at a thrift store in Seymour of all places. One blue and one red, they'd split the pair after decorating them. The two of them so in sync they even share a shoe size.

Still the words keep tumbling out, slow but gaining speed like a snowball rolling down a hill. “It was fun learning the best way to shotgun a beer and the flirty hand thing. And I liked, like, having someone who will gossip with me and we can paint our nails.” 

She stops, breath shuddering and it's worse, now that he's got the smell of weed around him but none of the haze, when she looks at him with red, watery eyes. “But now I'm gonna be the girl who isn't girl enough who ruined her perfect son and made him not boy enough and ruins their relationship forever. He loves his mom.”

“And he loves you, Rob.” There's no right amount of emphasis to put on the words. It feels like he’s repeating facts to a conspiracy theorist. DnD isn't devil worship. The Earth is round. Steve Harrington loves Robin Buckley, no matter what.

And just like spouting facts, he isn't met with a good reaction.

“I know,” she croaks, voice breaking as she holds back a sob. “I know and he knows better than anyone that loving someone isn’t enough to keep you from resenting them.”

It's miserable. He feels miserable. Robin looks miserable. And if there’s anything he hates more than injustice it’s misery.

“What can I do?”

 She sits up further, grabs the wrist that’s holding the forgotten joint, a look on her face that makes him think of the urgency of a quest. “I can’t be someone he ends up resenting in a year, in five.”

“What can I do, Robin?”

“Say you’ll come Thursday?”

That sounds like the worst idea in the world, Eddie Munson, former murder suspect, joining in at the Rockwellian dinner table. But he isn’t good at denying his friends much of anything these days. “Will it help? Me being there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But you’ll be there for me, for him, for us.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Thanksgiving comes and Eddie’s hands are sweating around the wheel of the van as he sits in the Harrington driveway.

He hasn’t celebrated the holiday in earnest like this since he was little. When his own mom was still alive and they would load up in the pick up to drive to his Mammaw’s house where it would smell like roasted turkey and fresh baked bread. Now he and Wayne need the money too badly to skip out on the holiday pay. They would have turkey sandwiches for lunch before he would leave and Eddie would float around town selling to the teens who had slipped out their front doors for a “walk” before dinner so they could stand to be around their overbearing relatives.

Which leaves him in the position of trying to figure out his role here.

Is he the dirtbag that Steve has somehow managed to befriend, there to take the heat off of Robin and make her better by default? 

Is he the reformed killer that the two of them have fixed through the power of their goodness, there to make them both look like the power couple that they are? 

Is he there as their friend Eddie, there to be moral support in a stressful situation?

He isn’t sure and each different version of himself that he can imagine looks different. Each a different performance that requires different costuming.

It’s left him arriving late, wearing a hodgepodge of pieces that speak to each version. Stitched up jeans and a thrifted band shirt, overtop that one of Wayne’s cowboy shirts and he’ll kick off his trusty Reeboks at the door if he can get himself to go inside. He isn’t sure what anyone is going to think if he manages to make it in the door, but he can imagine what the neighbors are thinking right now.

Trudging up to the door, nerves prick at his fingertips but he doesn’t regret coming. Not even as he tries to anticipate the stuffy, frigid silence he’s about to walk into.

At least the food will be good, the stuff Steve made anyway.

Through the door he hears laughter.

When he knocks, it doesn’t stop.

And then he’s looking at Steve wearing that skirt from the Gap with his hair pinned back. “Eddie!” His eyes are wide, sparkling with a bright joy that Eddie hasn’t seen in days.

From down the hall voices, Robin’s he knows too well not to identify and the other’s can only be Mrs. Harrington, chorus, “Oh Eddie!” Before he hears the sounds of giggling laughter once again. Steve’s face flushes a beautiful, distracting pink.

“I should have brought something,” Eddie finds himself saying. Empty hands clenching even as his eyes are locked on those two moles on Steve’s cheek and how they stand out on that blush.

“You never have to bring anything, Ed.”

“Stevie! Quit hogging Eddie, we want to see him,” Robin’s voice has the slip sliding quality Eddie has come to associate with drinking.

“There’s still time to run, if you want to avoid everything,” Steve teases.

“You know I’m not a runner anymore, and anyway your missus invited me.”

“And nobody has ever accused Eddie Munson of being rude.”

“Got that right, baby.” Eddie can feel the smile on his face broaden as Steve rolls their eyes, a smile tugging at their lips, and that sweet pink kissing his face again. 

But when Steve’s hand runs down his wrist, a tentative touch reaching to tangle their fingers, the situation he’s in fully cements itself in his mind. Fingertips brush past one another as Steve keeps walking and Eddie stays put. He can hear Robin’s familiar cackle and a pleasant laugh that shares the same cadence as Steve’s coming from the kitchen. Warm brown eyes look him up and down, he tries to ignore that as he listens for whatever conversation is accompanying that laugh.

“She wants to meet you, y’know.” Steve says finally. “Hasn’t shut up about how my tastes have gotten better now that I’m back to my old self.”

“And she means me?”

“She means Robin,” he laughs, “but she’ll like you because I do. Because you haven’t said anything about this,” he flicks his hand down to his skirt. “Because you won’t say anything when you see she’s wearing the same outfit.’”

“Mama’s boy?”

“Something like that. C’mon, I need someone on my side in there.”

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand for real, “It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad, right?”

[hiiragi7]

(Warning for discussion of abuse)

There is a certain ableist and classist feel to the way that a lot of people talk about highschool education and graduation that I've noticed. "I bet they never graduated highschool" is often used as an insult and to imply stupidity, for example. I've noticed this trend for a long time, but struggled to put it into words.

While education is important, I often feel very put down by the amount of emphasis placed on being a highschool graduate (and, on the opposite end, the disdain for non-graduates). I never graduated, due to a variety of factors; I suffered very extreme abuse starting in first grade from the school environment (As a diagnosed autistic kid growing up in SPED in the 2000s, ABA was the standard), I was being abused at home, I moved schools a lot, I struggle with several disabilities which impacted my ability to learn and developmentally I was never really at the same level as my peers besides in English and art, I developed chronic physical issues while I was still in school due to a genetic condition, and finally, I was kicked out of the house when I was 17 by my parents and I just never ended up going back to school (not that I could have graduated anyway due to a variety of issues).

I was never able to learn quite right and that lead to me falling further and further behind. By the time I was in middle school, I was already so far behind my peers that even if my teachers had wanted to help me learn the content, there was so much they would have had to teach me that it would have been impossible for them to fit it into the time I had with them, especially when they had a lot of other students to attend to besides me. On top of that, I had already given up on my own education sometime during elementary school, so any attempts that were made by my teachers were not well-received by me. I had already developed a complex web of trauma responses to anything to do with school by that point.

It seemed that I was caught in an impossible situation where between the trauma I suffered with and my autism, I could not tolerate even being in a classroom setting, much less learn in it, but there were no other options, which lead to chronic activation of trauma responses which overwhelmed both me and my teachers as well as everyone else in my life. There was also no understanding for me in these settings either, and nobody informed enough to realize what was going on with me and why I was constantly either shutting down and unresponsive or having severe panic attacks. Rather, I was called lazy, manipulative, not trying hard enough, making excuses, acting out for attention, and a slew of other insults as well as near-constant punishments which only served to traumatize me further.

To this day, I only have a second grade education in math. I do not know multiplication, division, algebra, physics, chemistry, and a variety of other subjects. Attempting to study school subjects gives me flashbacks no matter which method I use, whether it's online or with another person or on my own. I am gifted in English, but otherwise I do not know many of the things that people are generally taught in school as kids.

When I tell people I never graduated, often the response is "it's okay, you can still get your GED!" as if me not having graduated is a character flaw that I must eventually work to fix. It makes me feel as though my worth and value as a person is tied to whether or not I have at least a highschool education, and that without it I am less worthy of people's time.

Going back to my initial point, if not graduating highschool makes you "stupid", you must also consider who in practice is unable to graduate highschool - I find it is often disabled kids, traumatized kids, and impoverished kids. Not all of them, I'm sure, but definitely a lot of them.

Tying intellect and a person's worth to whether or not they graduated highschool fucks over those who couldn't through no real fault of their own and frames them as lesser for it. How can you say you believe in disability rights when you shit on those who are too disabled to complete school? How can you say you are against classism when you view people who could not graduate due to having to work full-time as lesser than you?

I feel that regardless of how much people insist they are an advocate (or how much they say "No no, when I said people who don't graduate are stupid I didn't mean those people, I only meant what I see as the acceptable group of non-graduates to call stupid"), there are biases at play regarding perceived intellect and formal education. I am viewed as inherently less-than when people learn I did not graduate. My lack of a highschool graduation certificate or "at least" a GED is viewed with pity by just about everyone I talk to.

I don't have a neat way to wrap up this post, but I do think it is important for people to examine their own biases when it comes to discussing formal education, as well as the overlap of non-graduates and marginalized groups, especially as it pertains to disability politics and capitalism.

[teecupangel]

I've been checking this game called Shipwrecked 64 and there's this section in the game where you use something like the Eagle Vision and you could use it for the rest of the game in some areas, I wanna see your thoughts on this because the entire time I was thinking of AC

You know what would be fun, nonny?

If we set up the core setting of Shipwrecked 64 to a game that Abstergo developed and released for a limited time.

It was meant to be the Entertainment Division’s first game using a prototype VR system that would later be developed as the Animus gaming console (that’s what they tell the public but it’s not true. The VR system was created using the Animus as the base but they later scrapped it and just modified the Animus).

But the game itself was in development hell for so long, only later having a limited release after the Animus’ first game (Liberation) proved to be successful. It came with a 10% discount voucher that the players can use when preordering Abstergo Entertainment’s next game “Pirates of Nightmare”.

Of course, because this is Abstergo and they’re scummy, the voucher is only available for PREORDER and will expire the moment the game is released.

The game wasn’t even given a digital release with Abstergo going for the physical copy first then just… never bothering to do a digital release because they were betting that Pirates of Nightmares would be so successful no one would remember that weird short 2D platformer that Abstergo released between two major games.

And it sorta worked.

The game wasn’t even played all that much. It was cheaper because it was short and the controls were clunky as it was created for the prototype. Abstergo only did the bare minimum to port it to the latest Animus gaming console and players can’t even access it IF they have one of the newer models (specifically the models released for “Triumph of the Borgias” onward) because it’s not backwards compatible.

Then… a Game Preservation group called “Shipwrecked 17 Recovery Crew” released an emulator that can play it even for the latest model of the Animus gaming console. They released it for free with the emulator saying “if you enjoy this game, please consider donating to the [a link that takes people to one of the site that archives all video games with a list of video games that have not been archived or preserved yet]”. There’s no request for monetization at all so Abstergo isn’t exactly keen on trying to take it down less they suffer a backlash from players who would say “you’re not even rereleasing it so why are you taking down a passion project from fans???”

The emulator also notes that it fixed some of the codes so there should be less bugs and would provide a more ‘complete’ experience.

The setting of the game is quite simple. The player plays as Shipmate 0, the captain of the Ship (no name was given so fans call it ‘ship’). The Ship suffered terrible damage during a severe storm on the sea and Shipmate 0 wakes up in an island and the goal of the player is to find all ‘16’ shipmates that are stranded in the island (with each having their own minigame, of course).

The normal ending would be getting all ‘16’ shipmates safely in a newly repaired Ship.

Most players assumed that it’s called Shipwrecked 17 because Shipmate 0 is counted as one of the shipmates so, in total, there are 17 shipmates.

Then… some starts looking at the code.

And they post the comments on a function called Golden_Ending().

// Unlock Subject 17. // Requirement: kill all 16 Subjects.

They believe the ‘Subject’ are the shipmates and the morbid requirement fascinated some players. Other players do not that “kill” has a different meaning in codes so maybe it’s not actually killing the shipmates ingame.

Then one player realized that they can kill Shipmates using specific methods during the minigame portion. This player unintentionally found this out while he was doing the tag minigame with Shipmate 4 (the duck). The game had been simply chasing Shipmate 4 until he takes a short rest and reaching him during that short rest. BUT if a player was to use their left hand while chasing Shipmate 4 (not during short rest) and the distance is an arm’s length or shorter, the game glitches for a moment and Shipmate 0 actually tackles Shipmate 4, staying oon top of Shipmate 4 as he slumps down.

After that, a short audio of an older sounding man and a woman are played by the screen glitches to show Shipmate 4’s profile window (where it says the actual name of Shipmate 4 is Daniel the Duck) talking about how unstable ‘Daniel’ was becoming and prolonged sessions on the Animus only had minimal effect on helping him stabilize his mind.

The glitch ends with the profile showing a different profile for a fraction of a second and it was only after a few more people tried the method and recorded their playthrough so they can take a screenshot of it later on that the players found out the second profile was the ‘session’ records of a Daniel Cross, complete with dates and summary of each session.

And now, Abstergo is trying to get everyone to stop playing, saying that the game has been tampered with or that someone modified it to include such morbid things, it was meant to be a kids’ game!

People barely cared. The mystery and the ‘horror’ were more interesting than the whole “help these animal-ish creatures get off the island”. Streamers started playing it, trying to find ways to kill the other Shipmates…

They learn new things along the way…

Like how Shipmate 15 is actually pregnant and the way to kill her is… well… morbid. Shipmate 16 can only be killed by chasing him into a specific trap that will cut him to pieces.

Every time they manage to kill a Shipmate, they are transferred to an empty bar with the walls slowly being filled with the pictures of the ‘Subjects’ that appear after killing the Shipmate, including Daniel the Duck, Robert the Rabbit, Clay the Cuckoo, etc…

Then when all 16 Shipmates are killed, they return to the bar once more but it’s now burning and there’s a Dog ‘Shipmate’ in front of them.

The final Shipmate.

The key to the Golden Ending.

[eu-nicola]

Jude Bellingham x barca femi player enemies to loversss !!! Omfg the potential ! Angry fans and a surprise pregnancy to the mix. Also was the single mom anon. Your writing was very good and your english was perfect !! Lots of love and well wishes 💜💜

Jude Bellingham x Reader

sorry english isn’t my first language

I didn't correct it so I apologize for the mistakes

I don't know if it was what you wanted but I liked it

enjoy it

They had taught you to hate Real Madrid since you knew it and it was always like that and it was always going to be like that, the rivalry you had with each person from that club was bigger than anything.

You had even fight with your friends over that, so it was a subject they didn’t talk about and even less when you started playing for Barça.

It was your dream come true to have played since you were little for the club you always loved and now the fact of being able to play in the first division was coming true, and actually after this it was two years since you came up and it really was the best two years of your life without any single injury or even serious pain, you were at the top until what happened and after what seemed like a long and heavy season for you were injured, full of setbacks, although the good side of this is that vacations were coming up where you planned to recover one hundred percent to start as best you should.

You and your family had decided to travel to England for your recovery and private training which was approved by your club so you were more than happy to travel. The first weeks they made sure that you did not do anything that could harm you and you were with practically all the doctors at your disposal as your family wanted and after a thousand things to do, you could finally start training.

Your own coach gave you the idea that it would be a good idea for you to go out one night to clear your head without having to go to a club, but you had no better idea than to go to one because you wanted to know what the clubs were like in England, especially in Birmingham, so You asked your older brother to accompany you and obviously he was not going to say no to an outing.

They had told you about a good club, in fact the best club they told you, but you certainly didn't remember the name and you didn't really care, you just wanted to go out and see what you would find. When you arrived it didn't seem like a big deal but as the night went on you changed your mind, the atmosphere had become different and the people seemed more fun and you even saw a few players from the English team but nothing special.

When you began to feel a little dizzy, you decided to go to the bathroom under the gaze of your brother from afar all the time in case something happened to you, while you were walking to the bathroom you did not notice that a boy was walking just as fast as you with whom you collided and As soon as you saw him, you realized who Jude Bellingham was, the new Real player, he tried to stop you and apologize but you ignored him and continued on your way, after a while you thought you had lost him but not really, the idiot had waited outside the bathroom.

"I was just apologizing, it wasn't a big deal." He told you as soon as you came out of the bathroom. "If you knew that it is a psychopath to wait for a woman outside the bathroom in a club."

"Are you always like this?" "As well as?".

"A bitch with people." He surprised you that he called you that and even he seemed to you the most unpleasant man at that moment and many would believe that you would be exaggerating but not for you. “Yes, when they are Madridistas rats”. You responded by trying to leave.

"And who are you to call me that?" You were angry at that point but you didn't care about someone you didn't plan to see again.

When you got back to your brother you didn't feel like staying there anymore so you told him it was time to go and he agreed after a boring night at his house with no woman to bring home. After that night you had to get up early and continue with your training, you didn't have time to check your cell phone and even less see what was being talked about, when you finally finished you could finally see that someone on twitter was talking about the discussion you had with Jude.

Your own coach gave you the idea that it would be a good idea for you to go out one night to clear your head without having to go to a club, but you couldn’t think of a better idea than to go to one because you wanted to know what the clubs were like in England, especially . in Birmingham, so you asked your older brother to come with you and he obviously wasn’t going to say no to a date.

They had told you about a good club, in fact the best club they told you, but you probably didn’t remember the name and didn’t really care, you just wanted to go out and see what you could find. When you arrived it didn’t look like much but as the night went on you changed your mind, the atmosphere had become different and the people seemed more fun and you even saw some players from the English team but nothing special.

When you started to feel a little dizzy, you decided to go to the bathroom under the eyes of your brother from afar all the time in case something happened to you, while you were walking to the bathroom you didn’t notice that a boy was walking. just as fast as you with whom you collided and as soon as you saw him you realized who Jude Bellingham was, the new Real player, he tried to stop you and apologize but you ignored him and continued on your way, after a while you thought you had lost him but no Really, the idiot had waited outside the bathroom.

“I was just apologizing, it wasn’t a big deal.” He told you as soon as you came out of the bathroom. “If you only knew it’s a psycho to wait for a woman outside a bathroom in a club.”

“You are always like that?” “As well as?”.

“A bitch with people.” You were surprised that he called you that and even he seemed to you the most unpleasant man at that moment and many would believe that you would be exaggerating but not for you. “Yes, when they are Madrid rats.” You responded by trying to leave.

“And who are you to call me that?” You were angry at the time but you didn’t care about someone you didn’t plan to see again.

When you got back to your brother you didn’t feel like staying there anymore, so you told him it was time to go and he agreed after a boring night at his house with no woman to take. After that night you had to get up early and continue your training, you didn’t have time to check your cell phone and even less see what was being talked about, when you finally finished you could finally see that someone on twitter was talking about the argument you had with Jude.

"Are you stupid?" Your father asked as he entered the kitchen where you were having breakfast.

"What's going on?". "People saw you in a club fighting with a Madridista, he is not a good image for us and you know it."

“Yeah I know but how was I supposed to know they were going to see me argue, you were far from people so the ones who saw us are definitely nosy bitches.”

"This is nothing but I don't want to be seen with someone from Madrid again, do you understand?" At this point you had already tired of hating the madridistas just because your family said so, you didn't even care about them, the only thing for you was barça and the national team.

"Yes father":

After that little incident you didn't hear from him again and it was fine with you you didn't want to know anything else. At the end of the holidays you were already recovered, although you still couldn't play for your safety, they kept you on the bench for three games until everyone was one hundred percent sure that you would not get injured again and that's how it was, you came back better than ever and wanting to scoring goals in each of the matches, you felt at your best again.

For a few weeks you noticed on social networks that the event that had happened a while ago with Jude was not completely forgotten, there were people who were on your side and others on his side, although no one knows what the true conversation you had with him was. He, about 3 months had passed until you saw him again but this time he was in Barcelona for a match against Barça that you were planning to attend, you made sure to sit in a place where everything looked perfect and what better than to be forward with the other fans.

As it had always been a match with a lot of spark between the players and more so when Jude intentionally kicked one of our players, there everyone came out in defense which ended in Jude's expulsion immediately for making such a mess, at the end of the game. game Barça had won 3-0.

And from your place you saw Madrid leave sad because of his defeat, but your attention was focused especially on Jude, who was his first loss with his new team, so he was certainly more discouraged than the others. Before everyone finished passing you left the place and forgot about him.

It was July 10 and it was your 20th birthday so you decided to go out to celebrate with your friends at a club near where you lived, during the day you had spent it with your family and friends but at night things had to get better and You wanted to go out and celebrate like you haven't done in a long time. It was already like 3 am and while you were dancing in the distance you could see that Jude was in the same place, he was sitting with a girl on his legs while they were kissing you were watching him for a while at the same time you were dancing so that no one would notice when Your friend caught your attention and you stopped looking at them.

You didn't know how much time had passed but suddenly you felt a hand on your hip as you were about to hit the person who had touched you and before you could even do it he stopped you and pulled you closer to him and maybe it was The first time you didn't know what to say so you just glared at him and jerked out of his grip, at that moment you didn't see him but he laughed at you for the silly way you were acting so he followed you again and before you could escape he took your arm again to attract you.

"Let go". "You are always like that?".

"He's fucking with me right? You already asked that question once but at least you were sober." You spit in his face. "And you're still the same...".

"Of what? Say it, let's go." You wanted to slap him in the face for being as stupid as all the men on earth, I took you out of your thoughts when he pounced like that and kissed you by the nape of the neck so that you couldn't separate and even if you could, you wouldn't have done it after seeing how good his lips felt on yours.

When he finally released you neither of them said anything but they got away from there as fast as they could and he took you to the house where he was staying, at first you hesitated to stay there with him but as soon as they arrived and he kissed you again all the doubts or coherences that you might have had had vanished in the fastest way.

That night he took you in all the possible ways he could have done and you liked every moment, the way he admired you or how he smiled when he heard you say his name also the way he touched you making you feel in the clouds . In the morning you left very early before he woke up trying to forget every detail of a night that you knew would be impossible for you, even if it was something.

When you got back home you went back to bed until you woke up at 10 am because your phone kept ringing with instagram messages from Jude and thousands of twitter notifications tagging you and him too.

“Oh god, why always me?”.

After that you didn't answer again and you continued with your business waiting for your father to kill you, so something that almost happened appeared on the internet. Your father's way of being was well known and how demanding he was with you, do you remember the first time you talked about your family in an interview and a few minutes later the social networks were flooded with comments about your family that you were not interested in? , there were many who had supported your father because thanks to that you were always a winner and many others criticized him for his actions but despite everything you loved him and thanks to that you were who you were.

You and Jude didn't see each other again and the fans seemed to have calmed down at times but they always came out again when they uploaded photos of him with a woman tagging you or talking about you as if they had been a couple at some point. Your life continued as normal, your training for you was more and more demanding by order of your father and your body and mind demanded more each day. In the first days of August you felt worse and worse but that did not prevent you from giving your maximum in your training sessions and in the matches until your body gave no more and in one of the matches they collided with you and that was what overflowed the drop of the glass of water.

That was the last thing you remembered and when you opened your eyes again you were in the hospital with your mother next to you asleep in a chair you barely tried to get up your mother felt your movement and quickly approached you to hug you and ask how you were doing. which you still couldn't answer because you were so confused.

"What happened?". You asked. "Oh my baby."

You said your mother to hug you but trying not to hurt you.

“Is everything okay mom?” Your mother looked at you for a moment before answering but first she took your hand and at this point you were worried about what she might say.

“The doctors have told me that everything is fine but…”. “What’s up mom please.”

“You are pregnant”. You were in shock, you even almost fainted again, there were a thousand and one thoughts going through your head and you didn’t know which one to listen to, you didn’t even listen to what your mother was telling you and not even if your father already knew the news.

“Daddy know?” “Yes and he is very disappointed but he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

After that you asked your mother for some time to rest and think about what was happening to you, you were still too young to have a baby and you were also at the peak of your career to give up now you didn’t really know what you wanted . to do but first of all you had to talk to Jude because this was something that involved both of them.

Your father hadn’t spoken to you since the hospital and you knew he was going to stay that way until he got over it but in the meantime you had bigger problems like talking to Jude.

As he said he went to look for you and at all times he tried to start a conversation with you but you barely said a couple of words during the trip, when they arrived at his house he helped you to lower your bag and get comfortable in his house but the nerves were growing worse so while he was in his kitchen looking for a glass of water you just said it.

“I’m pregnant and it’s yours.” Never in your life had you said something so fast and this shocked him, he stood still for a moment without even saying anything until you decided to approach him. “Can you say something?”.

“You’re sure?”. He asked and you didn’t know if he was asking if he was the father or if you were sure you were pregnant so you just said yes.

He didn’t say anything to you and he took you in his arms to get up and start turning you around with a smile on his face. “OH GOD I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER.” He was screaming so you knew he was very happy about the news.

“Are you happy?”. “Of course I’m happy there’s going to be a mini me.”

“Unfortunately”. You told him making a joke. “Because I hope he looks like me.”

“What will happen to your career?” He asked you something you hadn’t thought about. “I still don’t know what I do know is that I want the baby and if it is necessary to postpone my career for a while, I will.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to throw everything away for me.” “I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it because this is partly something I always wanted and they never let me even think about it.”

“Because?”. tea asked as he hugged you. “My father always saw a star in me and the children could not interrupt my path so I could not even think about starting a family.”

“But now you’re going to have one and with one of the people he hates the most, poor man with everything he’s going to have to process.” Jude said as he laughed at his comment.

“Do you think people are going to get mad?” Asked.

“Maybe but it doesn’t matter, they are not going to raise the child.”

“Of course not”.

That same night you stayed at his hou se and a short time later you announced on Instagram that you were going to stop playing soccer, to which everyone will be surprised and nobody knew why you had made that decision, so for several months of hiding and not showing up. In public, the speculation had been enormous everywhere and when you turned 7 months pregnant you thought it was time to tell the news.

You were expecting a man with the man least thought of by all, many were moved and many others were upset by the news after that you felt a weight less and you did not care what you thought because you were fine with your life and with your family and the most important you were okay with Jude.

[sissa-arrows]

Did you know during the Spanish Civil War, Moroccan soldiers who were allied with Franco would have rape "camps" for captured (or not) Republican women? One the most well-known perpetrators of such "campaigns" was Mohammed Mizzian, who was close friend of Franco, and after independence in 1956, he was personally invited by king Mohammed V to lead the newly Moroccan Army, and today even has a museum in his honour in Rabat..

And now the same thing is happening to Sahrawi women in the occupied territories.

Without removing anything from this type of horrors, that’s a very difficult subject for one simple reason. Part of Morocco was a Spanish colony.

Colonizers do use soldiers from the colonies to do horrific things. For example in Algeria a non negligible part of the soldiers who were sent by France to kill Algerians during the massacres of Setif, Guelma and the rest of the region, leading to the slaughter of 45000 Algerians, were Black infantrymen from other colonies. During the war against Vietnam keeping them from gaining their independence, some of the troops sent by France were Africans (Mostly Moroccan and Black men but they eventually started using them less and less because they were deserting the French army to join the Vietnamese revolution). Even without making them join the army France tried really hard to create division and use the colonized against each other. For example whenever Algerians organized an uprising the people would get arrested and either sentenced to death by guillotine or to forced labor and exile. For the “biggest” uprisings (excluding the war of liberation) they tended to avoid execution because they didn’t want to turn them into Shouhada in the eyes of the people. So the French often sentenced them to forced labor and exile. The exile always happened in other French colonies because the goal was also to use the Algerians to outnumber the indigenous people. Trying to turn the Algerians exiled into foot soldiers for French colonialism in those places (which didn’t work as well as planned but still).

So the colonized being forced to join the colonizers army and committing horrors in said army either by force or by choice is a subject that’s very complicated in my opinion. I don’t think they should be absolved of everything they did but I also don’t think they should be judged without taking into account the context. They were Black and Brown men at a time were refusing to fight for France could have easily gotten them under a guillotine. We all would love to think we would have chosen the guillotine over committing these horrors but the truth is we (myself included) don’t actually know what we would have done.

On top of it people (not saying that’s what you’re doing) LOVE to mention what the colonized did in the colonizer’s army while pretending white soldiers were not worst. So the colonized joining the colonizers armies is a very complicated subject in my opinion and not something I feel knowledgeable enough to talk about at length to condemn it.

That being said rape is definitely something that Morocco uses against the Sahrawi women. They also send tons of rape threats to Sahrawi and Algerian women online who dare be vocal against the occupation of Western Sahara. And this time they aren’t an army forced to act because the colonizers said so. They are not forced to join the army either. So there is absolutely no nuance. In this case they are the colonizers and they are hurting the colonized in horrific ways.

[mythicalmisery]

Fighter/Artist AU : GhostxSoap

AO3

Soap quickly made his way from his last lecture to his motorcycle sitting in the parking lot. Knocking over anyone who stood in his way, earning him a few choice words as he practically sprinted down the halls. He had three midterms that week and was fucking exhausted. One would think that being an art major would be less stressful, but that was wishful thinking. 

He slid his helmet over his slightly grown-out mohawk, lifting the kickstand and setting off on that familiar drive to the other side of town he took every week. Soap had a particular affinity for sketching real-world objects and people. He believed that capturing the human form, with all its complexities and intricacies, was one of the most challenging and rewarding aspects of his craft. To hone his skills, he sought out places where he could observe people in their most natural states and one of his favorite places for this purpose was Price's MMA boxing gym.

Price's MMA gym held a special place in Soap's heart. It wasn't just a place for fighters to train and beat the shit out of each other. Soap had practically grown up within the confines of that gym, having spent his high school days cleaning it after hours in exchange for some pocket change. It was during that time that he earned the nickname "Soap" because of the way he scrubbed the floors and equipment spotless.

One of the main reasons Soap loved the gym was the owner, an old family friend, retired military captain John Price. Price had been a mentor to him, teaching him valuable life lessons and discipline. Soap considered him a father figure, especially after his own father had passed away when he was just a child.

Soap’s best friend, Gaz, was among the gym’s most dedicated fighters. Gaz had dreams of making it big in the world of UFC, and he trained tirelessly, leaving no room for distractions. Despite their different paths in life, Soap and Gaz remained close friends even as his career started to take off. Soap often joined in on his training sessions and sketched Gaz as he practiced his punches and kicks, capturing the intensity of the man's movements. 

Every week, Soap would visit the gym, finding a comfortable spot in the corner, sketchbook in hand, and losing himself in the world around him. He sketched the fighters as they sparred and practiced. Each line and shadow made with his pencils captured their movements and forms on paper forever. The clanging of weights and the thudding of punches in the background became a form of comfort for Soap over the years. Easy to get lost in the symphony of noise. 

This particular day, he noticed something was off as soon as he stepped foot in the gym. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Everyone standing around was talking in hushed voices and whispers. As Soap sat down in his usual corner, he instantly noticed the subject of everyone's attention. A newcomer, and a striking one at that. Blond hair, tall, and with a physique that could only be described as imposing. Soap recognized him from one of the hundreds of fights he was forced to watch every week with Gaz. His name was Simon “The Ghost” Riley and he was quickly becoming a rising star in his weight division. Sports networks raved about him and were labeling him the next big thing in the world of mixed martial arts. He was talking with Price in the corner of the ring, Gaz also joining them off to the side. If he remembered correctly, the man was from Manchester. Price had mentioned wanting to bring in more talent, guess it finally happened. 

For three whole weeks, Soap couldn't tear his eyes away from Simon Riley. There was something captivating about him, something that drew Soap in like a moth to a flame. Simon's powerful physique and the way he moved in the ring were a sight to behold. He quickly became Soap's favorite subject to draw, and he couldn't help but blush every time he caught himself focusing too hard on the details of Simon's impressive figure. Gaz certainly never let him forget it after casually flipping through his drawings one day and noticing a recurring theme. He had offered to introduce Soap to the man but he swiftly denied the invitation, painfully aware that the fighter was well out of his league. 

It was during the fourth week of his new infatuation that shit hit the fan quickly. Soap had been lost in his sketches like normal when he felt a sudden tug on his sketchbook. It happened so suddenly he was powerless to stop it. Startled, he looked up to find the one and only Simon Riley holding his sketchbook with an unreadable expression on his face. Flipping through the multiple pages filled with sketches of himself. 

"Seems like I have a stalker," Simon teased, his lips quirking up into a playful smile.

Soap's cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, "I-I'm not a stalker. I just... I’m an art student, I come here to practice, I swear”

Simon chuckled, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, you're quite talented,” he admitted, still studying the sketches. “These sketches are impressive.”

Soap was still furiously blushing as the man handed him back his sketchbook. Soap couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Riley, he was even more intimidating up close. 

“Thank you, and I’m sorry” he managed to say, his voice a tad shaky. 

Simon’s teasing grin softened into a warm smile. “No need to apologize. I’m flattered, actually. Not every day I meet an artist who appreciates my…assets.” He winked, making the man's blush deepened even more. How cute. He mercifully decided to let Soap off the hook and started to back away. 

“The name's Simon, Simon Riley, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” the man stated, causing that lopsided grin to reappear on his face. 

“And does the artist have a name?”

“You can call me Soap.”

“Soap? What the hell kind of name is that?” Simon chuckled.

“It’s a nickname, you haven’t earned the real one quite just yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Soap,” the Brit said as he turned to head back to the training mats. 

From that day forward, whenever Soap visited the gym, he couldn't help but steal glances at the fighter whenever he could. And it seemed that Simon was just as intrigued by Soap. He began to pay more attention to the artist in the corner, watching him sketch with a keen interest. He would often strike up a conversation with Soap between training sessions, asking about his art and life outside the gym. Soap found himself drawn not only to Simon's physical presence but also to his genuine interest in getting to know him. One day, after finishing his training session, Simon decided to take their interactions a step further.

He leaned up against the ropes of the ring, that stupid smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Soap,” he called out, beckoning him towards the mats with a toss of his head. 

Soap blinked in surprise. “Me? In the ring?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly with a mix of excitement and nervousness. 

Simon just grinned and nodded his head back at him. “Yeah, why not? Just some light sparring. It will be fun.”

Soap hesitated, but the prospect of getting into the ring with his crush was too enticing to resist. To be that up close and personal with the man. He slowly shook his head and made his way to the ring. Rolling under the ropes and hopping up to face Simon who had that beaming smile aimed at him. It took everything in him not to melt right through the mat. 

“If I pin you, you tell me your real name. Deal?”

“Yeah cause that’s bloody fair coming from the professional fighter,” Soap scoffed back.

“Ah, don’t sell yourself short Soap, you seem like you know your way around the ring” Simon embellished with a wink. Cheeky bastard.

Soap watched countless sparring sessions, but had never imagined himself as one of the participants. To his surprise, he held his own quite well, showcasing a natural talent for the sport. Maybe spending years in the gym watching fighters had taught him more than he realized. Simon seemed impressed by his movements and techniques. His usual playful demeanor was giving way to genuine respect, even though he was going easy on the artist. They exchanged blows, both men sweating and grinning as they moved around the ring. 

As they sparred, Soap couldn’t help but stare at the man's body before him. The taught muscles shifting under his tight black athletic wear. Yeah, this was a bad idea. He glanced up at Simon's face, noticing the mischievous glint in Simon’s eye. Fuck. He definitely had been caught ogling the man's body. 

Suddenly, without warning, Simon hooked his left leg around Soap's ankle, sending him sprawling to the mat. Before he could even register what happened, Simon was on top of him and pushing down all his weight. He was trapped. 

Soap struggled beneath Simon’s crushing bulk, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You… you did that on purpose. I was distracted,” he accused, though he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his face. 

Simon laughed above him, his eyes locking onto Soap’s with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. “Maybe I did,” he admitted, leaning in closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “But I have to say, I like seeing you blush.”

Soap’s heart raced as he realized the proximity between them. Simon leaned in, his lips hovering just above Soap’s, leaving no room to wonder about his intentions. When Soap didn’t pull away, Simon closed the gap, capturing Soap's mouth in his. The kiss was electrifying, sending a rush of desire through Soap's body. It was a moment Soap had only ever dreamed of, and he responded eagerly, their lips moving in sync as the world around them faded away. 

When they finally broke apart, Soap's face was flushed, and his breath was unsteady. Simon grinned down at him, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted.

Soap’s voice quivered as he replied, “Me too.”

“I expect a real name to call you now since I won,” he cheekily stated.

“You bloody cheated ya wanker!” Soap shouted at the man. 

“Don’t be a sore loser now mate,” Simon punctuated with a kiss to the man’s nose.

Soap huffed as he finally accepted defeat, the man was impossible. “John. John MacTavish”

Simon beamed at the man beneath him, hands holding Soap’s face like a prized possession as he leaned back in for another kiss. 

“Nice to meet you, Johnny”

Epilogue

As weeks went by, Soap and Simon’s connection deepened. They spent more time together outside the gym, going for coffee and sharing meals. Soap found himself falling hard for the enigmatic fighter, and it seemed that Simon’s interest in him was just as strong. 

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring session that had ended with a playful wrestling match on the gym floor, Soap finally mustered the courage to ask Simon a burning question. “Why do they call you ‘The Ghost’?”

Simon’s expression grew somber, and he sighed. “It’s a nickname I got during my early fighting days. They said I moved like a ghost in the ring, that I was elusive and hard to predict or some shit like that.”

Soap nodded, but he could sense there was more to the story. “Is there a reason you chose to become a fighter?”

Simon hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I had a tough upbringing, Johnny. Fighting was a way for me to escape the fucking shit in my everyday life. What started as a necessity for survival turned into my salvation. It gave me purpose and a sense of control over my life. God, that sounds pathetic doesn’t it,” he scoffed. 

Soap could see the pain in Simon’s eyes. He reached out to place a hand on his arm and scooted towards the man where they were still sitting on the mats. “It’s not pathetic Si, I’m glad you found something that brought you solace,” he said softly. Eyes never leaving the others, making sure he knew he meant every word. 

Simon smiled, his gaze softening. For once in his life, he truly believed Johnny had meant what he said. He was so used to people lying and using him, causing him to always stay distant and closed off. Something about the little artist in the corner had knocked all those barriers down the first time he laid eyes on him. “And I’m glad I found you,” he admitted, leaning in to capture Soap’s lips in a passionate kiss. The man had sketched his way into his heart forever. 

[princess-of-the-corner]

MLP Rewrite AU - How is Starlight Glimmer's redemption arc changed up, as the most divisive one in the show?

OH OKAY SO

I went into rewriting both the premier and finale focusing on her before so I'm just gonna go through plot points

So like. With the town. Change it so that Starlight's belief has her genuinely take her own Cutie Mark. Like in general I'm changing it because like like. Even if your Talent is taken, you still have years of training and knowledge. So everyone in town, instead of sucking ass at what used to be their talent, is now forbidden from doing it(even though they still crave to do so).

Starlight still knows how to do the spell even without her Cutie Mark, so she can still take their Marks. And other than being forbidden from pursuing their old talent, everyone's pretty happy actually! Not- not fully happy. They miss their passion and they're depressed, but they're not full cult-mode.

I think maybe cut down on the actual 'kidnapping and brain wash' thing for the most part. Just Starlight being very preachy and manipulative and figuring out how to poke and prod at insecurities about ones' Talent. Maybe have her words genuinely get through to some of the Mane Six. Like have Twilight think about how much her Talent for Magic has lead to the pressure put on her and forced her into the Princess role. Have Rarity feel like her Talent is wasted in her passion, as gemstone spells are only a tiny fraction of what she does. They don't fully fall for it, but they consider it.

It's only once the Mane Six convince the town that no, you're not happy without your Talent, and the town revolts, then Starlight goes 'no fuck you!!' and we get the fight.

Now for the finale:

I think having her be less 'fuck the Mane Six in particular' but still on her crusade against Cutie Marks. Her jumping through time is more to study them to she can figure out where they came from and get rid of them for good, and ofc she jumps to the Rainboom because it was an Event that connected the Mane Six through their Cutie Marks. Clearly there's more info there, and if she could see it in action....

The changes and alternate Timelines come from either her being there in general and/or her and Twilight fighting and keep ending up changing the race.

After Time Shenanigans and all, when Twilight asks that Starlight shows her where this all started, Starlight has more examples than just 'my friend got his Cutie Mark and he left'.

There's another friend whose talent was in dance, until an accident disabled them. Yet another whose passion died because their family forced them to do nothing but their talent, never engaging in a hobby even.

Even showing her ponies from her town. Sugar Belle who might be a great baker, but feels lost amongst the sea of other ponies who have baking and cooking talents. Party Favor, who is good at providing the best items one would need for decor, games, catering, music, etc., but can't plan a party to save his life and ended up floundering in requests to make a spectacle like some other party ponies.

Twilight would muse on the subject, admitting how back when she first came to Starlight's town, she questioned it as well. If she'd had a 'normal' Cutie Mark, or none at all, she may not be where she is. No complicated mentorship with the Princess, no near-death experiences, no pressure to deal with every disaster that pops up, no being forced into a role she didn't ever want.

But she also muses that, without all of that happening, she wouldn't be herself anymore. She wouldn't have the friends she loves or all the memory of them. (hell bring them back to the castle so Starlight can see the memory chandelier tree!)

Twilight brings up how she knows Sugar Belle and Party Favor and the others were miserable, and that for all the hardships they wanted their Marks back. That, now with a supportive community, they and their talents are thriving.

She doesn't know what happened to the others Starlight mentioned. But she does know that it's not your talent that's the source of such a bad state of mind, it's the environment. You need people around you who care and support you, all of you. They need to let a talent thrive. And while there may be situations, like the dancer who ended up disabled, it doesn't have to stop them. It will hurt, of course. They may never be the same. But they can still find ways to engage in what they love.

Starlight, though still angry and hurt, cannot stay in denial. But she is lost and confused. So when Twilight reaches out, offers to help her learn how to be better and how to get herself out of this mess, she takes the offer

[mariacallous]

On a stifling April afternoon in Ajmer, in the Indian state of Rajasthan, local politician Shakti Singh Rathore sat down in front of a greenscreen to shoot a short video. He looked nervous. It was his first time being cloned.

Wearing a crisp white shirt and a ceremonial saffron scarf bearing a lotus flower—the logo of the BJP, the country’s ruling party—Rathore pressed his palms together and greeted his audience in Hindi. “Namashkar,” he began. “To all my brothers—”

Before he could continue, the director of the shoot walked into the frame. Divyendra Singh Jadoun, a 31-year-old with a bald head and a thick black beard, told Rathore he was moving around too much on camera. Jadoun was trying to capture enough audio and video data to build an AI deepfake of Rathore that would convince 300,000 potential voters around Ajmer that they’d had a personalized conversation with him—but excess movement would break the algorithm. Jadoun told his subject to look straight into the camera and move only his lips. “Start again,” he said.

Right now, the world’s largest democracy is going to the polls. Close to a billion Indians are eligible to vote as part of the country’s general election, and deepfakes could play a decisive, and potentially divisive, role. India’s political parties have exploited AI to warp reality through cheap audio fakes, propaganda images, and AI parodies. But while the global discourse on deepfakes often focuses on misinformation, disinformation, and other societal harms, many Indian politicians are using the technology for a different purpose: voter outreach.

Across the ideological spectrum, they’re relying on AI to help them navigate the nation’s 22 official languages and thousands of regional dialects, and to deliver personalized messages in farther-flung communities. While the US recently made it illegal to use AI-generated voices for unsolicited calls, in India sanctioned deepfakes have become a $60 million business opportunity. More than 50 million AI-generated voice clone calls were made in the two months leading up to the start of the elections in April—and millions more will be made during voting, one of the country’s largest business messaging operators told WIRED.

Jadoun is the poster boy of this burgeoning industry. His firm, Polymath Synthetic Media Solutions, is one of many deepfake service providers from across India that have emerged to cater to the political class. This election season, Jadoun has delivered five AI campaigns so far, for which his company has been paid a total of $55,000. (He charges significantly less than the big political consultants—125,000 rupees [$1,500] to make a digital avatar, and 60,000 rupees [$720] for an audio clone.) He’s made deepfakes for Prem Singh Tamang, the chief minister of the Himalayan state of Sikkim, and resurrected Y. S. Rajasekhara Reddy, an iconic politician who died in a helicopter crash in 2009, to endorse his son Y. S. Jagan Mohan Reddy, currently chief minister of the state of Andhra Pradesh. Jadoun has also created AI-generated propaganda songs for several politicians, including Tamang, a local candidate for parliament, and the chief minister of the western state of Maharashtra. “He is our pride,” ran one song in Hindi about a local politician in Ajmer, with male and female voices set to a peppy tune. “He’s always been impartial.”

While Rathore isn’t up for election this year, he’s one of more than 18 million BJP volunteers tasked with ensuring that the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi maintains its hold on power. In the past, that would have meant spending months crisscrossing Rajasthan, a desert state roughly the size of Italy, to speak with voters individually, reminding them of how they have benefited from various BJP social programs—pensions, free tanks for cooking gas, cash payments for pregnant women. But with the help of Jadoun’s deepfakes, Rathore’s job has gotten a lot easier.

He’ll spend 15 minutes here talking to the camera about some of the key election issues, while Jadoun prompts him with questions. But it doesn’t really matter what he says. All Jadoun needs is Rathore’s voice. Once that’s done, Jadoun will use the data to generate videos and calls that will go directly to voters’ phones. In lieu of a knock at their door or a quick handshake at a rally, they’ll see or hear Rathore address them by name and talk with eerie specificity about the issues that matter most to them and ask them to vote for the BJP. If they ask questions, the AI should respond—in a clear and calm voice that’s almost better than the real Rathore’s rapid drawl. Less tech-savvy voters may not even realize they’ve been talking to a machine. Even Rathore admits he doesn’t know much about AI. But he understands psychology. “Such calls can help with swing voters.”

[five-rivers]

Cult Division 3

Part of the Exhumed series

.

“What do you mean, you can’t change back?” asked Daily. 

“What do you think I mean?” asked Danny, stepping off the cloth, then stooping to ball it up into something he could easily carry.  “I can’t go back to being Phantom.”

“Then they really revived you?”

“No,” said Danny, “I don’t think so.”  He could still feel his ghost half, he just couldn’t grab it.  It had been like this for less than a minute and he already hated it. 

Daily shifted, looking around the park.  “Okay, um.  Can you do any of your… stuff?  The ghost stuff?”

Danny bit his lip and cycled through his basic powers.  Nothing.  He shook his head. 

“Oh, that’s bad.  You’re just like a normal kid now.”

He wasn’t wrong, exactly, but Danny wished he’d phrased it at least slightly differently. 

“A normal kid… In the park in the middle of the night…”  Daily shook his head.  “We shouldn’t be here when McGee comes back.  He still hasn’t chilled out.”

Meaning, he was still looking for things to report back to the agency that sent him in the first place.  Danny groaned.  “Don’t worry, I’m going home.”  Maybe his parents would have some insight into what had happened.  Or, at least, who they had sold Ghost Catcher thread to.

“Hey, no, wait, you can’t walk home from here like that.  You’re not even wearing a coat.”

“I don’t really have another option—”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Isn’t that Collin’s car?”

“He won’t miss it.  And he left the keys.”

Danny stared for a moment at the blatant lies, then shrugged.  He could still hear distant sounds of people running through trees and bushes.  It would take a while for Collins, Paterson, and McGee to catch everyone, assuming they caught anyone at all, and Fentonworks wasn’t that far away. 

He walked back to the car and opened the door, the front one, this time, and slid in.  Daily got in the other side, then stared blankly at the steering wheel. 

“You do know how to drive, right?”  It was a valid question.  Danny had never seen Daily drive. 

“Of course I do!  I just haven’t driven this car before.”  He started the car up, and very slowly pulled out onto the road. 

The slowness of the drive gave Danny time to further assess himself.  His ghost half was definitely, absolutely, still there (thank goodness).  It just felt… weighed down.  Pinned.  Tied up. 

He started picking at the glowing thread.  The patterns were repeated on his skin, but maybe it was just a matter of taking off his clothes…

The car slowed to a halt.  “Do you need me to walk you in?” asked Daily, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel.  “I can…  Explain to your parents?  Or maybe your sister?”  Jazz was mentioned in a significantly more helpful tone than his parents.

“No, I’ve got it,” said Danny, opening the door.  “Thanks for the ride.  You’ll let me know what you find out about that cult and…”  He gestured at himself.  “Whatever they did.”

“Okay,” said Daily.  “Yeah.  Of course!  That’s my job, right?”

Keeping an eye on and researching cults was part of Daily’s job, but telling Danny wasn’t.  Still.  “Yeah,” said Danny, smiling weakly. 

.

Collins frowned at the empty parking lot.  “Paterson!” he called. 

“Yeah?” came Paterson’s voice, echoing across the park. 

“Did I, or did I not park here?”

“What?”

Collins groaned.  “Give it up, they got away!”  He sighed.  “Possibly with my car.”

.

Danny did not have the best track record when it came to telling his parents about things, but he was trying to get better.  Still, he felt like the present subject had to broached delicately.  That was why he was sitting on the floor outside their bedroom, listening to his dad snore.

He wanted to tell them.  He wanted to fix this.  But he didn’t want to admit how much trouble he’d gotten into and how a bunch of cultists had gotten the better of him. 

But he was trying, and his new, ugh, magic glowing tattoos weren’t something he could hide.  He picked up the broom he had brought with him and opened the door.  No point in knocking, they both wore earplugs to bed.  He picked up the broom and poked his dad with the end of it. 

“WHAT!  GHOST!”

“Hmhph?” said Maddie.  “Ghost?”  She had a small ectoblaster in her hand already. 

“No, just me.”  Danny put down the broom and raised his hands. 

“Oh, Danno,” said Jack, rubbing at one eye as Maddie pried the earplugs from his ears. “What are you doing here?” 

Danny bit his lower lip.  “I… might have screwed up.”

.

“Danny, sweetheart, that doesn’t sound like it was your fault.  It would have happened even if you stayed home.  You were kidnapped.”

“I guess.”  It still felt like he could have done something.  Maybe if he’d paid a little more attention to the cults, kept a closer eye on what they were doing.

“But we do need to see what we can do with all this.”  She picked up his hand and rubbed her thumb over one of the green marks on its back.  “…and about that summoning thing.  I don’t like that these people can just snatch you away whenever they like.”

“And we’ll never let them do anything like that again!  Or else!” said Jack, brandishing the spatula he was using to flip the pancakes.

“It sounded like it was related to the date somehow.”

“That doesn’t comfort us much, sweetie.  Especially considering what they did to you.  Do you think they really involved your, ah…”

“I mean…”  Danny trailed off and took his hand back.  He rubbed his arms against the sudden chill.  “I don’t know.  It’s not like I’ve never gotten my powers knocked out of whack.  It could be like that.  Might even have a time limit.”

“But?” prompted Maddie. 

“But… it feels different,” admitted Danny.  “It’s weight, not static.”

“Do you think we’ll need to, uh, what’s the word again, for digging up a, um…”

“Exhumation,” said Maddie, before Jack could come up with a proper euphemism for corpse. 

Danny wasn’t really comfortable about his… mortal remains.  But the pauses and too-obvious references were, in many ways, worse. 

Literally everything else about his life was better than when he’d still been keeping things a secret, though!  He did not want to go back!

Except maybe to earlier tonight, when getting the dead half of his body shoved back into him wasn’t something he had to worry about happening.

“We’ll have to ask the police about that,” said Maddie.  “Maybe we can start with a few simple tests after breakfast, though.  See if how much your readings changed from your baseline.”

“Hey!  Could be that all you need is a trip through the old Ghost Catcher!”

“Ghost Catcher string partially caused this,” said Danny.  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to, uh, cross wires.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem with that,” said Jack.  “The strings aren’t reactive with each other, they wouldn’t work if they were.  Speaking of which, how did they even get it into this cloth?”  Jack used the spatula to point at the cloth, which was spread out over Jazz’s chair.  “Usually, you have to have special tools to work with any of it, or else it just falls through.”

“I don’t know, they didn’t really say anything beyond path of enlightenment nonsense.  You know, the whole ‘we worship you but won’t listen to a thing you say’ thing.”

Maddie sighed.  “We’ll just hope they get caught so they can tell us what they were actually trying to do.  In the meantime, we’ll do our own research…  And maybe you can use this as a break.  A little vacation.”

“In the same way sick days are a vacation, I guess.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No,” said Danny.  “Not yet, anyway.”

“Maybe you should stay home from school until we can find a way to undo this.”

“Aw, no, Mom.  I don’t want to miss any school.  I’ve been actually doing okay this year.”

“But we don’t know how any of this is going to affect you.  What if it is temporary, and your… body is involved.  What happens if it times out in class?”

Danny swallowed, suddenly nauseous.  “I hadn’t thought about that.”

.

The chief of police sat in his office, blinds drawn, two thirds of the trouble trio and Cameron Daily. 

“You’re telling me that the person who is primarily responsible for protecting our city from hostile ghosts has been nerfed by cultists.  Cultists that you let get away.”

“Hey!” said Daily.  “I didn’t know you knew what nerfed meant, chief!”

The chief groaned.  “Find these cultists.  Figure out what they did.  Get the Fentons whatever they need to undo this.  Fast.”

.

“Alright,” said Maddie, as if she hadn’t been having a whispered argument with Jack only minutes before, “I’m going to city hall to file the exhumation paperwork.  You two stay here unless something happens to Danny.  No leaving for ghost attacks.”

“Aw,” said both Jack and Danny. 

“But, Mom—”  

“No buts.  This is a sick day for Danny, and someone needs to look after him the whole time.”  She pointed sharply at Jack.  “Don’t run off.”

Danny hunched his shoulder.  He wasn’t that bad to look after, was he?  Not that he wanted to be looked after.

“But if I’m the one to talk to Vladdie, it’ll be faster!”

“It’ll be hours, sweetie, if you two get started.  If he doesn’t leave you in the waiting room,” she added under her breath.  “You know how you two get.”

“Not when Danny’s at stake!”

Maddie gave him a look. 

“Fine,” said Jack. 

“Maybe you two can do something together while I’m gone.  Fudge, maybe?  Or cookies?”

“Oooooh!” said Jack.  “Yeah!  Cookies!  How does that sound, Danno?”

“I have homework,” groused Danny. 

“I can help with that, too!”

“Goodbye, guys.  Oh!  Remember, if I’m not back by lunch, run the tests again, okay?”

“Will do, Maddie!”

“Okay, Mom,” said Danny, giving a little wave. 

“Good, good.  So, keys, cell phone, wallet, boo-staff—” The door clicked closed, cutting off the rest of her list. 

“Okay,” said Jack, thumping Danny’s back and giving him a little shove at the stairs.  “I’ll get the kitchen set up!  You get your homework!”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Okay.” 

“Fundge here we come!” said Jack, pumping his fist.  “Get it?  Fundge?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, giving him a weak smile.  “I get it.”  He started for the stairs, irrationally annoyed he couldn’t fly up them.  He wouldn’t have flown up them anyway.  He hardly ever did that. 

He walked into his room and stopped.  Actually, where was his homework?  Where was his backpack? 

Ugh.  Typical. 

He started looking behind and underneath things, the process all the more tedious because he couldn’t just reach through them.  Hopefully he hadn’t done something stupid like phase it into the wall last night.  ‘Oops, I made my homework inaccessible to the living’ was not going to fly in any of his classes…  Unless he blamed it on his parents…  Food for thought.  He paused to email a request for class notes to Sam and Tucker.  Halfway through writing the message, he heard the screaming doorbell go off.

“I’ve got it!” called Jack. 

“Okay!”  Danny hit send on the email and kept looking for his backpack.  He dropped to the floor to look under his bed, scowled as it wasn’t there, either, then got up and tripped over his sheets, pulling them off his bed. 

Why had he put his backpack in his bed?  So stupid. 

He shouldered it and prepared to go downstairs, but… 

Something was wrong.  He thought back, trying to decide what it was.  Living… or unliving?  Half-living the way he did, he was pretty good at pinpointing the sources of vague senses of wrongness.

It was quiet. 

The front door hadn’t shut. 

Holy crap, had someone just kidnapped his dad?

Emergency blaster, emergency blaster…  He held his backpack by one strap to use as a bludgeon – the books in it were certainly heavy enough – and held the blaster steady in his other hand.  He would activate the Defense System, but his parents had ripped a lot of it out after the reveal and were still in the process of reinstallation. 

He tapped his door open with his foot and ventured out into the house.  It really was too quiet.  Almost suffocatingly so.  He held his breath.  Probably not the best choice, strategically, but something about everything…

He hit the bottom step of the stairs, turned into the kitchen, and ran into two people wearing oxygen masks. 

His reflexes were better, so he started firing immediately.  Ectoblasters weren’t meant to hurt humans, not really, but the impact to the chest was enough to knock both of the men back.  The recoil was equally sufficient to knock the air out of Danny’s lungs.  He wasn’t really trying to hold his breath, after all. 

He ran past them, inhaling, and… stumbled, suddenly dizzy. 

Oxygen masks. 

Stupid mistake!  Sometimes his instincts were good!

Something touched his upper arm, and he lashed out, swinging his backpack backwards.  There was an oof sort of sound, and one of the men toppled over.  The other one pulled the backpack out of Danny’s hand, which was a mistake, because he was still holding the gun.  Ectogun.  Whatever.  He shot him. 

Then…  Outside.  Whatever was in here, they couldn’t have enough to get the whole neighborhood, and if they could get away with just oxygen masks, it probably wasn’t super toxic.  Also, if it had spread very far, someone in the neighborhood would have noticed.  Probably.  Maybe. 

They’d notice enough to complain, at least. 

Halfway through the living room, he had to breathe again.  Human physical limits sucked. 

Black spots danced over his vision and left him on his knees.  He got back up and went for the door, stumbling drunkenly.  He hit it with his face.  Why were doors so hard to operate?

The black spots slowly grew until they consumed his vision. 

“Did… did he just run into a wall?”

“Just because he’s perfect doesn’t mean he smart.  And get rid of… we… need… backpack…”

.

Collins and Paterson stared at the most significant piece of physical evidence regarding Daniel Fenton’s kidnapping. 

“If you’re not going to say it, I am,” said Paterson. 

“Don’t say it,” said Collins. 

“I really want to, though.”

“Don’t.”

“I think ‘my homework ate a kidnapper’ is a great excuse for not doing it.  That kid is brutal.  How much blood do you think is on that thing?”

“Paterson, he got kidnapped.”

“Yeah,” said Paterson, a grin plastered on her face, “and that’s terrifying, thanks.  Let me have this.”

McGee escorted Daily through the front door of Fentonworks, his hand firmly on the man’s shoulder.  “Got him,” he said. 

“Oh, man,” said Daily.  “So, this is what a real crime scene looks like.”  He saw the backpack and squeaked.  “Is that blood?”

“Yeah.  Now do your thing and find out why these two think what happened last night in the park is connected to this.  Fenton wasn’t actually involved in that, was he?”

“His family takes care of the gravesite,” said Collins.  “And this is the biggest crime in Amity Park for years.  We have to look at everything.”

“Uh huh,” said McGee.  “Well, I’m going to go back out and question the father.”

Collins groaned internally.  Dealing with McGee was usually… if not exactly fun, then at least amusing, but dealing with his everything on a case like this…  With Danny’s… possibly with Danny’s life on the line, who knew how that worked with the whole cult thing…

“Do you think we can offload McGee on someone else?” he asked Paterson. 

“And give him something to actually report to his bosses?  Not a chance.”

[genderfluiddipshit]

Smoke Break - A Pressure One Shot

Rated General (no tw/cw apply)

Tags: Reader Perspective, AU, Sebastian is just a wee bit depressed, taking advantage of the fact he smokes tobacco

Despite the name, the EXR-P divisions were anything but what they were meant to be: expendable. Blood transfusions, defibrillators, and resuscitative measures were used to ensure that prisoners wouldn’t just kill themselves to get out of a prison sentence. Instead, they had 2 choices: actually complete the objective of collecting the crystal and escaping with their lives, or be forced to loop endlessly in futile struggle. You wanted to do the former, but luck wasn’t on your side, so the latter ended up being your new purgatory. 

On your current “run,” you decided to go solo, as your previous group was too cowardly to go anywhere beyond the starting dock. While the solace was eerie, it was nice to be alone for once. However, that didn’t mean you were fully alone, of course. 

You had just reached the next door after an Eyefestation. As your head cleared, you looked up at the red navpath behind you. Fifty two. Ugh. You looked around for loose assets as usual, picking up folders until you heard something other than the jingling of key rings with USBs and manila folders with proprietary information. A clicking noise could be heard throughout the room. What could it be? A Wall Dweller making a hunting call? A collective Good People chittering as it awaited fresh meat?

You couldn’t quite pinpoint the sound until the faint clicking preceded a loud bang and a frustrated grumble. It sounded like it was coming from a distant room, so you continued onward. Fifty three, fifty four, fifty five, fifty six…

By the sixty-fourth room, you wondered if the noise was just a figment of your imagination. 

Then it was right next to you. 

A soft click sounded next to you, on your left. You only heard it once, followed by a deep inhale and exhale…Was someone smoking? You could smell the sour tobacco seeping out through the door. Smelled like a Chainsmoker, but softer, less pungent. 

You slowly opened the door. 

The wave of cigarette smoke hit you like a train. You coughed and attempted to regain your senses as you turned on your lantern to see. 

“No no no, allow me.” A figure stood out against the smoke and weak lantern light. It seemed to fill the entire room. From what you could make out, it reached up toward its head and pulled at one of its appendages to illuminate itself, reminding you of an old lamp. 

“What brings you here, prisoner?” It took a big huff from its cigarette. Two empty packs laid on a desk in front of him, with a third halfway done. Its voice rasped from the cig binge, and it tilted its head curiously as it awaited a response. 

“Just doin my job, big guy. What are you, and how did you get here?” And why do you have so many cigarettes, you added mentally. 

It chuckled and uncurled its long, serpentine tail that it rested over, smudging the butt on the desk in a divot made from being burnt. 

“My name is Sebastian, and I was like you once. I was imprisoned under Urbanshade, and so I was subjected to whatever nefarious programs they had on the docket. The wheel landed on experimentation when I was being looked over, so they decided to attempt at giving me gills. It worked, but look at me,” it gestured dejectedly to its body, “I became this monster. I got so angry that I practically murdered the whole research team and fled down here. Now I just sit here and think about life and how to maybe go back up to the surface to have a normal one.”

As it had been talking, you had taken a seat beside it, the creature towering over you menacingly. While it didn’t attempt or appear to be threatening, you kept yourself on high alert. That is, until it made a proposition. 

“Care for a smoke?”

OUGHHG FIRST PIECE OF PRESSURE FANFIC BAYBEE also these lovely dividers are by cafekitsune on tumblr! :3 i was drawing a pic of sebby in the gabe dress and it reminded me of a flapper so i gave him the long...cigarette...holder...thingie- ANYWAY here's the gist of it:

[zelphin124]

SeasonTale - Prologue

It's finally here! For those of you who wanted more SeasonTale... I'm finally starting the story!

Here we go!

“This isn’t a good idea.” 

“And why do you think that?” 

“According to my calculations, the two princes will fight for power once they are older. This will lead to a division in your plan.” 

“Perhaps, but they are both my sons.” 

“Which alone is impossible. I don’t understand how you had two.” 

“Well, I did, and both seem equally worthy of becoming my assassin servant.” 

“One of them will rebel.” 

“If you’re so smart, tell me what to do with the other!” 

“You could give a child to the scientist.” 

A long moment of silence past between the conversers as a new creature joined their conversation. 

“I experiment on monsters, it wouldn’t be a good idea to give him to me.” 

“A prince should not be treated to such a pathetic life.” 

“Rude.” 

“But he doesn’t have to know that he was ever a prince.” 

“That’s impossible. Their eyes will show that they are related.” 

“Not if you changed them with magic.” 

The Gasters floated silently as they observed the third. They pondered what the stranger said. 

“Shouldn’t you keep them separated anyway? So they don’t find each other and rebel?” 

“We’ve already taken care of the other two children, surely they won’t find each other.” 

“It’d be devastating to our plan if they somehow did all meet.” 

“Exactly. So, change one of the other’s eyelids with magic and send him with the scientist. Your plan will be flawless with them never meeting each other.” 

“But the bond of brotherhood is so strong-” 

“Do as he says. Take the smaller one as your son. I wanted him less anyway.” 

“I am not a father. I conduct experiments, and I’m about to enter a new project with the spring kingdom’s Gaster by testing my subjects with magic!” 

“Who says the child can’t be one of the subjects?” 

A grin appeared on the scientist's face. He rubbed his hands together. “You, sir, are a smart lad.” 

“I try.” 

“My son will become a prince that everyone fears. He will become a heartless killer. I already see it in him.” 

“If he refuses?” 

“He doesn’t have a choice. I’m sure you’ll make sure of that?” 

“Of course. None of the children have a choice in what happens to them anyway.” 

“But if they find the rebellion?” 

The king snapped a deadly look at the scientist, his eyes lighting up. “Solstice will never find the children, let alone bring them together. I see no flaw in our plan.” 

“But-” 

“You dare question your leader? I’m sure he has the rebellion taken care of.” 

“Take the small Sans, I no longer need him. Make sure to keep him far away from the other kingdoms. And watch the other children from afar.” 

“Yes sire.” 

The scientist scooped up the former prince into his arms and darted off. 

“Do you believe that this plan will work?” 

“Indeed, old friend.” He smiled wickedly. “Soon, you will have four connected AUs ready for your command.”

The stranger floated and nodded silently, smiling to himself. 

“I look forward to it.” 

[kachikirby]

GranEssex Chronicles: Chapter 20 -  Social Butterfly

It has been a few days since Erhard joined the crew of the GranEssex. Fettuccine had left to go back to her division, though they still kept in touch when they could. Right now though, Meta was at a lost to do as Kurabe was off ship at the moment and she didn't leave behind any orders for him. He was left completely to his own devices, which was a strange feeling for him. No missions to take, he already completed his training for the day and the people he usually interacted with were busy. Meta frowned and sighed, knowing that there was something he could do, something that Kurabe kept telling him to do.

"...I guess I should try socializing..."

Maybe he could check on Erhard? No, it might be busy, too. He had no choice now. His best bet was the newer recruits. Vul seemed easy enough to talk to.

"Guess I'll start with him and work my way to the others. That is if I can even find him."

That was the problem with Vul. He never really knew where he was. However... the bird strangely seemed to almost always know where he was.

"No matter. I'll find him eventually. For all I know he might be standing outside my room right now." He let out a sigh as he hopped off his bed and walked out his door.

"Do you usually talk to yourself or is that a just in your room type of deal?" A bird like voice said as soon as he stepped outside.

Meta stared at the source of the voice, which just happened to be the bird he was looking for. "...Why were you outside my room?" Meta asked, ignoring the fact that he heard him talk out loud.

"I asked you a question first. Isn't it rude to just ignore it?"

"...It's an in my room thing." He immediately blushed the moment Vul suppressed a laugh in response to that. "And what about you?" He quickly replied.

"I was just walking by when I heard you mumbling."

"But why did you listen in?"

Vul pointed at his ears. "Not like I can help it when these ears of mine pick up even the smallest sounds."

"I thought so, but you could've simply just ignored it and walked away!"

"I was, then you said you were going to look for me. So being the nice guy that I am I decided to not make you look for me."

This made Meta feel even more embarrassed. "So why did you want to find me anyway?"

The puff looked down. "...sensei wanted me to socialize more so I thought it would be easiest to talk to you first..."

"Alright then. So, what do you want to talk about?"

"...I don't know."

Vul laughed. "No wonder she told you to learn how to socialize. Let's start off small, what kind of things do you like?"

"Training and reading."

"Beyond all that man. Everyone knows that much about you. What's something else you got? Do you like swords or do you just seem them as just tools? Do you enjoy flying? Stuff like that."

"Well, I like swords, of course, and I love flying."

"See now we're getting somewhere. Now to really get a conversation, you need to go into detail. Tell me why exactly you like all those things."

"Well... um... I like swords because they're cool and they remind me of sensei."

"What else? What types of swords do you like?"

"Is there a point to all this?" Meta asked, slightly annoyed.

"Ah ha! There it is. You see, that's a common misconception. Not every conversation needs to a have a point. Simply talking about whatever can be more than enough at times. Besides, you're already feeling less awkward around me now, aren't you?"

"...yeah, I think so."

"Then keep talking. You'll find that people will listen to you more if you are invested in the conversation. So, I ask again, what types of swords do you like?"

"Short swords, mainly because they work the best with my height and fighting style. Beyond that I like the designs of ninjato and katanas. I also like great swords, though they aren't a sword type I'd personally use." Meta replied, surprised that I was actually easy for him to say all of that.

Vul chuckled. "I see you're the type that becomes a chatterbox when you have a subject you like."

"...Perhaps. What about you? What do you like?"

"I like collecting pipes, like the one I have in my mouth. They remind me of my pappy."

"So, you smoke?"

"No, it's all for decoration. The only thing that comes out of this pipe is bubbles."

"I see..." The youth had been told multiple times by his mentor that smoking is unhealthy and that he shouldn't do it.

"Besides, unlike you I don't use magic to fly. I need to keep my lungs in good shape or else flying would be a real pain in the rear."

"Is it true that your bones are thin, too?"

"Yeah, my species naturally has thin bones. It means were light creatures straight from birth, though our bones are much more fragile than the bones of other creatures."

Meta nodded. That was something he learned from his mentor. Many bird type creatures and monsters had thin bones to make them light enough to fly.

"What about you? You don't have any bones, right? How does your body even work?"

"I don't fully know myself. From what sensei said, our bones are just pure cartilage, making us very flexible."

"I think very flexible is an understatement. You could probably fit yourself under any crack in a door."

"If I had the right Copy Ability, probably."

Vul blew out a few bubbles. "How often do you even use Copy Abilities?"

"I technically use them whenever I fight. However, I'm using them in a way that makes me not need to inhale and swallow something first."

"Besides the ones you use, do you really use any other Copy Abilities?"

"...not really." He uttered.

"What are you being so quiet about? It's not like there's anything wrong with not using a lot of those abilities. I don't know much, but some of those abilities seems highly situational."

"It just makes me feel like I'm not reaching my full potential. Like I know some of them are definitely very situational, but then some I see sensei use them and I question that. Like she uses ESP to read the minds of others."

"Let me ask you a question. Do you have any actual interest in using ESP?"

The youth sighed. "Not really. The only thing it would really be good for is getting back at her."

"Then don't worry about it. It's as my pappy once told me. You'll receive more results if you actually like what you do. I mean look at you, you're better with lighting magic than anyone else I've seen use it. Not to mention you're easily one of the best fighters here."

"Yeah, that's true. I prefer to use lightning magic compared to others."

"Besides, do you really think you'd successfully mess with the captain even if you did have ESP?"

"...I wish I could..."

"Well, I know of a way to mess with her."

"Really?" The puff perked up in interest.

"Well, it's easy, in theory anyway. Next time she calls you cute or something, return the compliment."

"Why?"

"Well, would she expect it?"

"...Probably not." The youth then blinked. "...wait, that's what she said about flirting! Are you saying to flirt with sensei?!"

"Giving someone a compliment isn't the same thing as flirting ya goof."

"...it isn't?"

"No, where'd you get that idea?"

"...it just sounded similar to the advice that sensei gave me to combat Fettuccine's flirting."

"Well, it's not. Your only other way of getting back at her is not reacting to her. But I think my first suggestion would work out more easily for you."

"...I'll try that out then."

"Well, good, though you're gonna be waiting a while to do that. She's gonna be gone until tomorrow."

"Oh, did she go on another mission?"

"No, just the one she's on is like in another part of the galaxy."

"I see..."

"So, you're stuck with me, unless you want to go out searching for someone to join us."

"Well, sensei wants me to learn to interact with people more. So, I think that would be a good idea."

"Then get searching. You were lucky I just happened to be walking by."

"Would you like to come with me?"

He tilted his head in questioning. "I already was."

"I thought so." He said as he walked off.

"You don't know where to begin do you though?" The bird asked.

"I'll figure it out myself!"

"Well, I would hope so, would defeat the purpose if you didn't."

"I do!"

"You don't need to convince me, just actually go out and do it."

"I'm already going!" He said, now quickly walking away.

"You do know that's a dead end, right?"

"I know that!"

"Look, let's just head to the cafeteria. No doubt you'll find someone that wants to talk to you, considering how many fanboys and fangirls you have."

He blinked. "...I have fans?"

"Of course, you won that tournament. Practically everyone looks up to you after seeing how strong you are."

"...I see..."

"I'm not surprised you haven't noticed, considering how you're almost always on your own or training with the captain and vice captain."

"I don't do that all the time!"

"Right. You're also talking with that cotton candy friend of yours on the communicator, too."

"Why does everyone know about that? Whatever, I'll follow your suggestion. Let's go to the cafeteria."

"I always happen to hear you when you are." The bird replied as he followed after the puff.

"...I'm not going to pretend to know what I'm talking about, but are you interested in me or something?"

"What tipped you off?"

"Well, you always somehow being near me for one. Two, you're happy and have been happy ever since we started talking."

"Well, you're right. I am interested in you."

"...Would you like to be friends then? Like officially or whatever."

The bird chuckled. "You mean we aren't already?"

"Fair enough." Meta replied, slightly smiling.

---------

Soon, they reached the cafeteria which was of course packed.

"Well, who looks easy to talk to?" He wondered to himself.

"Hey, don't look at me!" Vul said.

"I wasn't. Hey, that's Crate over there, right?"

"Yeah, it is! And it looks like she's sitting by herself!"

"Well, I guess I'll talk to her then. Let's go." The bird nodded as he followed him to the dog.

"Um... hey, Crate." He uttered.

The giant boxer looked at Meta and smiled. "Hello there."

"Um... is anyone sitting here?" He asked.

"No." Meta nodded and sat down next to her.

"So... how are you?" "Hot. I just got done training."

"You should drink a lot of water then!"

"I've drunk 3 gallons of water."

"I... I see..."

"My species drinks more water than most because of our size and fur."

"Ok. What about ice cream?"

"I'm allergic to dairy, otherwise I would be eating a large bowl right about now."

"Pretty sure they have vegan flavors." Vul said.

"I've tried them, didn't care for it."

"Or water ice?"

"I don't know what that is."

"They're snow cones but better."

"Maybe later then."

Meta nodded silently. "So, what kind of things do you like?" He then asked.

"Hmm, I like poetry."

"Poetry? Interesting? Would you care to share a few poems with us?" Vul asked.

"Oh, well if you insist." She then cleared her throat. "They fight like heroes. All of their threats get taken down to zero. Like them I wish to be a hero. I'll work hard to not be a zero."

"That's quite good."

"Thank you." She then looked at Meta. "Not that I mind, but is there a reason you're here?"

"To...talk with you." He uttered, slightly embarrassed.

"Ok then. What about?"

"...I don't know..."

"Sensei, wants him to practice socialization." Vul explained.

"Ok. So, talk then, if you want to."

The youth nodded, but then looked nervous.

"Just act like you're talking to the cotton candy lady." The bird sighed.

"She has a name." He grumbled. "Crate, what else do you like?"

"Well, I like helping village whenever I can. Does that count?"

"I guess so..."

"I also like marshmallows. It's fun to squish them before eating them."

"Marshmallows are good." The puff replied.

"...that's strangely funny coming from you." Vul chuckled.

"Why? Because everyone compares Star Warriors to marshmallows?"

"Yeah."

"Well, fine then. Crate, do you train with anyone? You always seem to be on your own."

"I don't train with anyone."

"Why not? Even I spar with other soldiers."

"No one wants to spar with me."

"I've offered to spar with you before though?"

"I rather not burden you..."

"I'm the one that offered though."

"Still! I just feel bad for asking someone like you!"

"Why?"

"I'll just hold you back!"

"Uh, how? It's sparring. It's to both of our benefits."

"Just stop questioning it, ok?"

"Uh... alright."

Both Meta and Vul looked confused at that response.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Crate's mood seemed have taken a complete 180, confusing them more.

"Well, alright." Meta looked at Vul, who seemed to be thinking the same thing as him. "Well, if that's all, we should get going." Meta then said.

"Wait, I have a question for you now. What do you think of sensei?" Crate suddenly asked.

"Well... I have a lot of respect for her. If I'm going to be completely honest, I would be dead if it wasn't for her."

"Ok, I see. I think she's inspiring."

"Yeah, I think so, too. She's so brave and strong, but she's also kind and gentle."

"Yes, she's definitely a good leader."

"I hope to become someone like her someday." Meta sighed as he got up. "Well, I guess we'll see you later, Crate."

"Wait, a minute!" Crate suddenly said.

"What?"

"Um... would you... like to walk around the ship for a while?" She asked nervously.

Meta looked a bit surprised, but didn't see anything wrong with that. "Sure. Are you fine with that, Vul?"

"Well, as long as we talk during it, you'll still be getting socialization practice."

"Yeah, I know. Are you fine with doing more walking?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Alright, come on then you two." Meta said as he started walking. The duo nodded and joined him.

---------

As they walked around Meta noticed something about his new companion. "Crate, you must be excited about walking, aren't you?"

"Oh, that's because I haven't explored much of the ship!" She then paused. "How did you tell?"

"All Star Warriors can sense emotions." He replied simply.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "All emotions?"

"Yes. Joy, sorrow, anger, calm, love, even combinations of those emotions."

"I see..."

"Why? You seem a bit concerned by that."

"Oh, it's nothing."

"Well, alright." Meta replied, deciding to just drop it.

As the group walked around, Crate spoke up again. "Do you know if sensei has any set schedule when she returns from a mission? Like a ritual?"

"Not really. She usually returns whenever she feels like. If anything, she's almost always back before nine PM. But sometimes she comes back after, but usually she's good at getting home before then."

"Does she do anything when she returns?"

"Depends. Sometimes she goes straight to bed, sometimes she gets in some training. She doesn't really have a schedule; she just does whatever she wants."

"Is there like a most likely schedule, though? Like does she shower or eat or go straight to bed."

"I wouldn't know. Why are you so curious about it?"

"I think I'd like to ask her a few things."

"Like what?"

"Private matters."

"Like what kind?"

"It's private for a reason you know. You never know if there's a spy around."

"A spy? I sincerely doubt we have any of those."

"But are you sure about that?"

Meta frowned. "Are you sure that there is one?"

"There might be. You never know."

"In other words, you don't actually know. Crate, you need to stop being so paranoid." The puff told her, giving her a look of suspicion.

"O-Oh right. You're probably right. I'm just nervous about the possibility of one."

The youth stared at her for a moment, but then sighed, as if to accept that answer. Meta then stopped, looking around.

"What's up?" Vul asked.

"I sense someone, hey, whose there?" He called out.

From behind them, in the hallway, a strange humanoid wearing... what Meta could only describe as a disastrous marriage between traditional kimono and modern clothing sauntered out, holding a folded fan to their lips, as if it was some kind of stage performance.

"Who are you?" Meta asked, not really sure about what he was looking at.

"Ah, finally! I was wondering where I could get some service here! Do you know how long I have been walking around here to get some semblance of a welcome? Here, take my coat."

What confused Meta even more was that the man only made the motion of taking off a coat before tossing it to him, essentially taking nothing off.

"I repeat, who are you?" Meta asked again, even more confused. Vul was just as confused as well.

"Just a wandering traveler." He bluntly replied.

"Wandering travelers don't just end up on a military vessel. Who are you?"

"That..." He posed strangely, covering one of his eyes with his fan. "Is up to you to figure out, young man."

Meta glared at him. "Just give me a straight answer."

"Impatient, are you?" He mumbled, fanning himself for a moment before sitting seiza style in front of the group and slamming his fan down on the ground. "My name is Shinkiro. I am merely a visiting performer. It is good to meet your acquaintance, O crabby Prince of Shadows."

Meta just stared at him. "Hello."

Shinkiro equally stared and sigh. "...tough crowd I see. You're a lot crankier than the Lady of Shadows described you."

"If I'm cranky it's only because you took forever with answering my question. And how do you know my sensei?"

"Anyone at the main base would know Z's little girl." He bluntly replied.

"Do you enjoy not giving straight answers? Whatever, so you are an Organization member then? Why are you here?"

"Does a member of the Organization need a reason to be on an organization ship?"

"I suppose not, but normally one does have a reason."

"...fantastic. Because I honestly don't remember why I came here."

"...How?"

"How does one forget something?"

Meta sighed. Talking to normal people was already a challenge, this is just even more of one. "Shinkiro, was it? What species are you? I've never seen anyone like you before."

"Glad you asked. I am what's known as a Chaogean." The three soldiers all looked at him questioningly.

"I don't think I've read about that one."

"I shouldn't be surprised you are confused, because not many people have apparently heard of us." Shinkiro uttered, tapping his head. "Tell me. If you were able to gain strength from your conviction, what would you think?"

Meta looked confused. "What do you mean by conviction?"

"Your conviction. Your belief. Your faith. Something you believe wholeheartedly and use as your drive for life."

"I get that, but what does that have to do with my question? I asked about Chaogeans."

"It has very much to do with us Chaogeans. Our powers come from our convictions."

"So, every Chaogean has a unique ability then?"

"Exactly."

"What's yours then?"

Shinkiro grinned. "My conviction is..." He paused, likely for dramatic effect. "The world is a stage, and the people are its actors!"

Meta however was unimpressed. "Meaning?"

"Do you really want to know?" The man uttered.

"I have a vague feeling that you will regardless of what I say."

Shinkiro, however, looked dead serious as he said that. Meta sighed.

"Just tell me please. I'm tired of not receiving a straight answer."

"It's easier to show you." A strange marking then began to appear on his eyes. "I, Shinkiro, command you to reveal at least 5 of your secrets!"

Meta didn't say anything, confused as to what was happening. Vul on the other hand... "I actually like the taste of fried chicken, I'm afraid of heights, I don't know how to tie shoes, I'm allergic to garlic, and I once blew up a shed with a makeshift pipe bomb."

Seeing this, Shinkiro explained. "I can force anyone who makes direct eye contact with me to follow any order I give them."

"I see...Why didn't it work on me then?" Meta asked, patting the back of an extremely embarrassed Vul.

"Perhaps your conviction is somehow stronger than mine." He then scratched his head. "Though that's strange. Usually, it would appear as a suggestion then."

"It did. I hear a voice suggesting I do it, but I didn't have the inclination to actually do it." Meta said then he looked at Crate. "What about you?"

"Oh me? I blinked when it happened, so I guess I'm just unaffected by it."

"Perhaps."

"No, your little big dog friend is right. Eye contact is a necessity for my power to work."

"Is that so? That seems a bit like an oversight." The puff uttered.

"HA! Excellent wordplay young, crabby prince of Shadows."

The youth stared in confusion at those words.

"You said oversight and his ability relies on sight." Vul whispered so only Meta could hear.

"Oh, I see." He whispered back.

"Yes, it is an oversight, but like how an actor can have a wardrobe malfunction, not everything can be controlled all the time."

"Yeah..." Meta knew that feeling too well.

"But it's fine, for an actor can get through anything with effort." He then laughed, making Meta internally question if all members of the Organization were this eccentric. The images of his mentor flashed through his head, making him come to a definitive answer to that question.

"...of course they all are." He thought.

"So... what is my conviction?" Meta asked.

"That's something for you to figure out on your own. But a word of advice, what you seek may not be too far away from you."

"...I see..." The youth uttered.

"Well, it was nice meeting you crabby prince. Till we meet again!" Shinkiro said, dramatically hopping away on one foot.

"...well, that was weird." Vul said after the man was out of sight.

"Weird is normal around here." Meta said under his breath.

"Well, where to now?" The bird then asked.

"Crate, have you been shown where the armory is?"

"No, I would like to see it."

Meta nodded. "I'm surprised you haven't yet. It was one of the first places sensei showed me."

"Well, the ship was quite busy at the time I joined, so I didn't get to see it."

"I suppose that makes sense. How about you, Vul? Have you been there?"

"Briefly. I didn't stay for too long because I thought it would be better to have a proper guide in there. As for why sensei didn't show me, she apparently had something more important to worry about."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

Vul then paused. "If you don't mind me asking, what was the important thing?"

"Me. She was helping me cope with watching allies die in front of me."

Both his allies stared in shock.

"Hm? What's wrong?" Meta asked.

"Are... you serious...?" Vul uttered.

"Serious about what? Me watching my comrades die?"

"Yes, did that actually happen?"

"Do I seem the type to lie about something like that?"

"No! Just... it feels unbelievable..."

"It's probably also because there were no reported casualties on the mission a few months ago."

"Well, it happened. And what do you mean unbelievable? We're soldiers, death is common in this profession. I learned that the hard way."

"How did it happen if there was no report of it?"

"Not everything gets reported. Especially when it happened with another divisions crew. The updates you get here publicly only relate to combat division personnel. Full details are for the captain and vice captain as well as those involved only."

Both Vul and Crate seemed to jump back a bit at that somewhat angry reply.

"Now come on. We have an armory to look at."

The duo looked at each other before following along.

---------

As they walked along, one of the allies spoke up again.

"So can you tell us what happened?" Crate asked.

"I can."

"Will you then?"

"No." He replied quickly.

"Better just drop the subject, Crate." Vul whispered to her.

She silently nodded. "Well, what would you like to talk about?"

"Literally anything else."

The duo seemed to sigh at that.

"Then how about you decide on the subject. You need to learn to socially interact, right?" Vul said.

"I don't need to learn, I need to get better. But fine. Vul, what weapons do you like?"

"Same idea, mate. As for my preferred weapons, it's the crossbow."

"Anything else?"

"Anything with range, honestly."

Meta nodded. "Why a crossbow specifically?"

"It just feels a lot more accurate and faster to use than a bow and arrow."

"True, on average crossbows are far superior, especially in a one-on-one scenario. Though that's not to say normal bows don't have advantages. With crossbows you can only fire one arrow at a time. Regular bows can fire potentially up to five, maybe even more arrows at a time. Which in turn makes them slightly better for dealing with a crowd."

The bird chuckled. "You know a lot for someone so obsessed with swords. But yes, I can use both if needed."

"I'm interested in all types of weapons. Swords are just my favorite. Do you have any method of fighting up close?"

"Fists and using a knife."

Meta nodded. "That's good. What kind of knife? I can give you recommendations if you want to try a new type."

"A standard army knife. Any recommendations would be great."

"For you, I suggest a Barong Machete. They cover a good distance and are good for wood cutting as well as cutting down foes. Multipurpose."

"I see. I'll have to look into getting one."

Meta nodded. "Crate, what about you?"

"Oh, I don't use weapons. My fists are strong enough."

Meta frowned. "Bad idea. Fighting hard to hand fine. But you should look into wearing gauntlets. It'll increase your damage output and keep your fists guarded."

"I see... can you help me pick those out?"

"Of course."

Crate smiled. "Thank you."

"What about you?" Vul asked.

"I can use spears, staffs, axes, bows, gauntlets. Practically any standard issue weapon. It's when we get to more...unique weapons where my expertise is more limited. Items like fans or nunchaku, I can use them but not as well as more standard weapons."

"And swords?" The bird asked with a grin.

"That goes without saying." He grinned back.

"Come to think of it, why do you love swords so much?"

"They are straight forward. With other weapons there's various factors that go into using them. Not with swords though. Regardless of type, all swords follow the same principle. Stab and pierce. No fancy gimmicks, no immediate advantage or disadvantage. Just a simple blade, and it's up to the user to use it to its full potential. A sword is malleable, fitting for almost any scenario. Much like a Star Warrior."

Vul blinked. "Wow, I didn't know swords were that variable."

"Of course. Regardless of the Era, intelligent civilizations have always used swords."

"And here I thought it was because sensei used them." Crate uttered.

"No. Even before I met her, I liked swords. I was already accustomed to them, even if all I had were rusty swords I took from the bodies of thieves that tried to kill me. A sword was a sword."

"I see. I just thought you did with how much you seemed to respect her."

"No. I respect her greatly that much is true. But I'm me, not her."

"Of course. Now, what do you like about her?"

"That's an odd question, considering I expressed my admiration for her earlier. But I like mostly everything about her."

"Ah... my mistake. Is there anything you don't like about her?"

"Not particularly. It annoys me when she picks on me, but I don't necessarily dislike it either."

"Why don't you dislike it?"

"Because it comes from a place of concern. She cares about me, I know she messes with me because she cares. I might get annoyed at her, but it never goes beyond annoyance."

Crate was silent.

"Anyway, we're here." Meta announced.

"Meta, what's in that room over there?" Vul asked.

"Hm? Oh, that's the ship's reactor. The door is password protected."

"I assume only the Bukisets, the captain, and vice captain know?" The bird then asked.

"Pretty much."

"I understand the captain and vice captain, but why the Bukisets?" Crate asked.

"They do maintenance." Meta said as if it was common knowledge, which it was supposed to be.

"I see."

"I bet the captain told you at point. What is it?" Vul asked.

"I don't know." Meta said seriously.

"Really, I would of thought that she would tell you."

The puff shrugged. "It is what it is." He then replied, keeping his knowledge to himself. He found it amusing. "Now come on, let's look inside the armory now." The group nodded and entered it.

---------

Upon entering the room, the duo noticed one thing about the room.

"It's hot." Vul stated, sweating like a turkey in summer.

"There's a giant furnace in here. We make our own weapons, so of course it'll be hot. Don't worry, we won't be here long."

"Good..." Crate panted.

"Now get looking. The sooner you see everything the sooner you can leave."

They nodded and began to walk around.

"There's so many weapons. I know we're the combat division, but still..." Vul commented at his surroundings.

"Yeah, I was surprised at first as well." The puff replied.

"Can we leave now?" Crate asked.

"If you're done looking, yes."

"I am. Can we go? I can feel my sweat having sweat of its own."

"Ok, then we can leave."

The moment those words left the puff's mouth, both of his friends practically sprinted to the door, making him stare at them in confusion.

---------

After everyone left as fast as possible, the puff heard another voice.

"Hey, Meta, I've noticed something." Vul said.

"What is it?"

"For someone who's not much of a talker, you sure are good at leading others."

"Really?" The puff asked.

"Yeah, I mean you're getting us to do everything you say right?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."

"Will you be taking over this division in the future?" Crate asked.

"I don't know. I'd rather focus on the me of now instead of the me of then."

"Well, if people are calling ya the Prince of Shadows, wouldn't that be the case?" Vul questioned.

"No? I don't see what a nickname I had no say in having has to do with anything. She was called the lady of shadows before she became a captain. Titles are just titles, nothing more."

"It implies you're her successor."

"No, it doesn't. If I end up being her successor, it's because I choose to be, not because people expect me to become her successor. I'm my own person. I decide what I want for myself."

"Then would you want to be her successor?"

"I just said I don't know. I'm young. I have a lot to learn before I consider taking her position.

"I see..." Vul uttered.

"What about you Vul? Do you know what you want to do?"

"I thought about being a captain once in a while, but I think you're much better at that."

"Perhaps. But Captain Vul has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

The bird hummed upon hearing that. "Yeah... yeah... that sounds good."

"What about you, Crate?"

"Oh, I haven't figured that out yet!" She replied nervously.

"That's fine. There's no need to be nervous about it."

"Are you the same way, Meta?"

"Again, I already said I don't know what I want. I still have a lot to learn about the universe."

"Have you talked to sensei about it?"

"Of course I have. She told me literally what I've been telling you two. I have my whole life to figure out what I want."

The duo nodded.

"So, what about relationships?" Crate suddenly asked.

"What about them?"

"Do you have anyone you're interested in?"

"In what way?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Vul said bluntly, making Crate blush.

"I have female friends. yes. I don't see why that matters."

The bird laughed. "You are so naive... are you dating a girl?"

"No."

"...really? Not even that cotton candy friend of yours?"

"She's my friend, nothing else to it."

The bird grinned. "Are you suuureeee?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't seem like it." He chuckled.

"You can think whatever you want."

"I think that he is that oblivious..." Crate whispered.

"No kidding." Vul whispered back.

The puff looked confused. "Well, whatever. What about you, Vul?"

"Admittedly, I'm not too interested." The bird shrugged.

"Fine. You Crate?"

"...nope."

"You sure? You hesitated a little, not even Meta did that."

"I don't have one!"

"Yeesh, not even Meta was that defensive. There's definitely someone now."

"You're just imagining things!"

"That's enough, both of you." Meta commanded.

Both of them became quiet.

"Good. Now Crate, where else haven't you been?"

"How about you just take me to a place you like?"

Meta sighed and shook his head. "Fine. Follow me."

The duo nodded and followed after him.

---------

They came to a very narrow hallway and a closed, blocked off passageway.

"Meta, what is this place?" Crate asked as they arrived.

"The airlock." He answered simply.

"What's the airlock?"

Meta and Vul both looked at her with a confused expression.

"The airlock. It locks the air. It keeps us from being sucked out into space. All massive space battleships have one."

"I see. So, if this opens, then we'll get sucked out into space?"

"Not exactly. Behind this door is a bigger glass door. If that opens, then we'll get sucked out."

"Have you ever been beyond that door?"

"No, because then there's just outer space."

"Really? You think Kurabe would have you do some training there."

"No? There's no gravity out there. That would be counterproductive to the weights I wear during training. Plus, while I can breathe in space, not everyone can. Sensei treats everyone fairly. Sensei might put us through intense training, but she's not a savage. She would never put someone in a scenario where they could die just for training."

"...debatable." Vul grumbled.

"Have you been put in a deadly scenario while training?"

"Well, no."

"Then it's not debatable."

"You sure, though? She can be a drill sergeant with her training." Crate said.

"I said she's not a savage. She has never crippled anyone or gotten someone gravely injured during training. Being a drill sergeant is normal behavior for a drill sergeant. Because that's what she is."

"Are you sure she hasn't crippled anyone?"

"Yes. I've been here longer than both of you. I'm friends with someone who has been here longer than me. We both know that no one has ever gotten crippled by her. You can even check sensei's public record. It'll say the same thing." He then cleared his throat. "We're getting off topic. I took us here for a reason."

"Why's that?"

"Because look out the window. The view outside is beautiful."

Both Vul and Crate turned to the window and the youth was indeed right about that.

"I like to come here and watch the stars move by."

"I can see why. The view is beautiful." Vul uttered.

Meta nodded. "Vul. Do you think I've gotten better with talking?"

The bird chuckled. "If you ask me, I think you made a bit of progress today. But don't get frustrated if you think you're going too slowly. Just keep at it."

"Right. If anything, that strange man from earlier was good for talking practice."

"Yeah. Especially if you're gonna deal with all kinds of nuts in the Organization."

"I have a feeling I'll be dealing with nut jobs no matter what happens in my life." With that said, Meta turned away. "I'm getting tired. I think I'll call it a day."

"Fair enough, I'm pretty sure dealing with that Cha... whatever drained you enough." Vul laughed.

"I trained for eight hours. So yes, I'm fairly drained." He said with a smile.

"I'll see you two later then."

"Yeah, see ya later. Meta. Hope you have a good rest." The bird replied as their dog friend waved as well. With a smile, the puff returned to his room to rest.

-

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Toyhouse Page for Shinkiro

[arcticdementor]

Every time the subject of a possible US civil war or national divorce comes up I hear the same micron deep takes. America couldn’t break up because the division isn’t by state, its Urban Vs. Rural. Or that Urban vs. Rural isn’t the divide, even then people of different politics are mixed up together. Or that for every clear red or blue state there’s a purple state. None of which is in any way relevant to anything until you recognize the naïve mental model many of these people are working on... These takes betray a belief that a second civil war would be some kind of conflict between coherent independent states who’ve started identifying with/against the idea of union such as happened in the 1860s… or that somehow there’d be a series of tidy Quebec style referendums resulting in a clean division such as exists in so many meme maps:

…

The truth is any post-breakup map of America would not resemble an electoral map following state lines, nor even a redrawing of state boundaries, such that the fantastical greater Idaho or Free State of Jefferson might exist as part of a wider Confederation of Constitutional Republics, or a Breakaway Philadelphia city-State join a Union of Progressive Democracies…  No. It’d be nothing so comprehensible or easily mapped to modern politics. A post breakup America would probably look closer to this:

…

(I really do apologize for all I’m going to have to digress) For our purposes we can broadly divide history into 2 types of period… Periods of Centralizing trends, and periods of Decentralizing trends.

…

Centralizing Eras are consistently defined by big Heroic (classical sense of the word) figures that lead great armies or great nations and either win and centralize control under themselves or lose and get centralized under another. Alexander, Hannibal, Scipio Africanus, Julius Caesar, Agustus, Wolfe, Horatio Nelson, Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington, Lincoln, Robert E. Lee, Grant, Lenin, Trotsky, Woodrow Wilson, Mussolini, Hitler, Rommel, Churchill, Montgomery, FDR, MacArthur, Stalin, Zukav, Mao… On and on we could list the names.

…

Normandy and England’s William “The Conqueror” captured England (but not Wales, Scotland or Ireland) creating a unified kingdom on both sides of the English channel…in a feat every English schoolboy has memorized ever since (1066 and all that)… And William’s total Domain was less than 1/20th what Alexander had achieved 1300 years before. Likewise Shakespeare immortalized Henry the 5th as the very avatar of Mars…Achieving the English dream and conquering France! Only to die of dysentery within the year and have his territorial gain be entirely lost within a generation. Likewise Charlemange’s 8th and 9th century unified empire of France and Germany broke apart within a generation. And as late as 1718 Charles XII’s extraordinary military victories and revolutionary tactics couldn’t save the Swedish empire’s decline from great power status.

…

Centralizing eras are marked by finicky, barely technological, advances that A) are not evenly distributed and allow the powers which have them to dominate the powers that don’t, and B) require vast numbers of hierarchically organized people working together in sophisticated coordination to make it work at all, often with extensive infrastructure than can only be worked by such a bureaucracy. Napoleonic Divisions, 5000 man Aircraft Carriers, trans-Continental railway or telegraphs, and massive continent severing canal systems (Suez/Panama) are prime examples. Decentralizing eras are the opposite. Decentralizing eras are defined by sophisticated capital and skill intensive weapons that can be utilized by relatively few people, and which are widely distributed (it being far easier to get even ridiculous amounts of money to invest in tools or skills, than it is to get 10,000+ all obeying at once you). We “sea” this with the very first decentralizing era: The bronze age collapse.

…

the medieval era is defined by 3 iconic technologies:  Heavy warhorses with advanced stirrups, castle/keeps (and the ranged weapons such as crossbows that lose most of their effectiveness when not defending them), and the Knights armor.  This is the iconic image of the medieval period. All three are capital intensive technologies wielded by small numbers of wealthy men. Later Castles could be held against a force of hundreds by a mere dozen men, warhorses and advancing armor made knights sometimes 10-20 to 1 more effective than ordinary footmen. Within the span of 500 years major historical battles went from 100s of thousands of people in great migratory armies crashing against empires of millions, to 20-60 incredibly wealthy men, all named in the record, facing off against a similar force. Hell individual duels often decided the fates of vast swathes of country side. This is how totally heavy cavalry, armor, and castles just destroyed the very possibility of large complex states and the attendant armies. Now ask yourself… Which type of era are we in?

…

None of our leaders are analogous to the great conquerors. Rather they are like the Persian and Lydian kings and courtiers of the Pre-Alexandrian period, or the late Roman Emperors and generals, or the thousands of European kings and Courtiers, endlessly fighting grinding wars that achieve remarkably little. Their ultimate achievement being that they might be mostly forgotten as merely mediocre… instead of screwing up monumentally and going down in history like Varus, or Commodus, or Croesus of Lydia whom the oracle told he’d “destroy a great empire”… but whose wars only destroyed his own. These are the kinds of people our elite are doomed to be remembered as… if they’re remembered. McNamara’s tenancy as Secretary of Defence isn’t remembered for him creating a fighting force to rival the Myrmidons or Napoleon’s old Guard, he’s remembered for McNamara’s Morons (Decent Review). . If current trends continue we’re on a fast track to eventually hit the apex of decentralization: Neo-Medievalism.

…

The above is a map of the Holy Roman Empire, one of the Successors to Charlemagne’s empire which, depending on the dating, lasted from about 800ad-956ad (its very debatable when you date the “start” of the empire) to its final dissolution by Napoleon in 1806. Meaning it lasted longer than the original Roman Empire… Naively we might think this empire is a great counter example to my “decentralizing eras” thesis… Except for one thing: This was never “THE MAP” of the Holy Roman Empire. The above map comprises every territory that was ever part of the “Empire” none of which were ever all in it at the same time… And none of which were ever really part of the same political unit… Its really hard to know if there was even a single year every polity nominally within the empire recognized each other, or were even meaningfully at peace. Indeed the “Holy” in the name was a source of countless wars and conflicts, given It was adopted and maintained (grossly simplifying) as part of a double play, the Emperor at various points wanting to use his title as “Holy” Emperor of Rome to annex the Papal States and assume authority over the Catholic Church, and various Popes aspiring to use their religious authority to place their chosen allies in control of the “Empire”. The Emperor bounced back and forth between being God’s appointed supreme ruler on earth, literally crowned by the Pope, and being the Supreme enemy of the Pope in turn. Its a mess.

…

You know how everyone gets confused by the electoral college or how American senators worked before they were elected… imagine that confusing mess x100, and the results determined who’d be civil waring with who, whether you’d be going to war with the Pope under the banner of the Antichrist, and later whether Protestants or Catholics would be going under the boot. So Voltaire’s quip that the Holy Roman Empire was “neither Holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire” was very bitingly true… it often warred with the Popes, far from being Roman on at least one occasion it invaded and sacked Rome, and far from being an empire it was more a loose federation that elected its “Emperors”… But even that’s a simplification because at various points the pope was literally crowning the emperor, Rome was part of the empire, and the Crown was hereditary! It simultaneously was and wasn’t Holy, was and wasn’t Roman, and was and wasn’t an Empire. Seriously, this is the map without any simplifications:

Now tell me, is there another 3 word national title that’s hotly debated? To what extent is the USA really United? States? or America? The meaning of all 3 have shifted massively since the founding… the Union is unrecognizable from what the founders envisioned: becoming a Nation after the civil war, instead of the loose federation they set out to create. The states have gone from being almost fully sovereign republics to interchangeable imperial provinces, and are now again asserting increasing amounts of that lost sovereignty. And of course “America” neither comprises the whole of the Americas.. nor is it wholly within the Americas. ( we cannot forget Hawaii) Might there come a day we quip the USA is/was neither United, nor States, nor America? Hold that thought.

…

The reason the HRE is so confusing and the reason most Medieval and early modern history is so confusing, is Medieval states… really aren’t states. Fans of Game of Thrones or Shakespeare understand the concept of feudalism and the military hierarchy of Knights answering to lords answering to kings, and Hollywood has taught most people to appreciate how that chain of command can become very conflicted and prone to rebellion or schemes, especially around a succession crisis (do you support the old King’s son, brother, or cousin to succeed him? Well who’s going to give you the better deal?) These stories make great hour and half dramas… But even as all these dynamics did happen, the actual medieval system was vastly VASTLY more complex.

…

Multiple factions and entities within the same very small stretch of land might all wield some form of sovereignty and ability to make laws or rules, formal and informal, and enforce them with violence… all commanding some version of legitimacy. An individual town might have: 1. a Mayor or sheriff elected by some fraction of the propertied townspeople able to pass laws and have them enforced, even to the point of violence or death sentences;  2. An ecclesiastical order empowered to enforce its own laws upon the members of its order, maintaining armed retainers, and empowered (depending on the era) to root out and deal with heretics, (also at various points they owned and/or regulated brothels and vice crime);  3. local lodges of various guilds that variably are empowered to enforce their monopolies, collect debts, and deal with thieves, fraudsters and embezzlers in their midst, possibly including networked merchant guilds that across their various lodges might have more armed men than all but the largest individual towns; 4. Noble families that maintain arms and loyal retainers, with ancient rights and customs, including discretionary power to deal out violence to those who intrude, insult, or otherwise conflict with them… including dueling with their equals, or just brutalizing members of the lower class who insult them (imagine the brawl that starts off Romeo and Juliet, or the internecine fighting throughout, and how restricted The Prince is in setting any consequences for the Capulets and Montagues for their semi-open warfare); 5. A Knightly Order that maintains oaths, loyalties, obligations and interests distinct and separate form the nominal official chain of military command (think Templars, Hospitallers, Teutons); 6. An individual ward which a powerful alderman runs as a fiefdom/racket with a very reliable collection of thugs at his call; 7. All of the Above all over again multiple times, because we’re talking about a city that’s a conglomeration of smaller towns such as London, and the whole thing’s still organized as if it were 7 distinct entities. 8. The actual lord or governor who “rules” the town and answers to the king… on days he feels like it, and all the retainers and support people he uses to “govern” the place. There is no coherent unified monopoly on violence like we imagine the state to hold in this situation. Instead various factions and institutions have all amassed various forms of legitimacy: cultural, political, and practical…and have all carved out their little niche in which they can deal their own version of law, violence and justice. If you are a lawyer or have to deal with politics or government, or regulation, you might already be starting to see why I’m predicting this for the future but for those who are less versed in American governance:

…

But they were both of them deceived. For neither the English or French monarchies truly understood the power they had wielded, nor whom had granted it to them: It was not the Crown itself that wielded absolute power, but rather the central government, and the central government was not a collection of neat hierarchically delegated power… the lawyers and bureaucrats were not gaining their power from the crown, the crown was gaining its power from the lawyers and bureaucrats. And as soon as the crown was impeding the Lawyers and bureaucrats centralization and concentration of power in their class, the bureaucrats and upstarts rebelled… Thus the English and French revolutions. Thus the state consumed the sovereign, great men were still able to wield the state like Napoleon or later Hitler, Stalin, FDR, Churchill and Moa… But the leaders now needed to appease the state, not the paper pushers the other way… then by the 1960s it had become basically impossible for even great men to control the bureaucracies beneath them. Stalin may have been killed, Kennedy was killed, Kruschev and Nixon soft couped… And no nation has had a great man leader since… the most successful leaders have been those who most effectively surrendered the last rememenants of their executive power… The executive branch and the “office of the president” is more powerful than it has ever been. The executive branch has never employed more people, nor the Whitehouse. The PERSON of the president though has never been weaker.  Trump was besieged unable to fire any of his “executive” branch “employees” and now Biden physically embodies the state of things… The man who sits in the oval office is puppeted by the Whitehouse, and the Whitehouse by the executive branch… a complete inversion of how the organization is supposed to work.

…

Whilst there have been many unitary states in history for whom any and all power and authority, at least officially, formally, came from one centralized institution and myth, Whether that be absolute monarchism, where it is concentrated in one person, or Unitary Republics where the “voice of the people” is 100% and only concentrated in one single assembly, The US is slightly more… sophisticated.

…

This balance of powers is not dissimilar to how hard it was for a duke to control or discipline a petulant lord... Sure there was some hypothetical mechanism to remove him or wage war… but the incredible effort required means you’d rarely if ever do it for any except the worst offender. But all this becomes fractally more complicated when we zoom out. The US federal government receives its authority officially from the constitution… where does the constitution receive its authority? In an absolutist monarchy or French/Russian style revolutionary “republic” the origin of political power would be simple. The king or Director would answer to “God” or “The People” and it would be understood that the government’s continued existence meant God and “the People” were pleased and not to be consulted further on the matter. But when the American Constitution says “We the people” it actually refers to bodies and organizations entitled to represent them and give consultation. Namely the states, who all have their own assemblies, governors, courts and constitutions.

…

But even this only scratches the surface because there are also hundreds of territory holding recognized sovereign nations within the US. Namely the 326 federally recognized Tribal Indian reservations each of which have their own treaties establishing rights and semi-sovereign powers derived not from the constitution, but from their own pre-existing sovereignty (if they didn’t have this congress wouldn’t have made treaties with them… they’d have just unilaterally passed a law). And these are real powers… they have armed native police, perhaps 10s of thousands of armed men collectively, who answer to the Band Councils alone.

…

Is it any wonder the bureaucrats have been able to carve out such scrutiny free power for themselves? but of course informally for most of its history the map of real power looked nothing like this.

…

Remember those 377 officially recognized top level governments with constitutional sovereignty in America alone?  Forget that, that’s a fiction… The real number that exercise violent power, Ie. Real Political Power, is somewhere in the thousands if not tens of thousands. The City of New York is not included on that list (officially it is answerable and dissolvable by the state of New York, LOL)… and the city of New York has 36,000 armed and ready police officers at it’s beck and call (as many as Napoleon had when he invaded Italy). Likewise every dinky little city and county has its own police departments, often with elected sheriffs who functionally have independence that rivals state governments, and are only really removable by a process of impeachment at the state level. And this is before we get into the Cartels, militias, ideological movements, and collections of friends who are all shockingly armed and in many cases better trained and versed in infantry and low intensity warfare than about 90% of military personnel or police.

…

I’ve by no means covered everything I want to on this topic. Mapping out the future of what a Neo-Medieval post national regime, and how we’d get from here to there is likely to be my life’s work. Both in that I’m going to be writing about it for the rest of my life and that we’re going to be living it. But one of the thing’s I want to emphasize as it would be a mistake to think of these developments as merely the rise of a “Mad Max” warlord driven world. Far from it, whatever successor institutions, aristocracies, and duchies devour the modern welfare states in a orgy of map redrawing and private fortune making will probably find that there is a great deal of economic and technological low hanging fruit just lying about. I doubt it will offset the scale of the disruption globally, but things like Cheap automobiles, cheap bush planes, cheap housing construction, low taxes, no DEI mandates, and a whole host of other things now criminalized by “Democracy” will suddenly be opened up and we’ll probably see a massive change in settlement patterns and ways of living as a result.

…

We are seeing the inevitable conclusion and failure of the “Liberal Democracy” born into the world around the French Revolution. “Democracy” has expanded to the point where more people have a hypothetical right to vote than exist in the country and governments import them to vote which way the state likes, whilst “Liberal” civil rights have expanded to the point where everything is a right: Healthcare, Schooling, to get hired for jobs, to have your feelings defended… Everything is a right… Except for any of the liberties actually established in and of the founding documents or revolutions of the 18th century. Those are now forms of hate and terrorism. To speak your mind is no longer a protected right, but to be protected from someone speaking their mind about you demands the full armed response of the state.

…

This is an introductory essay. A justification for my ideological projects to come. What is going to happen is largely inevitable but how long we live through the chaos of the fall or how quickly we settle on the equilibriums that will hold with the new balance of powers will be a matter that could take a 30 or 100 years war… or it could wrap up into a stable equilibrium in 5-15. I hope by digging deeper we can shorten that window, speedrun the new order, and limit the damage these abominations of governments can do on the way out.

[behindthewox]

In response to the WoO concerns - this has been a problem for years, it's not recent. The environment on WoO is so large and yet the same few people are talking in chat. anytime I have tried to involve myself in chat on that site I have been ignored and pushed aside, often by them talking about their own character drama or real life school drama. Cliques are a problem in other spaces too.

The only staff way to tackle it is to pull people into conversation that you wouldn't normally talk to. It's a really difficult thing to achieve as it's easy to want to gravitate to your friends but cliques kill the sites super fast.

It's why smaller groups like WoL, old WoP UK and WoHF feel cosier to people because there is a level of personal connection even with strangers that gets forgotten on the big sites.

If you're reading this, please reach out to people and welcome them in. The community and comradarie is what keep sites going. Co-operate and communicate. Make others feel heard.

It's not an easy problem to solve, but there are things we can do. I think I've suggested this in an earlier post but I'll suggest it again: have a few designated people keep an eye out for when it becomes too much/too intense and intervene with a gentle nudge and pushing the conversation onto another subject that is easier to join in on. Whether you make it an official site job or not, maybe combined with chat monitoring in general, that's for site leaders to figure out, but it could be worth a short trial and to try it out and see how it goes.

The tricky bit is finding the right people as they need to be able to be impartial, be willing to be the asshole who tells people to take it to DMs and be able to do so in a gentle and respectful manner. Age and maturity would be a strong merit, I think. It's not gonna be popular at first but once people get more used to it and learn to take their private chats to DMs it could make a pretty big difference.

One thing that anyone can do is this: start a conversation about something that everyone can say something about, or a topic that is relevant to most users like "what are you having for dinner tonight?" or "someone, give me a writing prompt". Just avoid subjects that are divisive and involve strong feelings and opinions (like politics, religion and sports teams) that might spark a debate. And most importantly, be chill and normalise relaxed small talk. The less intense a conversation is, the easier it is for others to join. You never know who is watching the chat, so keep the conversation open and welcoming.

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, August 21st, 2024.

What was the last gift you received? I believe it was an assortment of Easter chocolates from my mom.

Ten years ago, who was your best friend? Are you still best friends now? Oliver, and yes, we're still best friends.

What are some of your comfort foods? My comfort foods greatly overlap with my "safe foods," so things like oatmeal, yogurt bowls, mixed veggies with sriracha sauce, and giant salads.

What’s something that’s very popular, that you have no interest in? Superhero movies. <- Same. In general, I feel like I'm out of the loop when it comes to popular things. Even niche popular things, tbh. I will occasionally catch a reference, but that's about it. I very much have my own little realm of interests.

What’s something that many people would consider to be lame, but you don’t? I don't think many people would consider these things lame, but maybe they just aren't as interested in them as I am. Subjects such as history, philosophy, religion, outer space, sci-fi, conspiracies, etc.

Have you ever lost your house key? I probably have at some point.

How would you describe your clothing style? Dangerously bordering on pajamas. ;D

The last time you were in a line, what were you waiting for? Snacks at the movie theater.

What’s your favorite city in your own country? I'm not much of a city person (I much prefer woodsy, rural, mountainous areas), but as far as places I've visited, San Francisco.

What’s your favorite city in another country? I've never been to another country before, but I could actually see myself enjoying a trip to Tokyo, Japan. For some reason, that city just feels…different.

Are there any very common foods/drinks that you pretty much never consume? Soda, plain milk, seafood, hot dogs, sushi…

What kind of device are you taking this survey on? A desktop computer.

What’s the most expensive thing you own? My car.

When was the last time you had a package delivered, and what was it? I think it was some solar-powered string lights. I've been meaning to hang them up around the window in my bedroom; I've just been too lazy or distracted to bother.

Do you typically respond to text messages right away? Not unless they require an immediate response (such as being called in to the shelter). Otherwise, I have a tendency to procrastinate.

What has been the highlight of this past month? Animal shelter stuff, the kitten saga (I don't know if I've mentioned it here yet, but we found his home! <3), going to a movie with my mom, and all the rain we've been getting.

Has anyone ever assumed you were flirting with them, when you weren’t? I guess it's possible.

What types of stores do you enjoy browsing? Walmart, Big Lots, thrift stores, Barnes & Noble…basically anywhere with books or inexpensive home goods/clothing.

Did your parents spoil you when you were a kid? We were comfortably middle class, but I wouldn't say I was spoiled.

Would you rather watch a movie in the theater, or at home? I've actually been enjoying watching them in theaters these days.

What were you doing one hour ago? I was in therapy.

Have you ever used public transportation to get to work? I haven't.

What do you miss the most from before Covid times? This isn't specifically related to Covid, but I do miss when things weren't so tense and divisive.

What has been the best thing to happen to you in the past year? I've said it so many times now that I'm even starting to annoy myself. ;D

Who do you have listed as emergency contacts in your phone? I don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact. But the only people I have programmed in there at all are my mom and dad, so hopefully someone will get the picture.

Are you prone to jealousy? Less so than in the past, but still to some degree. I think I'm just better at recognizing it now and reacting appropriately.

How did you get through the lowest point in your life? I just…survived, I guess. Like literally - that's it. I dearly wished for death, but my body simply refused to give up. But life doesn't stay static forever, so things eventually improved enough to allow for more than mere survival.

Have you ever been someone’s first love? Yeah.

Have you ever played frisbee golf? Yeah.

What is your favorite silly, feel-good movie? I don't have one.

How old were you when you got your first gaming console, and what kind was it? I think my parents already had the original Nintendo when I was born, so I'll go with the N64, which I think we got for Xmas when I was around 6-7?

Who in your family has the coolest job? My parents are both retired. Last I knew, my sibling wasn't working. I guess I'm the only one who is sort of working, even if it is on a volunteer basis. I think working at an animal shelter is pretty darn cool, though, not gonna lie.

Is cereal technically a soup? I saw somewhere that a vanilla soy latte is basically a three bean soup. ;D

Have you found your first gray hairs yet. Yeah.

What is something that drains your energy really quickly? Negative social interactions (when people are really angry, grumpy, etc). On the flipside, positive social interactions can supercharge me.

Did you parents teach you how to make a budget before you moved out on your own? I haven't moved out on my own yet.

What is your favorite food to put gravy on? Mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing…basically, a classic Thanksgiving dinner.

Do you know anyone from Canada? No.

What’s your opinion on astrology? Love any opportunity to blame some bullshit on """the stars""".

Do you use TikTok? No.

What do you have going on the rest of the day? I'm going to make some art after this, then have lunch, then housecleaning, then…idk, we'll see how this headache is holding up by then.

[laceyjane44]

GaaSaku 2023 FanFest Day4

Prompt: Medic

(AU)

“Come on, Gaara,” she groaned. “Not tonight.”

“Just give me ten minutes?” he pleaded; his hands, hot and sweaty as they were, grasped at her own. He held her fingers gingerly and brought them to his lips, speaking against them, “I promise it won’t take long.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, pulling her hand from his and wiping the sweat from them. “I know it won’t,” she agreed. “You remember what happened last time? I do.”

Gaara chuckled. “You know I’ve been practicing, I’ve gotten better,” he countered, stating his case for the umpteenth time that day.

Sakura couldn’t help but glance back to the open mat behind him where Lee could be seen shadow boxing in the studio mirror, checking his form. “So? The whole team has been practicing for nationals. He’s gotten better, too,” Sakura stated back, a tempered warning in her words. She learned very early in their relationship that no one in the dojo was going to keep that bloated ego of his in check if she didn’t. Being top players in the division and instructors at the dojo, he and his colleagues were often left uncontested unless against one another. Gaara though, no matter how much she loved him and admired his proficiency in weapons specialties, just wasn’t a match for Lee in point sparing. “You were nearly concussed last time, and,” she emphasized by pulling him a little closer by the sleeve of his gi. “He had you down after three rounds.”

Gaara thinned his lips trying to hold back his smirk, but as usual he failed. “Ten more minutes,” he said as he stepped closer, slipping around the subject while slipping his hands around her waist. He pulled her against him. “And then whatever you want tonight is yours.”

Sakura turned her face when he bent down to kiss her, though it didn’t deter him from pressing his nose against her hair and breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It was a promise she had heard before and one that he was all too eager to uphold. Usually, it paid off to go along with it; another hour for practice here, another spar with Naruto there, and the rest of her evening was filled with his undivided attention. Gaara loved giving her said attention, and he was more than equipped to do so.

Having been in taekwondo since he was a young boy, Gaara had earned his blackbelt by the age of twelve and had known nothing outside the world of competitions, perfection of form, and intense physical training. He’d been making a living by winning weapons competitions across the country before he went up against the top competitor from Uzumaki Dojo and quickly found himself with a shiny new medal and recruitment to a full-time gig at the best studio in town. The Uzumaki’s had made a name for themselves and they fared no less when their son took over the business. They had a large facility that hosted anything from beginner level classes in Tai Chi and kick boxing, to expert level martial arts specialization fit for competitions at national levels, even global some years. Given the intensity of some of their programs, Sakura had been hired a few years back as an onsite RN that also had a license in physical therapy and massage therapy. She was an invaluable asset to the dojo and played a key role in keeping their fighters in shape for competition.

That was how Gaara found his way into her life; a series of overblown sprains and pulled muscles that had him seeking her out once or twice a week until she finally broke down and accused him of purposely monopolizing her time, to which he responded by stating that he wouldn’t have to if she would just go out with him, and he’d been showering her with his attention ever since.

But a tussle with Lee would leave him in no condition to do so, she was absolutely sure of it, and she preferred they start their weekend without a care regiment. Sakura wasn’t a fan of bringing her work home with her, but with Gaara moved in, it followed her home more often than not these days.

So, she tried a different approach.

Looking back up, she pushed her weight forward and leaned against him, those green doe eyes of hers blinking at him as she pouted. “You promised we would spend the night together,” she mumbled with a half-hearted whine, reminding him that with nationals coming up, their free time together at home was dwindling. Gaara ran his fingers through her hair, openly enjoying her methods. “You were going to take me to dinner.”

“My love, you know I will,” Gaara practically purred in response as he bent down and kissed her forehead. “Just be patient.”

She huffed and broke away from him to sit down on the benches beside the mats. He gave her a wink and readjusted his gi before joining Lee. They both seemed too eager for an honest rematch with each other as far as Sakura was concerned, as were some of the seasoned students and other senseis that gathered at the edges of the mat to watch.

Naruto and Hinata, their employers and the owners of Uzumaki Dojo, joined her at the bench. They had dismissed the last class of the day and came over to see what the excitement was all about. Being the procurers of the talent employed by the dojo, as well as one of their competing specialists in form, Naruto stepped over to referee their match.

All the onlookers, Sakura and Hinata included, were watching quietly for the first round. It lasted less than thirty seconds before Lee landed enough strikes to end it and get his first point, no shocker there, and Gaara quickly called for the start of the next round, already returning to stance.  

“Is Gaara looking to compete in point sparring at nationals this year?” Hinata asked, her sentence punctuated by the sharp Si-jak called out by her husband.

Sakura shook her head, bobbing her heel on the ground as the air filled with the sounds of sliding feet and deflected strikes. “No, sticking to his usual,” she said with a sigh. “He’s just trying to fix that sore pride Lee gave him.”

“Point, Lee!” Naruto called out. Gaara cursed and his opponent was all too eager to encourage him to try again, to try harder. “Bah ro!”

“I don’t know,” Hinata mused thoughtfully, tilting her head to throw Sakura a side-glance.

“Si-jak!” The next round started, Gaara was certainly putting greater force behind his strikes, and he’d gotten faster at deflecting Lee’s blows, but Lee had been busy keeping everyone in his dust.

“It has been a while,” Hinata continued. “I have a feeling he just wants to relive the nostalgia.”

Another point to Lee, another call for return to start. Round four; they certainly weren’t wasting any time, and she had to at least give him credit for the new personal record against Lee.

Sakura looked over to her and couldn’t help but laugh. “Of getting kicked in the head?”

Shaking her head, Hinata explained, “You know he wasn’t even aware we had an onsite medic until you needed to monitor him for symptoms of concussion?”

Sakura nodded; oh yes, she definitely remembered. She had been late to work that day with car troubles and received a call while at the mechanics; Lee overdid it with the new guy and they were wondering what the warning signs of a head injury were. She left her car at the shop and immediately called for a taxi, all the while running through some questions with Naruto over the phone. Arriving as soon as she could, she walked into work only to hear Gaara barking from the back rooms that he didn’t need to be looked at and he was fine. He obviously hadn’t dealt with defeat much, he was also visibly surprised when she was introduced to him as his coworker, and she’d certainly had her hands full with him after that.  

“Hurt pride or not; I think that was his favorite day at work to date.” She smiled over to her friend, a rare and mischievous expression crossing her face. “It’s not often you get a girlfriend as a consolation prize.”

Sakura looked away from the teasing in Hinata’s eyes only to see her lover take a swift elbow strike to the side of the face followed by a side kick to the ribs. Failing to counter the kick left him open for another set of blows to the ribs and that finished off the points needed for the fourth round to be Lee’s win.

Gaara’s back found the mats soon after and Lee laughed as he collided with the ground. “I’m sorry, man! I thought you’d keep up.”

Gaara groaned for him to shut up as he leaned up on an elbow and clutched his side. He looked over to his girlfriend from his spot on the floor, eagerly looking for her sympathy while feigning more pain than he was likely actually in. She became convinced that Hinata had been right; if losing against Lee meant reliving the first day they met, he’d be happy to taste that defeat again.

Somewhat apologetically, Lee looked across the mat to where Hinata could be seen grabbing the first-aid bag from beside the bench and jokingly handing it over to Sakura, and he called out, “Medic!”

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501