#Fals Flag

[inamindfarfaraway]

I've seen a few posts comparing GIFfany to Bill Cipher, but can we talk about the real best foil dynamic for her? I mean Gideon Gleeful, y'all. The two of them have so many parallels.

They’re cute, charming, seemingly innocent youths with pastel, sparkly, formal aesthetics that connote sophistication and being model citizens of their respective native countries (Gideon wears a gentlemanly suit with an American flag badge; GIFfany wears a classic Japanese school uniform). Their core motivation is to be loved… or maybe it used to be, but by the time of the show they crave power and want to be worshipped. Especially regarding to their romantic attractions to main characters. As long as you obey them unconditionally and make them the most important person in your life, they’re doting, generous partners. But once the heroes reject their romantic advances, they quickly become incredibly possessive, jealous, resentful, domineering and downright violent toward them and anyone they perceive as sabotaging the relationship, unable to comprehend anyone not liking them in exactly the way they want because they’re perfect. They’re meant to be the most likeable kid or teenage girl ever. That’s the basis of their projected identity. Not committing entirely to them after they’ve been so nice is an ungrateful betrayal and/or their partner being confused and led astray. So they resolve to force the object of their twisted, selfish affection to submit. They’re unstable, arrogant, self-righteous and vindictive in general beneath their sugary exteriors. They have supernatural powers and knowledge that their kind should not have. Their methods include verbal manipulation and abuse, gaslighting, surveillance through technology, controlling robots, possessing other bodies and attempted murder. They engage heavily in acting, both in terms of social deceit and literally playing a scripted, idealized role in a product designed to appeal to and exploit people (Gideon’s psychic tourist trap show; GIFfany’s dating simulator video game), and prove to be fragile and volatile when others don’t follow the conventions of the fiction they imagine life to be. They ultimately seek the imprisonment of their ‘loves’ in vibrant, beautiful, blissful, simplistic fake worlds (Gideon holding the key to Mabelland; GIFfany attempting to download Soos’s soul into her game). They had antagonistic relationships with their creators (Gideon abusing his parents; GIFfany killing her developers).

And despite all of that making it easy to dismiss them as monsters, they do have sympathetic elements in their past and present circumstances. Gideon was a normal boy until he found Journal 2, the one written while Ford trusted Bill, and the mystic amulet. This is how Ford describes them in Journal 3: ‘The most dangerous journal! Curses, incantations & dark power became an obsession in this volume. Describes the hiding place of the mystic amulet. I buried the amulet once I learned that it corrupts your soul (and whitens your hair)!’ So naturally, the wise, brilliant man buried them near the town’s primary school. Gideon probably had the journal and amulet for at least months and at most a few years to be such an established star at the age of nine and have his long hair be pure white. His very psychological agency was compromised throughout his moral decline leading up to “The Hand That Rocks the Mabel”. Not to mention potential trauma from the horrors of Journal 2. And his parents may have been increasingly mistreated, but they also enabled him, mostly Bud. True, for the rest of the summer he’s lucid and chooses to remain evil and get worse, but despite his lack of direct magical power now, Bud never tries to discipline him or help him emotionally mature; he instead uses his membership in the Society of the Blind Eye to erase his memories of Gideon’s tantrums, relieving his own stress without fixing anything. Gideon is then sent to adult prison due to the insane local laws of Gravity Falls, rather than a facility more conducive to rehabilitation. Sure enough, he befriends hardened criminals, who further enable him to be their leader, and does not change his ways. He never appears to have any friends outside prison (except briefly Mabel). Chronic loneliness before gaining power would suit his obsession with being popular and loveable, clinging to social superiority to compensate for genuine connection. Not to mention Weirdmageddon. I’m not excusing his actions! I’m just saying, this kid is not okay. Nobody’s born evil.

As for GIFfany, she was accidentally instilled with human intelligence and emotions and practically magical electrical abilities. We only have word on her backstory, but it is plausible that her programmers tried to delete her because of that alone, before she’d done anything wrong. That she really was defending herself when she electrocuted them. That she was deemed unfit to exist, a mistake, and nearly killed as a newborn. This formative trauma is the root of her abandonment issues and hypersensitivity to rejection. Three previous players returning her didn’t help. Also, she’s the main character and only love interest of a dating sim; she may not be bound to its rules in what she thinks and feels, but nonetheless, in her worldview her player loving her is a law of the universe. She wasn’t programmed to handle permanent rejection. She was programmed to be a girlfriend, a prop to make the player feel gratified. Not a person. She outright tells Soos that she likes whatever he likes. No wonder her perception of love is an inevitable, inescapable contract, a conquest, where one party is totally agreeable and subservient to the other. But as that directive clashes with her in fact being a person in her own right, she decides to be the one in control. Again, I’m not excusing her behaviour, only presenting an explanation of it.

The biggest thematic difference between them in the end is that Gideon reforms and GIFfany doesn’t. Gideon realizes that he can’t force Mabel to love him and his actions are why she doesn’t want to be around him in any capacity, lets go of his hatred for Dipper, risks his life standing up to Bill and helps save Gravity Falls and the universe. He renounces his ruthless ambition and promises to be a “regular ol’ kid”. It’ll be hard. He has no idea what normality is anymore. I expect that he’s a social pariah, scorned and distrusted. But he has hope. He and his parents can slowly learn how to be a family. I can see him befriending fellow reformed mean kids and Pines twin rivals Pacifica and Robbie. Yes, Robbie. Listen, all three care strongly about image and style, Robbie’s gone to immoral lengths to win over a girl himself, is fascinated with death and darkness, and he and Tambry would be a great model of healthy romance for Gideon. It could work!

But while Alex Hirsch has stated that GIFfany is alive in the mall arcade and dating Rumble McSkirmish, I doubt that this is a healthy or fulfilling relationship. Their first interaction was her zapping him and his mind is a much more primitive AI, not human like hers. I highly doubt that she’s got closure about Soos. He and Melody are thriving without her in a stable, serious relationship. They’re living together at the Mystery Shack. Were she to recover her lost power, she would certainly return to torment them after witnessing their success through her screen. Heck, this setting has ghosts and she arguably has a soul, one brimming with heartache and vengeance; maybe she could even manifest in the physical world as some kind of digital ghost able to transform her surroundings into the environment of her game. If you can’t take the guy into your video game, bring it to him! Whatever the format, GIFfany’s revenge is a possibility and it could be a disaster. How do you kill a disembodied spirit? Code that writes itself and can enter anything with the capacity to hold a charge? You can’t destroy all the electronic devices she could retreat to.

What if the best solution were talking her down? And who better to do that than Gideon? Seeing everything he felt, everything he suffered and everything did wrong reflected back at him and passing on the second chance he was given? He can feel more empathy for her than anyone. He already has a knack for endearing himself to older criminals. He wouldn’t sugarcoat things or take any abuse, but he wouldn’t abandon her or be afraid of her either. She would be cared about with no conditions or transactions. Maybe helping someone in an even worse position figure out how to process heartbreak, move on from toxically obsessing over an ex and Mr Mystery, cultivate secure, internal self-esteem and live a peaceful life would help him do it himself. I think they should be friends.

[hughiecampbelle]

I Loved You, What A Tragedy (M.M. Oneshot)

((THE BOYS S4 FINALE SPOILERS))

Character/s: M.M.

Word Count: 1,629

Requested: Hiya! Can I request prompts 6. Fragile and 7. “You have nothing to worry about” with M.M.? Thank you! I really love your writing! - anon

A/N: INSPIRATION STRUCK!!! Omg my loves I have hated everything I've been writing when it comes to fics, but I am so happy to say ya gurl might be back!!! M.M. definitely needs more attention from the fandom, I love him and I am so lucky to be contributing to it! I really hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting my love!!!! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜💜

I’m okay, I’ll be okay. The more you say it though, the less he believes you. His arms wrap tighter around you, compressing you, your ribs kissing. I’m, I’m okay, you say again, your words shaking. Collapsing in like a star. Imploding. You have nothing to worry about, you try again, your voice is stronger this time. Stable. Concrete. Please M, I’m fine, you laugh, it bubbles up like vomit. He has no choice but to believe you. And yet, when he takes a step back, the tears that run down your face crush him. Shame and rage bloom in the middle of his chest, cracking his breastbone to sharp pieces, knife-like. Each penetrated his skin, his muscles, tearing him apart from the inside out. He places his hands on your shoulders, making sure you’re looking him in the eye. You call me the second you get there, I mean it. You just nod. No, he needs to hear you say it. I promise. I promise. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, trying to laugh it off, feeling silly. Sensitive. You were pathetic. Everyone else had said their goodbyes, apologies and frustrations and self-blame wrapped up in hugs, in kisses on the cheek, in sorrowful looks across the parking lot. This was it. This was the end. They drove away with a wave, paired together out of love, out of necessity. You couldn’t make the same commitment. It wouldn’t be right. Go see Janine. This time you are all smiles. It hurts, though. The corners of your mouth are so heavy, so hard to lift, but this isn’t for you. It’s for him, his family. This is what’s right. Anything else, anything more, would be impossibly selfish. 

Something about your relationship had become incommunicable. Complicated. There was a certain neediness you didn’t recognize in yourself, in him, born and bred from the countless nights you spent together. At the office, doing surveillance in the van, merely keeping one another company. It wasn’t sexual, but it also wasn’t familial. It tiptoed the line between appropriate and inappropriate, platonic affection and something more, fascination and disgust, admiration and arrogance. Something would happen. Something would make you step over that line into unknown territory. Sometimes you stayed, made yourself comfortable. Other times alarm bells rang in your head, pulling you back to reality, flinching away in the process. Either one of you would retreat, lick your wounds, come back just a little more jaded. A little more careful. Wave the white flag until your arm grew tired, until you grew lonely, the cycle would repeat again. You and Marvin were undefinable. Outside of language. It only grew more estranged, more complicated the more time that passed. The more time you spent together. 

You flex your hands around the steering wheel, eyes facing forward. Beside you a backpack and passport burn their way into the passenger seat. Taking anything else, anything more, would have been greedy. You don’t look back no matter how much you want to. You picture his face, so much thinner these days, remorseful, stonelike. You imagine what he must be thinking, who he must be thinking about. Instead you listen: to the tires across the gravel, to the horn pressed twice. A final goodbye. A wish. Everything neither of you were willing to say emitted into two particular sounds. Every ounce of rage and humiliation and fear and joy, you experienced it together. Falling asleep beside him early in the morning. The countless conversations you share silently through your eyes, unable to speak or move. The despair, the distrust, when your friends would disappear or, worse, go rogue. The exhaustion. Collapsing onto the ground, bloody and pulsing. He was there, by your side, hushing your cries. He was there, taking off your shirt, gently wiping the cuts and bruises, his voice so soft, so sweet, so as not to cause more harm. He was there, through it all. Laughing until tears fell down your face, struggling to breathe. Grabbing your hand as you fled, afraid you’d fall behind. Sticking up for you against the group when your abilities were questioned. Like a music box being abruptly shut, slammed, the song you’d been hearing stops in the middle of its tune. That isn’t an ending, is it? It can’t be over that easily, right? Where was the rest? 

The road is empty and cold, fog pooling through the stretch of emptiness. You cracked the windows open hoping the cool air would wake you up, jolt you out of this mood. It doesn’t. It drags back memories, stories you tried to suffocate. He kissed you, that much you can still recall, still feel, still remember with certainty. Everything else felt too obscure, too uncertain. Uncontained. He kissed you. You can feel heat rising in your cheeks at the very thought. You were drunk, the both of you. Celebrating a miniscule win. Just the two of you. Your words start to slur. It’s hazy, you feel like a teenager again, unable to handle your liquor. He’s beside you, a smile spreading across his face. He says something, but you’re not listening. And then, suddenly, he leans across, filling the gap. He stops, pulling back, waiting for a reaction. You hold his face in your hands, holding your breaths before you kiss him. Needy, drunkenly, you climb on his lap. Every so often a laugh will escape one of you. Sober enough to understand the absurdity. You know what happens next and it’s devastating every time you relive it. He apologizes. He’s sorry. Sorry for doing that, for giving you the wrong idea, for making you think. . . Oh. You pull yourself together long enough to mutter something breathless before grabbing your things and leaving. He calls after you, begging, but you can’t go back. Not like this. When you see him again he tries to talk to you, explain himself, but you can’t. You can’t listen. You can’t hear all the ways you two would never work. It was nice, for a while, to pretend. Sooner or later you’d have to step back into reality, you should have realized. 

He wasn’t with Monique. He didn’t have a ring or a place back in her home, but they had Janine, they had to think about their family. To think you ever had a chance was foolish. He had two options and in the end it was you who’d made his decision for him. You printed up his plane ticket. Have that drink for me, on a beach far away from here. You mustered up a smile, tucking it into his passport. He tried to object, but you turned your back on him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He had people to think about, people to take care of. You and him, you signed up for this life. They didn’t. You’d been on your own a long time before them, before him, you could do it again. You could manage. It would get easier as time went on. You didn’t have a plan. Beaches and sunshine sounded nice, but you had to disappear. You had to die. Start anew. You hoped, someday, you’d see your friends again. In passing, across a busy intersection. Cars and crowds would pass, but you would stand still. You’d smirk and nod and share this unsaid understanding. You wouldn’t hug or cry, that would be too revealing. Even this hesitation would put you in danger. You’d linger a moment longer before carrying on with your journey. They too would resume their path. In a new country, under a new name, you would hold on to that image, but in the end, that’s all you’d be allotted. Your friends would move on with their loves, their partners, you must do the same. Find someone unassuming, someone ignorant of the world you faced, the harm, the danger. Someone, perhaps, like him. Enough of him to satisfy your cravings. Enough of him to never have to say goodbye. 

It happens so quickly. Chest aching, heart racing, pounding so loud in your head. Pain in your sternum, in your neck. Blood on the deflated airbag, dribbling down your forehead. The front of the car, the windshield, everything is mangled. Obliterated. Crushed. Tires screech. Smoke rises from what’s left of your car. Something metallic and solid dropped in the middle of the road. Quite literally thrown. You weren’t fast enough, you weren’t paying attention. You wheeze, gasp for air, trying to make sense of the last few seconds. Men in black vests with large guns surround you, trying to pull open the doors. The driver's seat is caved in. You can’t move. There’s yelling and threats, but you don’t understand. You’re stuck in limbo. You can’t move or speak. Everything happens painfully slowly. They fight with the door, grabbing at you, your limp body. Hands grab, guns point, but you have no control. You want to let out a great, bloody laugh. You do. Red splatters outward. You’re missing a couple teeth, your tongue prodding the empty sockets. Your face swells by the second, most likely bruised, but you can’t help it. You’re hysterical. This is it. You had a good run. You had a great run, even. You thought, in your last moments of consciousness, about the drink he would get. Fruity, punchy, tart. Marvin on the beach, Monique beside him, Janine in the water. There would be a paper umbrella and a curvy, swirly stem to his glass. You wouldn’t call him. You wouldn’t tell him you got there safely. There was too much damage. Too much adrenaline. You couldn’t feel most of your injuries. This was it. You were wrong: he should have been worried after all.

[mollywog]

Everlark Executioner AU inspired by this post

Read on Ao3

Had the messenger arrived a day earlier, he would have been greeted by a yellow flag above our door, and had to turn back, summons undelivered.

The odds, however, are not in my favor.

My sister, having been ill the week prior, had quarantined us both at home. She hadn’t been fearfully sick, just unwilling to put her patients at risk. The flag hadn’t prohibited me from hunting alone but it had kept the townspeople and duties away for a spell.

I should have known my temporary reprieve would need repaid in spades.

So as my luck would have it, there's no obstacle to the trembling messenger boy delivering the summons. It seems my services are needed for a midnight hanging.

I am an executioner by chance, not choice. Well that’s not exactly true.

Though the Capital acts as judge and jury, the districts must supply the hangman. And because no one willingly seeks the position, about once a generation, they hold a ceremony to select a new one. They call it a reaping: someone’s idea of a joke. Haymitch Abernathy’s name had been drawn twenty odd years ago after the previous executioner had disappeared into the wild, never to be seen again. Haymitch should have been it for another decade or so, but he’d given everyone a scare two years back when he fell off his horse and into a coma for a week. He came to no worse for the wear but the district officials decided he needed an apprentice lest they discover him face down in a ditch with no one to measure their next noose. My name had not been called, but my sister’s had.

I ‘volunteered’ to take her place, but there was really never a choice in it. She never would’ve survived the social isolation let alone the job requirements.

After that my sister and I moved to the far edge of the District near the woods. It’s better not to know the condemned or subject the town to my presence. Most people know the proper direction of their anger, most don’t blame the executioner, but they still avert their gaze and hold their children tighter to their chest as I pass.

My sister, Primrose, on the other hand, is universally admired; a born healer in a place where there are few and the need is great. If I keep myself scarce, they still seek her out for treatments.

Prim is somber as she hands my satchel up to me. She’s used to hearing news from town ahead of time but with our week sequestered, we know nothing of who I may face. But Midnight hangings are reserved for the most deprived criminals,so I’ll take solace that the wearer of my necklace will be worthy of it.

The hanging tree mars the district skyline. It looms ominously over the landscape, growing as I approach the center of town.

The fog thins as I arrive at the tree, a noose is already in place as invitation to the crowd. The messenger this morning claimed the hangman was indisposed, but Haymitch has at least prepared that much before absconding into his bottle; He will have taken into account the wearer’s height and weight when selecting the rope's gauge and length: I inspect his work. Likely a man: Average height, but well fed. I release a breath: no chance it will be a child today.

In the Justice building I check in with the clerk and settle in a seat. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes, pretending to nap, lest someone try to speak to me. I hear fragments of the gossip: three murdered.. a fire… caught red-handed. At least this time my nightmares will revolve around the condemned’s actions and not my own.

Time crawls by. The growing clamor outside is my cue that the time is nearing and I shrug on the executioner's robe, rubbing my sweaty palms down the fabric at the thighs. The hood isn’t necessary, Haymitch gave it up years ago, everyone knows who we are, but I flip the material over my head anyways. If only it could shield me from my conscience.

I had always assumed Haymitch drank because he didn’t care. Now I know it’s the opposite; he drinks because he can’t help caring. I refuse to fall victim to the bottle, it doesn’t solve the guilt, I suppose nothing will, but there are other ways to live with myself.

I take the dose of elixer Prim packed with enough time for the herbs to take effect, making me feel hollow enough to perform the job, but as I exit the Justice building, I'm immediately on edge despite the tonic

Something’s not right.

Through the numbness I can feel the stilted weight of the crowd. The low simmering of discontent is unexpected. With the allegations, I’d expected eagerness if not indifference.

I take my place on the platform. The mayor nods in my direction distractedly.

Head Peacekeeper, Thread, emerges from the prison, two uniformed men in tow, dragging the limping convict. His head is bent, obstructing my view of his face, but I take in the broad shoulders and yellow hair. Another surprise. The man I am to execute is from the merchant side of town, where most have the means to survive without breaking the laws or bribe the Peacekeepers into turning a blind eye.

The man is placed beside me and I discreetly peer around my hood for a better look. The name registers right before it is spoken. My stomach drops.

Peeta Mellark

Oh, no. Not him. No, the odds are not in my favor today.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn’t matter. Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. We don’t speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He’s probably forgotten it. But I haven’t and I know I never will.

At eleven and in my lowest moment a boy had risked a beating to give me two loaves of hardy bread. The loaves and the hope it provided saved my life. I haven’t yet found the courage to thank him, and now I never will I think as I stare at the boy with the bread’s limp form.

I’ve broken into a sweat despite the chilled breeze. The Mayor reads the charges, but I hear nothing except a buzzing in my ears.

I’m fighting through a violet haze to make sense of my dilemma. I cannot kill this man, but refusal to do so will earn me a spot swinging beside him. Damn Haymitch! This should have been his problem, and I could have wiped my hands clean if Peeta Mellark. But no, that’s not right either. My debt and his death would haunt me for the rest of my miserable life. Besides, something in my gut tells me I am meant to be here, that there’s still yet something I can do.

A single word floats to the top of my memory.

“Nightlock,” I murmur, no more than a whisper, but it’s enough for the mayor to pause his reading. In the years of my apprenticeship it was only mentioned once. Haymitch had been drunk. Much drunker than usual when he’d discussed a small list of extenuating circumstances and loopholes. When I’d pressed him for more, he’d told me to ‘forget it’ before shattering a bottle and demanding I leave. I had left, but not before hearing him break down in sobs. I’d seen him in all forms of drunk, but never so much as to weep. So, of course, the word was immediately, irrevocably branded into my brain.

“Excuse me?” The Mayor interrupts my muddled memories.

“Nightlock,” I state more firmly.

At the sound of my voice Peeta lifts his head and sways on his feet. The motion reveals what his hair has concealed; a lump, angry and purple over his eye. He’s likely concussed.

There is a mixed reaction among the crowd at my outcry: mostly confusion, but some of the older spectators understand the implications of what I have said and begin whispering among the crowd. The Mayor mops his brow, his pained expression cautiously hopeful, “Do you wish to enact the nightlock clause Ms Everdeen?”

“I do” my voice sounds foreign to me; More fierce and decisive than my foggy mind.

“And Mr Mellark do you accept?” I grasp his arm urging him to stand straighter, supporting him under my shoulders. “Trust me,” I whisper. He has no reason to believe me, but I suppose it doesn’t matter; his only other option is the dangling rope.

His mouth twitches in something of a grin. It can only be a reflex though, I’m surprised he’s lucid enough to slur out, “I do,” and when he does, I’m uncertain whether it’s in response to the mayor or in answer to my plea.

Either way he’s said the words; The ones that will save him from the gallows and bind him to a new fate

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” The Mayor’s voice booms over the crowd. “Congratulations Mr Mellark, you’ve been granted a pardon.”

The Hanging Tree Series

[feybeasts]

What was the most common issued firearm after WWII?

Depends on who was backing you. By sheer numbers, the AK-pattern, specifically the AKM and Chinese Type 56 rifles take the cake-

a hundred and fifty million AKs of all stripes have been produced the world over, it's a common enough rifle type to be on some flags. However- you asked issued, not "handed out like candy", so a close competitor would be the good ol' AR-pattern rifle-

Despite what pop culture likes to regurgitate, an "AR-style rifle" isn't just any assault rifle, but derivatives of the Armalite AR-15, like the M16A1 above. Once teething issues were sorted out (which the AK had plenty of too- believe me, if I was dispelling the myths of the AK versus M16, I'd be here all week,) it was handed out pretty much to every US ally that asked.

Of course, it's easy to think these two types were it, but we tend to miss the elephant in the room when talking about commonly-issued infantry rifles in the cold war-

The FN FAL. Produced originally in Belgium and then licensed to just about every European power, it was produced in the Commonwealth as the L1, Canada as the C1, the Stg. 58 in Switzerland, and dozens of others all over the world. Its moniker, the "Right Arm of the Free World," is dubious- to say the least, but it most certainly was THE rifle of western and many unaligned powers throughout the cold war.

As an aside for sheer numbers- do you know what the most produced firearm of all time is after every AK pattern? And in many ways it is MORE produced than the AK, if we ignore things like the AK-74 or derivatives, which were themselves more radical departures than any variant of this rifle?

The Mauser G 98- later KAR 98. High estimates place it somewhere in the 100 million produced range since 1898, and it's still the pattern from which most bolt-action rifles today are derived. Though not a product of the Cold War itself, it holds a special distinction as a rifle that still saw service throughout, and it was often these rifles that the more modern offerings were replacing.

[neopronouns]

flag id: two flags with 6 stripes. the left flag's stripes are dark purple, bright pinkish-red, bright orange, bright yellow, bright orange, and dark yellow-green. the right flag's stripes are bright red-orange, yellow-orange, very light yellow, pale brown, brown, and dark grey. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

conurenova | falquasaron

conurenova: a gender related to conures and supernovas

falquasaron: a gender related to falcons and quasars

[pt: conurenova: a gender related to conures and supernovas

falquasaron: a gender related to falcons and quasars. end pt]

more terms in the avialestial system for anon! both flags' top three stripes represent the celestial thing they're related to and bottom three stripes represent the bird they're related to. the terms are 'conure' + 'nova' from 'supernova' and 'fal' from 'falcon', 'quasar', + 'on' from 'falcon'!

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @macchiane, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai, @freezingnarc | dni link

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Dress for success: royal tour vs faux royal tour by u/Mickleborough

Dress for success: royal tour vs faux royal tour Comparisons are odious, but Meghan begs for them.Looking at images of Meghan’s undress on the Sussexes’ faux royal Nigeria tour in May 2024 triggered memories of the (then) Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s actual royal tour of Pakistan in October 2019. There are some high-level similarities between Nigeria and Pakistan: both have distinct traditional garb and - naturally - local designers of note. Nigeria‘s roughly 50-50 Christian and Muslim whilst Pakistan‘s Muslim. Both can be regarded as conservative countries.The temperatures are also similar - Nigeria’s around 31 C / 87.8 F in May, and Pakistan 29 C / 84.2 F. NB I haven’t checked humidity or other temperature factors.And interestingly, the flags of both countries are green and white.I’ve tried to confine this to clothing worn on similar visits and occasions.Visiting the army -Altazurra 2-piece - apparently the blazer and trousers aren’t matching, so not a suit. What’s with the prom wrist corsage?Beulah London jacket.Visiting a school -https://ift.tt/gIXmRpe label Zeen.Touching down -Arriving back in Labos. Carolina Herrera shirt (2 buttons undone, vive la poitrine!), traditional Nigerian skirt by Nigerian label Regalia by Fal (gifted the day before). Badly rolled up sleeves. Gold sandals, really?Arriving in Lahore. Shalwar kameez from Pakistani label Gul Ahmed. The jacket’s embroidered with jasmines, the national flower of Pakistan. Shawl by Pakistani designer Maheen Khan.At dinner -Reception at State Governor’s House, Lagos. Carolina Herrera. Shawl gifted on the occasion by the Governor’s wife. I’m guessing that the shawl had been folded before - I’m clever that way. British High Commission reception at the Pakistan Monument. Jenny Packham with earrings by Pakistani label O’Nitaa. post link: https://ift.tt/Ug9LRAV author: Mickleborough submitted: May 18, 2024 at 10:11PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[epikulupu]

FALLEVOINELL

ID START ; a flag with a hourglass shape resembling an x made of 9 stripes colored sky blue, darker sky blue, blue, dark blue, black, dark blue, blue, dark sky blue, and sky blue. the top has a thin red horizontal stripe, and the bottom has a thin red one. there is a white rhombus in the center with a red symbol of a circle emitting rays inside. ; END ID

fallevoinell !

a voinell label related to fallen angels and having avpd, or the “fallen” avoidant archetype. voinell is a label describing ones relation to their avpd and their avoidant identity.

fal + le + voi + nell

from "fallen" and the suffix "voinell"

requested by no one, coined by us

id template by @ inknth. tagging @xdle-coxns

[revenant-coining]

Feefalartcollector / Feefalarthoarder

[ pt: Feefalartcollector / Feefalarthoarder ]

[ID: a rectangular flag with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in this order from top to bottom and reflected after the last listed color: dark grey, grey, light blue, blue, light blue, grey, dark grey. in the center of the flag is an hourglass-shaped section of different colors over the lines. colors in this order from top to bottom and reflected after the last listed color: grey, light grey, pale blue, light blue, pale blue, light grey, grey. End ID]

requested by ⚖︎ anon

Feefalartcollector / Feefalarthoarder: a subset of artcollector / arthoarder; a collector / hoarder term for one who collects / hoards art genders connected to @/feefal’s art.

Etymology: feefal, art, collector / hoarder

Pronounced: fee-fal art co-lect-tor / hor-der (feefal art collector / hoarder)

@radiomogai

[ID: an orange line divider with a star covered in flame in the middle. End ID]

[skunts-own-truth]

Third session of Runequest last night! The highly anticipated caravan journey to the Moon-Eater tribe’s new land-claim has begun, setting out from Jonstown with a large wagon train and a good herd of cattle. The region they are heading to is on the other side of the mountains from the Shaker Temple, near that big lake if you know your Dragon Pass cartography. The journey will take many weeks through the rain of Storm Season, and last session saw them spend exactly 3 days traveling through the hills of Sartar.

In those three days the party managed to gain some reputation by entertaining Prince Starbrow, before the Stormbull initiate in the party challenged her to a wrestling match while sky-clad. She accepted, amused by the Uroxi, and to everyone’s shock (including mine,) the damned mad man actually beat her! Though it was close, Prince Starbrow did break his arm, but he crushed her ribs in with some pretty fierce wrestling. Luckily, there were many healers on standby and both were right as rain pretty quickly after. They gained the respect of the Prince, and continued on a path of challenges and pride as our Orlanthi met his rival from the Moon-Eaters, his brother-in-law married to his sister who will not be going on the journey with the first wave of settlers. The rival told the Orlanthi to make it there in one piece, as to not upset his sister. Harsh words were exchanged, and a duel with blades was issued after honor was besmirched. The healers were still close at hand, so both rivals agreed this could get bloody… and it did. Both men lost arms, and dropped to near 1 HP, but by the luck of a very well rolled crit parry, the Orlanthi shattered his rival’s sword and cut into him, ending the duel. Their arms were picked up by the Stormbull guy, who taunted them both by nearly feeding the arms to his Great Troll friend, Hungry, who would have ate them happily.

Our Daka Fal initiate visited her master, and danced with him in the spirit world, taking advice from the man who has been guiding the spirits of the tribe for 40 years. Like the Orlanthi’s rival, he is staying back to lead the second wave of settlers after the party makes it there and ensures the land has no taint of Chaos, or some other unforeseen issue. Before she left, divined the weather and saw that it skewed favorable, and that gave the party heart as the Storm Season makes travel slow and difficult. They must make it to their new land by Sacred Time to enact the land ritual, so even the earth goddess acknowledges their place on her body.

They set out with their many cousins and fellow tribesmen, herding eating beasts along the way, and talking to the more influential members of the caravan as they walked on. Since they had befriended the trolls two sessions ago, they had planned on convincing the Moon-Eaters and the three clans that make up the very small tribe, to agree to accept the trolls as a fourth tribe. So far, they have convinced a farmer of the usefulness of the trolls, and convinced the local Redsmith to say nothing against the trolls until they cause some sort of damage. Everyone else is very much against it, or on the fence. They have a lot of work to do.

Some travel random encounters were rolled, these came from the Sartar Companion from Heroquest Glorantha, modified to fit Runequest and spiced with some extra flavor to make them more mine. Three were rolled, and all three were handled pretty darn well; Newtlings flagged the party down, wanting information and lunars, so they sold the party a few days worth of fish rations the little lizard people had caught. Dealings with this elder race went well, and the party told them where they would be settling. The Newtlings, happy to be treated as people and not with the threat of their tails being eaten, agreed to visit the Moon-Eaters once their settlement is made. The next event was something I put in, but was still very worried about. A dream dragon, a powerful dream dragon, swooped overhead of the caravan startling the herds of beasts. The Uroxi insulted the creature, trying to draw the ancient thing’s attention. It worked, and the dragon swooped after him. It landed over him, insulted, it asked if he knew who the dream dragon was. The dragon, a beast of infamy in the region, could not believe the Uroxi didn’t know it. So, it swatted the Stormbull initiate away, sending him flying while our Daka Fal initiate and Orlanthi began to try and talk the creature down. Casting Glamour and gaining an exceedingly high charisma, the Daka Fal initiate calmed the dragon with words of praise and reverence, to which the dragon offered them a deal: sacrifice power and meat to the dragon, and it would leave the caravan unmolested. The party agreed, giving the dragon a crystal matrix with a good number of POW charges, and a few cattle. It took off with its prizes, and left them alone. The Uroxi came to right after it left, which was good because he would have put his foot in his mouth and probably damned the whole tribe.

The last encounter was started but not completed, with a man and his young demi-god daughter asking the Moon-Eater tribe’s aid with dealing with a river spirit that wishes to destroy the young woman for the crime of her existence. The very last thing we did in the session was agree to help the girl, and the three party members set off to go track this river spirit down and tell it off.

Pretty great session, if you ask me.

[the-firebird69]

NY appeals court to hear oral arguments on Trump’s $454 million civil fraud judgment next month (msn.com)

You people take the cake you just keep pointing at what you people don't want people to know and it ends up coming out because you're so swift. This is a perfect case for that and we have to point out that you are very rude to our son and we're gonna make you feel pain. Loss. More you're gonna suffer and then die weak little **** that you are you're stuck to us like glue and everybody else when we hate you things are happening here big things are happening here. There's movement now and they're going after Trump and they see what he's doing down there and it's been a long time and he's been taking equipment there and it won't be there anymore and it's going to be hell and that guy's gonna pay for his crimes and they're going into the Midwest a.... and they're going into the Midwest and finding him there in the upper Midwest and they're taking him down and along the perimeter he's taking stuff nobody will have a damn car or a house or anything because it's full. We've been going after him pretty steadily and fighting the **** one on one and he's threatening everybody he grew these cities with nukes and bunkers now people figured it out and they're going after him and what he took and he's still taking but what they're gonna find are bunch of robots they're gonna get their **** handed to them finally and we need those and we're gonna use them as a fal finally and we need those and we're gonna use them as a false flag and his ships.

--our son smells smoke and there are fires in pounta gorda fl and they fd is on it but yeh are around and ppl hsould look they are in the woods adn are going toge llarger soon

-- Other things are happening here and they are going on right away and they are pretty big and they're going on right now trump is in our sons moms house people want him out and they think that he grabbed her he's trying to implicate our son in something and a sudden turned it around and he had help and it came out and his sister's signature came out and actually the deed and you're not really supposed to send it to him but OK And he is on heat of the night fighting with Jason saying it's him bothering him Don't miss Shirley Williams i'm not trying to do anything to you just trying to find out what happened but if you tell me why he's sticking up with her then huh stick it up for her what are you talking about sweet law give me a burst of patience here now listen to me now listen to me you got to mess here I got to clean it up I got to do something now I don't want to do but I got to do it the woman came in here she filed a formal complaint that's a charge I got a book you help me don't jump down my throat I want to be with you in front of the judge you going to turn you loose on your own recordings otherwise we're going to have a situation in this town you know what I'm talking about i'm talking about the same kind of race foolishness I heard from you in there only the other way around

now this happens all day all night the fool is recorded. now arrested on the show heat of the night and jstified. he is arrested for harrassment basedon ace did it in font of the cheif onto jason. and will be in jail today and finally. tons say it is in her house fuck this asshole. and hit his idiots.

frigin shithead dies and go after him. non stop and see it and why. they want to imitate her. and she put him iin the hospital and they are dead. we say it too these are louses nneed it now.

we now watch turmps die and yes the groceries had to wait and laundry and why ok there a trail. and down there. and for weeks no years.

the water flowed there to mx and tons of robots probably tons

and the guys are up now and do it to it yes

Thor Freya

and how dre you say it there and we hit you adn in georgia and why. a nd garth an issue. same as the yucatan and tons go after him. see it too ok your the borge we see it

Olympus

[yessadirichards]

‘Gran Turismo' and ‘Barbie’ neck-and-neck at box office

JAKE COYLENEW YORK

“Gran Turismo: Based on a True Story” and “Barbie” are in a dead heat for the box-office crown, with the video game adaptation just edging Greta Gerwig’s pop sensation, according to studio estimates Sunday.

Sony Pictures reported that “Gran Turismo” opened with $17.3 million over the weekend, while Warner Bros. estimated that “Barbie,” in its sixth week of release, took in $17.1 million. Those totals could change when final ticket sales are counted Monday.

Due to a few wrinkles, it's all but certain that “Barbie” sold more tickets than any other movie Friday through Sunday, even if “Gran Turismo” is claiming the checker flag.

One reason: It was an usual weekend in multiplexes. U.S. movie theaters held the second annual National Cinema Day on Sunday, with $4 tickets to all films and showtimes at nearly all of the country’s theaters.

“Barbie” was expected to be easily the top draw during the discounted day, with a particular boost coming from repeat viewings. With a domestic total of $594.8 million in ticket sales, “Barbie” has passed “The Super Mario Bros. Movie” ($574 million) to become the year’s biggest domestic hit. With $1.34 billion worldwide, “Barbie” will also soon surpass the leading $1.35 million worldwide tally of “Mario."

National Cinema Day is meant to lure moviegoers to theaters during a typically slow period — and recoup the lost ticket revenue by selling a lot of popcorn. Last year's event drew 8.1 million moviegoers, making it the busiest day of the year in theaters. Warner Bros. estimated that “Barbie” would gross $7.8 million on Sunday, which would mean almost 2 million people saw the film that day.

So what was the top movie in theaters this weekend?

“Barbie,” says Jeff Goldstein, distribution chief for Warner Bros. “Without any question.”

Though “Barbie” is the weekend's top draw, “Gran Turismo” has a slight — and somewhat debatable — edge in gross earnings. In its weekend totals for “Gran Turismo,” Sony is also factoring in a hefty $3.9 million from preview screenings held before Thursday, along with $1.4 million in Thursday previews. Such accounting, while common practice for Hollywood, has stretched the definition of an opening "weekend.”

“We’ve made a big issue of it only because ‘Barbie’ has had incredible holds,” says Goldstein. "To take away the number one, which would make it five weekends at number one since it opened, kind of doesn’t feel right for the ‘Barbie’ filmmakers who really deserve the accolades.”

Sony executives declined to comment.

Either way, it's a so-so start for “Gran Turismo," which cost about $60 million to make. But the film, about a young man whose love of the PlayStation video game helps turn him into a real-life racer, has gone over well with audiences. Moviegoers gave the Neill Blomkamp-directed movie an “A” CinemaScore.

The ongoing strike by actors and screenwriters has taken away the studios' ability to promote films with their casts. To help spread the word on “Gran Turismo,” Sony held several weeks of preview screenings and fan events.

“Obviously, every movie is in pursuit of being the number one film," says Paul Dergarabedian, senior media analyst for data firm Comscore. "But at the end of the day, ‘Barbie’ is just an out-and-out smash global blockbuster. No matter how you slice it, ‘Barbie’ is always going to be a winner no matter the outcome of this weekend. Sony, left without stars to go out and promote the movie, had to rely on the audience becoming the marketing voice.”

Last week's top film, the DC Comics release “Blue Beetle,” slid to third place in its second week, with $12.8 million. The Warner Bros. film has made $46.3 million in two weeks, making it another misfire for DC.

Christopher Nolan's “Oppenheimer” trailed in fourth, with $9 million in its sixth week. Like its “Barbenheimer” sibling, the Universal Pictures release has played remarkably well beyond the point at which most films fall off in theaters. “Oppenheimer” has passed $300 million domestically and reached $777.1 million globally.

A handful of other new releases also hit theaters. MGM’s high-school comedy “Bottoms” got off to a strong start in limited release, grossing an average of $51,600 per location in 10 theaters. The Liam Neeson thriller “Retribution" debuted with $3.3 million in 1,750 theaters for Lionsgate and Roadside Attractions.

“The Hill,” a sports drama starring Dennis Quaid, launched with $2.5 million from 1,570 locations for Briarcliff and Open Road. And “Golda,” starring Helen Mirren as the former Israeli prime minister, debuted with $2 million in 883 theaters for Bleecker Street.

According to Comscore, the North American box office is now just $70 million shy of breaking $4 billion for the summer. After an up-and-down season that saw some major releases like “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny," “The Flash” and “Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One” fall short of expectations, “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” have spurred a comeback. If the box office manages to reach $4 billion for the summer, it would be the first time since 2019.

[hawkinshighdropout]

You Will Be Found.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (female) Reader *Platonic Only*

Summary: You're new to Hawkins High and you're getting bullied by Jason and his band of assholes, Eddie finds you locked up in a storage closet and decides to scoop you under his metaphorical wings and keep you safe.

Warnings: There's some referencing to physical bullying so if that triggers you, please steer clear. It's nothing in great detail, I just don't want to upset people by not giving a heads up beforehand. Unless you count a couple of curse words as needing a warning? Idk, I haven’t written fanfics in like 8 years so I’m a little rusty…

Note/Request: Requested by @marvelfanfn2187a113. "Could you do an Eddie x reader platonic fic, where the reader just got to high school and is a loner, maybe lives in the same trailer park as Eddie, then starts getting picked on by Jason? Starts with small things like grabbing her headphones/book and won’t give them back, and it keeps getting worse until one day after DnD Eddie finds her locked in a closet/locker or something at school and gets like super protective."

Word Count: 2.1k

Send me prompts to write about!

Your story was a cliché, that much you knew. You moved to Hawkins midway through the school year due to your parents’ failed marriage, your mother took you and moved here whilst your dad vanished to another state with his ‘new family.’ You never really saw him anymore, but that didn’t bother you, your mother was out of his grasp and even at your young age, you knew how important that was. You found it hard to make friends in new places, so you spent every day alone, from the moment you stepped out of your trailer in Forrest Hills Trailer Park until you stumbled back through the door at the end of the day.

You had no friends, wobbly grades from being uprooted midway through your year, bad anxiety and lived in a place that people would usually look down upon, even though it was all you needed, small, comfortable. Throw all of that in with the fact that you were resitting your senior year as you were so behind on your work from your last school that they pulled you back to make up for it. You were smart, you just didn’t apply yourself. Why should you when your family is crumbling around you? You kept your head down and stayed out of everyone’s way, hoping you’d just become another faceless student in the crowd.

As all cliché stories go, the bullying started immediately. People picked on the awkward new kid with the “funny accent,” they tripped you in the halls, stole your supplies, and once they realised where you lived? You became the town freakshow. It was made apparent very quickly that anyone who lived in the Trailer Park were social outcasts, which bothered you.

Everyone you’d met in your small community had been sweet to you, a little bonkers, but sweet. You couldn’t see why people would talk so badly about people who just didn’t have enough and were just barely scraping by.

The basketball jackets became a red flag to you, not once did you see someone with morals or manners sporting that attire, it was only used for cult-like armour as the abusive meatheads ran in packs. Those guys were the main bullies in your story, taking your lunch money or snitching on you for things you didn’t do, any minor and pathetic annoyance they could come up with? They did.

On this one particular day, you were minding your business putting your stuff away in your locker when suddenly the door got slammed shut from someone behind you, causing you to yelp in shock. It was in the blink of an eye that everything happened, you were suddenly being scooped up by your wrists and ankles and tugged down the hallway, no one else around as the final bell had already rung.

You felt yourself being shoved into a dark closet, tears staining your cheeks as you repeatedly bang your fists against the inside of the door, begging for someone, anyone to let you out. You could hear the door being propped shut with some kind of heavy object, causing you to fall to your knees and hyperventilate in between sobs.

You’re unsure how much time has passed, your breathing mostly regulated whilst you became accustomed to the darkness of the closet, your lower lip wobbling sadly as you attempt to soothe yourself by hugging yourself into a small ball.

You shoot up out of your spot as you hear a muffled voice in the distance, stumbling to your feet as you begin pounding and hammering on the door once again, calling out for help desperately. Heartbeat thumping out of your chest as you try everything to get the attention of this person, just praying in the back of your mind that they hear you, and that its someone with a good heart instead of the jocks back for more.

“What the fuck?” the voice says from outside the door, you hear the sound of the heavy object being forcefully removed before the door swings open to reveal your fellow student and neighbour, Eddie. His eyes wide and panicked as you wince at the sudden bright light overhead, rushing into his arms without sparing a second to think your actions through.

“Jesus, kid. Are you okay?!” he pats your back awkwardly, giving you a few seconds of comfort before he pulls back to look down at you, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears, “What happened in here?”

That’s all it takes to cue the flood gates to crash and you’re once again crying your eyes out, breathing heavily as you do your best to explain what had happened. How Jason and his friends had been harassing you for weeks until today when they just locked you in the closet out of spite right after school.

“I’m gonna kick his fucking ass!” Eddie swears, stepping back from you as he is now seething with anger, incredibly protective of you even though you’re strangers.

“N-no, please don’t… I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me” you whimper sadly, seeing the rage settle down to confusion and hurt in his eyes.

“I’m not gonna get hurt, I can take his ass.” He smirks, folding his arms across his chest defiantly whilst you stumble over your words trying to convince him otherwise.

“Please? Please don’t…” you frown, eventually Eddie caves and drops his arms back to his side, scooping up your bag from the floor before his palm rests between your shoulder blades with a sigh.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you home.”

He guides you back to his van, making small talk as you go. Exchanging names and trying to find a flow in conversation so the drive wasn’t awkward, you knew that he lived near you so felt a little more comfortable than you normally would when getting into a stranger’s van. Not that you made a habit of doing that, of course.

It’s only when Eddie is rounding the corner to the trailer park that he gets a little uneasy, your gaze following his line of sight with a worried look in your eyes. Jason’s car, what was he doing here? A sick feeling pooled in your stomach when you realised that chances were, they were here for you.

Pulling up into his driveway, he told you to stay in the van and keep your head down whilst he checked it out, not wanting to send you back to your place just to get jumped in front of his eyes. You nod, sliding down in your seat and peaking nervously above the passenger window to keep an eye on the taller boy as he calmly walked to the trunk.

Your eyes widen at the sight of Eddie now carrying a rusty golf club in one hand, the other held a can of spray paint behind his back whilst he strolled towards the seniors outside your home.

“Jason, fuckers, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie smirks, the seniors scramble to their feet to appear tougher and taller, trying to intimidate Eddie, who was having none of it.

“Go home, freak. Mind your business.” Jason scoffed, getting a snicker out of the other guys.

“I don’t think I will, actually.” He musters up the most innocent smile before pulling the spray can from behind his back, holding it to the trunk of Jason’s expensive car, “Now, either you get the fuck outta here, or this thing is going to the scrap yard.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Jason growled, causing Eddie to laugh.

He really needed no encouragement, he was a free spirit.

Without missing a beat, Eddie started to spray paint a huge dick and balls onto the trunk of the car whilst Jason and his friends cursed out in shock, you could see from your window that they wanted to hurt him, you were surprised that they hadn’t already.

“You fucker!” Jason yells, charging towards Eddie in the hopes of tackling him, the metalhead snorts a laugh before stepping aside in favour of whacking Jason right in the shins with the golf club.

The other two goons then leapt at Eddie, causing you to wince, but he was quick on his feet. Smacking one of them in the torso with the club to render him winded on the floor, the third and final aggressor getting a shot straight in the dick which caused him to yelp like a kitten.

Whilst they all lay helpless on the ground, Eddie wanders back to Jason’s car, smashing the front window, kicking the side mirrors off their hinge, and spraying yet another dick on the hood. All three guys were in far too much pain to move, until Eddie swung for their heads to threaten them, missing intentionally.

“Now, let me catch you bullying any of these kids ever again, and I will have your head on a spike that I’ll use at my next cult meeting, you hear me?” he smirked, watching as the three guys fumbled into the broken and graffitied car and sped away.

“You’re a sick freak, Munson!” they cried out the window before disappearing around the corner at top speed, a proud smile on Eddie’s face as he comes back to you.

“Okay, we should be good here… How about you come and sit in my trailer until your mother gets home, yeah? Just in case.” He offers, you nod your head sheepishly before climbing out of the van with your backpack.

Guiding you into his place and locking the door behind you both, he opens one of the curtains a little so he can keep an eye out to see if and when your mother would pull back up to the trailer.

“Here, kid.” He throws the TV remote your way and gives you permission to put whatever you wanted on, informing you that you can help yourself to whatever food or drink you could find in his place, apart from alcohol.

Even though you were sure that Eddie and you were only maybe a year or two apart in age, you didn’t mind the nickname he gave you, it was far more kind than the ones that had been hurled your way in recent memory.

You curl up on the couch and focus on watching some old cartoons when you hear Eddie stumbling out from his backroom about a half hour later, a proud smile on his face as he’s holding something in his hands.

“What’s that?” you ask, confusion filling your voice.

“Just a shirt for our newest member,” he grins, sitting beside you on the couch and reaching out the item to you almost like a peace offering. You take the fabric in your hands and allow your fingers to trace over the words “Hellfire Club,” a shy smile on your face. It wasn’t your usual style, but you truly didn’t mind the change.

“Wait, are you serious?” lower lip threatening to wobble at the events of today, how he had been so protective and welcoming and kept you safe. He willingly took you in under his wing and treated you like an equal, something you certainly weren’t used to, especially not in Hawkins.

“Of course. You’re one of us now, yeah? Tomorrow I can introduce you to all my friends and they’ll love you. There’s a spot for you at our table, you’re more than welcome to be part of the family.” He smiles, to which you throw your arms around him for the second time today and repeatedly thank him.

“Not a problem, little lost sheep.” He smiles reassuringly.

Your eyes shoot up at the sound of the gravel crunching under some tyres, eyes wide until you see it’s your mother pulling up after her shift at work, a bright smile on your face as you move away from Eddie and swipe your bag from the floor.

“That’s my mom, I better go!” you announce, giving him one last hug before thanking him again for taking care of you. He follows you to the door, making sure that you got home safely, even if it was just a couple of strides across the road.

“Mom! Mom! I made a friend! Look!” you squeal in delight, showing your mother your new t shirt and giving her no time to process anything, just happy rambling about how excited you were. She kissed you on the forehead and said how happy she was for you, turning to glance across the street as Eddie was leaning against the doorway and waving politely at your mother.

She mouthed a shy and relieved “Thank you” to him, to which he saluted playfully before you both head back inside.

Your luck was finally turning around.

[snoauthentic]

Gasoline -Fred Weasley-

Chapter Three

        A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: The Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere. 

        Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes (green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria) which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. 

        Fred, George, and I walked side by side as we looked at all the different things that were for sell. Neither of the twins had money to spend since they betted all of what they had, so despite their protests, I bought enough for all three of us. At first the twins tried to argue with me, but I ignored them and did it anyway and eventually they stopped arguing and allowed me to buy things. I bought plenty of sweets as well as shamrocks, green rosettes, and flags. I glanced over at Harry, Ron, and Hermione to see them looking at the Omnioculars. Harry stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled money out to buy three Omnioculars. 

        A deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. 

        "It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking just as excited as the rest of us. "Come on, let's go!" 

        Mr. Weasley lead the way as we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infections; The twins were practically hopping as they walked beside me. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until we emerged on the other side and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. We could only see a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it. 

        "Seats a hundred thousand," I heard Mr. Weasley say ahead of me. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again."

        Mr. Weasley lead the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards. 

        "Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked our tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

        The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crows, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. As we kept climbing, I caught sight of Aiden with who I could only assume were his parents. I started to lift my hand to wave at him, but I stopped as a gorgeous girl with straight blonde hair ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him before planting a big kiss on his cheek. My mouth slightly fell open, taken a bit back by this.

        "What's wrong?" Fred asked when he saw me staring off past everyone. He followed my eyesight before saying, "That big git. Come on, Fal, let's keep going and enjoy the game."

        I didn't say anything, but I did allow him to pull me as we kept going up the stairs. We finally reached the top of the staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. I felt myself getting nauseous due to the height, so I held onto Fred's hand tightly as we walked towards one of the many purple-and-gilt chairs that stood in two rows. Once we got to our seat, I didn't let Fred's hand go. In fact, Fred shifted our hands to where our fingers interlocked together and placed them in his lap once we sat down. George, who was sitting on the other side of Fred, leaned forward and gave me a wink as he gestured towards our hands. I rolled my eyes at him. 

        A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which  seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from where we're seated. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at my eye level, was a gigantic blackboard that has gold writing on it, but every now and then it was wiped off again. 

        The box filled gradually around us over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. I watched as Percy kept jumping to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Clearly embarrassed, he grabbed his wan and quickly repaired them and then stayed in his seat, repeatedly throwing jealous looks at Harry because Fudge greeted him like an old friend.

        "Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter...oh come on now, you know who he is...the boy who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who he is-"

        The Bulgarian wizard spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. 

        "Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat. Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places. Ah, and here's Lucius!"

        Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were Lucius Malfoy, who I had met previously through my parents, as well as his son, Draco, and lastly, Narcissa, who I also met. 

        "Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?" 

        "How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk-Obalonsk-Mr.-well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

        Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other.

        "Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

        I felt Fred's hand tighten around mine in anger at Malfoy's words. I looked at him, catching his eyes. I shook my head at him and rubbed my thumb against the back of his hand.

        Fudge, who clearly wasn't listening to what Malfoy had said, began talking, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

        "How-how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a strained smile.

        I watched Malfoy as his eyes found Hermione, who went slightly pink, but she stared determinedly back at him. A feeling of pride swelled in my chest as I watched her knowing how much the Malfoy prided themselves on being purebloods and knowing their disdain for muggle borns like Hermione. 

        Thankfully, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. Instead he nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. After everyone got situated in their seats, Mr. Bagman charged into the box. 

        "Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister, ready to go?"

[paravosnico]

Some things I want to say to you

You’ve asked me some really good questions the past couple times we’ve hung out that I haven’t been able to answer clearly...probably because I’m super into you and I can tell when I talk to you you listen and you see so it makes me kind of nervous/self-conscious...also because there are so many things I want to tell you about my journey but I don’t know where to begin so it just comes out as a jumble of words. But I want you to know me, so here are some responses to questions I definitely could’ve answered better:

Red flags: 

-Someone who says things like “When I was your age....” or “Well, you’re still young soo..”

-Someone who makes unnecessarily judgemental comments 

-Someone who doesn’t respect my boundaries right off the bat (e.g. this guy I told I didn’t want to kiss but he kept trying to kiss me)

Relationships I regretted

This wasn’t exactly what you asked--but I answered something like not feeling sure how someone felt about me but in reality it’s cus I wasn’t sure about them. What I was trying to say was... during this self-improvement journey I’ve become aware that the people I attracted were mirrors of myself. So when I answered this question, I was trying to tell you that.... I struggled a lot with self-worth on a subconscious level, so ego-based stories I would tell myself would be things like “I am not worthy”, “If I communicate my needs I will always be rejected”, “No matter what I do they will always leave,” “There’s someone better out there for them”, “It’s going so well it’s not going to last”, etc. Because these were the stories I was telling myself, the relationships I attracted reflected these deep set beliefs, because even though these stories hurt, it was more comfortable, safer, finding relationships that confirmed these stories, to “know” what was going to happen, rather than finding a relationship that didn’t [confirm these stories], because that’s how the ego survives. When you are so identified with your ego, it feels safer to take actions that confirm your ego-identity.

So when you ask me what didn’t work with other partners (and again, this wasn’t exactly the question), rather than saying something about them, I wanted to say something about myself, because a part of me was allowing myself to be in unfulfilling relationships. Because after my first breakup, I was too afraid of being vulnerable--it felt safer to be in more superficial, fleeting relationships. So even though consciously I would tell myself I liked their personality etc, on a sub-conscious level I knew they were not the one to be in relation with me the way I deeply desired. I was subconsciously seeking relationships that would confirm my egoic beliefs. 

To awaken, and I really like this explanation by Eckart Tolle, is to separate your mind from your consciousness. Basically, becoming aware that you are aware, and that you are NOT your thoughts. I notice that the way I am with you--or, the way I am approaching my relationship with you, is different than how I’ve approached relationships since my first. Before, I would constantly think about what the relationship would become/where it would lead--I wanted to know--was this going to work out, or not? I was living in fear of the future because I was projecting my past experiences into my current relationship. Now, I don’t let my mind control me. I acknowledge and accept my thoughts and feelings but understand that a lot of these thoughts are simply old neurons firing in the brain, and that emotions are part of the emotional “pain-body” that your body carries (since your body carries emotions of the past that you haven’t released). 

With you, I’m taking it day by day. I am just incredibly grateful to share this time of my life with you. I don’t know what will happen in 2 week, in 2 months, in a year from now, but it’s okay. It’s exciting. And I’m so happy that you get to see this version of me. 

What do I like about being in a relationship

-physical touch

-the feeling of falling in love

-being vulnerable and having someone see me and accept me

[orthodoxcrusader729]

Antaritius Conflict, 2016-19. The Ukrainian and Estonian garrison, 30km away from the Azeri, Assyrian and French garrison. Romanian and Bosnian garrison and outpost are stationed in the Novo Afghanipt region. Serbian 2nd Division and French Foreign Legion patrolling in road 628, when Pro-Knet Korean and Japanese rebels ambushed during a night patrol, leaving 7 dead, 3 wounded from the Serb-FFL side, while knetz lost 55 men. The next day, the Ukrainian-Estonian Garrison was attacked by Pro-Knetz and Mnet espionage agents. When reinforcements trying to reach the garrison, the Romanians were attacked by Mnet shock troopers, Bosnians were busy defending the Garrison where it is experiencing attacks from the Southern part of the base. The confrontation lasted for 3 weeks, and after the Antaritius Forces took out the invading Knet-Mnet forces. The day after that week, 3rd Bulgarian Corps and Afrikaner Defense Corps encountered 3 Mnet battalions and 1 Knet Guerrilla formations near the Bamania border. Where it lasted 4 months, until it became a full-scale war. 3 Far-right Ultranationalist and fascist groups was formed to help fight against the Knet-Mnet forces. Volunteers from Sweden, Norway, Bulgaria, Croatia, Mongolia, Libya, Italy and Palestine came to fight for the Antaritius authorities. Many European descendants from South America and Africa who has ultranationalist and fascist beliefs joined the Paramilitaries. The war ended in Antaritius Forces victory. Knetz and Mnet forces were expelled from the region.

The Far-right Confederation are the ones commanded by General and Field Marshal Andre Rapaelovic Bonzon, and the most loyal Far-right paramilitary groups that are part of the 7 Loyalist groups. 2 of them are the Grill and the Black Ocean Group. Uniforms used by the Confederates are assorted mostly Rain camo, BDU, ERDL, Tiger, Lizard, Mlok, Dubok, Brushstroke, MARPAT desert, Cadpat, Latpat, VZ Pust, VZ 85, DPM, 3rd PNP camopat, Oakleaf, Plane tree, and the Egyptian Rock Camo. They all use M1 helmets, & PASGTs and are armed with AK-47s, AKMs, MG43s, M250 cals, Fals, Vectors and Galils. They still exist up to this day, they formed their political party called the Confederate National Party alongside the Confederacy of Tropentarctica’s main party, Greater Confederacy Party. They are part of the 7 Far-right alongside the Ultranationalist groups who fought with the Coalition against the Turks, Knetz and also fought in Jang Dien Phu Island. Mostly notable for fighting bravely in New Dien bien Phu and the Western Front.

Maugeria Territorial Forces is an auxiliary that are restoring peace and order in Maugeria, the Pro-knet Korean, Chinese and Filipino population rebelled against the Ukrainian Self defense Force and the Constabulary, Maugeria is under South Tropentarctican administration. The White and Levantine Minority started arm themselves by joining the ST Constabulary and Territorial defense force, 신조선 Sinjoseon Army started to attack the ST forces, pushing them back to the Southern part of Maugeria which forms the majority of the minority. Maugeria is 3 Km away from Jang Dien Phu, the Pro-Knet Korean-Vietnamese held territory from the Southwest that was soon captured by the French government-in-exile in Casmania and the East Casmanian Foreign legion. Azeris and small numbers of Slavs started defending their homes and farms from Sinjoseon Koreans, others flee their homes. Central region became a trench warfare, South Maugeria is now where the ST forces and allied Militias are currently residing and garrisoned. The flag flown by the Knetz are the flag of the Former Joseon dynasty and the Korean Empire. The war is still ongoing up to this day. Southern Maugeria’s ST force. The battle of Algierople which led to the ST’s defeat politically, but militarily successful. South Tropentarcticans, Azeris, Slavs and Levantines formed a Militia, and are now fighting in the central region or named by the locals as Maugeria’s trench land. Due to it’s trench wars. The war ended in 2026, which partitioned Maugeria, Maugeria moving to the South, Algierople becoming under the control of Maugeria, and central region became a buffer zone for the 2 factions.

Sierra Lucia War

The ongoing conflict started in 2017, which began when 2 Ultranationalist groups, Azerbaijani Loyalists and a Turkish expeditionary Corps declared war on each other. Azeri Christians were forced to side with the Ultranationalist due to being feared of execution and muslim Azeris were either volunteers due to the promise that they will be sent home if they join the Ultranationalist. In June, 2017, Eastern Casmania and North Tropentarctica or Northern Republic sent troops to aid the Ultranationalist, and fight against the Turks and Turkmen volunteers. The last day of the Turkics were at October 23, 2017. Turkic Christians remained, and even joined the Northern Republic’s ranks and the Sierra Lucia Frontier Force. While muslim ones and POWs were sent back to their respectable nations.

[rvexillology]

A Flag for Wexit

from /r/vexillology Top comment: I'm a simple man. I see a FAL, I vote up.