#MILLIONS will eat up their propaganda

[roach-works]

for all its (apparently many?) flaws, i really enjoyed the fallout show, and i'm ride or die for maximus, obviously. but one of the things i enjoyed about lucy's arc isn't that she wasn't necessarily proved RIGHT or WRONG about her own moral code, she didn't learn that either kindness is its own reward or that niceness is suicidal in a fight for survival.

what she learned, i am pretty sure, is that context matters. you can't actually help people if you don't know anything about them. you can't enact justice if you don't know what the case on trial is. you can't come in out of nowhere and make snap decisions and be anything more than one more complication in a situation that was fucked up long before you were born.

that's what we see over and over: she comes in out of nowhere, she makes an attempt to help based on her immediate assumption of what's going on, and then everything continues to be dangerous and complicated and fucked up. she doesn't let the stoners explain that some ghouls will genuinely try to eat you the minute they get the chance, and she pays for it. she jumps to the wrong conclusion in vault 4 because not everyone who looks like a monster IS a monster, and she pays for it. yeah a lot of the time cooper is abusing her for his own satisfaction, but when she's a free agent she's a loose canon and it's not because the show is punishing her for TRYING to do the right thing. it's because the show is punishing her for jumping to conclusions.

this show gets a lot of laughs from Fish Out Of Water situations, but i think that even though cooper explicitly says "you'll change up here and not for the better, you'll become corrupted and selfish just to survive" that's not the real message. what lucy learns is how important it is to hear people out, meet them where they're at, and get the full story.

that's why the final confrontation with her father is so important. she hears everyone out. she gets the full story. she listens to all of it. and then she acts with full knowledge of situation. that's what the wasteland taught her: not to be cruel, not to be selfish, but that taking the time to understand what's actually going on really matters.

this is a show that's incredibly concerned with truth and lies. everyone is lying to each other and themselves. scenes change over and over as they're recontextualized. love and hate and grief and hope are just motives in a million interconnected shell games, not redeeming justifications. maximus's many compounded falsehoods are approved of by his own superior, who finds a corrupt pawn more useful than an honorable one. cooper finds out his wife has her own private agenda and this betrayal keeps him going for centuries. lucy's entire society is artificial and from the moment they find out they're not safe and maybe never have been, all the vault dwellers are scrambling to deal with that.

ANYWAY. i just think it's neat. sci fi is a lens to analyze our present through a hypothetical future, and i think it's pretty significant for this current age we live in, where we're all grappling with misinformation, conspiracy theories, propaganda, and deepfakes, there's a huge anxiety over how hard it can be to find the truth out about anything. i think the show suggests that it's always worth the work to try.

#fallout #ive seen critiques that it's fascist and reactionary and i can't speak to that #since i don't play the games #but for what i saw i liked it and thought it made some good points #spoilers

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Taylor Hebert AKA Skitter Propaganda Post

Do you know what you have to do to hurt someone in a fight if your whole power is “controls bugs?” It’s never pleasant. And this is a girl with an almost pathological drive to fight people theoretically much stronger than her. Much maggots-in-eyes and spiders-on-dicks ensue. Committed to being a hero initially, ends up becoming warlord of a whole city while defending it from super-poweeed spree killers, monstrous kaiju, and timeline-severing mobsters. Saves humanity through mass mind-control.

Shes so fucking morally ambiguous I don't even know where to start. She wanted to be a hero and then over the course of 1.7 million words she tricked me into thinking she was rational and ethically sound when she cut out someone's eyes, held someone's dying son hostage in front of them as leverage (she was killing the son), put maggots in someone else's eyes to eat them slowly, shot a fucking toddler with no hesitation, and she's such an amazing unreliable narrator that you root for her. She's genuinely so good at convincing herself that she's morally sound that she convinces the reader of it as well most of the time, but despite the atrocities (and there's a fucking ton of atrocities) she's genuinely a girl who wants to do good and help the world. She fights serial killers, provides food and water and shelter for people who need it, gets her back broken trying to save people, and is generally willing to do whatever it takes to help no matter what that entails. She's a girlboss who is terrifying and determined enough to kill god, she's willing to do anything for the greater good, she has a fucking orphanage as the bottom floor of her supervillain lair. She's so so complicated and such a twist of good and brutality and I cannot stress enough how compelling and morally ambiguous and girlboss she is. I have never seen a character who fits the title "morally ambiguous girlboss" more in my entire life and frankly I doubt I will, no one does it like her.

she went from aspiring hero > supervillain > warlord (still a supervillain) > hero > mind-controlling every cape in the multiverse to kill god. and she did kill god. so. girlboss. but on her first night out she used her bugs to bite a man's dick off. that man? trying to kill kids. those kids? teenage supervillains. she initially joined their teen supervillain group to betray them to the heroes, then joins for real. their boss kidnapped a preteen girl and got said girl addicted to drugs. he used a heist taylor was in as a distraction to kidnap the girl. taylor becomes a warlord and does all sorts of awful things to the other gangs in the city (including putting maggots in a guys eyes, and carving another man's eyes out (bug dick guy) (everything grew back)). the reason she did this? so she could kill her boss and free the preteen girl. She's taken over the city at this point, she's a warlord running a supervillain gang. what's she doing with this power? improving the city's infrastructure. she runs her territory like a panopticon, if anybody who can work isn't working they get the bugs. she's also running an orphanage out of her home. she decides to step down as warlord and join the heroes. while she's in custody, what does she do? that's right. kill superman via dry land drowning in bugs. now she's a superhero. she does stakeouts and pursues gangs to force their younger/more sympathetic members into superheroism. why? to fight the end of the world. the end of the world comes, god is killing every earth in the multiverse and things aren't looking good. what does taylor do? she asks a bio-kinetic who got sent to supervillain alcatraz for sister rape to give her on-the-spot brain surgery. this brain surgery lets her control any person within like 18 feet of her. she uses a portal guy to manage to ensnare every cape in the multiverse and unite them in her fight against god. One cape has a stress induced aneurysm. how do they ultimately defeat god? she makes large-scale replicas of his dead wife everywhere, making him so sad he becomes killable. girlboss. (sorry this was so long! i started and then just kept going. worm is 1.68 million words long and a lot happens in it)

Holy Shit. Holy SHIT dude. She rotted a man's dick off with spider venom. and then she did it again (it grew back). and then she cut his eyes out. this is the first guy she meets. she mutilates *so many* people. one time she withheld a life-saving epinephrine shot from a dying man (he was allergic to bees. she controls bees.) as extortion material. she shoots a baby (it was a mercy). She cut a girl in half (which was actually pretty high up there on the "most heroic things she did" list). She was Seinfeldian rivals with the most dangerous serial killer in existence, until she trapped him in Hell Forever. He's like still there by the end of the second book. she kills God by bullying him to death. All* of this was probably the best thing she could have done in the situation. the tagline of the book is "doing the wrong things for the right reasons." The worst thing she ever really did was to pretend she was straight though.

Did she kill an orphan? Yes. Did she put maggots into a man’s eyes? Yes. Did she do all of this while having intense homoerotic tension? Yes, and that is why she is a girlboss. She also killed Jesus

https://www.tumblr.com/morally-grey-girlbosses/729188280734760960 (tumblr user @lakesbian elaborates on Taylor's Atlas Complex)

#poll #tournament poll #propaganda #taylor hebert #skitter #wormblr

[cyren-myadd]

Avatar One-Shot: Child Support

As the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, the recombinant Miles is the legal beneficiary of all of his genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. Unfortunately, he’s also the legal beneficiary of his debts. This includes the fifteen years worth of child support for Miles Socorro.

The day started out just like any other day during Spider’s captivity in Bridgehead. Quaritch collected him from his “room” (AKA, the cell Quaritch had added a few amenities to after Spider started cooperating with him) and brought him to the cafeteria so he could eat before they set off to continue the recoms’ survival training in the jungle. The other recoms had already eaten and were off doing whatever it was they did when Quaritch wasn’t bossing them around, leaving Spider to shoulder all of his early morning bossiness alone.

“Get your hair out of your face, boy. And don’t pick at your food, just eat it.” Quaritch ordered impatiently while Spider prodded the contents of his plate. The brown lumps before him were allegedly some kind of sausage, but Spider didn’t trust the RDA’s menu anymore than he trusted their propaganda about wanting to “build a peaceful future with the Na’vi.” A group of scientists walked past with their breakfast trays in hand, and Spider eyed the large cinnamon rolls on their plates in envy. Their sweet fragrance taunted him as the scientists sat down nearby.

“This stuff is nasty. Can I have one of those things instead?” He pointed to the frosted pastries hopefully.

Unsurprisingly, Quaritch dashed his hopes by nudging the plate of “sausage” under his nose. “The last thing you need for breakfast is a bunch of sugary shit. You need protein.”

“Uhg.” Spider slouched miserably onto the cafeteria table and rested his head on his arm. 

“And sit up straight for Christ’s sake, you look like you’re falling asleep.”

“I am falling asleep,” Spider mumbled into his elbow.

Quaritch opened his mouth —to boss him around some more no doubt— but before he could say anything, a loud BANG! interrupted him. Both of them jumped in their seats and whipped around to see the source of the noise; somebody had slammed open the cafeteria door so hard it’d nearly been knocked clean off its hinges, and that somebody was marching straight towards them. All the RDA personnel in the cafeteria stared at him in varying shades of annoyance and curiosity.

“Miles Quaritch!” Hollered the man who’d caused all the ruckus.

Spider’s eyes went wide. He knew that voice. “No fucking way,” he hissed under his breath. Never in a million years had he thought he’d ever see him again.

“I got a bone to pick with you!” The man, who was wearing the obnoxiously bright orange uniform of the mining crew, stormed right up to Quaritch like he owned the place. Everyone around them stared. Spider leaned around Quaritch to try and catch his eye, but the man wouldn’t so much as glance at him. All of his attention was on Quaritch. It was a comical sight. Spider would’ve laughed if he wasn’t too busy wishing he would look at him. Even though Quaritch perched awkwardly on the cafeteria bench that was much too small for him, the man still had to crane his neck to meet his gaze.

Quaritch looked down at the angry little man with an odd expression on his face, like he couldn’t decide if he was more irritated or amused by this interruption. Luckily for the man, Quaritch’s amusement won out in the end and he gave him a smile that was only half sarcastic. “If you got a bone to pick with Miles Quaritch, you’ve come to the right place. Now who might you be?”

“My name is Nash McCosker.” He huffed and crossed his arms, watching Quaritch’s face for a reaction. Clearly, his name was supposed to mean something to Quaritch, because he looked even more irritated when he didn’t react at all.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCosker.” Quaritch replied dryly. “I reckon I don’t need to introduce myself since you already seem to know who I am, so I’ll introduce you to my, ah… translator. This here is Spider. Say hello, Spider.”

He nudged him with his knee, but Spider didn’t say hello; he didn’t think he could even if he’d wanted to. His mouth was as dry as the land around Bridgehead, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Spider stared silently at McCosker, waiting for him to say something or look at him or do anything to acknowledge his presence. Even with Quaritch making an effort to introduce him, McCosker still wouldn’t even glance at him. He might as well have been a complete stranger. The silent rejection stung like a slap and Spider’s breath caught in his throat. His legs bounced in place, itching to move. Part of him wanted to march right up to McCosker and smack that stupid mustache off his face while another part of him wanted to run so far away he’d never have to hear his voice again. But Spider didn’t dare do any of that with Quaritch breathing down his neck, so instead he settled for clenching his fists and glaring at the floor. If McCosker wanted to act like he didn’t care about him, then fine! Spider didn’t care about him either! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quaritch’s ears flatten back at his reaction, but if it bothered him he didn’t say anything.

The silence stretched from awkward to downright uncomfortable, and Quaritch seemed to accept he wasn’t going to get a proper salutation out of Spider anytime soon. “Eh, sorry about that. This one’s not much for manners.”

McCosker scoffed. “Heh. Tell me about it.”

All of Spider’s resolve to pretend he didn’t care evaporated in an instant. “You—!“ he hissed as he lunged to his feet, and McCosker recoiled with his fists raised. Fortunately for McCosker, Spider didn’t get any further than that because Quaritch put a hand on his chest and pushed him right back into his seat. “Whoa! Easy, there!”

The reaction came so quickly that Quaritch only could’ve been expecting it. He kept one hand securely on Spider and with the other he gestured for McCosker to relax. Spider shoved his oversized hand off him with a snarl, but didn’t bother with trying to stand again. He crossed his arms and glared at the next table over. The group of scientists seated at the table suddenly became very interested in their plates.

“Alright, would either of you like to explain to me what the hell is going on here?” Quaritch asked as he looked between the two of them. The novelty of the situation was wearing off quick and Quaritch was going from amusement to irritation even quicker.

“Look, sir, I’m not looking for trouble.” McCosker must’ve sensed the danger in Quaritch’s mood, because he switched to a much politer tone. “I’m just looking to get what I’m owed.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly is that?”

Before McCosker could answer, the sound of rapid footsteps made all three of them look up. A man in a suit rushed towards them from the same door as McCosker. He clutched a haphazard binder full of papers to his chest that sent the occasional loose sheet fluttering into the air behind him.

“Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late.” He said breathlessly as he arrived at their table. “I tried to keep up with you, Mr. McCosker, but you took off so fast I got left in the dust, heh, heh.” He chuckled awkwardly before clearing his throat. “Good morning, Colonel. My name is Mr. Ford. I’m from the HR department and I will be mediating this agreement between you and Mr. McCosker today.” Mr. Ford offered his hand for Quaritch to shake, but Quaritch ignored it and narrowed his eyes.

“An agreement for what exactly?”

Mr. Ford lowered his arm and jammed it into his pocket. “Well, you see, sir, as the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, you are the legal beneficiary of all of your genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. You know this, correct?”

“Yes, this was all explained to me when I decanted. And?” Quaritch prompted impatiently.

“Of course you already know!” Mr. Ford fidgeted nervously. “But are you aware that you also inherit any and all debts belonging to Miles Quaritch?”

At that, Quaritch’s ears twitched back against his skull. “No… I don’t think that was ever mentioned. But I didn’t— I mean— him, the original Quaritch— he didn’t have any debt when he died, so why does this matter?”

“Well, not quite, sir. You see, your, eh, predecessor, left behind a child when he died.” He glanced at Spider and gave him an awkward smile that went unreturned. “And as I’m sure you’re well aware, children take a lot of time and effort to care for— a lot of labor, if you will, and I think we can all agree that so much hard labor ought to be fairly compensated for, so, well, you see, um—“

The more Mr. Ford stammered, the stonier Quaritch’s expression grew. “Get to the point already.”

“Mr. McCosker wants to be financially compensated for raising Miles Socorro!” He blurted out in a rush.

Spider scoffed loudly and Quaritch’s face pinched in confusion. “I’m sorry— what?” He turned to McCosker with narrowed eyes. “Who did you say you were again?”

“I’m Nash McCosker. I was one of the people who chose to stay on Pandora after Sully went native on us. Since your kid was too young to go back, somebody had to look after him, and that somebody was me! I raised him for fourteen years! Fourteen years! And now I want what I’m owed!”

Quaritch shook his head in disbelief. “I ain’t calling you a liar, McCosker, but this whole time I’ve been under the impression that this kid was raised by the natives.”

“He wasn’t. Me and my wife bent over backwards to give him the most normal childhood possible.”

“Are you seriously telling me that this boy was raised by two humans?”

“Yes!” McCosker snapped. “You think I’m lying, huh? What reason do you have not to believe me?”

“What reason do I—?” Quaritch repeated incredulously before pointing at Spider. “Fucking look at him!”

For the first time in over a year, McCosker looked his foster son in the eyes— the boy he’d raised and left behind for a chance to rejoin the RDA. Spider bared his teeth and hissed. He looked close to lunging at him again.

“Does this boy look like he was raised by humans to you? Heh?” Asked Quaritch.

“I know how he looks, but that doesn’t change the fact that you owe me fourteen years of child support!” McCosker yelled so forcefully that he sent up a spray of spittle.

“Please calm down, gentlemen!” Mr. Ford cried.

“Is he serious?” Quaritch asked him with the barest hint of a snarl in his voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, sir.” Said Mr. Ford. He clutched his overstuffed binder to his chest as if it would protect him if Quaritch decided to attack. “If he’s telling the truth, then, legally speaking, you do owe him child support. The RDA is willing to enforce this if we can confirm his claim.”

Quaritch hissed through his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is unbelievable. Are you seriously trying to make me pay for something that happened while I wasn’t alive? And what do you mean, confirm his claim?”

“Well, that’s the other thing. We can only enforce child support if it’s proven that Nash McCosker did indeed raise Miles Socorro for fourteen years, and we obviously don’t have any legal record of what’s happened on Pandora since the RDA left. So I need some kind of confirmation that McCosker is telling the truth before we can proceed.”

McCosker frowned at Mr. Ford, looking as equally confused as Quaritch. Apparently, this was the first time he’d heard this too.

“What kind of confirmation do you need?” Quaritch asked.

“Well…” in answer, Mr. Ford simply nodded his head behind Quaritch. In tandem, both Quaritch and McCosker slowly turned to look at where Spider sat sulking in the cafeteria chair. He slouched back with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Spider looked up at Quaritch, whose ears were pinned back in irritation, then over to McCosker, whose face flushed pink from anger. The whole cafeteria went silent, everyone waiting to see what Spider would say.

After a long pause, Spider straightened up in his seat and stared directly at McCosker. “I’ve never met that man before in my life.”

“What?” The word exploded out of McCosker so loudly that his voice cracked. His face went straight from pink to firetruck red in a matter of moments, and a prominent vein throbbed at his temple.

“He’s lying!” He roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Spider, who shrugged innocently. “You don’t actually believe him, right? I had him under my roof for fourteen years! You can’t throw the money away just because he’s lying about it!”

Mr. Ford backed away from McCosker with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCosker. If you cannot prove you raised him, then the HR department cannot enforce your claim.”

Quaritch smirked. He looked an awful lot like a cat that was proud of itself for making a mess. “You heard the man, McCosker. It was a real pleasure meeting you, but me and the kid gotta get going now.”

“No!” Protested McCosker as Quaritch and Spider got up to leave. When Quaritch’s back was turned, Spider sneakily flipped him off before scurrying after Quaritch like he hadn’t done anything. That was the last straw for McCosker.

“You ungrateful little shit!” He howled, spittle flying everywhere. Before anyone knew what was happening, McCosker lunged at Spider, his hands going straight for his throat. They collided, and Spider stumbled back into Quaritch’s legs. Quaritch whipped around with a startled hiss. He moved to pull McCosker off of Spider, but before he could get a hand on him, Spider had already taken care of it. Snarling just as fiercely as any Na’vi, Spider shoved McCosker off him. He staggered back, almost losing his footing from the force of the shove. Before he could recover, Spider punched him in the jaw so hard his head snapped back like a bobblehead. Then he hit him with a kick that knocked him clean off his feet. McCosker collapsed on his back. Blood flowed from his slack-jawed mouth. He hacked and wheezed, then spat something small into his hands: a tooth.

For a moment, McCosker stared in shock at his tooth, before glaring up at Spider. “I hope they execute you, you damn race traitor!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed back as he lunged toward the fallen man.

Quaritch was still frozen where he’d moved to protect Spider from McCosker. Now he realized he actually needed to protect McCosker from Spider.

“Stop!” He ordered, but it fell on deaf ears. Spider managed to get in another vicious punch before Quaritch grabbed him around the middle and hauled him off the ground. “Spider, that’s enough!”

A few bystanders who also wore orange mining crew uniforms rushed over to McCosker to help him to his feet. They ended up holding him back instead when he tried to lunge for Spider again. He yelled at him, blood and saliva dripping down his chin and mingling in his facial hair. “You’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you, you fucking bastard! Nobody wanted you around and nobody will miss you when you’re gone!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed again. He thrashed so hard in Quaritch’s grip that it was a struggle to hold onto him without hurting him.

Quaritch hauled him away from McCosker and back towards the entrance to the cafeteria. He roughly set him on the ground and shook him. “Get a hold of yourself, boy! There are cameras in here.”

Spider grit his teeth, his breath coming out in short, angry hisses, but he finally stopped fighting against him. His eyes went to the corners of the ceiling and sure enough, there were multiple cameras trained on the unfolding drama. The idea of Ardmore watching him jump an RDA employee after Quaritch had promised he would behave himself sent a chill down his spine.

“C’mon, let’s take a walk.” Quaritch never took his hand off Spider’s shoulder as he marched him out of the cafeteria. The mining crew hauled McCosker in the opposite direction, screaming curses and death wishes at Spider the whole while. Mr. Ford had made himself scarce a long time ago. Every set of eyes in the cafeteria was trained on Spider. Now that the tunnel vision from his anger had faded, he was painfully aware of all the stares and whispers. He looked down at his feet, letting his thick dreads hide his face from view.

“Alright!” Quaritch barked at the crowd of onlookers. “Show’s over, folks, there’s nothing else to see here.”

All it took was one look from Quaritch to send everyone’s eyes back to their plates. Quaritch marched Spider through Bridgehead’s cold, twisting hallways before pulling him into a small room used for storage. It was so small that Quaritch had to crouch to fit inside, but at least they had some privacy. Spider paced as much as he could in the small space, his hands clenched in trembling fists. Quaritch sat back in a corner of the storage room and watched him pace with an unreadable expression on his face.

CLANG! Without warning, Spider punched a nearby crate as hard as he could, leaving a small dent behind in the cheap metal. His knuckles came away bloody, but he was too angry to care.

“I hate that son of a bitch!” He yelled, and he moved to punch another crate, but Quaritch grabbed his arm.

“Hey, don’t go messing all these boxes up.”

“Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Spider hissed. As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted it.

Quaritch’s eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna let that slide ‘cause I know you’re upset, but you better not use that tone of voice with me, young man. Now, try again.”

Spider closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Then in a much calmer voice, he said, “please let go of me.”

“That’s better.” Quaritch made a big show of releasing his arm and leaning back to give him space.

Spider bounced on the balls of his feet and tried to look anywhere but Quaritch. Anger buzzed under his skin like a nest of hornets, filling him with a restless energy. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He wanted to hit something. Preferably McCosker’s face.

As if reading his mind, Quaritch raised his hands and extended them so his palms were facing Spider at shoulder height. “Here. You wanna hit something, put ‘er there.”

“What? But why would I—?” Spider shuffled a few steps back.

“Aw, relax, tiger, it’s not like you’re gonna hurt me. C’mon, gimme that same southpaw you gave the prick in the cafeteria.”

After another moment of hesitation, Spider half-heartedly hit Quaritch’s palm.

Quaritch scoffed. “You call that a punch?”

He hit him again, harder this time.

“C’mon, you can do better than that!”

This time, Spider put his whole body behind the punch, just like when he’d knocked McCosker’s tooth out.

“Atta boy! Now gimme a right hook!”

Spider punched Quaritch’s fists again and again, the dull thud of flesh against flesh driving away the angry buzz under his skin. Once he didn’t feel like he wanted to hunt McCosker down and knock the rest of his teeth out anymore, Quaritch stopped. The absence of anger left him feeling oddly hollow.

Quaritch whistled appreciatively, massaging his sore palms. “You could’ve been a boxer in another life, kid! Woulda been the next Muhammed Ali!”

Spider wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could tell from his tone that it was a compliment. He looked down and scuffed his heel against the floor, unsure of how to react to the praise.

“So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?” Quaritch probed.

“I… lied. I actually do know that man.” He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke.

Quaritch snorted. “I figured that much, kid. Who is he?”

“He was my foster father— er, he was supposed to be. He was alright when I was little far as I can remember, but after his kids were born, well… I dunno how to explain it. I still lived with him and his family— slept in their home, ate their food and all that— I was never neglected or anything— but it was like I was a guest or something. I was just… there.” Spider shrugged casually, like it didn’t bother him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Quaritch. He wanted to stop talking. Any information he let slip now could be used to manipulate him later. He knew he should stop talking, but for some reason he didn’t. These were thoughts he’d never voiced aloud to anyone, not even Kiri, and for some reason they came spilling out of him in front of Quaritch of all people. “It’s why I spent so much time in the forest instead of with the other humans. Some of the Na’vi didn’t want me around, but my friends did.”

Spider fiddled with the songcord on his belt, rubbing his fingers over three beautiful blue beads; they represented the day he’d befriended Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak. “They actually cared about me, you know?”

Okay, skxwang, you’ve said enough, stop talking now. His brain screamed, but it was drowned out by his traitorous mouth. He continued spilling his guts to an insane Na’vi-killer. “And then when the RDA came back, Ardmore offered the humans a deal to rejoin them, and McCosker wanted to take it. I wanted to stay with the Na’vi, but the grown-ups forced me to go with him. And the crazy thing was, I was actually gonna suck it up and go with him until my friends came back. But then McCosker captured them. He was gonna turn them in to Ardmore in exchange for a better deal. That fucking bastard. Mr. Sully trusted him and let him go back to the RDA with no hard feelings and he betrayed him—” if Quaritch scoffed at that, Spider pretended not to hear it.

“So I helped ‘em all escape. We busted outta there and found Mr. Sully. He wanted me to turn myself in to the RDA ‘cause he thought I would slow them down—” Quaritch made another noise in the back of his throat that almost sounded angry, but Spider ignored it too, “but I proved him wrong! I ran twice as hard as everyone else and I kept up. We all got away safe and sound.” The memory made Spider’s chest puff out in pride, and he almost felt good enough to look Quaritch in the eyes again, but then he remembered everything that came after that and he deflated.

“Anyway, after that, I thought I was never gonna see McCosker again, until… you know, until today.” Spider scuffed his feet against the ground once more. To his horror, his eyes started to prickle with unshed tears. He stubbornly blinked them away before they could fall. “It’s stupid. When I saw him, for a second I thought he was gonna— gonna— I don’t even know. Do something other than ask for money, I guess. But that was stupid. He only talked to me when he had to before he left so I don’t know why I thought he would be different now and—”

THUD! The sudden sound of flesh against metal startled Spider so much he finally looked up at Quaritch. He’d punched one of the metal crates, leaving a larger, deeper indent just above where Spider’s smaller hand had punched it earlier. When Quaritch pulled his hand away, his knuckles were bloody, just like Spider’s. Now they matched. If Quaritch cared or even noticed the blood, he gave no sign of it. He stared blankly at Spider, as if looking through him rather than at him, his face twisted into a rictus of fury. There was so much pure vitriol in his eyes that Spider physically recoiled. His back hit the wall and he slid as far away from him as he could in the tiny storage space. Oh great. Now he’d done it. All his rambling had pissed him off and now he looked angry enough to murder.

“Whoa, I’m sorry!” Spider blurted out quickly.

Quaritch blinked and his eyes snapped back into focus, now looking at Spider instead of through him. “Why?”

“For pissing you off, I didn’t mean to start talking so much, I just—”

“Oh,” Quaritch’s eyebrows pulled up out of their angry scowl and he stared at the dent he’d left in the crate like he didn’t remember making it. He took in the way Spider recoiled away from him and his demeanor instantly changed, all aggression leaving his body. “Wait, kid, no, I ain’t mad at you. Relax. I was mad about something else.”

Spider eyed his bloodied knuckles warily. “You sure?”

“I promise.” He put his palms up to show he meant no harm. “You did nothing wrong today. It sounds like that guy had it coming. I don’t want you worrying about him anymore, you hear me? If he comes round again I’ll put him in his place.”

“Okay… thank you.”

Quaritch tilted his head to the side. “What are you thanking me for?”

Once again, Spider found himself unable to look Quaritch in the eye. What was he thanking him for? The man had kidnapped him for crying out loud, the last thing he owed him was an apology! In the end, all he did was shrug.

“You don’t know? Well, that’s funny, cause I’m the one who oughta be thanking you.” Quaritch gently reached out and brushed a knuckle under Spider’s chin, hard enough to nudge his head up, but still light enough so Spider could pull away if he wanted to. When Spider reluctantly made eye contact with him, Quaritch smiled— it was a real one this time, not like the mean, sarcastic ones he’d given McCosker.

“You just saved me from giving a shit-ton of money to that asshole.” He said with a slight laugh in his voice.

Even though Spider still felt pretty shitty, he smiled back and shoved Quaritch’s hand away from his chin. “I didn’t do it for you, skxwang, I did it to spite him!”

“Well, I’m thanking you for it anyway!” Chuckled Quaritch. “And you know what, I think I owe you a little something now.”

Spider watched on curiously as Quaritch reached into his side pockets and withdrew two little bundles wrapped up in napkins. When he unfolded the napkins and offered them to Spider, he was delighted to see two cinnamon rolls. He must’ve snagged them as they were leaving the cafeteria when Spider wasn’t looking. The gesture made Spider’s eyes widen. Usually Kiri was the only person who took note of Spider’s favorite foods and went out of her way to give him some when he was feeling down. Even McCosker had never done anything like that, and he’d raised Spider for fourteen years.

“You gonna just stare at it or are you gonna eat it?” Quaritch asked. He telegraphed his movements as if he were going to take the rolls back, but before he could, Spider snatched them out of his hand.

“Mmm!” Spider wasted no time sinking his teeth into a cinnamon roll. Sweet sugary icing and spice exploded on his tongue; it tasted even better than it smelled. He would always prefer natural Pandoran food to Earth food, but if he had to pick a favorite from Earth, it was definitely this.

“Don’t inhale it all at once now!” Quaritch laughed as he watched him scarf it down. “We’re not in a rush. Just make sure you eat it all before we go meet up with the others. If Wainfleet sees it he’s gonna want on too.”

“Mm-hm!” Spider nodded through a mouthful of pastry.

For some reason, eating the cinnamon roll made him feel instantly better, which was odd. Spider had never been a comfort-food kind of person. Maybe the human chefs put some strange magic in their cinnamon rolls. Or —as he looked up at Quaritch, another idea occurred to him— maybe it had less to do with the roll, and more with the fact that Quaritch had thought to give it to him.

#but lets be for real right now if quaritch owes anyone child support its probably jake which is fucking hilarious #spider socorro #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #avatar quaritch #atwow #avatar #avatar the way of traumatizing spider #avatar the way of water #ao3 #avatar fanfiction #avatar spider

[prehistoricmancunt]

It’s incredible (/neg) to me how many celebrities (and people in general) have fallen for the pro Israel propaganda. You’d think with all the people and money celebs have access to that they’d have people trying to educate them on the actuality of the situation.

Especially when being misinformed means these people will broadcast propaganda to millions of people/fans who will eat up everything they say. Esp people whose platforms are usually ones that would seem to naturally lean toward freedom and against genocide and colonialism??

Like how many people are just hearing the one side and are so afraid of being labelled as wrong or anti semitic that they just refuse to challenge the point of view they’re fed? How can we get through to them that the state of Israel is the one in the wrong?

How can we penetrate the walls of people arming themselves with the most available information as ‘the right’ information, who will claim any point of view if it seems like the majority in an attempt to duck out of controversy?

#text post #taika waititi #con o'neill #Jordan peele #Adam Sandler #Amy Schumer #Aaron sarkin #Katy perry #sting #Jack black #Sarah Paulson #Bradley cooper #Eric Andre #ewan mcgregor #noah schnapp #jason sudeikis #justin timberlake #Laura dern #Lana deal Rey #Jon hamm #Martin short #Madonna #patti lupone #regina spektor #Orlando bloom #Paul Rudd #Aubrey plaza #these are the people that have signed that letter #some of the people bc I couldn’t tag everyone

[robertreich]

The Truth Behind “Self-Made” Billionaires

Why do we glorify “self-made” billionaires?

Well, being “self-made” is a seductive idea —it suggests that anybody can get to the top if they're willing to work hard enough. It’s what the American Dream is all about.

If Kylie Jenner can become a “self-made” billionaire at age 21, so can you and I!

Even as wages stay stagnant and wealth inequality grows, it’s a comfort to think that we’re all simply one cosmetics company and some elbow grease away from fortune.

Unfortunately, a nice idea is all it is. Self-made billionaires are a myth. Just like unicorns.

The origins of self-made billionaires are often depicted as a “rags-to-riches” rise to the top fueled by nothing but personal grit and the courage to take risks — like dropping out of college, or starting a business in a garage.

But in reality, the origins of many billionaires aren’t so humble. They’re more “riches-to-even-more-riches” stories, rooted in upper-middle class upbringings.

How much risk did Bill Gates take on when his mother used her business connections to help Microsoft land a deal-making software for IBM?

Elon Musk came from a family that owned an emerald mine during the time of Apartheid South Africa.

Jeff Bezos’ garage-based start was funded by a quarter-million dollar investment from his parents.

If your safety net to joining the billionaire class is remaining upper class – that’s not pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.

Nor is failing to pay your fair share of taxes along the way.

Along with Musk and Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, George Soros, and Carl Icahn have all gotten away with paying ZERO federal income taxes some years. That’s a big helping hand, courtesy of legal loopholes and American taxpayers who pick up the tab, all while our tax dollars subsidize the corporations owned by these so-called “self-reliant” entrepreneurs.

Did you get a thank you card from any of them? I sure as hell didn’t.

Other common ways that billionaires build their coffers off the backs of others include paying garbage wages and subjecting workers to abusive labor conditions.

But portraying themselves as rugged individuals who overcame poverty or “did it on their own” remains an effective propaganda tool for the ultrawealthy. One that keeps workers from rising up collectively to demand fairer wages – and one that ultimately distracts from the role that billionaires play in fostering poverty in the first place.

Billionaires say their success proves they can spend money more wisely and efficiently than the government. Well they have no problem with government spending when it comes to corporate subsidies.

When arguing for even more tax breaks, they claim each “dollar the government takes from [them] is a dollar less” for their “critical” role in expanding prosperity for all Americans, through job creation and philanthropy. Well that’s rubbish.

50 years of tax cuts for the wealthy have failed to trickle down. As a result of Trump’s tax cuts, 2018 saw the 400 richest American families pay a lower tax rate than the middle class. And U.S. billionaire wealth grew by $2 trillion during the first two years of a pandemic that was economically catastrophic for just about everyone else. They want to have their cake, everyone else’s cake, and eat it, too.

Behind every ten-figure net worth is systemic inequality. Inherited wealth. Labor exploitation. Tax loopholes. And government subsidies.

To claim these fortunes are “self-made” is to perpetuate a myth that blames the wealth gap on the choices of everyday Americans.

Billionaires are not made by rugged individuals. They’re made by policy failures. And a system that rewards wealth over work.

Know the truth.

#youtube #video #videos #billionaires #money #wealth #inequality #economics #elon musk #jeff bezos #tesla #amazon

[kallie-den]

Warhound

Sartha Thrace, ace mech pilot, is always so confused. She's a rebel, so why is she fighting on the wrong side? She's a free woman, so why is she wearing a muzzle? She's a hero, so why do her comrades treat her like a rabid dog? Sartha Thrace is so fortunate that her beloved Handler is always there to help her understand

This is a little different from my usual work. An experiment in style and tone, although it is still definitely mind control smut! Be warned, though. The tone is dark and it features some things like betrayal and gunplay that some readers might take exception to

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I  write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

Nothing makes Sartha Thrace feel good the way being saddled up in the cockpit of a huge mech suit does.

She usually likes to say it’s because of all the good you can do with that kind of power, because it’s a good line for pro-rebellion propaganda, but the truth is that it’s far more immediate than that. The joy comes from a million different things. The way the seat beneath her thrums as the machine kicks into life. The scent of machine oil and burnt steel as the reactor spools up. The way everything in the world shakes when her almighty machine, as big as a skyscraper, takes just one single step. The joy isn’t in her head. It’s in her blood. Her guts.

It’s fucking perfect.

All in all, it makes Sartha feel like she’s not just a person anymore. A person is just meat, however much of a hero they are. In the cockpit, she’s a sixty-foot-tall titan ready to crush the world under her heel. There’s nothing like the power trip, and it helps take her mind off some of the anxieties that like to eat at her.

Ancyor is the name of her beast. They know it everywhere, because Sartha is, after all, a hero. Just a name, no class, no model number. Not much point now. Ancyor isn’t like anything else after all the cannibalism Sartha’s had to do to keep her running. Everything’s been replaced twice. Most of it, three times or more. So now Ancyor is one hell of an ugly mongrel, but that hasn’t done anything to keep it off the rebel recruitment posters. They like using its face almost as much as they do Sartha’s.

It’s what you get for being a hero. Hell, for being the hero. She’s the big hero of the rebellion.

They’re just coming up on the battlezone now. Sartha trusts her instruments but she trusts her eyes even more, so she takes a moment to peer out of Ancyor’s grubby little viewports, even though it’s hard with her muzzle in the way. She can see her comrades’ battle line unfolding on either side of her, and it doesn’t make her happy. None of the other mechs look anything like Ancyor.

They’re all brand new and freshly-painted, and way too sleek for their own good. The kinds of machines that have just rolled off an Imperial production line. Fresh tech given to fresh meat that doesn’t even know how to use it properly. Something about it unsettles Sartha. She has too many ghostly little memories of fighting on the other side, against machines like that. Being with them doesn’t feel right.

Memories of someone else’s life. That’s what Handler always calls them when she tells Sartha not to dwell on them. Sartha does her best to listen, because Handler is always right. Handler is wonderful.

Sartha raises a hand and touches her muzzle as she thinks about that.

Everyone’s in position, comes the voice over the radio. Snooty. Elitist. An officer.

Copy, comes the reply. We’re ready.

Can we send the dog in first? someone asks. A bunch of sniggers follow that one.

Negative, says the officer. We stick to the plan. Commencing bombardment.

A few moments later, the ground starts rumbling and the whole sky lights up red and white. Sartha doesn’t look. She knows better than to stare at the fireworks. This isn’t her first battle. She’s a hero, and she knows what she needs to do. The little drip of adrenaline the blasts prompt helps her focus.

“Here we go, Ancyor,” she murmurs to no one.

When she opens up the throttle, Ancyor responds as always, with an ugly purr. The beast surges forwards. Sartha wants to be right on the heels of the bombardment. That’s what she does best. She gets stuck in with blade and chain, wherever it’s getting good and messy.

That makes her a really big target, obviously, and sure enough, the enemy is already replying to the artillery in kind. Beams and missiles start to fly past Ancyor as it sprints. Well, not all of them. Some of them hit home, and Sartha feels the impact in her own body. It does nothing but put a crazy grin on her face, behind the muzzle’s metal cage. She feels her mech clunk underneath her as redundant systems slam into place wherever the damage isn’t so superficial.

It’ll take more than that to put her beast down.

But since she isn’t actually crazy the way people say, Sartha shelters behind a ruin, ready for the tense dance of sprinting from cover to cover as she advances. As she does, she sees her comm system lighting up. It’s the enemy, yelling at her across a broad comm band.

Obviously Sartha knows she should ignore it, but there’s never been a good pilot who didn’t know how to trash talk. She isn’t enough of a professional to not reach over and flick a few switches so she can listen in.

At first the transmissions are too loud, and so messy they almost sound like interference. It’s not, it’s just too many damn people yelling at once. As usual, the sight of Ancyor loping into combat was getting a nice healthy response. After a moment, Sartha manages to pick out a few things here and there:

Traitor.

How could you do this to us?

Why?

What the fuck is wrong with you, Thrace?

What did they do to you?

Somehow, some of that makes it through the adrenaline and Sartha stops grinning. It’s not the words exactly. It’s the emotion. There’s this one woman in particular she can pick out, howling into her radio. It’s not familiar, it’s no one she knows, but there’s something in her voice. A depth; a ragged, throatfucked anguish that only comes from something real.

From real betrayal.

Sartha risks taking a hand off the joystick to adjust her muzzle, trying to make it less uncomfortable.

At the same time, she tries to convince herself it’s all bullshit. She tries to remind herself where she is, and what she’s fighting for, but that’s hard because she doesn’t know. All that stuff - the briefings before the mission, for example - is just a haze. It’s fog. It’s nothing. It’s like she wasn’t even there. So what the fuck is this battle?

Another look through the viewport. The whole place is already buried under inches of dust and napalm, but Sartha still can’t quite shake the feeling that she knows this city. It feels like maybe, in one of those other lives she sometimes remembers, this was a place she wanted to defend.

There’s something wrong with her, she thinks. It’s the only way to explain why she keeps flinching whenever she sees one of those sleek, black, fresh Imperial mechs punch out of the dust-fog. Stupid, stupid. They’re on her side. She needs to get that straight.

Sartha is keeping Ancyor moving, but that’s just instinct, and instinct isn’t half as good when you’re not paying fucking attention. And she can’t stop paying attention to that howling voice on the comms.

What did they do to you, Thrace? Was it money? What the fuck did they do to you?

What did they do to her? Sartha doesn’t quite know, although she knows for sure it wasn’t money. She remembers something, maybe, unless it’s just one of those other people’s lives. A room. A room that makes her scared shitless. And pain. From electric shocks, she thinks. And lights - lights shined into her head so bright she thought they would punch all the way out the other side. And most of all, words that never ever ever ever stopped whispering.

Fuck. Shit. She’s breaking down now, like a raw rookie. Only Sartha’s not a rookie, she’s a hero, only maybe she’s not even that if she’s a traitor like the voice on the radio says. She needs to get her head on straight. She needs to figure out where she is and what this battle is. She needs to get this freakish fucking muzzle off her head. She needs-

Click.

The radio goes silent and Sartha goes dead still. She knows Ancyor better than she knows her own soul. She knows every little noise it ever makes, and this one is very special. It’s an override for the comm system, activating a direct line to one special person in particular. Sartha’s breast swells with hope and bile in the instant before she hears her voice.

Can you hear me, Sartha? Handler says.

“Yes,” Sartha replies at once, because she would never keep Handler waiting. She’s already pulling herself together. She can’t break down like this. Not with Handler here.

It seemed like you were getting confused, Handler says. So here I am.

Hearing that almost feels bad because it’s almost a reproach, but Sartha feels good instead because she’s just happy to listen to Handler talking. Handler’s voice is love.

I’m going to take care of that for you, Handler warns. Ready?

“Yes,” Sartha says. She’s never quite ready for what’s coming, but she’s cringingly grateful for it anyway because in a few moments all the things she was worrying about won’t matter.

Hound, Handler says in a special voice. Off The Leash.

It’s not quite instant, and so Sartha gets a single moment to experience her own psyche cracking like an egg. It feels, more than anything, like clarity. She gets it now, as she falls away from herself. Sartha Thrace isn’t a real person anymore. Sartha Thrace is gone, they just kept the shape of her, like a papier-mâché mask keeping the imprint of someone’s face.

They needed her body, because it’s recognizable. They needed her piloting skills, because she’s the best. Everything else, they scooped out, except for whatever they needed to keep to make a nice little convenient shell for the thing that’s inside her now. The thing that’s coming out, now that she’s Off The Leash.

Sartha Thrace goes away, and Hound wakes up.

Hound whoops and growls, making Handler laugh approvingly over the radio, and guns Ancyor’s throttle so viciously hard the mech starts to scream underneath her. Hound doesn’t care. Hound doesn’t care about anything. She’s right where she belongs - in her colossal metal body, muzzle strapped to her face, beloved Handler in her ear.

And in front of her, there are targets.

Hound makes Ancyor lunge out of cover and surge towards the nearest thing she sees that doesn’t look like one of her sleek, black packmates, and then start tearing it to shreds. The way Ancyor jerks and whines in protest as it really rips into an enemy mech turns Hound’s growl into a wolf-scream of pure, untainted glee that lasts until the broken, bleeding thing under Ancyor’s blades finally stops moving.

Then, Hound lopes off into the rebel city in her mech, looking for more things to kill.

***

Sartha Thrace doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time Ancyor heaves back into its berth in the hangar. She only knows it’s after the battle, and mostly she knows there was a battle because Ancyor is beaten to hell and she’s covered in scars and her own matted blood.

It hurts, but in a good way, like how exercise hurts. The core of that good feeling is the vague sense that she has done a good job today. She fought hard, and they won.

Handler will be proud of her.

Despite how exhausted Sartha is, that knowledge puts a spring in her step as she dismounts from Ancyor’s cockpit onto one of the huge piers that line the hangar in rows. The hangar is a vast, cavernous space, too big to feel real, so big it’ll make your eyes hurt if you stare at the ceiling or the far wall. It’s steadily filling up as more and more of Sartha’s comrades make it back.

Not as many as there had been when they left, but that’s always how it is. Sartha knows how to make herself cold to it.

She gets a lot of hard, bad looks from the other pilots as they dismount. Some even spit. Sartha doesn’t let it trouble her. She isn’t really one of them, she knows. They’re all Imperial to a T: neat, black uniforms, cropped hair, stiff hats and straight backs. Sartha wears grubby old military khakis instead, with more than a few personal touches, and her mid-length blonde hair is messy in a deliberate, handsome way. And there’s the muzzle, of course. She doesn’t look like one of them. She looks like one of the people on the other side.

Sartha could probably figure out the other, less superficial reasons she wasn’t really one of them if she put her mind to it, but she didn’t, because Handler had told her not to. Handler always knows best.

Maybe something happened in the battle, and that’s why they’re so mad. Sartha doesn’t really remember, past the beginning. It’s all fog. She doesn’t worry about that. Another thing Handler has told her not to worry about. Sometimes it feels like her whole life has been consumed by fog, but she never worries thanks to Handler. That’s one of Handler’s many gifts to her, and in exchange Sartha needs to be very very good. She delights in being good. She won’t remove her muzzle without permission, even now, as it rubs uncomfortably into her face.

And there! Sartha catches sight of Her coming down the pier, as if in response to the hero pilot’s yearning.

Handler.

She’s magnificent. Beautiful, yes, but in a special way, more like a goddess than a person. Everyone else knows She’s special too. The other pilots, the ones who’d been spitting at Sartha, move out of the way and salute at Her passing. A special uniform marks Her rank. It’s more ceremonial than practical: tight-fitting leathers and high boots, with a sleek cap to crown Her platinum hair and a heavy, black coat to make Her silhouette all the more imposing.

Sartha senses that the other pilots are a little bit afraid of Her, but she isn’t. She could never be afraid of Handler.

“Sartha,” Handler says, in a voice that makes Sartha shiver every time. “Congratulations. You did well.”

Every single muscle in Sartha’s body goes stiff at the praise. Her head starts spinning giddily and a nervous, twitchy grin comes to her face. This is a sacred moment. But it’s too good to be true. It’s too much.

“I got… confused,” Sartha replies in a crestfallen tone. She can’t disagree with Handler, obviously, but nor can she be dishonest. She needs to volunteer these things.

“That’s true,” Handler conceded. “But you made it back on track. That’s what counts. It was a very confusing place for you. You did well.”

Sartha gasps and shudders. Butterflies in her stomach. The praise is all the sweeter now that she’s unburdened herself. She feels the ecstasy of purification.

“T-thank you,” she blurts out nervously, stupidly.

Talking to Handler always does this to her. Sartha has as many notches on her bedpost as any other ace but with Handler she’s fourteen again, a tongue-tied virgin struggling to think of a good enough line to get one of the older, prettier girls to take her to prom. She has to grab her left arm with her right hand to stop it shaking too much. But the anxiety is more than balanced out by elation. She can’t be anything but happy when Handler is here.

A thin smile comes to Handler’s face. On anyone else it might have seemed cruel, but Sartha knows that Handler is beyond petty things like cruelty. “You’re a very good hound.”

That phrase is like a magic spell. It lets Sartha relax into the praise. She giggles, and the grin on her face becomes broad and innocent. She’s a good hound for Handler. It’s perfect. It makes whatever she was worrying about earlier when she was confused feel utterly remote and small. Nothing matters when she’s a good hound for Handler. It’s the only important thing in the entire world, and her whole body knows it.

Sartha’s brain throbs endorphins into her bloodstream at a dangerous rate. She’s seeing stars and shivering rapturously. She’s blushing and dripping between her legs; turned on like hell even though this pleasure is so much more than just sex. Being a hound is better than being just a hero ever was.

She’s a good hound for Handler.

“And you know what that means,” Handler adds, smiling still. “Don’t you?”

Sartha dares to nod. She has her hopes, but it would be blasphemous to get her hopes up.

“Good hounds get rewards,” Handler tells her, and reaches out to pet her head.

This is special and it makes Sartha stop thinking altogether. Handler’s touch on her head is infinitely familiar, and more reassuring than anything. Her thoughts turn into bubbles that pop as Handler messes her hair affectionately. Sartha doesn’t try to collect herself, she just grins her stupid grin and stretches her back to try and push her head against Handler’s fingers. The lack of self-discipline is an indulgence, but one that she’s allowed from time to time.

“There we go!” Handler coos. “You deserve this. Don’t you?”

“Yesyesyes,” Sartha blurts out, all in a rush. “Thankyouthankyou.”

She could cry. She’s never been happier.

Handler gives her the blessing of letting her enjoy this for a few long moments before She says: “I think there’s another thing you deserve too. You deserve a treat. Hound deserves a treat.”

Sartha nods, drunk on eagerness. A treat is something different. Something specific. She always gets a treat after a mission, unless she’s been very, very bad.

“Sit,” Handler commands.

At once Sartha is on her knees. It doesn’t take thought. She sees that some of the other pilots are gathering round, and some of them are laughing at her. Sartha doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anyone else when she’s with Handler. Those other pilots just don’t understand how special She is.

Handler leans in and looms over her, and says in that special voice of Hers: “Hound. Off The Leash.”

Sartha Thrace goes away, and Hound wakes up.

It’s a very different Hound from the one that wakes in the thick of battle. Hound doesn’t growl - she can’t, not at Handler - she just makes her eyes big and looks up at her owner. Handler’s smile widens.

“Very good,” She purrs at Hound’s display of patience. Handler pointedly sets one foot forward, resting Her big, heavy, leather boot on its heel. She waits a few moments, allowing Hound’s need to build. “OK. Go.”

Hound throws herself forward and wraps her entire body around Handler’s leg. She pushes her thighs apart as wide as she can, all the better to start grinding her cunt against Handler’s boot.

Immediately, Hound lets out a desperate whine of pleasure so loud it echoes around the hangar instead of being swallowed up. Her mind goes blank. The few thoughts Hound is permitted to have vanish. Touching Handler this way makes her unbelievably sensitive. The sensation is earth-shattering even though the heavy material of her clothes is in the way. What this represents is more important than how it actually feels.

Safety. Purpose. Reward.

This is Hound’s safe place. Perhaps the only place she feels truly safe, and that’s because this is where she’s meant to be. There’s no doubt. No uncertainty. Not with Handler. Hound does what she’s told and she gets her treat. It’s so blissfully simple.

If being good for Handler is the only thing that matters, she doesn’t need to think about anything else. And this is how she knows she’s been good for Handler.

“Good girl,” Handler says, looking down at her. Handler sounds so very amused, and Hound is just pleased to be the one amusing her.

She puts her face as close to Handler as she possibly can. Her muzzle is in the way so she has to turn her head and rub it desperately against her owner’s hips. She’s desperate for Handler’s scent; that scent of leather and polish and dark perfume is infinitely comforting and pleasurable. As it fills her nose, she starts humping more slowly and deliberately, pressing hard so that she can feel every one of the taut laces of Handler’s boot rubbing against her cunt.

Hound’s whimpers start to fill out into panting, breathless moans. The exertion is almost too much for her. She was already exhausted from combat. But she won’t stop. She’d never give up her treat, not for anything.

The crowd around Handler and Hound is growing as more and more Imperial pilots gather to watch the strange ritual. Despite their lurid curiosity, they keep a respectful distance; Handler commands a great deal of fearful respect. Most of them are laughing or leering or making cruel, obscene comments to one another. Hound barely notices, and doesn’t care at all. They don’t matter. Only Handler matters.

She does care, though, when one of the pilots breaks the circle and approaches. A woman. The laughter dies away, replaced by hushed pleas for their comrade to retreat back into line. She doesn’t. Hound flashes her a look, teeth bared, although her treat is too all-consuming for her to expend anything more than a stray thought on anything but rubbing her cunt all over Handler’s leg.

The woman returns Hound’s look with a hateful glare. “How can you let that… thing do that to you?” she demands of Handler.

Handler stares at her. She doesn’t flinch, which is impressive. Handler remains relaxed, amused. “What do you mean?”

“She’s a fucking rebel!” the woman spits. She steps forward again. “An enemy.”

“Not anymore,” Handler replies calmly. “What’s your name, pilot?”

“Sergeant Meetra Kotys,” she answers. “Sir,” she adds, a beat later than she should.

“You needn’t be afraid, Sergeant Kotys,” Handler tells her. “I personally oversaw Thrace’s reconditioning. Our domestication procedures are extremely thorough. There is no risk of reversion to adverse behavior.”

Hound hears but doesn’t listen. It’s not her place to listen. It’s her place to rut against Handler’s boot like the dumb animal she knows she is.

“I’m not afraid!” Sergeant Kotys spits. “I’m fucking disgusted. That woman took down half my wing at Hebros Ridge last year. Six people in the ground. Because of her.” The pilot’s eyes are uneven. Wild. “She deserves worse than this.”

Handler takes her time composing a reply. She pushes her foot forward, pressing her boot against Hound’s cunt. Hound moans, unfathomably grateful for this gift. She keeps humping, the rhythmic, bucking motion of her hips growing steadily more and more desperate.

“The Hound and her mech are a significant asset to the Imperial forces,” Handler says eventually. Her voice is icier now. More menacing. “That is all you should need to know, Sergeant. I’m pleased you value the lives of your fellow pilots. You might consider how many more of them might have been lost today without Hound here.”

Sergeant Kotys bristles at that. With a woman like Handler, there’s an implied threat lurking behind her every word, but the pilot is too aggrieved to care.

“But,” Handler adds, pausing for long enough to emphasize her charity. “Perhaps it will help you to think of it like this: my little warhound here is not Sartha Thrace. She is not the Sartha Thrace who killed your comrades. Whatever you want to do to her, it won’t be revenge. She is not Sartha Thrace. I have made her something else. Understand?”

Sergeant Kotys’s eyes flit uncertainly between Handler and Hound as she struggles to wrap her head around that; to reconcile her anger with it. In the end, she shakes her head.

“No,” she snarls. “No. That’s her. That’s fucking her. Seen that face a hundred times on the posters. That’s her fucking face. What about her hair, huh? And her clothes? If she’s something else, why does she look the same way she always did?”

“Ego totems.” Handler’s calm was impenetrable. “A few personal touches, nothing more. A little continuity and familiarity helps to maintain a sustainable, pliable outer persona.”

Sergeant Kotys just laughs thickly. “Fuck whatever that means.”

She takes another step forward. This is too close for Hound; she rouses herself a little from her stupid rut and begins to growl protectively at the sergeant from behind her muzzle. She only stops and returns to humping when Handler rests Her hand on Hound’s head.

“How can you just touch her like that?” Sergeant Kotys demands. She is furious beyond reason. Furious enough to risk the pilot’s wings she wore so proudly on her collar. “It makes me sick. Every time we’re told to drag her out into combat I feel like I’m gonna throw up in my damn cockpit.”

Hound isn’t paying attention again. The sounds of her rubbing herself on Handler’s leg are turning increasingly wet. Her cunt is soaked, and the dark stain on the front of her pants is starting to drip.

“Feel like I’m gonna get shot in the back every time I’m not looking her way.” The corner of Sergeant Kotys’s mouth keeps twitching down. “We all do. How do you know she’s not just playing you, huh? How do we know she’s not gonna just… just snap out of it, or something?”

Handler’s lip turns upwards. “Does she look to you like she’s going to snap out of it? See for yourself.”

Sergeant Kotys looks at Hound - really looks at her. She looks at the expression of dumb, grateful lust on her face. At the metal cage strapped firmly over her mouth. At the vacancy in her eyes, and the vulgar, bestial enthusiasm in her hips. She stares for way too long.

“Fuck…” she breathes. Her cheeks are red. ��I can’t believe this. This is wrong. This is the woman who… I should really just…”

She reaches to her side and draws her pistol from its holster.

A few brave members of the crowd of pilots start to reach forwards, especially when Sergeant Kotys points her gun straight at Hound. Handler seems to know something they don’t, though. She flashes them a look, and they freeze. All eyes are on the sergeant.

She moves slow and shuddery. Like Hound, she’s not uninjured. There’s a mean cut on her forehead and a couple of bruises on her cheek. She looks exhausted too, but her hand is steady when she puts the barrel of her gun right against Hound’s forehead.

Hound barely even notices. To her, it’s nothing more than a little shock of cold as she feels the metal touch her skin. A mere distraction from what actually matters. She’s in heat. Handler is right here with her. She just needs to do what she’s supposed to do. She needs to enjoy her treat.

“God,” Sergeant Kotys grunts. She sounds almost disgusted, and almost something else. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”

The tip of her gun travels down the side of Hound’s face. The sergeant uses it like an extension of her own hand, dragging it heavily, callously across Hound’s skin until she’s prodding it into her cheek. The pitch of Hound’s moaning changes for a moment, but only for a moment.

“What about this, huh?” Sergeant Kotys nods to Handler as she jabs the tip of her gun hard into the side of Hound’s muzzle. Hound whimpers. “What’s this for?”

“That’s for your benefit, sergeant,” Handler replies. There’s a slight smirk on her face. “It helps our people understand her new place.”

“That’s fucking twisted.”

The expression on Sergeant Kotys’s face is so mixed it’s impossible to read. She hasn’t taken her eyes off Hound in minutes. She’s transfixed, and she barely seems aware of what she’s doing as she starts pushing harder with her gun, steadily dislodging Hound’s muzzle from where it’s supposed to be.

Even in heat, Hound can’t fail to notice this. A sudden burst of anxiety claims her. She doesn’t know what this means, so she looks pleadingly up at Handler.

“Wait.” This is the first true order Handler has given. Her voice is crisp and expectant and makes even Sergeant Kotys pause and look. Handler holds her gaze for a long moment. “She is an asset,” She reiterates firmly. “Do not damage her.”

Sergeant Kotys nods. A moment later, Handler nods too. Both Hound and the sergeant see the nod for what it is.

Permission.

The barrel of Sergeant Kotys’s gun is even more insistent now as it presses against the side of Hound’s muzzle. She’s pressing hard enough to move the metal cage out of place. Hound lets out an uncertain little whine. Her muzzle is tight enough that it hurts as it’s pushed across her skin, but more importantly, this is unfamiliar. But she doesn’t try to stop the sergeant, and she doesn’t stop steadily bucking her hips as she continues to hump Handler’s leg.

Handler gave permission.

Eventually the muzzle comes away from Hound’s face. The strap that attaches it to Hound’s head is still fastened, but it turns sideways and awkwardly hangs against her cheek. It’s a welcome relief, but the crushing pressure of the tight muzzle is almost immediately replaced by the cold of Sergeant Kotys’s handgun. She angles it slightly, wedging the very tip between Hound’s lips and using it to pry them apart.

Hound whimpers. The sergeant isn’t gentle. She butts the gun against Hound’s teeth and folds her lips up against her face. Hound can’t help but drool; she was already drooling a little from the sheer, gratifying pleasure of Handler’s boot against her cunt short-circuiting her devastated brain, but now trickles of saliva are dangling down her face and coating the gun’s barrel.

Sergeant Kotys’s expression twists.

She keeps going. She takes her time exploring, watching Hound’s face twitch whenever she moves the gun like this or like that. Everyone is watching her, as she goes ten times further than any of the other pilots would have dared. They’re not laughing now, they’re just staring, mesmerized by what’s happening.

The sergeant looks mesmerized too. She looks like she can’t stop.

Her pushing and prodding starts to turn more deliberate. Hound is panting from pleasure, and Sergeant Kotys takes advantage to push her gun deeper, forcing Hound’s teeth apart and ramming the hard, cold, metal barrel into her mouth. It slips in deep enough to make Hound choke on the unfamiliar object.

But after that, she starts sucking.

It’s what Sergeant Kotys wants. Hound can tell from the way she moves the gun back and forth, thrusting it, fucking Hound’s face. Hound doesn’t care about the sergeant at all, but she cares about Handler more than anything, and she knows Handler wants this. That alone is enough to fill her with giddy, heady enthusiasm and make her bob her head as she laps pleasingly at the gun barrel despite the acrid taste of burnt metal and oil.

“Fuck,” Sergeant Kotys breathes as she looks down at her.

There’s something in the sergeant’s eyes. Something bright, something growing. She keeps pumping faster with her gun, daring Hound to match her pace. She’s wearing the expression of a girl who's just figuring out that breaking toys is simply a special, better way of playing with them. Her nostrils flare with each breath, and the way her chest rises and falls beneath her uniform is sinful. There are a hundred ways to read what’s going on in her face, but one thing is very obvious to every single person watching.

She is enjoying this.

Hound is enjoying it too. She enjoys everything Handler wants her to do, no matter what, but after grinding her needy cunt into Handler’s boot for so long, her head is full of endorphins that make her stupid and transform anything into pleasure. And beyond that, a part of her simply loves the attention; a simple, brute, canine part of her they hammered into her head to make her more workable.

So, she has to try as hard as she can to be a very very good hound, and that means sucking off Sergeant Kotys’s gun with the rapturous adoration she’d usually reserve for Handler Herself. She doesn’t have to pay attention to the way her hips are moving, that’s automatic, so can lavish all her attention on the stiff rod of the gun’s barrel, lapping at it, drooling on it, taking it as deep as she can into her throat.

It’s still difficult. Hound is delirious on everything now - the pain, the exhaustion, the attention - and she’s trembling desperately as an orgasm builds inside her. It’s messy. Her drool and spittle form a messy stain down the front of her top almost as bad as the one on her pants, and Sergeant Kotys’s gun has been completely defiled with hanging loops of sticky, trembling saliva. Hound’s moaning is back, so bestial and lewd and breathy it makes all the watching pilots blush.

She’s close. Close to finishing her treat.

Then she hears a loud click as Sergeant Kotys flicks off the safety.

The click provokes a shudder from everyone, and Hound is no different. She glances up and sees that Sergeant Kotys’s eyes are as wide as ever. She looks capable of anything. Despite how fucked out of her skull she is, that click reminds Hound of what the object in her mouth is.

It’s a gun, a killing thing, just like her.

That thought is as exciting as it is terrible. The danger makes Hound freeze in her tracks, but only for a moment, because then her body screams at her and reminds her that, no, she can’t stop, not now, Handler didn’t say she could stop, and besides, she’s too fucking close, she can’t take it.

So she starts humping again, moans low and breathy and pitiful, and somehow it feels better than ever. It’s lightning against her cunt. Despite how insanely dangerous it is, Hound can’t help jostling the gun. She can’t remember if Sergeant Kotys’s finger is on the trigger and it’s too late to check because all she can see is white.

All Hound can do is fuck herself stupid and choke herself on the barrel and prepare for the thunderous oblivion that’s coming. Her hips have hit the point of agony but she’s rutting faster than ever, and so is the sergeant, turning Hound’s throat into another cunt with her pistol. The long piece of steel, now dripping wet and body-warm, chokes Hound’s moans, but she doesn’t care how uncomfortable it is. She just wants to explode. She wants the end. Every part of her is desperate for it, even the parts that used to be Sartha Thrace.

When it finally hits her, Hound howls around the gun at the hangar ceiling before finally, blissfully, she can let herself go slack and slump against Handler’s body.

This is as close as she gets to heaven. It’s sacred. It’s her treat. The privilege of getting to touch Handler like that outweighs anything, any potential humiliation, not that Hound cares about things like humiliation. It’s the ultimate affirmation, smothering all doubts as the indelibly-conditioned link between obedience and reward gets another notch deeper.

This is her. This is Hound. This is her purpose.

Unusually, no one is looking at Hound right now. They’re all looking at Sergeant Kotys.

She looks like she’s just cum too, even though she has not touched herself. A few moments later, her face turns, and she looks utterly consumed with disgust and shame. Then the disgust recedes and she fills with calm, but it’s a calm that glows from within and makes her fellow pilots nervous. Sergeant Kotys takes her time as she kneels down and cleans her gun on a dry portion of Hound’s soiled clothing. Then she stands, turns to Handler, and salutes.

“Thank you, sir,” she says crisply. “I think I understand now.”

Handler’s smile widens. She’s pleased with the lesson, and pleased with Hound as she starts to rouse herself from her post-orgasmic stupor and see to the task of licking clean Handler’s boots. “And what do you understand?”

“That this thing isn’t Sartha Thrace, sir,” Sergeant Kotys replies. “There’s no way Sartha Thrace would have ever let me do that.” She relaxes a little and the calm expression slips from her face, replaced with a smirk that is a mirror to Handler’s own. “We broke her.”

She’s still pushing it by speaking to someone as senior as Handler this way, but she senses - correctly - that she can get away with it. The two of them share something now. An appetite, perhaps. An understanding that her fellow pilots have yet to partake in.

“That’s right,” Handler says. “Now, sergeant, please report to my office tomorrow. We need to discuss your conduct today.”

It isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity. Sergeant Kotys salutes again as she is dismissed. “Yes, sir!”

Handler turns next to her charge. “Up, Hound.”

Hound is so exhausted and stupefied by her orgasm that it takes her a moment to register what’s being asked of her but inevitably, she obeys. With some reluctance, she hauls herself to her feet. Handler’s boots aren’t clean yet. It’s a task that mustn’t be left half-finished.

“You can finish that later, in your kennel,” Hander instructs. She always knows what’s going on inside Hound’s head. “Now, here.”

She reaches past Hound and properly unfastens her muzzle, only so she can fix it back in place and tie it tight. The way she does it is strict, but not even slightly cruel. She makes sure not to pinch Hound’s skin or knot her hair. There’s something gentle, even loving about the way she attaches the muzzle - which the crowd of watching pilots obviously finds extremely creepy.

“There,” Handler says, once she’s finished. And then, in her special voice: “On The Leash.”

Hound submerges instantly, but it takes a long while for Sartha to truly wake up, leaving their body to sway emptily for a moment before Sartha finds her footing. Once she does, just smiles. Handler is here. All is well. Being able to bask in Her presence washes away any lingering confusion, and the aftershocks of pleasure in her own body simply add to her mood.

She doesn’t question them. She has no need. She’s with Handler.

“Come along, Sartha,” Handler says, turning away. “I need to debrief you.”

Sartha nods and trots after her so she can stand at her place, at Handler’s heel. The debriefing is important, she knows. She never remembers her debriefings, but she knows she needs them to stay good. The two of them walk across the hangar deck to the elevator, Handler’s boots clacking loudly against the metal floor. Before they leave Sartha turns back to look.

All her fellow pilots are watching her. Some of them are smiling. Some of them are laughing. Some of their faces are filled with awe. Sartha isn’t surprised by the way they’re staring. She’s used to it. It’s only natural.

She’s a hero, after all.

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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#story #Warhound

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Chine (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle):

”Look at how they grow ‘em here in Blackwick. God damn.”

taz fandom i'm begging to you please listen to fatt: sangfielle and experience chine please duck is an extended bit about wayne newton and he doesn't even try to blow up a carnival to upset mother nature and force a random town to forever be attendants to the aforementioned eternal carnival please oh please...

If Chine eating a mattress has a million fans, I am one, etc. etc.

just LOOK AT HIM

and he can turn into a shrew monster

this guy has great tits, this guy is a monster, this guy is nonbinary and all the bugs love them!! he's a dad, a writer, a macrame artist?? they're a goofball, they're deadly serious, they're shockingly competent! he's a vessel of the chaos of nature itself!! he's an animal control guy that sides with the animals, he's the living embodiment of adhd with a side of depression, and weirdly suspicious of the color yellow?? they swing a rusty poll-ax, they know how to read music and are completely comfortable singing with their co-workers..... which is to say:

vote for chinel <3

Vote for chine hes a wereshrew and morally ambiguous and easily lusted for

CHINE IS A BIG HAIRY EXOTERRORIST WOODSY FAILDAD WERESHREW DOG-GUY DOG-BOY... THEY ATE A WHOLE MATTRESS TO ESCAPE PRISON AND HE ATE A LIGHTBULB TO TOUCH THE GENIUS OF CREATION... AND HE'S REALLY GAY. THEY/HE LEGEND (AS IN ACTUAL LEGEND, PEOPLE ARE SCARED OF THEM)

GO MY PSIONIC WARRIORS!!!!!!!!

Tryst Valentine (Campaign: Star Wars):

Hot shot pilot/smuggler that will hit on anything that moves, but the best possible version of that character in almost a satirical way while also being super genuine. Too sexy to be able to read, to stubborn to admit they can't.

Han Solo but worse! A very funny little scoundrel stuck with a clone trooper and a mercenary (by choice). Mostly spends his time flirting, but gets serious when he needs to.

you know its trystan valentine i know it's trystan valentine what are we doing here? genderqueer freak of a man (the most positive voice in the world)

I wrote the first paragraph of Tryst propaganda. He's "oh no, I'm going to have to sleep with this idiot" sexy. He knows it makes you look bad for thinking he's hot and he uses that power for evil.

Art of Chine made by @wereshrew-admirer.

#Round 2 #Chine #Tryst Valentine #Friends at the Table #Sangfielle #Campaign: Star Wars #Campaign Podcast

[ayeforscotland]

Make no mistake, Thanksgiving is a million times worse than Christmas. I'd rather deal with two Christmases than sit through one Thanksgiving. Its Genocide Day and exists largely to spread propaganda about colonization but you get yelled at if you bring that up. It's boring because the only acceptable entertainment is football or the parade (parades are terrible). You're forced to sit at an overcrowded table with crying kids and angry relatives (nobody ever actually wants to be there). And the food is disgusting. Listen. LISTEN. Most Americans are going to insist that the food is good. They're either lying or they've swallowed the propaganda. THE FOOD. IS. DISGUSTING. And if you eat all if it, you're a pig and you get fat shamed by your family, but if you don't eat all of it, you're being an asshole and implying the food is bad. I despise Christmas with a passion but Thanksgiving is not remotely something to envy. Please, this November, be grateful you were spared The Worst Holiday.

Yeah I wasn’t saying thanksgiving was a good holiday, more of a burning car that blocks the road so the Christmas bus can’t get past.

Joy and I have decided that for Scotland 2™️ we’re going to mandate that Halloween is aggressively celebrated and that the Autumn Equinox is marked properly as well.

[odinsblog]

T/W pedophilia mention

“Wow, this escalated. Let me explain.

Child-trafficking is a real issue that has been exploited to create undue influence aka brainwashing in tens of millions of people.

That’s why in the last 24 hours I’ve received dozens of death threats and thousands of accusations of being a “pedo.”

Starting in 2016, there has been an ongoing psychological operation to create fear about pedophiles—generally defined as Satanic Democrats led by Hillary Clinton but, importantly, a “pedophile” can be *anyone* identified by a cult leader.

The vast majority of child sex crimes are committed by family and friends. “Stranger danger” is a phobia planted through trauma—in the form of lies about “800,000 missing children per year,” adrenochrome, etc.

Pizzagate, QAnon and derivative groups have been distributing “trauma porn” depicting child torture for seven full years—while presenting people like Donald Trump as the literal savior of the phantom missing children. This is classic fascism: manufacture a problem, create a scapegoat, and present yourself as the solution.

The reason this post went viral is that it addresses the harm caused by lies about this subject which both resonates with people who have lost family and friends to Pizzagate/QAnon lies, and also people who suffer from undue influence themselves.

When cult members are presented with evidence that counteracts the cult doctrine, they suffer cognitive dissonance—literally mental pain. Seeing a post that questions what they’ve been terrified into believing is painful. So they lash out.

While I do not enjoy having my life threatened or being accused of child sex crimes, I also understand that people brainwashed with this powerful psychological warfare tactic actually believe what they say. And their cognitive dissonance keeps them in line.

I see the conversation about this as helpful and hopeful, no matter how many threats & accusations are wielded. We need to collectively understand the actual problem, with both real child predators, and those who falsely see them around every corner.

I also hope the NYTimes will begin to take more responsibility for what they publish. Presenting this film out of context is dangerous.”

—Jim Stewartson

How tf is anyone still taking Mel Gibson seriously, and why does he still work in Hollywood?

This is cult thinking and we are witnessing it in real time. Republicans and QAnon are using mass media propaganda for brainwashing weak minded, gullible white racists.

Also, it is Russia that is raping and sex trafficking Ukrainian women and children, but somehow the film is about sex trafficking happening in Ukraine?? (source ) (source)

And it is Russia that is kidnapping Ukrainian children for “adoption” back in Russia, but again, the film makes Ukrainians the bad guys?? (source) (source) (source)

And of course, the only people eating up this upside down propaganda are the usual suspects: Republicans and tankies

#politics #the sound of freedom #republicans #brainwashing #qanon #pedophillia #pedophillia tw #conspiracy theorists #mel gibson #pizza gate #tony robbins #jim caviezel #sex trafficking #russia #ukraine #disinformation #misinformation #propaganda

[hussyknee]

Not so friendly reminder that Tankies are people who deny not only the genocides of Russia but also Vietnam and China (including the Uyghurs), and are apologists for the North Korean regime. They push Russian propaganda of "colour revolutions" every time a Global South country rises up against a totalitarian government because they believe totalitarianism is merely anti-communist agenda; deriding, dismissing and dehumanizing the liberation movements of our countries that come at great human cost. They're not anti-imperialists or anti-colonial; their chief issue with the imperial core is that it's not their ideology seated at the heart of it. They only care about Global South lives when it serves their ideology, and have no genuine concern or curiosity about the ground realities or agency of the communities impacted by imperialism and colonialism.

I also want you to understand that every major power player involved in this conflict is a genocidal fascist. Hamas, Hezbollah and Houthis that are fighting Israel are funded by the theocratic Iranian regime headed by Ebrahim Raisi (begging you to remember the hundreds of Iranian girls and women killed for protesting it). Iran is also an ally of the notorious Bashar Al-Assad's regime in Syria, responsible for the genocide and displacement of millions of his own people while actively funding the Islamic State he wages war against. Both Assad and Raisi are allies of Putin, who is currently trying to colonize and genocide Ukraine and is terrorising Poland, Hungary, Georgia, Estonia, Latvia etc. However, Iran and Putin (half-heartedly) are also allies of the Armenians who are being genocided by Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan is supported by the US, but also Erdogan in Turkey, infamous dictator that hates the European Union and is a close pal of Putin. Meanwhile the US's best friends in the Middle East is Israel, which hates Arabs, and Saudi Arabia, who doesn't recognise Israel as a country but is hated by most of the MENA and is currently in a Cold War with Iran.

*yanks y'all by the shirt and shouts in your face* THERE ARE NO GOOD GUYS HERE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?? ONLY INNOCENT CIVILIANS CAUGHT IN A SPIDER WEB OF GREEDY, DESPOTIC, GENOCIDAL, FASCIST CUNTS. THERE IS NO POINT TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHICH ONE IS THE BIGGEST THREAT TO GLOBAL DEMOCRACY BECAUSE ALL THE FALL OF ONE DOES IS CREATE A POWER VACCUUM THAT WILL IMMEDIATELY BE FILLED BY THE NEXT BULLY.

These governments can only be toppled from within by their own people once external threats like war with their neighbours are eased, because militaries with nothing to fight are economic black holes that try to eat itself, and it's this economic stress that act as catalysts for coalition building and civilian revolt. Military losses weaken imperialists' coercive power and legitimacy over their own people, so the best thing you can do to help them agitate for change is preventing imperialist expansions from claiming any more victims.

#TL;DR: if the US divests from Israel #withdraws entirely from Iraq and Syria and actually commits to helping Ukraine beat back Putin #it would break Israel's continuing destabilising of the Middle East #and consequent lessening of external threat might lessen some of these states' chokeholds over their own people. #Sadly‚ it's also why the US refuses to do so. Ukraine means little to the US #while the MENA keeps the US's arms and oil industries in business. #If Putin invades Ukraine and the US is tied up fighting seven different countries in the Middle East alongside Israel #he's going to try and encroach into Poland #and then we're on the brink of nuclear war. #Althoug actually we might not have to wait that long #considering the US is already aiming nuclear missiles at Iran for being mean to Israel #and also attacking the US's bases in Iraq and Syria in retaliation for Gaza. #tankies #war in ukraine #ukrainian genocide #palestinian genocide #armenian genocide #western leftists #geo-politics #decolonisation #colonization #imperialism #middle east #global south #totalitarianism #western propaganda #western imperialism #genocide denial #liberation #knee of huss

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

The top two characters will be eligible to proceed into the bracket!

Propaganda under the cut.

Skitter:

Do you know what you have to do to hurt someone in a fight if your whole power is “controls bugs?” It’s never pleasant. And this is a girl with an almost pathological drive to fight people theoretically much stronger than her. Much maggots-in-eyes and spiders-on-dicks ensue. Committed to being a hero initially, ends up becoming warlord of a whole city while defending it from super-poweeed spree killers, monstrous kaiju, and timeline-severing mobsters. Saves humanity through mass mind-control.

Shes so fucking morally ambiguous I don't even know where to start. She wanted to be a hero and then over the course of 1.7 million words she tricked me into thinking she was rational and ethically sound when she cut out someone's eyes, held someone's dying son hostage in front of them as leverage (she was killing the son), put maggots in someone else's eyes to eat them slowly, shot a fucking toddler with no hesitation, and she's such an amazing unreliable narrator that you root for her. She's genuinely so good at convincing herself that she's morally sound that she convinces the reader of it as well most of the time, but despite the atrocities (and there's a fucking ton of atrocities) she's genuinely a girl who wants to do good and help the world. She fights serial killers, provides food and water and shelter for people who need it, gets her back broken trying to save people, and is generally willing to do whatever it takes to help no matter what that entails. She's a girlboss who is terrifying and determined enough to kill god, she's willing to do anything for the greater good, she has a fucking orphanage as the bottom floor of her supervillain lair. She's so so complicated and such a twist of good and brutality and I cannot stress enough how compelling and morally ambiguous and girlboss she is. I have never seen a character who fits the title "morally ambiguous girlboss" more in my entire life and frankly I doubt I will, no one does it like her.

she went from aspiring hero > supervillain > warlord (still a supervillain) > hero > mind-controlling every cape in the multiverse to kill god. and she did kill god. so. girlboss. but on her first night out she used her bugs to bite a man's dick off. that man? trying to kill kids. those kids? teenage supervillains. she initially joined their teen supervillain group to betray them to the heroes, then joins for real. their boss kidnapped a preteen girl and got said girl addicted to drugs. he used a heist taylor was in as a distraction to kidnap the girl. taylor becomes a warlord and does all sorts of awful things to the other gangs in the city (including putting maggots in a guys eyes, and carving another man's eyes out (bug dick guy) (everything grew back)). the reason she did this? so she could kill her boss and free the preteen girl. She's taken over the city at this point, she's a warlord running a supervillain gang. what's she doing with this power? improving the city's infrastructure. she runs her territory like a panopticon, if anybody who can work isn't working they get the bugs. she's also running an orphanage out of her home. she decides to step down as warlord and join the heroes. while she's in custody, what does she do? that's right. kill superman via dry land drowning in bugs. now she's a superhero. she does stakeouts and pursues gangs to force their younger/more sympathetic members into superheroism. why? to fight the end of the world. the end of the world comes, god is killing every earth in the multiverse and things aren't looking good. what does taylor do? she asks a bio-kinetic who got sent to supervillain alcatraz for sister rape to give her on-the-spot brain surgery. this brain surgery lets her control any person within like 18 feet of her. she uses a portal guy to manage to ensnare every cape in the multiverse and unite them in her fight against god. One cape has a stress induced aneurysm. how do they ultimately defeat god? she makes large-scale replicas of his dead wife everywhere, making him so sad he becomes killable. girlboss. (sorry this was so long! i started and then just kept going. worm is 1.68 million words long and a lot happens in it)

Holy Shit. Holy SHIT dude. She rotted a man's dick off with spider venom. and then she did it again (it grew back). and then she cut his eyes out. this is the first guy she meets. she mutilates *so many* people. one time she withheld a life-saving epinephrine shot from a dying man (he was allergic to bees. she controls bees.) as extortion material. she shoots a baby (it was a mercy). She cut a girl in half (which was actually pretty high up there on the "most heroic things she did" list). She was Seinfeldian rivals with the most dangerous serial killer in existence, until she trapped him in Hell Forever. He's like still there by the end of the second book. she kills God by bullying him to death. All* of this was probably the best thing she could have done in the situation. the tagline of the book is "doing the wrong things for the right reasons." The worst thing she ever really did was to pretend she was straight though.

Did she kill an orphan? Yes. Did she put maggots into a man’s eyes? Yes. Did she do all of this while having intense homoerotic tension? Yes, and that is why she is a girlboss. She also killed Jesus

Tattletale

She has a power and her power is being an asshole. Her supervillain name is Tattletale because she will not shut up about things you didn’t want the world to know. I mean yes she does try to save people but she’s mostly saving them because less people means less lives to ruin!

Miss Militia was submitted without propaganda.

Bonesaw was submitted without propaganda.

#poll #tournament poll #qualifiers #worm web serial #parahumans #wildbow #taylor hebert #skitter #lisa wilbourn #tattletale #miss militia #riley davis #riley grace davis #bonesaw #wormblr

[thatdebaterguy]

Usually I would go anon but I am at the point where I don't care what people think anymore. I would rather be honest and have these people off my blog than keep doing it in secret.

Anyways, I was scrolling through a post (because I hate myself). Tumblr wouldn't let me put the link for some reason:

This isn't the whole post, but 2/3 of it. It's about how Israel was "tricking" children into picking up bombs that looked like food cans. Someone corrected this in the comment section.

And in response to the correction (there was more than one person correcting):

This is a massive issue I've seen with that side of the conflict. They don't care if the information they spread is true as long as it fits the narrative of "Palestine = weak, helpless, 100% good and pure victim. Israel: evil, colonists, eats Palestine babies for breakfast." And it's almost scary the lack of critical thinking to make sure everything fits into this mindset.

I once corrected someone's mistranslation on Pinterest of all places, where someone said a Hebrew translation was ""May this (bomb) lands on innocent people". It was just the company name. I was attacked and told I was a "genocidal zionist" and there was my favorite, "well it doesn't matter if it's true or not, it's what they mean".

So basically, "yeah it doesn't matter if it's fake information, it fits with MY beliefs, so it's okay."

I hate the Pro-Palestinian cult.

It is genuinely depressing to see blatant misinformation spread, for example I've been given the link to a site that takes supposed quotes from Israeli officials completely out of context, half the time a complete lie, and told it's some kind of proof Israel is the epitome of moral sin, despite being the most equal state in the middle east. I saw this post and saw another one debunking how the imagine has been altered in a misleading way, just as I saw a post of a server room that's linked to a Hamas database under an UNRWA facility, and someone said it powered a solar panel. Keep in mind they didn't lie for the Palestinian civilians, that was to straight up cover for Hamas.

The screenshot of someone calling Hamas 'freedom fighters' is actually scary.

this is the first thing you see when you search for the ideology of Hamas. Yk the worst part? This would be called zionist propaganda just because it says Hamas have committed terrorism, and October 7th happened. These are literal facts though, Hamas are proud of October 7th, proud of killing thousands, kidnapping hundreds, committing acts of terrorism. If you have any sense of morality, you cannot defend Hamas, even if you see them as on the right side or as freedom fighters, their methods alone make them a monstrous organisation. They wear plain civilian clothes in war, a war crime, they have been verified to use civilian buildings for cover, a war crime, they've killed thousands of innocents purposefully, a war crime, they've openly called for the annexation and occupation of Israel, a sovereign country with millions of ethnic Jews who would be 3rd class citizens in a Hamas ruled Palestine.

Israel doesn't want Gaza. They don't want to destroy it, to own it, they wish they never had to hear about it again, let alone invade it to remove Hamas from power. And the fact that people are scared to voice their beliefs against a literal terror group, against misinformation, is insane. You know, the only reason I'm on Israel's side is because when it comes to debates I follow the science, the figures, the statistics, a fixed code of morality and logic, and that leads to me to Israel because they've never instigated a conflict in their entire history, they've voluntarily surrendered land in pursuit of peace, aided the countries that have invaded them, they're by the definition not committing genocide, they're legally and factually in a war of self defence to topple an extremist dictatorial government, the figures show as far as modern urban warfare goes, the civilian-military death ratio is lower than most conflicts, they factually have a historical claim to the land, they built Tel Aviv, built Jerusalem, 400,000 Jews lived the region of Israel before its existence as a modern state, it just all points to Israel.

But I support the people of Palestine, I empathise with them, I want them to be free of the dictators who lead them to this war and suffering they must endure, and I pray they'll get the liberation they deserve. They deserve better than the nightmare of a government that rule over Gaza. And yet none of the Palestinian supporters protest Hamas. They don't realise, protesting against Hamas doesn't weaken the right for civilians to receive aid, because they're forced into this mindset that the Palestinian government and movement has always been one of perfect ineffable morality and one that you must be insanely villainous to even have any contradicting thoughts on. I'm a more conservative guy who's best friend of 4 years recently told me that they're genderfluid, in a polyamorous relationship with a trans man, and have a 'fursona' but since I know they're a person with good intentions in life I support them in finding happiness and getting better. I'd say that makes me fairly open minded, without tooting my own horn too much. But I will never be open to the idea that Hamas have ever wanted what's best for Palestine. Their actions are selfish, their goals are psychopathic, their behaviour is unwarranted, and their care for being a successful governing body is minimal. Gaza, whether prospering before October 7th or not, was legally an independent, sovereign region of the nation of Palestine, who have their own government, constitution, voting system, currencies they operate with, culture, freedom of movement, unless it's to Israel of course, and have been so since Israel pulled out of Gaza.

Israel actually occupied Gaza once. It was better maintained, the people were more looked after. In the years before Israel pulled out of Gaza, the Palestinian economy grew by the largest margin in at least 20 years, and then under Hamas, became incredibly stagnant, with foreign aid being the only thing propping it up. They let unemployment skyrocket despite the opening of more high tech facilities, once again thanks to foreign aid. Now, Israel doesn't want Gaza back, nor should they have it, but when the people of the nationality that Hamas wish to destroy, governed their land even better despite not even being the sovereign owners of that land and just the occupiers, it says a lot. Don't be afraid to speak out against Hamas, since you have no love for the Palestinian people if you don't want them to be free from the suffering Hamas has brought.

#israel #politics #palestine #gaza #current events #hamas

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

You’re totally right Tumblr doesn’t manage the for you section. But this is so fucked up

https://www.tumblr.com/elitefourkylewantstobattle/732071926522167296

Typically when things like this happen on here it is because the post (and person) were mass-reported.

Reminder that my original owlvid blog was deleted because of fatphobic weirdos spam-reporting my blog when I was making posts about BMI being made by eugenicists who wanted to make Americans look more physically imposing to other countries and that many people classified as “morbidly obese” by the scale do not have high enough levels of body fat to actually impact their health, and that BMI and similar “ideal weight” metrics don’t take the weight of muscle into account and the weight loss trend has caused millions of people to develop eating disorders throughout the years.

A video like the one posted in the link you provided is going to be controversial because zionists won’t like it and the wording used in the video is unfortunately very easy to make look antisemitic. The section of the video where the speaker started saying “this percentage of Jews think they’re smarter and better than everyone” or whatever does align dangerously with a lot of antisemitic beliefs, so because he didn’t continue to say Israelis or Israeli Jews to speak against this nationalistic culture, it makes it extremely simple for zionists to point to that and spin the entire video as being lies and antisemitic propaganda. That leads to mass-reports against it.

I don’t doubt staff has Zionist sympathizers among them simply because staff is largely if not exclusively American and it is very difficult for people in this country to access accurate information about the Israel Palestine conflict because the government sponsors so much propaganda supporting Israel and against Arabs and Muslims in general, leading to a large amount of Americans drinking the koolaid and believing Israel to be justified. However, there is also a good chance that this person and the post were mass-reported and taken down automatically because staff doesn’t always back-check to ensure someone or their posts were actually dangerous if they reach a certain threshold of reports they just terminate everything.

#Anyway #free Palestine #but also don’t phrase important information about the conflict in a way that comes off as disparaging Jews #anyone who uses zionists as an excuse to be antisemitic is just as bad as anyone using ISIS to be islamophobic #I see it a lot online and it’s incredibly dangerous because there has already been a terrifying uptick in violence against #Jews and jewish communities in a lot of countries recently #I am very happy Palestine’s plight is becoming more visible online now #but I am very cautious about how some have responded to this #because random Jews on tumblr shouldn’t get attacked or questioned by random gentiles assuming they’re zionists #and there have been little snide remarks against Jews I’ve seen on otherwise good posts about Israel that have prevented me from reblogging #Which puts me in an awkward position because I do want to be more vocally in support of Palestine on here #Because it is very important to me #but I really don’t trust a lot of the ways people speak about it #because there are a lot of people who take any excuse they can to be extremely antisemitic

[atzfilm]

murphy's law (m); 1/5

wc/pairing; 17k, san/reader, ?/f.reader

genre; a/f/s, soulmate!au, alien!au, e2f2l

summary; according to murphy's law, everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Black holes circle each other until they collide and merge, a cataclysm so fierce, sends ripples soaring through the fabric, crossing thousands of kilometers within a fraction of a second, leaving behind a wave on the space-time continuum. That’s the simplest way you can describe meeting him. And yet, even that is an understatement.

note: please read the warnings! There are a lot of sensitive topics mentioned, even if it is just in passing. warnings under cut

next ➡️

content: death, sex work (vaguely mentioned), politics, arranged marriage, insults, slave labor, misogynistic undertones, anxiety, eating/starvation, future smut

“You’re really going down there?” Jongho asks, balancing a pencil on his nose. You flick through the paperwork, frowning. Lines and checkpoints are written across, many you've come accustomed to after years of working in this department. It's nothing you've dreamed of doing, your artistic life put on hold. But it's enough to support your parents and siblings, and you wouldn't trade that for the world. “Earth to y/n?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? Whatever the commander says, I have to follow,” you murmur, sighing as you stare at the regulations. No water. No speaking out of malice. No stepping outside the jurisdiction lines. No reading or writing the Mavian text. And the list goes on and on, several pages of do’s and don'ts. Many of which you can't comprehend. You’d honestly rather not do anything at all, but you can’t risk your family being hurt or moved to a different district. You’ve just gotten clearance to live here. “You know what dad would say. He’d laugh in my face and tell me it’s the only right thing to do.”

“Well dad is an asshole, and you’re your own person. I know you want to protect us, but you don’t have to worry,” Jongho nudges your shoulder, placing his outstretched hand on the papers in front of you. You frown as you meet his gaze, and he only grins. “I can take care of them fine.”

“You’re not old enough yet. You still have a year to go. And we can’t move back there, not after this.” You push his hand away. “It took me years to get us to move up in the ranks. After this assignment we’d be close to the elite class.”

He sighs, slowly moving his hand back. “Don’t you wish we lived back before the invasion? Everything would be different.”

“They didn’t invade, Jongho. They landed on a planet they thought was friendly, and we turned out to be savages.”

“Shh!” He puts his hand over your mouth, glancing around. Luckily, everyone is too far away to hear your conversation. “You know you can’t talk like that around here!” He lifts your hand. You swat him away, grabbing up the papers and neatly putting them back in the folder. You tuck it underneath your arm, standing up. “Wait, you can’t leave yet.”

“I have to go pack. The orientation is tomorrow, and I have no time to waste. I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

He nods, watching you walk away solemnly.

It’s 2189, one hundred fifty years since the Mavian race landed on Earth. The day everything changed. People were quarantined in their homes, and endless battles ensued across the seven continents. You could only imagine how it was living back then, the millions dead because of the wars. It was one of the worst death tolls in humankind history; many of the numbers inaccurate because of the large-scale. Eventually, of course, humans won. The Mavian race was weakened by the energy of the morning sun, and humans took that as an advantage. Most of the race was forced to live underground in sewers and subway stations, eventually creating large cities and economies right below your feet. They were never able to leave Earth, their ships destroyed and dismantled for parts.

You walk around a corner, glancing at another propaganda poster. HUMANS AGAINST MAVIANS. There are extremists on either side, but you ignore most of it, focused on your family instead. After the massive loss of human and Mavian life, based on your income and job status, humans were forced to live in different sectors across the world. Military ruled, governments secondary. Countries no longer existed, only sectors of humankind. When you were born you were part of the lowest. All you’ve ever done was try your best to make your family reach the upper class, the elite. Right now, you were only slightly above the poorest; none of your parents' achievements enough to make your status elevate. But when you saw the ad in the news, telling of a way to get higher, you couldn’t resist. Even if it could cost your life.

You stare down at one of the papers still in your hands. Peace Maker Facilitator. Most of the people who took these roles ended up disappearing. A lot of them are said to have been killed by the Mavians, that’s why these spots were always open. You were too young at the time to apply when you first saw the ad, but now that you’re of age, you did it immediately. Your mother begged and begged for you to reconsider this, but you couldn’t. If your death resulted in them having an easier life, you’d do it without hesitation. At least, for Jongho. You couldn’t see him kicked and beaten by the upper class any longer. As long as he had a safe life, that’s all you asked for.

But tomorrow is just the orientation, you’ll have a few more days to figure out what you’re going to do.

-

You get home late, shrugging off your jacket and taking off your shoes as you enter your home. You barely give the rotten wooden floors a glance, putting on your slippers and walking into your home. Dinner is already put away; you are telling your parents that you don’t need anything to eat tonight and that you’d be fed while you’re out. That’s a lie, of course. No one would feed someone as low of a class as you are, most of your food coming from trading or dumpsters. You look into the small living room, noticing Jongho sitting on the sofa, head thrown back as he snores softly. You scoff, walking over and nudging him with your foot.

He coughs, eyes immediately opening and looking at you. Relief crosses his face as he stands, grabbing your arm and guiding you into your shared room. Before you can utter a word, he lifts his comforter, a small bag of bread and cheese hidden underneath.

“Jongho, I said I was fine–”

“Don’t lie, y/n. You’ve been starving yourself so that we don’t have to be hungry,” he murmurs softly, placing the bag in your hesitant palm. “I’m serious. You barely have any energy anymore. Don’t do this to yourself, please. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” his eyes scan yours in the low light. He grabs the candle that he took from the living room, placing it next to your folded sheets. You slowly sit on the floor, opening the bag.

There’s two slices of bread; the cheese slightly melted from the warm room. But you’re grateful, slowly putting the food in your mouth as you look at him. He watches you in silence, knees tucked to his chest, and eyes trained on you. You finished in no time, thanking him with a head nod.

“Are you coming back?” He asks softly. “I heard about those jobs people take that deal with the Mav. A lot of them go missing, or we find their bodies on the streets. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I’m not going to die,” you say, shaking your head. “Trust me on that.”

“But you didn’t say that you’re coming back.”

“I…” you struggle with your thoughts. You don’t want to lie to him. Just because he isn’t old enough to hold the same jobs as you, doesn’t mean that you treat him like a kid. “I don’t know, Jongho. I want to come back to you guys. I don’t want to disappear and leave you, okay? I’ll try my hardest to come back, no matter what.” You turn around, flipping up your comforter and finding the loose wooden panel on the floor. You reach inside, taking out a large jar. Without saying a word, you hold it up, looking at Jongho.

His eyes widen, the flames from the candle make them reflect a warm orange. “I’ve saved up a lot. Enough for you to get out of here and find a place on your own. Dad and mom…” You bit your lip. There’s not enough for all three of them here. And you love them, you do. But they haven’t saved anything for the both of you. They haven’t done anything but statues in your lives, even if you don’t want to admit it. You can’t remember the last time they were the ones putting food on the table. Jongho and you did it all. “I tried my best to save, but there’s not enough for them here. You’d have to leave them on their own.”

“I know,” he says, nodding slowly. “But how’d you get this?”

“Don’t ask, please. Just know I did it for both of us. If I don’t come back after two months, you have to leave. Take this and everything you have, and go. Find Finn in the marketplace; he already knows what to do. But you can’t show this to mom and dad, okay? Don’t say a word about this, Jongho. Don’t let them see it at all.”

“Come on–”

“I’m not joking,” you grab his arm, tugging him closer. “They’re our parents, but they can’t handle money. They’d spend it on things you don’t need, and you’ll end up in the same spot. I told you, I’m getting you out of here. Even if I’m not there with you. And I’m not letting them stop you from being free of this-” you gesture around the both of you - “They had enough time to save us from this and did nothing. I can’t trust them, even if I care about them a lot. But I trust that you’d do the right thing because you’ve never been selfish. Just listen to me this once, please.”

You almost beg as you say the last words, eyes flicking between his. His hand covers the first that’s gripping his shirt, pulling you into a hug. You groan, but let your arms surround him. He squeezes you tightly, as if it’s the last one he’ll ever give you. You hold him tighter, feeling his body shake.

“Don’t cry, Jongho.”

“I know, I know. I don’t need to, but this just feels like a goodbye when I don’t want it to be.”

“You know I’ll fight to get back to you.”

He pulls away from you, his eyes moist as they stare into yours. “I’ll be brave for you, y/n. I trust you.”

“Good,” you ruffled his hair, flicking his forehead. “Now go to sleep. I’m going to put the jar back under there; get it when you need to only. Nothing extra kid.”

“Alright, goodnight y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Wake me up before you leave, please.” He looks at you pointedly, going back to his comforter and tucking himself inside. He gives you his back, blowing out the candle. The dim room is hushed back into darkness. You slowly go into your comforter, tugging the sheets underneath your chin. You’re not sure what’s going to happen; you just hope that after tonight, you can see your brother again.

You’ll do anything to see him again.

-

You didn't wake him up, knowing it'd be harder to say goodbye. Instead, you kissed his forehead and left him a letter underneath his pillow. He rarely shifts his blankets, so you're not sure when he'll ever see it, but you hope it comes at the right time when he needs it the most. You tug your bag underneath your arm, navigating through the crowded marketplace. You ignore the gazes of soldiers standing on the sidelines, not wanting to get caught gazing at any of them. Just because the military runs the government doesn't mean they do a good job. You've heard stories about how they trapped people, hurt and harassed them. Avoiding them as much as possible is the way to go.

"Hey, you!"

You glance back, seeing one of the men on the fence move off. He beckons you to him, but you quickly give him your back, pushing further into the crowd. Just a couple of more blocks, and you're in the clear.

"Where ya going!" His voice is less clear now, farther behind you. You take off running, ducking and sliding underneath arms to get away. His stomping quickly fades as you make it to the front entrance of the military compound, slipping through the front doors. Inside, you see several people who look like you. Loose fitting clothing to last years, shoes covered in holes and dirt. Many you recognize from your old town. But you don't say a word, walking to the front desk. The soldier seems disinterested, tapping away on a laptop. You've only seen them in ads, your eyes widening at the technology. He looks at you, pushing it from your sight.

"No beggars," he spits. "Go back out there and pick on the townsfolk."

"No, I'm here for a job."

"A job? You?" He snickers. "And what job is this, little lady?"

You dig through your pocket, pulling out the papers. He snatches it from your hands, eyes flicking over the words. "Peacemaker facilitator? Haven't had one of those in a while," he coughs, the spit landing on your face. You wipe it off with the back of your hand, holding in your disgust. Now isn't the time to be cocky. You have bigger things to worry about.

He digs through his desk, pulling out a stamp and more paperwork. "Keep this with you. A soldier will come and get you, and then you'll be debriefing with the commander on your position." He tosses it to you, the papers flying to the floor. You shut your eyes for a moment before crouching down to pick it up, holding back your anger.

Shoes appear in front of you as you gather the paper, hands helping you. "Oh, you don't have to–" your eyes meet the man's, recognizing him immediately. He winks at you, passing you the papers and standing up.

"Soldier." He turns to the man at the desk. The soldier looks up lazily, scrambling to his feet once he realizes who's standing there. "Have you no shame? Tossing pamphlets to our volunteering aid? Speak."

"Sir, it was a slip of the wrist–"

"Was it?" He quirks a brow. "Then why didn't you help her pick up the papers?"

"I–"

"Next time I see you treat another civilian like this, you'll be punished. Understand, soldier?"

"Yes, Commander, sir," he bows.

The commander turns on his heel, looking at you. "You may follow me." Without another word, he walks off. You tuck the papers into the folder, following close behind. He navigates through the large office building, nodding at the people who bow around them. A lot of the men (there were no women) give you strange looks as you follow behind him, only making you close the distance between you. There's no one you can trust, especially in the world that you live in now. Eventually, you make it to his office, Commander imprinted on a metal banner outside his door. He guides you inside, gesturing for you to sit as he closes and locks the door.

Immediately, the angered brows loosen, his familiar cheshire grin curving his lips. "I haven't seen you in the two years since I left, y/n!"

"I wouldn't have guessed scrawny Chan would end up being in charge of our district. You've really made it high up."

He sits at his desk, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. The furnishings in the room are at a contrast compared to the city this building is in. Completely polished and kept in prime condition. Books lining the shelves around him, strategic maps of plans nailed into the wall. And the technology. Screens covering most empty spaces in the room, a large digital table sitting nearby. There's words on there you can't understand, completely above what you've learned in your short period of schooling. You’d never think that the boy you used to play with became a commander of a sector. And he’s no longer skinny like he used to be. You can see the built-up muscle on his arms and the rest of his body.

“Finessing your way up the ranks is the only way to go,” Chan says simply, shrugging. “And a year or two of sneaking into schools to learn could get you far. But we’re not here to talk about me.” He opens a thick manila folder that sits on his desk, flicking through the tabs until it lands on one sheet. Your reading skills aren’t advanced, but you know how your name is written. “When I was going through my documents today, I saw your name amongst the many. Why are you applying to be a peacemaker, y/n?”

“You know why, Chan.”

He shakes his head, his face growing sour. “But you haven’t a clue what it entails. It isn’t an easy job. There’s a reason why most don’t come back from it. You can be killed with the slightest misstep.”

“But I’ll do it anyway.”

“y/n,” his voice is exasperated now, rubbing his head in frustration. “I know that you want to take your family out of the slums, but this isn’t the way to go. Yes they’ll be upper middle class once you enter, but it’s only temporary. If you die, they’ll be put back where they once were. Or lower, depending on how the officers handling the paperwork feel that day.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me? Temporary? It said nothing like that on the flyer.”

“That’s why I’m telling you now. I’m not trying to dissuade you from this position, but there are others available and with great potential for growth,” he passes you another paper. You glance over it, your stomach twisting. "It's not what you wanted –"

"I'm not working there," you say, pushing the paper back. "I don't care if it's easier, I'm not doing it. Are you only showing me this because I'm a woman?"

He shakes his head. "There's positions open for men as well. All genders qualify."

"I'm not doing it."

"y/n–"

"I'm not. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not for me."

He looks at you quizzingly, eyes narrowing. You're not sure what he sees on your face, but he nods, going back to the original paperwork. "I'll allow you to try out being one of the facilitators. But there are things you need to know about it before you accept. I'm not allowed to mention it all, but it's you. And I can't let you go in there blind to the truth."

"... why do you care for me so much?" You ask softly.

He only smiles, "You really don't know?" He turns around, grabbing a frame from his shelf. He holds it in front of you. Two familiar children stand outside a school building. You can easily recognize him, the muffin hair and rosy cheeks. And you are next to him. Your eyes are already hardened, your childhood gone in the blink of an eye. "I've always cared about you. You were my first friend and my first crush."

"You? You liked me?" You can’t even imagine it. Yea, the two of you spent a lot of time with one another, but it was only friendly. There wasn’t even the slightest suggestion of romance, even as you grew into teens, and he left your town.

He nods, placing the photo back on the shelf. "I do. So…" His finger fiddles with the edge of the paper, in deep thought. "I'm not married yet." His eyes flick to yours. "You could marry me, y/n."

Your crossed arms drop from your chest. "What?"

"We could be married. That will change your family's status easily. You wouldn't have to risk your life to save them. I know you're independent, and nothing will change that. I won't force you to do anything you don't like, and I'll protect you and your family like my own. It can be arranged so that you wouldn’t have to risk your life for their safety.”

Arranged marriage with Chan. You stare at him in silence, consumed by your thoughts. It would definitely help your family move up in the ranks, and it won’t be temporary. You can finally see Jongho grow up the way he should, and assist him in anything he needs. You know the status of a commander. You know that Chan’s pull in society is upper middle class. But you will be married to it. If he dies, you’ll be thrusted back into the poorer parts of society. It’ll be the same, all over again. But years of safety over a small chance of surviving this task? You rub your face, too conflicted.

“I can’t,” you say finally, looking at him. “Marriage is a sacred bond to me, one born out of love.”

“But I love you,” he says, reaching over to you. His hold is friendly so you don’t push it away, watching as his fingers encase yours. “Love can be grown out of nothing. You can learn to love me too.”

Are you being selfish? Would your parents, Jongho, scold you for rejecting his offer? He’s a good guy, and he worked hard to make it where he is now. And he’s offering you the chance to finally be free. You want it, so bad. Desperately. But–

“What if you give me a month to decide?” You ask, slowly pulling your fingers away from his. “I can join and become a peacemaker. I’ve wanted to make my way on my own, to help my family without the need of someone else. And if I decide that it’s too difficult to achieve, I’ll marry you.” You look at him, waiting for a response. You almost expect a negative reaction but a smile breaks out on his face, his expression filled with hope.

“I’ve waited forever to get the chance to marry you and if I have to wait a month more, then so be it,” he looks at your paperwork, quickly writing his signature. “I’ve placed you in a safer area than most, but it will still be hard. Their kind isn’t peaceful like us.”

Your eyebrow twitches at that, but you decide not to speak up.

“The clan that you’re going to be sent to has a group of six Mavian males. There have been very few reports of violent activity amongst them compared to other clans, so you won’t have any difficulties joining them for a month. As a peacemaker, your task is to teach them about human society, and show them how we can coexist. We already have the forms you read off of but in your case, I’ll give you a temporal player to listen on your way to the site.” He hands you off a small bag, “There’s papers in there as well if you’re up for the challenge, but the words are difficult to read. I tried to find a space where you can be with the females, but there were only male groups available. And usually, peacemakers are men. But of course,” he gives you a gentle smile. “You are the exception.”

Most women in their race have been wiped out except for a few, due to humanity not wanting them to populate further. They hoped that killing most of the women would lead to them dying out on Earth, and bringing us back to a more modern society. It’s something that you’ve never agreed with and find it deplorable, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And that disgusts you even further.

You take the bag from his hand, thanking him with a slight head bow. He waves you off, “No need to bow to me. We may be married in a month’s time, and I wouldn’t want my partner to lower their head. Especially not someone like you.” He stands, opening the door for you. “I won’t be able to travel with you, but I’ll be sure to check on you every so often in case.”

“Thank you commander,” you say, following him to the door. “And can I ask for one more favor?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Can you check up on Jongho as well? I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, and he’s probably worried right now,” you hope he isn’t too angry.

Chan grins. “A brother of yours is a brother of mine.”

-

The trip to the facility is long. It was wrong of you to assume that the place you’ll be staying is close by, but you didn’t expect this much. You’re sure you’ve been sitting in your bus seat for a few hours now, your attention outside the majority of the time. You’ve never had the chance to be inside a vehicle before, the bouncing and acceleration almost startling. It’s strange how many kilometers it can travel in a given time. And how your crowded neighborhood’s atmosphere changed within an hour. The yelling and shouting faded into the distance, only trees and other farmland surrounding you now. It’s almost eerily quiet outside. All you can see is the night sky. The mass of trees shrink, until you’re in front of a facility. It’s clean and crisp, a large building completely different from the one floor homes that you’re used to. You’re sure it’s at least four stories, the rest disappearing into the night.

The bus stops. The people inside groan, waking up from their slumber. The doors open and a guard instructs you all out. You’re one of the last on the short line of people, eyes wide as you take in the surroundings. The large building has a wall encompassing the perimeter, guards patrolling the top. Large guns in their hands, faces covered with masks. The gate opens, and you enter, eyes flicking around the place. You can see an almost garage-like barrier, the roof at an angle. You can only assume that this is the entrance to the underground. The Mavian dwellings. You’ve acted brave thus far, but you’re scared shitless. You’ve never even seen one up close besides photos plastered on walls, so you’re not too sure what to expect. Even the audio that you listened to gave little description besides main attributes. The leaders of the clans are distinct; permanent blue tattoos on their faces just below their eyes, based on the symbol of their clan. It varies, so there’s no distinct one. The other members of the clan have the same symbol on their chests above their right breast, where their heart lies. If there were women, the one who reached adulthood first would be betrolled to the leader of the clan. There were several other facts, but those are the only ones you can think of at the moment.

You grip your papers in your hand, following the line into the building. It’s bright, the artificial lights stunning you in comparison to the dark outside. You squint, blinking quickly.

“Peacemaker y/n.”

Your head turns to the voice. He seems to be a sergeant, eyes narrowing once they meet yours. You immediately avert your gaze, not wanting to insult him accidentally. He gestures for you to follow and you do so immediately, a yard or so away as he rounds a corner. He gestures for you to enter a room, and you slowly make your way inside. You see other soldiers, but they’re women. Before you can ask what’s going on, he closes the door behind you.

“What name would you like?” One of them asks, holding out a paper. You walk over slowly, taking in the room. There’s not much there but rows of text and clothing. You take the paper from her grasp, staring at the words.

You furrow your brows. “What’s this?”

“When you’re a peacemaker, you’re given a codename. You can’t reveal anything personal to the Mavian, so pick one. Or can you not read this?” She raises a brow. “You are from a lower district, correct?”

“Yes, but I can read this. Thank you.” You stare down at it, your eyes landing on one in particular. Despite your neverending bravery, there was one thing you feared; ladybugs. “I’ll choose Ladybug.”

“Very well. We now need to advise you on your job, Peacemaker Ladybug,” she types on the computer as she speaks to you, the other woman gathering clothes. “As you may know, your task is to ensure that there’s a steady line of communication between your Mavian clan assignment and us. In order to achieve that line, we place humans as a leeway in between to grant that. There have been several altercations where the human was killed for overstepping or causing unnecessary troubles. So we have sent you guidelines that you must follow. There is no talk of politics, only friendly and light communication. You have to give us a report of your findings every Tuesday and Friday. These dates do not change, and they give us a chance to check and see if you’re still alive.”

“What happens if I die?” You ask.

The woman’s lip twitches. “Your body will be given back to your family. If we cannot find where they reside, it will be left in the hands of your town. From there, they decide what happens.”

Cruel. Utterly cruel.

“I understand your dismay. But we have to move past that. You are a woman, ladybug,” she finally looks away from her screen, directly at you. “Most women sent down there are placed in positions meant for pleasure to derail a revolt that may be rising. You are the first one to take this position as a peacemaker. You have to protect yourself, hundreds of years have passed but nothing has changed in that aspect.” You notice a slight chip in her tone at the last sentence, but don’t comment on it.

The other soldier walks over, handing you a backpack. You glance inside, seeing feminine products and other toiletries. In between those are weapons. Many you’re not sure how to even use correctly. “Isn’t this illegal?” You ask. “I don’t want to be caught and have my actions hurt my family’s chance to move.”

“Not for you,” she shakes her head. “You’re in a different position compared to everyone else, that’s why we had to speak to you alone. And as I was saying before, many Mavian haven’t even seen their own females in over a hundred years, let alone a human one. You have to be cautious, do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. You will change into a soldier’s uniform. The clan that you’re entering is of high status, so you will have your own room. They have their own schedule that you have to adhere to. You will be eating Mavian food. You will be following them around. You cannot attack them or injure them, even if you believe that they are planning to harm you. Don't be a nuisance and know your boundaries. Once you enter their home underground, you have to follow their rules and not human ones. Our control is limited unless we want to enter another war. Just mind your own and you’ll be safe.”

“Understood.”

“And y/n? I am speaking to you frankly.”

“Yes?”

She leans forward, eyes flicking between yours solemnly. You noticed her name tag, Sergeant EBI etched into the fabric. “Be careful. Peacemakers don’t often survive, but I can tell you’re different from the rest. But, you are also a female. Be mindful of places that you go without supervision. The clan you’re with has no record of anything nefarious but don’t take that lightly. They can become criminals in an instant. Lock your doors at night and stay in open areas. I would say make sure there’s more than one person with you but you cannot trust any Mavian. Just be aware of your surroundings. And this is me speaking to you as another woman. You will be taken advantage of if you drop your walls. Do you understand?” There seems to be a flash of sympathy in her eyes, but it’s gone as quick as it appears.

“Thank you.”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “You can change into your uniform now.”

-

You tug on the jacket, following behind the sergeant as you make your way through the building and back outside. He glances down at you, “Your assignment has been moved forward and you’ll be entering the space tonight.”

“Tonight? I thought I needed to train–”

“Not necessary.”

“But I’ve never even spoken to a Mavian, let alone seen one. I don’t know enough about the customs to approach without offending them.”

“Not my problem girl,” he says simply, pushing you forward into the tunnel. You stumble slightly but don’t fall, coughing as dust fills your mouth. He hands you a mask silently, and you take it, wrapping it around your ears and adjusting it against your mouth. You’ve never considered yourself a weak person, always strong-willed. You never took crap from anyone, but right now isn’t the time to be brave. You have to make sure you stay alive. At least long enough to see Jongho again.

And that means dealing with shit like this with a closed mouth. You wanted to make your way on your own, but a small lingering feeling inside of you thinks that maybe you should have taken Chan up for his offer. You can grow to love him, even if marriage was never something you’ve wanted. You grip the straps of your bookbag, following them into a motorized cart. Before you can adjust yourself, it lurches forward. The drive is steep, your hands shaking as you make your way down. The tunnel seems to be miles long, only dim lights illuminating the sides. You can feel the air change as it goes deeper and deeper, your chest tightening.

“Your body will acclimate itself to the air underground in about a week,” the man says next to you. “There are special filters installed to help. You shouldn't have any difficulties."

“Will there be other humans there?” You ask. The man merely scoffs at the question, but doesn’t reply. You hold back your annoyance, staring out into the dark tunnel as you descend.

–

You grab your bag off the vehicle, following them closely. Your eyes look around, the bright city lights almost blinding you. It reminds you of photos you’ve seen in books of Tokyo, except underground. It makes you wonder how they were able to make this place possible; technology wasn’t this advanced back then. But perhaps it was the Mavians who made it with ease. You know that they were at an advantage in the war until they weren’t. The people stared at you when you were entering the city, some speaking to one another, others pointing in your direction. You sunk deeper into the seat, tucking yourself deeper into your coat. And they didn’t lie about the lack of women; you didn’t see one on your way here. And if there were, they were probably in homes, hidden away from prying eyes. Something that you weren’t as fortunate to have.

“Wait here, I’ll enter first,” one of the guards says, walking up to the building. You look around, the building several times larger than your own home. The clan you were saying with had to be wealthy, other homes you took note of much smaller than the one in front of you.

This is a completely and utterly terrible idea. You should have backed out when you had the chance, but now you're in too deep. There's no use in trying to convince them to let you go back home. And you hate to waste people's time. So you nod, tucking your back close to your body and waiting on the steps to the home. It's larger than yours by far, a manor by the look of it. It seems almost endless in the perpetual night, rooms darkened further down to make it seem larger than it is. It's surrounded by a low gate, blocking itself off from the outside streets. You had to take a winding road to the home, only worrying you. You can remember the sergeant's words, telling you that you can't attack even if they try to harm you. But running wasn't something that they said you couldn't do. You glance back at the path, holding in your breath. You're not even sure how far away the main gate is from here. All of these facts bundled together only make you feel more trapped.

You hear a laugh from inside the home, directing your attention back to the situation at hand.

"A human female?" The voice sounds shocked, almost appalled at the realization. "It isn't possible for there to be a female peacemaker. I've never heard of one. We only agreed on this because of your commander's orders. He never mentioned a human female."

"We have no time for your questioning. She is already here, and I'm sure you've arranged a room for your guest."

"Well yes, but–"

"Then that settles it. We will see you at the end of the week for her check-in.”

"Tell Commander Chan I will need to speak to him. Promptly."

Chan. They know Chan. You didn't realize how far his influence expanded. He's a powerful commander, and you denied his proposal. It only makes your stomach twist. Murphy’s law seems to be swirling around you now. A law you thought was too obtuse to be true, now intricately governing your life.

The door shut loudly, the soldier walking back out and gesturing for you. "They're ready for you."

You seem to hesitate, the soldier next to you pushing you ahead. This time you expected it, not stumbling as you make your way up the steps. Your fist hovers over the door. This is it, you think. Once you knock, there’s no chance of turning back. You bring your hand down against the door, the wood immediately flinging open. You lose your balance, stumbling over the threshold and onto the floor. The Mavian man steps aside, not bothering to catch you.

You can feel your face burning with embarrassment as you grab the things you spilled from your bag quickly, shoving them in the pocket that you failed to zip tight. Your eyes land on the black wrapping of your feminine product, quickly hiding it from view. You immediately zip it closed, standing up and meeting the eyes of the Mavian that’s been watching you silently.

You notice how tall he is in comparison to the soldier’s that you were with, slightly above the average male height for humans. He seems to wear a beguiled smile on his lips as he stares at you in silence. His eyes never leave yours, even as you look away from him. You bow, remembering the words that you’ve listened to over and over. He nods slightly, his smile slipping.

“This was a terrible idea,” he sounded a bit bewildered, glancing at you again. “I didn’t plan for you to be a woman. I apologize for my lack of welcoming, but I need to speak with your Commander before this can go any further. I’ll advise the others not to burden you with their… childish behavior, for lack of a better word.” He bows again. You notice his hair is a deep brown, framing his face with wisps falling from his kept hair. You don’t see a tattoo underneath his eye, so you know he isn’t the leader of this clan. It almost frightens you that he isn’t, his aura thick with authority and maturity.

“Nice to meet you, I am Peacemaker Ladybug,” you say, your voice slightly above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to offend you with my presence.”

The Mavian’s brow quirks. “Hm.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re from the slums, are you not?”

You frown slightly at the term he used, but he’s not wrong. Could he tell just by looking at you? Did you not clean yourself up enough to be here? Glancing around and seeing the dim lighting and princely furniture, you did look a bit odd in the uniform they gave you. But he laughs, a joyous sound at juxtaposition to your introduction.

“The commander told me that you were snarky and level-headed. And that I shouldn’t take your remarks in a bad manner, you were just raised that way. Or is this a different person he speaks of?” He frowns slightly. “Now that I think about it, he never mentioned what you looked like. If I knew, I would have disagreed with this arrangement immediately.”

“I don’t care what Chan said about me,” you say, a bit harshly. He raises his eyebrows at your words as you continue. “He doesn’t speak for me, I speak for myself.”

“Do you?” His grin appears again. “Then he wasn’t wrong in his talk of you.” He seems to think for a moment. “But this doesn’t change my mind. I’ll guide you to the parlor and you can wait there until I have news.” He turns on his heel, pausing. He looks down at you, his red eyes seeming to glow. “And my name is Seonghwa, Peacemaker. I am the second in this clan, responsible for tasks such as this. I am in charge of your safety.”

He gestures for you to stand by his side as he walks swiftly. His tall, slender legs are almost twice the size of yours, easily guiding himself through the twists and turns of the halls. His outfit reminds you of Dracula. Long cape that brushes the floor, decorating with red crystals. You’ve never seen anything that shiny, your eyes glued to the gems as you make your way to the parlor. The red matches his eyes, as well as the streaks in his hair. It’s almost odd how similar Mavians look in comparison to humans. The only distinct features are the hair and eye colors, and the tattoos they have. Human technology hasn’t evolved enough to allow iridescent tattoos, one that you can now see peeking out from his collar.

“Peacemaker.”

“Yes?” you ask, quickly meeting his eyes.

Each time he looks at you he seems to be more and more curious, almost fearful. “Do not leave the parlor. Your room is arranged already but the others are lingering around it so it’s best not to bring you there now. Not until we find a solution to the predicament we are now unfortunately in.” He lets out a sigh, opening the parlor door. The flames flicker on, seeming to know that the two of you are standing there. “There is water and refreshments on the table. I didn’t have the chance to brew tea, but I’m sure water will suffice?”

“Thank you, Seonghwa. And I’m really sorry. I thought that they would mention that I’m a woman. I didn’t mean to put you in this awkward spot.” And that you were honest about. Why wouldn’t they tell them? Especially knowing that you’ll be here for a long time. They’ve only put you in danger rather than avoiding it. “I really am.”

He nods, “Thank you. Please rest, you’ve traveled for a while. I’ll be back soon. And, if you don’t mind,” he stands next to the door, grinning at you. “Don’t open this door for anyone other than myself.”

“Alright.”

He shuts it, the click of the lock echoing around the room. You stare at the shut door, before sitting on the couch. Everything seems overly fancy, like you’re in a royal home. Paintings of what you assume are their ancestors line the wall of the parlor, gold trim brightening up the dark area. You’ve noticed that they seem to love red, each and every surface covered with it. You dig into your bag, taking out the media player Chan gave you. They confiscated everything else, all of your personal items at the base. Sergeant EBI explained that it was only for your safety, but you have an inkling that it’s for your family to identify you when you die.

"Pity they think I'd die that easily," you mutter, staring at the glass sitting just in front of you. Condensation drips onto the glass table below, forming a small puddle. You take the cup, glancing at it for a moment before taking a sip. Despite the alarms going off in your head, there's nothing odd about the taste. It actually tastes fresher than the water you salvage for on the surface. You're a bit amazed that a Mavian household could have fresh water but your own neighborhood has to drink recycled, chemical filled purified water. You place it lightly on the table again, guilt ridden. If only you could have taken your brother here with you.

"Is the human in there?" A voice whispers just outside the door. You freeze in place, eyes flicking to the wooden door. Seonghwa has only been gone for a few minutes, and there's already other visitors. A soft knock makes your heartbeat quicken, hands brushing against the knife on your side. It's something the woman left in your bag, you immediately strapping it on outside the home. It's barely sharp, but it's enough to make a wound.

"Why won't you play?" His voice giggles, nails scratching on the surface of the door. You back away from it, moving to the farthest wall. Mavian people are strong, much stronger than their human counterparts. He could easily open the door if he wanted. And yet he only sits just outside it, nails dragging up and down. "You aren't speaking to me," His voice seems to pout. "Seonghwa said you were a special one. A peacemaker, yes?"

Still, you remain silent. Once they catch wind of your voice, it'll only be a matter of time before they realize there isn't a man inside the parlor. Seonghwa, where the Hell are you?

"I hear that you have a family on the outside."

If your heart could plummet to the floor, it would.

"They must be worried sick. I'm sure a visit from me wouldn't be too bad–"

"Don't speak of my family," you clench your teeth, your voice barely above a whisper. The voice hushes on the opposite side of the door. Your eyes widen, realizing what you've just done.

"Oh."

You scramble to look around for an exit, only solid walls catching your gaze. Where the hell is he? The doorknob begins to twist, increasing in speed as your hands tremble. You can't be hurt on the first day, you can't have your chances of giving your family a better life torn away from you. But here you are, slipping up barely an hour into the visit.

The door swings open, slamming against the wall. You press your back against the opposite wall from the door, chest rising and falling quickly. The candles in the room slowly dim, losing their fire one after another. Only the candles just behind you continue their luminance. You hold the handle of the knife, watching the slow steps of the Mav make their way to you.

“A human woman,” he’s the tallest you’ve seen so far, his brows in a steady raise as he takes you in. His hair is dark gray, striking compared to the red eyes that stare at you. You’ve noticed that he doesn’t scan you up and down like the soldiers do, only relieving your anxiety for a brief moment. “We don’t even see our own Mavian females, and yet here you are. In a home full of males.” He cocks his head. His voice is deep, much deeper than the teasing one outside the door. “I wonder if you humans don’t care for your own safety.”

“Are you planning on doing something to me, then?” You sneer, a bit of fear laced in your words as you grip your knife on your waist. “Is your barbaric nature I was warned of the truth?”

He narrows his eyes, “Are you accusing my family of doing something unspeakable to you? Just because we haven’t seen a woman in a long time, doesn’t mean that we’d be interested in you. You flatter yourself too much. And we are far from barbarians, Ladybug.”

“Speak for yourself, Mingi,” Another walks up, completely different from Mingi. His hair is a deep black, a strip of silver straight through the middle. “I find her rather exquisite. Don’t mind him… Ladybug, was it?” You nod, and his grin only widens. “What a name to suit such a beauty like yourself.” You notice a distinct mole just underneath his eye, his gaze warm. “I’m Wooyoung.” You recognize his voice from the playful tune. The one that made you reveal yourself while they stood outside the door.

“Don’t flatter her too much, she’ll have a big head.” A scoff from the corner makes you switch your gaze. You didn't hear his steps, cursing at yourself for not paying close enough attention. “And I’m sure that’s not her real name. These humans don’t trust us enough for that.” You can’t quite make him out in the dark, your eyes not yet used to the underground. But you still squint, trying your hardest to make out his silhouette. Your heart seems to quicken once an extended leg appears into the light. He wears combat boots, stained with dark red. They slowly rock, capturing your attention. He laughs, distracting you.

“Is the Bug shocked into silence that we won’t fall for its tricks?”

“Wooyoung seems to love it just fine,” you say back.

Wooyoung giggles. “She’s quite right about that.” He takes a step to you as you take out back, a frown forming on his lips. “Don’t back up from me, lovebug.”

"Leave her alone," Mingi tugs him back, only making his pout deepen. "We told you that you were to stay in your quarters anyway. So go back."

He sighs dramatically, wiggling his fingers at you in a goodbye. He tucks his hands in his pockets, dragging himself away. It looks as if he's forcing himself to take each step, disappearing around the counter. You slowly drop your hand from the knife on your waist, straightening up. He's a bit strange, you think. All of the Mavian you've met have been a bit of a mystery, but he's different. More open. You're not sure if you should be wary of him, but you note it.

The shadow stands up slowly, his shoe in the light disappearing as he gets to his feet. You can make out him adjusting his jacket, stepping out into the low night. His eyes are a deep brown, widening as they meet yours. You stumble, hitting your back against the wall. The thumping in your ears increases tenfold, your mouth going dry and body shaking. Mingi takes a step to you, but you near an almost animalistic growl come from the shadow man. He stops, confused as he looks between the two of you. But your eyes are completely focused on him. A loud hum rings in your head.

Images flick in your vision, consuming it. Black holes circle each other until they collide

and merge, a cataclysm so fierce, sending ripples soaring through the fabric, crossing thousands of kilometers within a fraction of a second, leaving behind a wave on the space-time continuum. That’s the simplest way you can describe meeting his gaze. And yet, even that is an understatement.

"What are you?" You breathe, finally forcing yourself out of the hypnosis. You hear him breathing heavily, matching yours. "What's going on? Are you using some Mavian ability?"

"What am I? I should be asking you that. Are you a witch, sent down here to cast a spell on me? Your little human tricks won't work on me, Bug," despite the anger seething in his words, his body moves closer to you. You can't back up further, so you follow the lines of the wall, trying your best to stay away from him. "Answer me."

"Why would I want to cast a spell on you if I don't even know who you are? You're being ridiculous, you Mavian!" You shot back, stumbling slightly over a rise in the rug. Mingi looks between the both of you, his confusion only growing. "Don't come near me."

"Isn't that what you desire? They send females down here to try to please Mavians, try to sway us to conform to their ideals," he scowls. "It only makes us hate you further."

"I don't care what you think of me," you utter back. But you lose heart halfway through the sentence, the last bit coming out in a desperate whisper. "Leave me alone."

"What is going on here?"

All of your heads whip to the door. Seonghwa stands there, his lips set in a lime as he glances at all of you. His calm demeanor shifts once he notices you stuck in a corner, the angry Mavian mere meters away from you.

"Leave the peacemaker be, San."

"Me? Leave her be? She is the one that was sent down here to try and woo me–"

"What are you even saying? You can go to a brothel if you desire such pleasures. She is a peacemaker, only here to connect us with the human world. Don't be pompous and believe otherwise." Seonghwa snaps his fingers. "Just because Yunho is gone does not mean you can enter locked doors and infer into matters that do not involve you. Mingi," he turns to the man. You immediately notice that Mingi is much taller than him, almost towering over Seonghwa’s already high stature. Is it possible that there are even larger Mavians? The thought only makes you shiver. "How did you enter this room?"

"Wooyoung," Mingi says simply.

Seonghwa's jaw clenched, his slender fingers massaging the lines that appear between his brows. "And where is he now?"

"Probably in his quarters. I dismissed him only moments ago. Until… whatever just happened," Mingi glances between the two of you. "Of what I have yet to figure out."

"What do you mean?” his gaze turns. “San, what's going on? Mingi, you are dismissed." He waves his hand. Mingi doesn't dare hesitate, taking one long glance back at you before disappearing through the door. You're left with San and Seonghwa. The latter silently moves closer to you, noticing how San's hands clench, his eyes on the distance between the both of you. Seonghwa stops moving immediately, his eyes narrowing.

"What is happening?"

"I told you, she has casted a spell–"

"A spell?" He cracks a grin, glancing down at you. "You believe that dear peacemaker over here has hexed you? San, humans cannot cast spells. This isn't Wysteria, they do not have majik here."

"Perhaps they have somehow learned–" he stops in his ranting, glaring at you. "You do not belong here."

"Don't speak to me," you say back, matching his expression. He scoffs, pushing his hair away from his face.

"Only Yunho has a say in whether she belongs here or not, San," he clears his throat. "I will speak to you privately. But peacemaker," His turns to you, expectant. "I couldn't get into contact with the commander, but once I do we will discuss your new assignment. I apologize for all of this disarray. If I knew what I was expecting, I would have been more prepared. Can I be frank with you?” He asks, and you nod. “I do not appreciate Chan’s sly tongue in getting you into our manor. And by that, it means that I do not trust you either. Having a peacemaker around requires a level of trust between both parties, and it seems that that point has been negated.” He closes his eyes for a moment, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “Yeosang should be standing just outside this door. He will guide you to your resting place until we get this straightened out.”

You grab your bag off the couch, glancing at San from the corner of your eye. He’s said nothing since Seonghwa told him to quiet down, but his gaze has been following you the whole time. You would consider it to be unsettling, except your body seems to want him to watch you. And that realization only makes you want to leave more. Whatever happened when your eyes met, you’d rather avoid it happening again. Even if it’s an unfamiliar feeling, it scares you. Nothing new in your life has ever panned out, especially now that you’ve entered a place you’ve never been before.

You hold your bag close to your chest, stepping around Seonghwa and ignoring San. You don’t dare to look back, closing the door behind you quietly. The hallway is silent, no person standing on either side. You stand there dumbfounded, glancing back at the closed door. Was Seonghwa wrong? Did this Yeosang, whoever he may be, leave before you could see him go? You wipe your sweaty palms on your cargo pants, unwilling to move from your spot. Roaming around a home you know nothing of can only lead to trouble, and you’d rather avoid that.

“Has my little lady left the room alone?” You whip your head to the side, seeing Wooyoung standing at the end of the hallway. He leans against the wall, a teasing smirk on his lips. “You looked surprised to see me.”

“Seonghwa said Yeosang would be here, not you.” And it seemed like he didn’t even want you to contact Wooyoung, by the look on his face. Said man moves off the wall, lazily strolling toward you. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Why not? I won’t do anything unflattering to you, lovebug.”

“It’s Ladybug,” you narrow your eyes, and he only laughs.

“Oh I know that, lovebug.”

You can tell he wants to get you riled up, but you're not sure why. You take steps back as he takes them forward, an sinister grin slowly etching its way onto his face. He uncrosses his arms, pushing his loose bangs away from his face. He looks behind you for a moment. “You always ruin the fun for me, Yeo.”

“You were told to go to your quarters, but you’re bothering the human.” A deep, calm voice speaks from your back, you stopping to turn and look. Yeosang, you presume, stands there. His brown eyes flick to yours for a moment, recognition appearing as quick as it disappears. You look at him in confusion, but he doesn’t give you a moment to dwell. “What would he say if I told him that you weren’t resting there?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “No one lets me do anything around here.”

“Because you often make messes. Now go,” Yeosang waves him off. Wooyoung’s playful look drops for a moment, irritated eyes staring at you. Fear rolls through your body, the soft brush of Yeosang’s fingers on your shoulder distracting you. He nudges you forward, despite your eagerness to take the opposite route of Wooyoung. The two of you pass by him, Wooyoung’s eyes boring into yours as you turn the corner.

Yeosang lets out a low breath, mumbling something in Mav. He glances at you, nodding softly. “We should be at your door soon.”

His outfit is similar to yours, except his sewing is golden, his cargo pants and loose shirt black. It's much different from the fancier wear you've seen the others show off, almost abnormal in the environment you're in. But the look that he gave you just moments ago. As if he's seen you before, although you've never laid eyes on him. His black strands hide his face. You wish you could gaze for a brief moment, see what he's thinking.

"Why did you come here?" He asks, hands resting on his lower back. "This household is wary of humans entirely, but you're a female. It only makes it worse."

"Why?"

His lip twitches. "That is what I said, yes."

"Why do you all seem to keep on telling me that because I'm a woman you have to kick me out?" You ask, a bit of sharpness in your voice. "Can you not handle being around one? Does my presence bother you to the point that you can't control yourselves? Perhaps you are more animalistic than I previously thought." You should one hundred percent watch your words when you're in their territory, but you can't help it. This tone that they seem to use with you when you're just speaking normally, existing, only irks you to no end. You can tolerate but so much.

He snickers, nodding to himself. "Now I know why the commander placed you here. Your words in another household would lead you down a rough path. They might have killed you for just that small remark." He stops in front of a door. "Fortunately for you, this clan avoids confrontation and liability. I hope that you will stay here for a bit longer. This old home needs some life in it." He pushes open the door, gesturing for you to enter. He avoids your question entirely. You take note of that, walking inside the room.

The room is extravagant, the same gold that accented Yeosang's outfit lining every edge. It makes you feel guilty, knowing that your family is living in dreadful conditions. And yet here you are, resting in a room fit for royalty. Yeosang seems to notice your mood change, humming to himself.

“We can move you somewhere else if you’d like.”

“Would the place be different from here?”

He shakes his head. “All of the guest rooms are decorated the same, ladybug. My apologies,” he bows, and you widen your eyes. His gaze meets yours, eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“Why are you bowing to me?”

He still stares at you, puzzled. “Is this against human customs?"

"I am a lower class citizen, Yeosang. No one bows to me."

"That is a pity,” he lifts himself up slowly. “Bowing is a common courtesy between Mav. We even bow to humans, but now I can see why they don’t do it back.” He frowns slightly. “But if you’d prefer it, I won’t bow to you. It will take me a moment to get accustomed to that, though. I have been doing it the whole time I’ve served here.”

Served? Your eyes flick to his wrists, red, burned scars etched into its surface. Familiar to you. In your first hometown, slaves were common. You were used to seeing twine wrapped around the wrists of your fellow neighbors, used to seeing it around yours as well. You rub your wrist absentmindedly, him seeming to notice another change in your expression. You look away from his prying gaze. He seems to note your emotions rather easily. “You can do whatever you want, I’m only a guest in your home. But Yeosang, are you a slave?”

“A slave? To whom, this clan?” His eyes widened even further, shaking his head. “There are no slaves in this home, Ladybug. Yunho doesn’t tolerate that in the slightest. There are no slaves underneath this roof, and never will be. Why do you ask that?” His gaze is sharp. He finally sees the way you rub your wrist, lips setting into a line. “Ah, I see. You don’t have to worry about that here. I know you do not know us well, but trust my words.” he bows again, hesitating halfway and rubbing his back sheepishly. “It’ll take some getting used to, as I’ve said.”

“Thank you Yeosang. For walking me here. And I'm sorry for assuming you were, I just saw your wrists and assumed– but yea, I'm sorry.”

He nods lightly. “No need to apologize for an inquiry, there was no offense taken. I will take my leave now. Please lock the door behind me. It will stop unwanted guests from entering. Even Wooyoung with his strange behavior, wouldn’t dare enter a locked bedroom. Especially one of a lady.” he smiles, turning on his heel and walking out. You close the door behind him, throwing yourself back on the bed.

So much has happened in barely over two days. You wish that you could tell Jongho how you’re doing, tell him that you’re fine for now and you don’t think anything would happen to you. It must be a quick jump, but you think you’re a good people reader. Despite their intimidating auras, none of them threatened you, or said something that put you off. Sure, Wooyoung is an outlier, but he seems to only tease. For now, at least. And San. The one that made you see stars for the brief moment your eyes met. You didn’t read anything about Mavian abilities that could cause anything like that, but you didn’t get to read it thoroughly. Perhaps a quick reread could help you figure out what exactly occurred between the two of you.

Was it even his fault, though? He seemed angry, pointing his fingers at you. And you knew that wasn’t true, you’ve barely met the man, why try to mess with him? And majik, something otherworldly, only read in fantasy novels. You groan, turning to your side and staring out the open window. It’s breeze is calming, enough for you to relax your thoughts. Do you even want to leave here? And what will this Yunho do, once he sees you? Push you away, just like the others? You swallow, fingers digging into the fabric. You said you’d tolerate anything just to see Jongho happy and safe, but now, you’re not so sure.

-

“A woman?” Yunho furrows his brows, letter delicately balancing between his fingers. “How did a woman slip into our clan? And why would they ever bring one here, after what happened years ago?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, rubbing his temples. “I do not know, but we should get rid of her this instant. If the other clans find out about this, it can lead to our ruin. And we already have enough of a burden down the line. Having a human in our home wasn’t too bad, but I thought it would be a male. This is too much trouble to bear at times like this.”

He hums, placing the paper down lightly. “Is it that much of a burden for you to want to see her gone?”

“What?”

“I heard of what happened between the peacemaker and San. Things like that don’t go past me easily, Seonghwa.” He stands up from his desk, brushing off dust that seems to love his fabric. He makes his way to the window, staring out. From where he sits, he can see the sleeping quarter windows across the lawn. And if he counted, he could tell exactly which room was yours. His eyes slid back to Seonghwa. “Now explain to me what exactly happened.”

“I came in just after. San was accusing the peacemaker of messing with his mind and trying to manipulate him. But that cannot be, humans do not have the capabilities to make majik from thin air. It is not possible on Earth.”

“Then what do you suggest occurred?”

Seonghwa purses his lips, “You might find this quite silly.”

Yunho’s lips lift, a brow raised in his direction. “What’s silly is you making me the leader of this clan, despite me not being of age at the time. Nothing else is more silly than that.”

“That was a good judgment call, that’s all,” Seonghwa shrugs. “But… what if they’re Fated?”

His sly smile immediately falls, eyes flicking back to the windows of your room. “Is it possible? For a human and a Mav to be fated? We are different species entirely, and the Fates only seemed to dwell while we were at home, not here. There hasn’t been any fated partners since–” He stops, “I’m getting ahead of myself. Is there a possibility that it was anything else? Were any of the others playing tricks?”

“It didn’t look like it. Mingi looked concerned, and Wooyoung already left. But you know that before the Fated are paired, they’re quite agitated when it comes to their other half. Mingi told me that San growled at him when he stepped closer to the peacemaker. It was odd in itself.”

“Is that right?” Yunho murmurs, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps they are Fated. So we cannot remove her from our grounds, not when we know that San will suffer if she does. If the other clans find out about her we'll deal with the consequences.”

“Then what will we tell the others?” He says softly. “Wooyoung isn’t one to play nice, you know that. And Mingi… he has his own battles to overcome. Yeosang will tolerate her enough. And–”

“And you? How will you be in her presence?”

“I can control myself,” Seonghwa says, a bit too sharply for Yunho’s liking. A quick feeling of dread rolls through him, and he bows. “I apologize for my forwardness, Yunho.”

“It is unbecoming of you to act so aggressively, but I understand. This is sensitive for you, I won’t cast your feelings aside when deciding,” Yunho nods slowly. “If you wouldn’t mind, on your way back to your quarters tell Mingi to bring Peacemaker Ladybug to the dining hall. I’m sure she’s completely famished. It has taken her a long time to get here after all. I’ll be in the dining hall shortly after.”

“Yes,” he bows deeply. “And of Wooyoung?”

“Tell him to meet me here. Along with San. Immediately.”

“Of course.”

-

A knock on your door makes you stumble to your feet. You swing it open without bothering to see who it is. Mingi stands there, his height towering over yours as you look up. Instead of the troubled gaze that he held before, he seems to look at you in curiosity, searching for something. But after a moment, he seems almost defeated, shoulders dropping silently. He nods to you, stepping slightly away from your doorway. He wears all black, his gems onyx on his fit. His long overcoat brushes the ground slightly. It’s fitting for a man of his stature. It makes you wonder how much money these Mavian men have. The homes that you passed on your way here looked unkempt and poor, much like yours. Where did Chan assign you exactly?

“Dinner is being served in the dining hall, and Yunho mentioned that you were to partake in it.”

“I’m fine, I’m not hungry,” you say quickly.

“Unfortunately Ladybug, this was not a suggestion. I’ll guide you there, I’m sure you’ll have a formal tour of our home once they understand your circumstances.” He gestures forward.

You hide your bitterness, stepping over the threshold and into the hallway. He shuts the door behind you silently, walking forward. He doesn't wait like Yeosang and Seonghwa, his steps are quick and long. You could barely keep up with him, almost jogging slightly behind the lanky man. If it's to prevent conversation, it's definitely working. He doesn't even give you a glance to make sure you're still behind. After a little more than a couple minutes, you stop. He looks back, finally.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Are you trying to run me ragged? You're taller than me and your legs are longer, why are you walking like something is chasing you?" You put your hands on your hips, taking a breather.

Mingi’s lips lift, until he laughs. It's boisterous, filling the silent hallways. "I was wondering when you'd say something. It was entertaining to see you running after me."

"You did it on purpose?" You blink quickly.

"I did."

"Asshole," you murmur, wiping your moist forehead with your sleeve.

His grin only seems to widen. "You're unique. No other human would dare say that in front of a Mavian. Especially one of nobility.”

“Nobility…?” you say, staring at him. He sees the shock appearing on your features, his smile slipping.

“Did you not know what household you were in? This is the first clan, Ladybug. The first one to land on Earth and the first to fight in the War to End all Days. Didn’t you see the writing outside our home?”

No, you didn’t. And even if you were looking, it was too dark to make anything out. But Chan put you in a home with royals. Nobles. People that are definitely out of your class range. The nerves suddenly hit you, and you realize that the way you’ve been acting is definitely out of line. The horror of it all weighs on you greatly as Mingi stares at you. All you want to do is crawl into a ball and hide. Going back home and marrying Chan doesn’t feel as limiting as it once did.

“I’m sorry I offended you,” you say quickly. “But I only ask that you spare my life, I have family at home that I need to take care of–”

“Wait, what are you saying? Do you think I’ll call for your execution because you said some harsh words to me? Ah, Ladybug,” he shakes his head. “Like I have said before, we aren’t barbarians. I can handle a few verbal jabs. It only livens up the place,” he chuckles. “Shall we go to the dining hall? I wouldn’t want the food to grow cold.”

Instead of running forward, he matches your pace. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, the same nerves that you had before coming back tenfold.

“Do the military have a habit of hiding information from their subordinates?” Mingi asks you as you turn a corner. “Because it seems like you’ve been alarmed with a lot of information since you’ve stepped foot into our manor.”

“Instead of hiding it, it seems like they didn’t think the information was necessary. Which is ridiculous, since they said that peacemakers rarely make it home without being killed by a Mavian.” You say. Mingi stops.

“What?”

“They told me that there’s a high chance of us being killed–”

“That’s not true,” his lightheartedness disappears immediately. “We don’t kill humans anymore. We haven’t killed one since the War,” he scoffs. “I can’t believe they tell you these things. These impossible truths I- this, this is why we don’t trust humans and never will. All they do is spew lies to garden fear, then use it to manipulate and use their own people. Peacemaker,” he looks at you. “We are a peaceful race, and have always been. We could have eradicated the humans, but we didn’t. We still could have to this day. But do you know why we haven’t?”

You don’t speak up, too nervous that you’ll slip up again.

“Because, dear peacemaker,” he leans down, eyes leveling with yours. “We are leaving Earth. Soon.” Questions swirl in your mind, too many to spit out all at once. He takes amusement in your bewildered look, his lips curving into a smirk. “Now follow me. We’re just outside the dining hall.”

-

You sit alone, fingers brushing along the curve of the table. Mingi left, explaining that he had some other duties to deal with and that Yunho would be arriving soon. The thought of meeting the leader of the clan only makes you more nauseated, knowing that they lacked as much information as you did. No wonder San thought you were using some sort of spell on them; from all the information you didn’t have, they could suspect anything and it wouldn’t be absurd.

“Fuck me,” you mutter, adjusting yourself in the seat. You’ve barely eaten anything off your plate, your body ridden with anxiety enough to pause your appetite. And seeing all of the dishes that they’ve made, only makes you feel worse. You haven’t eaten like this, ever, so your body isn’t used to it. You could barely eat the vegetables without feeling full. Always on survival mode, unfortunately. You just hope that Chan found Jongho, and he’s well. Even if it’s temporary.

“Peacemaker Ladybug?”

You quickly push your chair back and stand, gaze lifting to the new Mavian in the room. Your eyes immediately notice the tattoo underneath his left eye. It’s too far to see what it is exactly, but it’s confirmation enough of who he is. Yunho. Leader of their clan. And now, you know, royalty. You bow quickly, and he laughs you off, slowly walking to you.

“No need for a bow, peacemaker. You are our guest. Please, sit,” he gestures back to the chair, and you slowly follow his instructions. He takes the seat across from you, taking off his overcoat and placing it on a coat hanger in the corner. Almost immediately as he sits down, the cooks from before come out of the kitchen, placing his food in front of him. You notice the difference between yours and his. Instead of the vegetables and meats that sit in front of you, this is an assortment of fruits. He takes a bit of a melon, humming to himself softly.

You notice that he hasn’t looked you in the eye yet.

“So are you the human who has stirred up this household?” Despite the smile on his lips, you can tell he’s serious, eyes burning into yours. “You’ve met everyone except me. I would like to see if you alert me as well.”

“I didn’t mean to cause alarm, I assure you Yunho- if I can call you that.”

He nods. “You can.”

“Thank you. As I was saying, Yunho, I didn’t know that they didn’t tell you about me being a female. If I knew it would be this burdensome, I wouldn’t have come here. I know my words have no value since we’ve just met, but this is the truth. I don’t like to inconvenience others, especially ones that I’ve just met.”

“And they didn’t tell you this was a noble household?” he asks.

“They didn’t. I just thought I was here to make peace, that is all. All of these other things that are happening, I didn’t know about.”

“Ah, so we’ve all been tricked,” he narrows his eyes. “That’s unfortunate. They want to create peace, but it seems like all they are doing is dividing. What a pity,” he sighs, taking another bite of his fruit. “But I know that you’ve heard the talks about us removing you from our clan and placing you in a different manor. I would just like to know how you feel about moving. And if that’s something you desire.”

“Why are you asking me?” You falter, “I am just a guest.”

“Yes, but you are also the peacemaker assigned to us. All households of our status have to have one, even if we don’t want it. It won’t be easy to find a spot for you somewhere else, but it is possible. It would just take a while for it to be situated. But it would be difficult for us to find another human. The only reason you were placed so quickly was because of your connection to the commander. It would be a bit onerous to go through the process again. And if you don’t mind, I suggest that you stay here.”

“Stay? Stay, when most of you want me to leave because of how difficult it is? Why would anyone want to stay after all the words I’ve heard today?” You’ve been trying to hide how irked you are, but you can’t help it. It just bothers you to no end that they are going back and forth about you. “Why don’t you just decide? I don’t want to be in a place where everyone hates my existence.”

“You are quite… lively,” he says, grinning. “We’ve already voted on your position here. That is why I am asking you for the final word. You can stay, or you can leave. It is up to you.” He lets his head rest on his folded hands, head tilted as he looks at you. He’s blond, his hair brushing against the bottom of his neck. You’ve noticed that all of the Mav are handsome, beautiful even. They have this strong aura around them, as if all of them can take the lead of this household if necessary. But Yunho, his energy is much more playful. With a hint of authority hidden between the soft gazes he sends you. No wonder they chose him to be placed there. Warmth and sternness are good in a leader. You’re sure if you stay around long enough, you can see it in action.

But staying here. You don’t know what they voted for, but he does say it’s all up to you. Does that mean that they wanted you here? Even San and Seonghwa, the two most bothered by your presence? Did something happen while you were sitting on your bed, deep in your thoughts?

“Can I ask some questions before I decide?” You ask, and he nods. “Yeosang said you don’t have slaves in this clan, is it true?”

“Yes. No one in this home is a slave, although there may be former ones. But each staff is paid fairly and are able to either live in the manor, or travel each day to work. It is up to them. But no, I would never have a slave in my home. It’s not something I believe in.”

You notice how his eyes land on your wrists, moving away when you pull your sleeve up. “How many peacemakers have you had?”

“Zero.”

“None? I would be the first?”

“You would,” he smiles. “Since they’ve instated the law to force all large Mav households to have a human watching their every move, we had to have one. Before that, there was nothing. We didn’t see the need to have a human walk these halls. It was unnecessary,” he shrugs.

“Are you telling the truth? About peacemakers?”

“What? That we haven’t killed any?”

You nod.

“We haven’t. Mavian don’t kill humans needlessly like that. It’s not in our nature, unless they have done something unthinkable. But even then, it’s rare. There have been disputes and fights yes, but nothing to the extent of murder. Not here, anyway. As I have said, you are the first to enter our home. I don’t know what happened with the humans that didn’t make it back, but it couldn’t have been anything heinous. Perhaps something happened to them elsewhere,” he murmurs.

It’s strange, after all of the stories you’ve heard of the Mavian people being violent killers, it seems as if they’re anything but. And even if you don’t take his word for it, there’s nothing to prove him wrong. All they’ve done is be kind and aware of your situation. They’ve been kinder than the soldiers that guided you here. Even with Seonghwa’s slip of the tongue about you being from the slums, you could tell there was no malice behind his words. He was just stating simple facts. You did say that you didn’t sense anything eerie about this home, and nothing stood out to you that made you want to run, besides the things that they’ve already cleared up. Still, they are at a higher status than you’ve ever dealt with before. You’re afraid that they’ll go back on their words and actually do something to you if you mess up. But adding the negatives and positives together, you can only come to one conclusion.

“I’ll stay.” you say simply.

His solemn expression brightens, and he claps his hands together in glee. You even let out a dry laugh, lips curving into a small smile. “Why are you so excited?”

“You’ve made my night,” he says, shrugging. “After you are finished eating, I’ll escort you to your quarters. And at dawn, San will guide you around our home to make sure that your stay is well. He’ll provide you with a map as well, in case you forget where things are.”

You frown. “San? Does it have to be San?”

Your disgusted tone seems to peak his interest. “Do you have something against him?”

“Well,” you push your food around your plate in thought. “He did accuse me of somehow influencing his mind when I barely met him. And he seems to just not like me at all.”

“Ah, well,” Yunho clears his throat. “I’ve spoken to him briefly. He won’t be as agitated as he was previously. But before you go, I need to tell you something. I have already spoken to him about it, but it’ll be wrong for me to keep it hidden from you.”

“What is it?” you take a sip of your water, trying to cure your dry throat. You’ve had enough surprises for one day, but it seems like it won’t end.

"It's about San. And you."

–

The artificial sky you see out the window only cements how alone you feel. You tuck your knees closer to your chest, trying to curl yourself into a ball. Enough to disappear into the small seat, hopefully. Yunho's words still ring in your head, things you've never wanted to hear.

Soulmate. Fates. Half of each other's souls.

So many terms thrown at you you were barely able to take it all in. San. Choi San, he said. Your soulmate. The one that looked at you with such disdain and disgust, is your soulmate? You had to laugh at his words, baffled that he would suggest such a thing. But when he began to tell you about how the connection feels, how your body would grow exhausted not being near your other half, you knew it was true. Right after you left that room, you felt like a stone was placed on your chest. Tiredness seemed to hit you immediately. You dragged yourself through the hallways. Why does having a soulmate entail utter exhaustion?

You rub your eyes, reminded of how sleepy you are.

It's been a few days since you've stayed in your room. The words of the soldiers weren't true; you haven't seen them at all this week. Not one visit, despite their insistence that you would be seen twice a week. All you've done is wake up, clean yourself, and eat whatever they left outside the door. A few caretakers knocked every so often, probably to make sure you were alive. But the others stayed away. You haven't even seen San since that first day, and it's been a little over a week now. You have to wonder if it's because of what you told Yunho, that you needed time to think. Being told that you're meant to be with someone you barely know is a lot of information to take in. And it’s a bit funny. Despite your insistence on not wanting to see San, your curiosity is getting the best of you.

And it appears that he’s a bit curious too.

A knock on your door pulls you away from the window. You slowly open the door, eyes flicking up to him. His clothing is tight on his body, a navy cloak resting behind him. You don’t see jewels like the rest of them, an almost thick leather material. You can feel the air change when he stands in front of you, the cool summer night rising into a soothing warmth. It’s not as impactful as it was when you first saw him, but you can feel yourself on edge already.

“Hi.” He says, looking away from you.

“Hello.”

He rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “I’m sure Yunho told you everything. About us.”

“He did.”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing. They’re dark brown, matching his hair. Except, there’s an undercut of blonde in his locks. Reminds you of a familiar cookie you’ve seen on shelves in the grocery stores. But staring at him is doing you no good.

“Why are you here?”

He purses his lips. “To bring you around. We were supposed to do it that first night, but you haven’t left your room in days.”

“And you haven’t the slightest idea why I haven’t left?” You raise your brow. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I just don’t want to see you?” You breathe, rubbing your forehead. “This is… this is a lot, San. All of this. I just thought I would be telling your clan things about humans and stay here for a month. Maybe learn to, I don't know, care about you? Learn things about Mav that I haven’t heard before?”

“Ah, so you’re a Mavian sympathizer?”

Did he even listen to a word you’ve said? “I’m just a person that sees right and wrong. Whatever category you want to put me in, go ahead. I could care less.” You care that they have been treated unwell, but San makes you want to pull your hair out.

“You know, you can be killed for your words.”

“By who, you?”

“No bug, we are a peaceful race. I mean your bloodthirsty humans,” he murmurs. “But that’s besides the point. What I wanted to say was that I don’t think avoiding one another is the best way to deal with our… predicament. If you want to leave, I can’t force you to stay. But I think that we should at least try to figure this out. The first step can be for me to walk you around our home.”

You stare at him, the cool persona from before broken down. Even standing in front of him now, you can feel the tiredness that seemed to seep into your bones slowly dwindle, the energy that you once lost replaced with this new invigoration. You frown slightly, glancing back at the room and then down at your outfit. It’s just your nightwear that you found in your closet, a bit big on your body. You tug on the shirt lightly. Everyone should be sleeping, so it shouldn’t hurt for you to walk around with him a bit.

“Can you give me a moment?” you ask. His face seems to light up, quickly disappearing.

“I can wait.”

You shut the door softly, quickly walking over and grabbing your knife holder. You place it on your hips, tugging your night shirt over it so it’s hidden beneath. You don’t quite have the energy to change your clothing, so you think that this is good enough. You grab your boots, tugging it on your feet before hopping to the door. You wipe your hands on your pants, taking a deep breath and opening the door again. San is leaning on the wall, blond wisps resting on his neck. He seems to be in his thoughts, head tilted up. Your knuckles knock against the wall, and he pulls himself out of it, standing at attention. His eyes flick over your clothing.

“Boots in your sleepwear?” He raises a brow.

“It’s too late to change. And it’s a warm night,” you shrug.

He nods in agreement. “Alright then.”

-

"If someone told me that I'd be escorting my human-soulmate around my home, I'd laugh in their face," he says simply, fingers delicately tapping on his forearm. You barely give him a glance, your hands resting on your knife holder. It’s out of comfort, not malice.

"Is that so? I thought you were doing this out of the kindness of your heart."

"Kindness? I despise humans, you all have something to gain," he glances at the space between the both of you. "Even your presence brings me great frustration."

You grind your teeth, holding back only for your commander. "Choi San, you have such a way with words."

His grin is wicked. "Oh my love, you don't even know the half of it." He stops, opening the front door. You look at him quizzingly, but he gestures forward again.

You step out onto the porch, your boots making the wood creak. He closes the front door behind you, hands resting on his chest again.

"This is our front garden. I'm sure you've seen it all on your way here, but I thought it was best fit for our tour around the manor,” he gestures forward. The night seems to shield most of the grounds, but you can see a bit from the torches randomly placed around the area. There’s grass and floral everywhere your eyes can spot, bringing a bit of light to this place underground. It only makes you question more and more how a whole civilization can exist like this beneath your feet. It seems to go on for hundreds of kilometers. How are they able to stabilize something like this, preventing it from being caved in?

“It’s majik, Bug,” San says, hands resting on his back. “The garden, the way we’re able to live easily underneath here. All of it is due to majik.”

“That’s what you mentioned a few days ago, when we first met. Is it the same as human magic? From the fantasy novels?”

His smile lifts, “A bit. Except majik at the levels of this is nearly impossible without giving up your life unless you're a sorcerer, of course,” he crouches down, and you watch as he presses his hand to the ground. It seems to glow beneath his fingertips, the glow spreading out into the garden.The once dark area is luminescent now, blades of grass glowing, as well as the petals of flowers. You widen your eyes, taking a step forward and touching the plants. They wrap around your finger, as if they’re welcoming you to their humble abode.

You can’t help but laugh in astonishment, not knowing where else to look. San comes next to you, his hand flattening against the ground next to you. You notice rings that line his fingers, different stones. They radiant soft colors, the grass welcoming his touch. Without thinking, you place your hand on top of his. You don’t notice how he freezes, his eyes focused on your touch. You can feel how his hand warms yours, the light slowly traveling up your fingers. You pull back, and it disappears as quickly as it came.

“How pretty,” you murmur, standing back up. San stays there for a breath more then follows your moves, rubbing his palms on his pants.

“Shall we venture around the halls? There’s a lot to see, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want any of the others disturbing you while we peruse.”

“I don’t mind it,” you say, following his figure into the home. The door shuts on its own, leaving the two of you back into the silent hallway. “This is their home and I’m only a visitor. Who am I to say when they can walk around and when they can’t?”

San furrows his brows but doesn’t respond to you, continuing through the home. You feel like you said or did something wrong, because he isn’t as lively as he once was. He gives you directions and gestures to rooms with little enthusiasm, seeming to walk quickly. Perhaps he realized something you haven’t. Or maybe he isn’t into this soulmate thing, just as you aren’t. Your hand no longer lingers on your knife, hands crossed against your chest as you back it back to your door. You step instead, San watching as you sit back down on your bed.

“I’ll arrange for you to have better fitting clothes. As you know, we’ve expected someone of a different frame to be in here with us. I’ll ask the caretakers to measure you in the morning.”

“I’m fine with these,” you say simply, tugging lightly on the shirt. “As long as it covers me, it’s enough right?”

His lip lifts slightly, amused. “Is that so? I saw the way you were pulling up the slacks as we made our way through the manor. Unless you sprout a foot taller, it won’t fit you properly anytime soon. So I will continue to ignore your words, and have them measure you tomorrow. By force, if need be.”

“You are really too kind,” you joke, shaking your head. You start to untie your shoes, noticing that he’s quiet. You look up, noticing that his eyes are focused on your hands.

“Stay away from Wooyoung.” San says after a moment, leaning against the doorframe.

“Why? Unlike you, he seems the friendliest.” You take off your shoes, keeping him in your peripheral. San watches you silently.

“He’s part of my clan, but I know him. He likes new and shiny things,” he moves off the frame, holding the doorknob, “And you’re the prettiest gem he’s come across.”

"Oh, do you think I'm pretty?" You joke. He rolls his eyes.

"You are completely and utterly divine, Bug. I'll see you tomorrow. Rest well." He shuts the door, leaving an open-mouthed, shocked human in his wake. If you listened closely as he left the hallway of yours, you could have heard the sweet sound of his laughter in his wake.

tags: @teezers99 @downbadreading (?) @takoyakibinnie @vanishingboots @katelynnsqueendom @baguette-atiny @atinytease @kpopnightingale​ @bettyschwallocksyee​ @captainjoongiekissme​

#fic: murphy's law #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez x reader #yeosang x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #hongjoong x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez fluff #idek anymore

[vsthepomegranate]

Joe Biden lied about seeing Palestinians beheading 40 Israeli infants and four days later a Palestinian American six year old was stabbed 26 times in his own apartment. Under Biden's direction the US vetoed UN Security Council vote calling for an Israeli ceasefire that would allow humanitarian aid, medicine and food into Gaza. Then he visited Israel, embraced Benjamin Netanyahu (who is Israel's Donald Trump, look it up) and co-signed the Israeli lie that Hamas blew up Al Ahli hospital themselves, drafted $100 billion dollar foreign aid package, sent weapons to Israel, and gave the go ahead for a genocide in Gaza.

So, no, we will not be voting for Joe Biden in 2024.

It's very clear that the Democrats are running the Bush 9/11 playbook, i.e. Change the Conversation By Starting A War Based On Lies That Will Kill Millions of Arabs, Sustain That Effort Through Clumsy, Racist (but always effective!) Propaganda, And Endanger Arab And Muslim Americans In The Process.

So Instead of supporting universal healthcare in the midst of a global pandemic, forgiving predatory student loan debt that has hobbled an entire generation of young Americans, safeguarding the Supreme Court or protecting Roe from the decades long relentless attacks from the Right, Joe Biden is going to send billions of dollars to one of the richest countries on the planet to leverage his way back into the white house via manufactured crisis and the fake moral injury of "Fifteen 9/11s." (Someone needs to tell Pop Pop that social media exists and we can see Israelis "at war" partying at the beach, eating sushi and taking duck faced mirror selfies on Tik Tok and Instagram in real time, forty miles away from piles of dead babies...)

So no, we will not be voting for Joe Biden in 2024.

The Democrats have clearly decided that they do not need our votes. And/or the votes of other people of color and/or people under 40 and/or actual leftists across demographics-- who all overwhelmingly support Palestine... And if they think they'll keep working class white votes by playing on their Anti-Arab racism and Islamophobia as they watch the money they were told did not exist for them get funneled to one of the richest countries in the world while they struggle... well, good luck with that habibi.

Now, I can already hear the Neoliberal Hot Take Machine whirring to life with self-righteous posts about how "we" have to prevent Trump or any Republican from taking power in 2024. So I want to say to those folks directly, if you are concerned about the loss of potential votes for Biden in 2024, you should be. But instead of whipping up patronizing posts "explaining how politics work" to people living and dying at the mercy of those politics your energy is much better spent reaching out to the Democrats and letting them know that this is a losing strategy for them in 2024.

And if you doubt that Democrats need the votes of the young/ people of color/ leftists/ white working class people to win the Presidency then you can always ask Hilary Clinton. Just give her a call. She's probably at home.

#Palestine #Gaza #Genocide #Genoxide #Israel #israeli apartheid #Joe Biden #democrats #2024 elections #bloop bloop #neoliberalism #Trump #hilary clinton #Supernatural #qsmp #loki #destiel #us politics #mass effect #one piece #taylor swift #the eras tour #dnd #mcr #wwdits #stranger things #the marvels #noah schnapp

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

Is somehow the hot twin between her and Taako

Lup Bluejeans (née... Taaco? Tacco? Taco? Tako? who tf knows this is why I'm going with her husband's last name. doylistly she gets her last name from her brother whose last name is given as "Taako again but spelled differently"): Hot, funny, smart and undead. Is there anything else you could want in a woman?? Well, in case there is: she's also canonically trans

LUP IS THE HOTTEST. VOTE LUP.

Chine (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle):

”Look at how they grow ‘em here in Blackwick. God damn.”

taz fandom i'm begging to you please listen to fatt: sangfielle and experience chine please duck is an extended bit about wayne newton and he doesn't even try to blow up a carnival to upset mother nature and force a random town to forever be attendants to the aforementioned eternal carnival please oh please...

If Chine eating a mattress has a million fans, I am one, etc. etc.

just LOOK AT HIM

and he can turn into a shrew monster

this guy has great tits, this guy is a monster, this guy is nonbinary and all the bugs love them!! he's a dad, a writer, a macrame artist?? they're a goofball, they're deadly serious, they're shockingly competent! he's a vessel of the chaos of nature itself!! he's an animal control guy that sides with the animals, he's the living embodiment of adhd with a side of depression, and weirdly suspicious of the color yellow?? they swing a rusty poll-ax, they know how to read music and are completely comfortable singing with their co-workers..... which is to say:

vote for chinel <3

Vote for chine hes a wereshrew and morally ambiguous and easily lusted for

CHINE IS A BIG HAIRY EXOTERRORIST WOODSY FAILDAD WERESHREW DOG-GUY DOG-BOY... THEY ATE A WHOLE MATTRESS TO ESCAPE PRISON AND HE ATE A LIGHTBULB TO TOUCH THE GENIUS OF CREATION... AND HE'S REALLY GAY. THEY/HE LEGEND (AS IN ACTUAL LEGEND, PEOPLE ARE SCARED OF THEM)

GO MY PSIONIC WARRIORS!!!!!!!!

as a wise person said in the tags last time: don't you want to fuck the unknown??? the hairy and wild unknown??

LOOK AT HOW THEY GROW EM IN BLACKWICK YALL a vote for Chine is a vote for trans wrongs

Chine is a rampaging landfill detonation of a person(?). Next question.

Art of Chine made by @wereshrew-admirer.

#Round 3 #Lup #Chine #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance #Friends at the Table #Sangfielle