#The government is ready to discuss any issue asked by the opposition

[mariacallous]

What would you want to tell the next U.S. president? FP asked nine thinkers from around the world to write a letter with their advice for him or her.

Dear Madam or Mr. President,

As you take up the extraordinary challenges before you, I hope you will nurture the partnerships that have sustained the United States through the years. When I became the European Union’s foreign-policy chief, I learned two lessons very quickly: first, that no matter how powerful any nation is, no significant issue can be solved alone. Climate change, pandemics, organized crime, and cyberattacks all require responses beyond borders. Opportunities for our citizens to travel, study, trade, and do business need deals with other countries that last decades or more. Working together with other like-minded nations is vital if we are to keep people secure, grow our economies, and tackle new challenges.

The second lesson was the strength of the trans-Atlantic relationship. Every day, and all day, the flow of information, discussion, and debate across the Atlantic—between Brussels and Washington—was a vital part of doing business. Whether we were seeking to further develop our economies, keep our citizens safe, coordinate our defense strategies, or tackle foreign-policy crises, we were reminded daily of our partnership, based on common values and ideas.

Coming from the United Kingdom, I was mindful of the value of the “special relationship,” as Winston Churchill called it. Speaking in 1946 at the end of World War II, he knew the value of alliances and recognized the crucial way the United States had stood with Britain in its darkest times. He also valued the historical and cultural ties between our two nations. For the U.K., the special relationship has been the bedrock upon which our foreign, defense, and security policies have been forged. In recent times, we have stood together in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and now in Ukraine, facing down Russian aggression. The U.K. is the ever-reliable ally, ready to work with the United States to find answers in a world where crises seem to appear from nowhere.

Politicians since Churchill have interpreted the special relationship in different ways, but each president and prime minister have continued to value it and to rely on it. One reason the relationship is special is that it is unique. The U.K. has both historical ties across the Atlantic and geographical ties across the English Channel. The U.K. became a bridge between the United States and the EU. We relished that role, willing to ensure that U.S. priorities and ideas formed part of the backdrop to decisions on foreign, security, and defense policies within Europe.

Not all presidents or prime ministers have seen the EU as a positive force—or understood the remarkable achievement of what is now 27 countries cooperating every day on economic, security, and political issues. Never easy, it has come under greater strain in recent times as the very foundations of the EU have been challenged, but the union endures despite these pressures.

After I returned from Brussels, Britain took the decision to leave the EU, weakening its own economy and ability to act in the world. Its government ministers promised the opposite: a “global Britain” with grand ambitions to strike deals across the world that would turn the U.K. into a new kind of powerhouse. Reality killed the dream. Our departure from the EU did not just leave us without obvious ways to amplify and add to our foreign-policy priorities. It also undermined a core reason for the United States to value its relationship with us. Our value was lessened, our allure faded. Instead, Washington strengthened its already strong relationships with Berlin, Brussels, and Paris and worked with allies such as Poland under its new government to support Ukraine in its fight to retain its sovereignty.

But there is unquestionably still a role for the U.K. It ranks third after the United States and Germany in NATO defense spending and is regarded as a reliable partner by its allies. More than that, it has a strong diplomatic service and plays an important role in intelligence and security. A new government has been elected on the promise of a reset in relations with the EU, not just in foreign policy and defense but across a range of issues, including environmental ones, that matter to both sides. And in confronting those common challenges, there is a chance to offer the United States something new.

I would define this as becoming the third leg of a three-legged stool that consists of the United States, the EU, and the U.K. All three have much in common. Many Americans speak with pride of their Irish, German, Polish, Italian, or British heritage. And the same values and ideals have made us stand together in the face of aggression and crises.

While the bilateral links between each of the three are significant, a trilateral relationship offers strength and stability. A three-legged stool can carry significant weight without wobbling and is firmly planted on the ground. Each leg plays its part in holding the stool up and enabling it to bear the burdens placed on it. The power of the United States is unquestionable, and the economic strength of the EU is impressive, but the U.K. can add its strength, too, in terms of its intelligence, security, and defense capabilities, its diplomatic reach, and its role in the U.N. Security Council.

As you take office, among challenges both domestic and foreign, I hope the relationship between the U.K. and the United States will continue to be a constant that both our countries can rely on.

The United States may lead in terms of its competition with China and its leadership in artificial intelligence, among many other areas of knowledge and expertise. But the traditional role that the West, and the United States in particular, has played is changing. We can no longer simply assume support from countries across the world for the vision we have or the rules-based order we have produced or expect them to join us in common cause against those who would change it for the worse.

Such challenges make strong alliances, in every field, all the more important. And old, reliable alliances are as much in the interests of the United States as they are of the U.K. and EU, even if they creak from time to time. Our duty is one of constant renewal, to make them stronger. We have no choice but to collaborate to resolve problems—the question is who our allies are and who we can turn to. The three-legged stool is vital to this process.

Things are not the same as when the U.K. was part of the EU, but it is still a strong and determined ally with strong links to Europe, especially through NATO. This alliance would be one Churchill would recognize and I believe would welcome. I hope you, my American friends, would welcome it, too.

[leadertelugunews]

ప్రతిపక్షం అడిగే ఏ అంశమైనా చర్చించేందుకు ప్రభుత్వం సిద్ధం -శాసనమండలిలో మంత్రి బొత్స

ప్రతిపక్షం అడిగే ఏ అంశమైనా చర్చించేందుకు ప్రభుత్వం సిద్ధం -శాసనమండలిలో మంత్రి బొత్స

అమరావతి: ప్రతిపక్షం అడిగే ఏ అంశమైనా చర్చించేందుకు ప్రభుత్వం సిద్ధంగా ఉందని విద్యాశాఖ మంత్రి బొత్స సత్యనారాయణ అన్నారు. శాసనమండలిలో ప్రతిపక్షం చేస్తున్న గందరగోళంపై మంత్రి బొత్స అభ్యంతరం వ్యక్తం చేశారు. ప్రతిపక్షం ఏ అంశంపై చర్చకు సిద్ధమో శాసన మండలి చైర్మన్‌కు నోటీసు ఇస్తే, దానిపై చర్చకు సిద్ధంగా ఉన్నామన్నారు. గత ప్రభుత్వం 600 పైగా హామీలు ఇచ్చి ఏ విధంగా తుంగలో తొక్కిందో రాష్ట్ర ప్రజలందరికీ…

[6blackfilin9]

I love your Anko fanart! Tell me, what are your views/headcannons on Anko X Kazuku?

hThank you so much for the ask, finally I can answer it

here is my big thank you for the waitng

In a nutshell, the shipp was created by accident while me and my buddy were working on our first Naruto AU in 2019, where Kakuzu and Deidara survived their shitty plotholes end eventually ended up in Konoha

Yeah

so, the shipp’s birth date is july the 1, 2019

anything like classy, aristocracy kind of tension-filled passionate gothic romance with playful, psychological games & hurt/comfort vibes with slight scent of rivalry is KakuAnko

Basically, they are: a very, very old man with absolutely horrendous background who’s trying to finally have his mother*cking 10 or 30 years of peace, and a rather young lady with a rocky youth who’s being good & noble yet has very strong antihero tendencies

You know, I think they do have potential, since, in fact, they seem to be very similar, at the core

They are both very pragmatic realists, the people of logic and reason, yet if Kakuzu’s irritability doesn’t affect him a tiny bit due to his ideal self-control, Anko’s can lead her to quite bad places, sometimes. They put their interests in the first place, and even though she tries to attach them to Konoha’s, she still has ‘personal’ things (I’ll write ‘bout it lower*). Their mindsets are so complicatedly organized that, at some point & way, it prevents them from having many close people, and makes them very hard to see through and predict

Both of them are very flexible & adaptive, independent individuals with similar outlooks on plenty of things and high intellectual level. They clearly can find plenty of traits that they would highly respect and adore in each other

Here I will speak mostly for “why and how” kind of things, bc both of them are terribly tricky to accurately figure out. But there will be some headcanons too

So, there are still some odds about them, due to the strong difference in their occupation, like, in plenty of cases they are really tricky to be brought together, because:

- Of the job

In original, Anko is a Konoha’s special jounin, and she is very dedicated to serving the country. Independently of whether she likes her job or not (depends on the plot), she orienteers at the people, at society’s gain from her work. So, accordingly, in any other AU her job is somehow connected to civil service, whether it’s something police-like, connected to science, or something like CCG in Tokyo Ghoul

Kakuzu, on the other hand, is a hitman and a persona non grata in literally all the five big countries, Konoha too (which makes it barely possible to bring them together in the original universe without hard complications or heavy drama. But still possible). He orienteers on his own gain alone, but, depending on the job, it can include others’ gain, too.

This detail makes him a saint once he holds supervising position in some company or any high position in the government (the better the working conditions of the staff now- the more money in the prospective), and the sheer nightmare once he has it on the opposite side of the law. Him as a mob boss is a complete different topic for discussion, but to get the point, in this case, the trouble isn’t him increasing the level of criminality (its rather vice-versa), but taking hold of too much control in the high and underground structures. Even as an ordinary hitman he’s rather tricky, since everything depends on the case

In most of the stories, they come to some sort of compromise, and how hard it is to reach it depends on how shitty his job is and how attached they are to each other at the moment

Like, in the above mentioned Shippuden AU and Harry Potter AU (which I also wrote with my buddy) everything went like clockwork, because there they are both more or less on this side of the law, in Tokyo Ghoul AU (which I also wrote with my buddy) it is a bit more complicated, with her being in-law and him being very much outlaw, in the Avatar AU (which I also figured out with my buddy, but we never happened to write it) it is also pretty smooth, with both of them being outlaws and then jumping out to the glory after all the shit is done, but in another Shippuden AU of mine, this all would be just a motherfucking bloody disaster

- Kakuzu is actually a hard nut to get attached to anyone

He lived too long to be truly afraid of anything, though. Its mostly because he doesn’t really need to get attached to or become close with someone to satisfy his need for communication. The man can get along with anyone once he wishes to, he can have countless acquaintances and plenty of buddies, but he doesn’t have many comrades and barely can call anyone a friend. Because he is used to lose everything and everyone he ever had or happened to have, because of his inhumanly lengthened lifespan.

It requires time for him to get used to the person, and then, eventually, in some cases, spend plenty of it to get attached

Plus, for him, due to his profession, each close connection is a really great responsibility for him. In most cases, he’d think twice of weather he is ready to take it or not

Though it of course has the personal factor, too

In Anko’s case, she has a grand privilege by being a very intelligent and keen woman, not just in cognitive plane, but in emotional, too. High emotional intellect is actually a rare trait, so she automatically stands out of the crowd for him. Even though it won’t guarantee his alliance, it will grant her his high respect and some sort of sympathy

- Kakuzu is, technically, an asshole

He does have his moral compass, which includes a great amount of common social morality, but he also has that “I am working” state

Even though Kakusu has a set of professional principles, and he still acts accordingly to what he thinks is right, one and the very same situation can be solved diametrically different once the context changes from working to casual and vice versa

This, and him being very independent and quite antisocial, makes the degree of assholeness depend on various factors

This can lead to major conflicts of interests, and if they are possible to have any compromise or not is strongly attached to the circumstances. After all, both are very, very prideful and dignified people

- In other words, the only major issue for them would be morality questions. It’s possible to make the case acceptable for Anko, since both of them ain’t truly squeaky clean, along with Kakuzu being willing enough to watch his borders

- She is provident and doesn’t really need a lot of money on a daily basis, which is much of a joy to him lol

- *they both seek for the stable ground, first of all

Taking in consideration the life conditions Kakuzu had in his youth (despite war state, he still stably had family, friends, grand respect from everyone, home, warmth and food) and how terribly he was torn out of his secured social environment, I believe what he seeks through all his bounty hunt and other money-connected manipulations is stability. Sustainability he had back then. The only way to have it in the conditions of our existent world order is to have money (and a very good mind and luck)

Anko has indeed much more altruistic motives, yet it’s still not that simple. It seems to be, on the first sight, yet considering the “Orochimaru related cases” and her very wayward behavior toward them, it’s clear she keeps her own motives and needs in mind oh so well. The service she has is very well payed, it allows her to do what she likes or believes is right, and to have the living conditions she finds comfortable. And only here, relying on the made sustainable basis, she does what she does

- Thus, they both illustrate the principle “first help yourself, next help the other” just right

- She knows she can keep an eye on him, yet it’s clear for her that her influence isn’t borderless, as well as telling him off some stuff is kind of a not wise thing to do. So in the majority of cases, she never interferes

- This is not common, yet he can actually change some plans if the situation is serious and the compromise can’t be found. He is that kind of person who works on a further prospective, and in this context, this would be the relationship with his loved one

- While Kakuzu is quite conflicted and has very reserved controversial persona, Anko is both controversial, conflicted, and sort of two-faced, on top of that

She is a very sincere, cheerful and humbly honest human being, yet she has some darker natural traits of her character that became rather strong with age and traumatic experience. Cunningness, guile, ways-depend-on-the-case and a bit of ruthlessness, that is. Moreover, she has some unsolved personal issues, which makes her even more twisted.

Like, remember the time when she confronted Orochimaru during the exam? And Kabuto, on the war? Getting rid of them is indeed beneficial for Konoha, but it’s clear that for her it is personal vendetta in the first place. She wouldn’t have tried to do this alone, otherwise, because these two are rather dangerous ones, to say the least.

She uses greater good to cover her real motives (even though it is not truly complete bullshit), and seems to have a terrible habit to keep silence about really important things, which makes her quite prone to lying, in some cases

And sometimes it very badly pisses Kakuzu off, since it makes her prone to doing useless but dangerous shit too

Yet this not any kind of separate hidden side, it is integrated into her personality, and coexists with her bright one. That’s where her violent humour comes from, for example.

But Kakuzu, on the other side, is completely monolith individual, yet sometimes his mindset can create contradictions when it comes to something important to him. but it's another topic

And seeing these layered constructions, and motives, they can pretty finely predict each other’s behavior. Not super-neatly, but they for sure see the basis. This is what helps Kakuzu to prevent Anko from doing some stupid shit, sometimes

- Anko has a role of an indicator for the people who don’t understand and see the changes in Kakuzu’s mood sometimes, since she usually reacts quite openly. Yet, when she has the same unreadable mask of cold, or one of guile, it’s a nightmare for them

- They prefer the non-verbal way to show their feelings, even though Anko is obviously the more chatty one

- They don’t say things such as “I love you”, or other sensual stuff like that really often, believing it to be some sort of cherished words that shall not be spelled mindlessly

- Anko isn’t majorly into PDA, but she fancies it much more than Kakuzu does. She has her whole moments of studying something with her hands, whether it’s a hand, scar or face. He’s more into passive display of affection, like wrapping an arm over her waist or leaning to her or something of this kind; they can allow themselves to (not sexually) kiss in public though

- She knows he doesn’t like to walk hand in hand due to considering it a youthful thing, so there are times when she intentionally walks holding on to his sleeve; generally they walk separately in order not to bother each other, but sometimes they walk arm in arm (like an old Victorian couple lol)

- Being older and wiser, Kakuzu eventually upholds some kind of mentoring position, yet he never considers himself any kind of a teacher or master to Anko, believing her to have a good head of her own. He is just insightful enough to break something through to her or give a word of advise

- This, combined with his highly powerful demeanor, also makes him have the leading position in their relationship

- Anko respects him much enough to fortify this, entrusting with plenty of life questions (like organizing the family budget), even though they make the majority of decisions together. Mostly because he is truly wise and highly experienced individual.

- This makes him one of the very few people Anko would actually listen to and take their opinion in consideration

- So basically they have equal relationship with some tendency to patriarchal order

- And it is, really, mostly economically-based disbalance, with him earning much more than she does

- Yet they never have any financial-based issues, since both of them keep in mind and respect the contributions of each

- There is major power play here, too. He has the absolute might, she has seduction. Anko loves how he makes her want to submit to him, let him have all the power, so she likes provoking him. And she knows he adores it, loves the subtle control she has over him

- They don’t have conflicts in their everyday life. Each knows how to avoid pissing one another off

- He cherishes her playful demeanor, her intellect. Combined with her cunningness, it allows her to rival him, in social sphere. The way she constructs her phrases, the way she speaks, mimics, moves, how bewitchingly it suits her feminine snaky features makes his blood boil and heart melt

- Both of them, actually, have rather specific kind of dry, dark humour. Kakuzu’s is very cynical, satirical, quite often menacing and subtly demeaning; Anko’s is very sarcastic and quite dirty, even gruesome and rather violent

- Sometimes they “fight” verbally as a form of a play. In some circumstances they may sound pretty vile, so some unobservant people mistake this for display of hate

- In general, Anko is the one to heat things up with her playful demeanor, which can include provocation and rivalry, and Kakuzu is the one to keep this energy in borders, accumulating it up to much more intense states

- They both put the comfort in the first place when it comes to household. Everything must be cozy, useful, silent and super clean

- Yet they are both very unpretentious and modest, really

- She absolutely adores when he is showing his serious, severe side, or powerful demeanor. She finds it incredibly suitable for him. She also likes how his real age is sliding out in this or that way. Like, even though he has rather young face (that of 37-40 y.o.), his eyes give away that he’ve seen oh so much more than it seems; the grumpy noises and grunts he makes, the lazy attitude in movements and the way how rapidly he finds a comfy pose once he has a chance to take a seat

- They are both rather patriotic, yet while in the most stories Anko’s feelings mostly lay towards the country she lives in, Kakuzu’s more often lay towards some places, so called small motherland.

- Kakuzu actually could be a source of deep, strong admiration and delight for her, despite all of his bullshit. The unbreakable will he has, mighty burning heart, all the wisdom, talents and mind. Being sent to fight god damn Hashirama, clearly a genius of his times, financial & management genius at the least. And, still, after all the hard times he’ve been through, he maintained the very strong sense of dignity and nobility, even though slightly twisted due to the profession and abnormal lifespan

- And the very same things can serve as the source for her chagrin: with all those traits, he could have been so much more rather than a criminal. With all the gifts he’ve got, he could have been of great use to society. He’s much easier about this, since his prospective is much wider and embraces decades (and in some universes even centuries) instead of months & years, and he knows that he’d be switching sides throughout his life, being on this and that side of the law, yet he still is a bit uncomfortable once it’s brought up

- They are deeply into science, which makes them atheists. He’s into medicine and human biology, she’s into chemistry and reptilian biology; both of them are nuts for physics, history and psychology

- They solve complicated physical and mathematical problems together time to time. She is the first one to have tea-breaks due to losing her temper over it, he tries to figure things out right until you can sense the smoke coming off his head

- Actually, they do have a stumbling stone aside from job & morality complications. And this is Anko’s attitude towards Orochimaru

What she does is basically ruins her life very-very slowly, maintaining the issues she has and planning to make him pay for all he’s done

Kakuzu knows exactly what is really going on with this attitude and why, but he can’t really do anything about it. Like, he knows he can’t make her change her mind or put something into her head

All he can do is really nothing but try to explain how those things are working, and even this option is basically a landmine field for him. At some level she does understand that he could probably be right, yet she just refuses to go back on her mind. And this is actually really dangerous, so at some moments they can fight quite badly about it

- He’s scared shitless to lose her, though; especially like that, even though he knows clearly that he will, anyway, sooner or later

- he knows that losing loved ones ends up with sheer disaster for him, yet he isn’t afraid to pay such a high price for those six, five or four decades of being with her. Because these decades are that of a paradise ones for him. Wife and family, as well as stable job, incomes and life conditions, are some sort of physical definitions of sustainability he craves. Especially family, yet it’s far ahead to plan

- The fact that he will have to bury her one day makes her rather depressed, as well as the knowledge that the only thing she can really do about it is to try to bring him as much happiness and comfort as possible before she dies

thank you, i'd say more, but it's too much already

[awed-frog]

Hey, I saw your post about unschooling and have a question. I'm training to be a teacher and enjoy it an awful lot. I have a great deal of respect for the profession and think it's an important job but have seen a number of Americans share horror stories about school- how they wake up in cold sweat in the middle of the summer holidays 17 years after leaving school thinking they'd forgotten to do their homework, talking about how school has no merits but to prepare children for a life of /1

work under capitalism and that fear is the underlying mechanism which makes the whole operation work and the school to prison pipeline. Now, I don't dispute that there are things we could do differently. (I also have no affiliation to the US and think of it mostly as a failed state but that's a separate issue.) But? am I insane to think that free and compulsory schooling is a good thing? Cause it's the only way to get mass literacy and therefore... access to art, critical thinking, history....

Hi, first of all kudos for training as a teacher! What a great job, congrats!

As for your question, yeah - it’s a complicated issue, and the one system I know well is my own, so I can only offer a half-assed opinion here, but if you’re insane, then so am I, because compulsory education for a number of years (ideally up to sixteen)? Yeah, that’s definitely the way forward.

Now, obviously there are some parents out there who want to (or need to) homeschool and do a great job, but I believe that’s a very small minority, and that homeschooling should still be monitored in some way to check that kids are okay and are actually learning something.

Beyond the obvious, which is access to basic literacy, I believe there are two big reasons why good, free and compulsory education is absolutely fundamental:

It shows kids their family is not the entire world and the way they do things at home is not universal. For lucky kids, this ‘simply’ means learning more about others, discovering other point of views, and learning to relate to different people; but for unlucky kids, it’s 100% necessary to get them in contact with the outside world so they can see what their parents do is not normal and hopefully teachers can also realize those kids need help. The idea a random adult (because if you have biological children, you’re literally that: a random adult, nobody ever checked to see if you’re fit to raise kids, and in some countries nobody asks if you need help either) can keep a child at home for eighteen years or more, strictly control their access to the outside world, and tell them whatever about anything...that’s terrifying, tbh, and 99% of the time people who actively want to do this do not have their child’s wellbeing in mind.

Another thing is that even in superficially non-abusive situations, the decision not to follow a normal curriculum can have devastating consequences. As flawed as it can be, school is meant to give you an idea of all the things you can possibly learn and help you understand what it is you’re good at and interested in. But as an unsupervised parent/teacher, or - even worse - an unsupervised faith-based school, you get to decide from the start what matters and what doesn’t, what a kid should be learning and what should be ignored. In the long run, what this means is that you’re making it more difficult for your child to leave you - and I mean, this is difficult for any parent but something every child must at some point do. So a homeschooled kid, or someone who grew up in a strict religious or ideological web, ends up being 100% dependent on his family or community for a job. If you’re taught no literature, no math, no basic science (and if you’re told universities are sinful, or government propaganda, or not for the likes of you) - how the hell are you going to survive in the world without your family? So this is a subtler form of abuse, but abuse nonetheless. And public school, for all its faults, gives a fighting chance to every kid to have the life he actually wants, and not the one his parents chose for him. 

So, yeah, I would change a lot about schools and as a hormonal new mom I’m daydreaming about homeschooling my kid in a darling little home-made classroom full of kittens and terraria (and hopefully move to the country and raise goats and forget about society entirely, because look at this mess), but I still believe compulsory education protects children and helps children to develop their full potential. This is why it’s so infuriating to see American Manichaeism at work on this issue - how the reaction to a bad system is homeschooling, unschooling, religious schools, and not teaching kids at all (I know I mention this, like, once a week, but I’m still shocked by this new idea Black kids shouldn’t learn math because math is now violence or something). Bad systems need fixing, but the very opposite of a bad system is not necessarily a good system. And what’s dangerous rn is that social media are connecting all sort of extremists to one another, so a common response to those unschooling problems I keep seeing are more insane parents chirping ‘Oh, don’t worry, my son is 14 and doesn’t know the days of the week! Just plays COD 24/7, but it’s fine! He will learn the alphabet when he’s ready!’ and that’s terrifying, it’s honestly so easy to fall into a hole these days and just keep falling, I was talking about this the other day with my partner and how I truly miss the days we had facts, you know?, real facts you could base an opinion on and have an argument about, whereas now 90% of the heated discussions I have with people is just us throwing links at each other and if you want to believe kids are better off living upside down inside a giant teacup, I’m sure you can find an ‘expert’ who’ll support that view and statistics you can use and entire communities offering tips on how to build giant teacups and ‘My toddler loves his teacup! Here is how to customize it so it won’t look girly!’ and my God. 

(Man I hope we’ll all be alright, what a dystopic timeline this is turning out to be.)

Anyway never mind all this noise, you’re doing the Lord’s work doing something you’re passionate about and helps people to boot - my only advice would be, remember to listen to kids who have trouble with school because very often teachers are people who loved school, so it’s important to understand what ‘bad students’ go through and take the time to help them as much as possible. But really, that’s it. Getting rid of formal education helps no one but billionaires and profiteers and bad, bad people. 

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Let Us Begin

Here we go!  The first meeting!  If you have any confusion or want any clarification, feel free to ask.  If you have any requests, comments, concerns, questions, or criticisms, feel free to tell me those as well.  Enjoy the story!

“There’s no way that this is gonna end well.”

“Really?  You think?  Governments from nine different separate realities, crossing every political spectrum imaginable, from theocratic xenophobes to neo-socialist utopians to democratic federalists and everything in between meeting in the same space with a ton of guns?  What are you talking about?  There’s no way this could end poorly!”

“Are we ready to go?”  The cameraman gave a thumbs up.  The news anchor smoothed a back mop that was probably more gel than hair at this point.  “And here we are, outside the beautiful Citadel Tower, where the governments of the nine new galaxies are meeting for the first time!  We already covered their arrival on the station, and what an arrival it was!” he continued with intense fake-cheerfulness.  “Now, they are meeting to discuss policy and open diplomatic negotiations.  And while we aren’t allowed inside, I’m sure it would be a sight to behold!”

Well this is certainly a sight to behold, thought Commander John Shepard to himself.  Not necessarily a good one, but a sight to behold nevertheless.  The meeting had started out well enough.  The various governments had filed in accordingly, filling the enlarged space completely.  He had been shocked at the sheer amount of different factions and races; there were over a hundred by his last count.  Governments he worked for, governments he knew of, governments he didn’t, governments that he had been told to keep an eye out for: everyone was here.  Dear lord.  

They all had their own bodyguards, of course, so the Council had ordered the Spectres all back to the Citadel.  Most of them, Shepard included, were now standing watch over the meeting.  Guns were out, ready to fire if something should happen.  The bodyguards were all tense, accustomed to being watched by professionals.  Well, most of them.  The mercenary Pilots hired by the Frontier Militia and the IMC looked relaxed enough, as did Drake.  The Galactic Empire’s Death Troopers were completely unreadable.  And the Imperium’s Tempestus Scions?  They seemed to be lining up firing solutions, eager to kill a room full of heretics and xenos on the drop of a hat.  Bloody great.  

The meeting had started off as well as could be expected.  The Council had opened with a greeting, welcoming everyone to the Citadel in the name of peace and cooperation.  Most of the governments had responded in kind.  Shepard had to admire the Imperium, who had given a rather weak and sickly greeting, then settled back to give death glares at everyone else.  At least they were honest, for the most part.  (Or maybe not.  He still didn’t know what was on board their ship.)  

It had steadily gone downhill from there.  The United Federation of Planets had objected to most everyone else's governing practices, especially the exclusion of other species.  The Galactic Assembly had pointed out that they let everyone join, no strings attached, and the Federation had conceded the point.  The IMC and Militia had objected, stating that there simply weren’t any aliens in their galaxy, otherwise they would let them join.  The Imperium had taken offense to this, stating that if a galaxy was ruled by humanity, there should be no reason to give it away to filthy xenos.  

The Nova Empire diplomats and Asari Councillor snapped back that their governments were older than humanity itself, and much more advanced, so show some respect.  The “sit down and let your betters talk” was left implied.  The Imperium had pointed out that they were ten thousand years old and ruled the galaxy with a fist of iron, and had actually told their detractors to shut up and sit down.  Adam Vir had interrupted with an utterly magnificent speech preaching the benefits of tolerance and cooperation.  That bought some respite… at least until the New Republic pointed out that since the entire delegation of the Galactic Empire was made up of war criminals, shouldn’t there be some restrictions on them?  The Militia had quickly followed suit, saying that they would not deal with the entirely criminal Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation.  At that point, all semblance of order had broken down.  

Currently, it was a scene of complete chaos.  The Imperium of Man was alternating between very pointedly not speaking to any non-human diplomats and screaming at the non-human diplomats about the honourless nature of aliens.  The Militia and IMC were yelling at each other about territory disputes and war crimes, and threatening to air out each other’s dirty laundry while Cooper and the 6-4 bodyguards of the Militia talked in underhanded tones to Kuben Blisk, leader of the IMC’s bodyguard detachment.  Why that was happening, Shepard had absolutely no idea.  Cooper and Blisk seemed to have some sort of history, and the 6-4 seemed nice enough.  

Thomas Drake and the Merchant’s Guild were presently sitting back with shit-eating grins on their faces, probably wondering how much money they could make if they sold weapons to everyone there.  Getting involved was bad for business.  

The New Republic was relatively calm, any of their diplomats who seemed to be ready to start something being stared down by Leia Organa, their de-facto leader.  Luke Skywalker sat nearby, looking alternatively amused at the chaos and annoyed at everyone’s incompetence.  

Their opposite number, the Galactic Empire, was one of the calmest groups present.  Several of the obviously military members of that delegation were itching to join in the conversation, nodding along with the Imperium of Man’s points.  However, every time one of them seemed to be on the verge of speaking up, their leader, a neatly uniformed blue-skinned man (Grand Admiral Thrawn, if Shepard remembered correctly) glared down at them with such intensity that they meekly went back to their seats.  At least someone had control of what they were doing.  

The United Federation of Planets seemed to be split evenly into two groups.  One was arguing constantly with everyone, pointing out with shocked voices all the horrible things each group had done.  They wore the faces of people who believed that they were completely morally superior in every respect, and having groups whose idea of a good government was “if they’re different, they’re inferior” did not resonate well with them.  The second group was made up of Kirk and several of the more level headed individuals trying to keep the peace.  They had just convinced the first sub-faction not to bring up the subject of xenophilia; if they had, Shepard was almost certain that a war would have started.  So thank whatever gods are up there that Kirk can read a room.

The galactic Assembly was presently fractionated and trying to argue with just about every group present, including themselves, simultaneously.  Adam Vir sat with his head in his hands, hopeless expression on his face.  At least he tried, though Shepard, unlike literally every other person here.  

The UNSC delegation looked lost, clearly seeming to think that the human supremacists had a point but realizing that it would be politically unwise to say anything.  Master Chief stood behind them, gold visor as expressionless as ever.  In fact, if Shepard did not know for a fact there was a man inside that suit, he might have mistaken the Chief for a particular large and detailed green statue.  

And his own government?  The Citadel Council?  The Turian representative was vehemently arguing with Anderson over the issue of human military supremacy and treaty violations while the Asari and Salarian Councillors shouted at everyone present, including each other.  

Quill and his crew were seated in between the human diplomats from his galaxy and those of the Nova Empire, and kept trying to make probably snide and inappropriate comments every time someone said something, only to be slapped down by an annoyed Gammora.  Vir actually mouthed ‘help’ in Shepard’s direction, as if he could do anything about this.  

Utter madness.  Fun times.  

It was around the point where people began going towards the extremely hot topic of A.I. legality when Shepard noticed something out of the corner of his eye.  One of the Spectres, guiding a group of armed figures in black body armor and full face masks into the room.  He looked closer.  The Spectres weren’t supposed to leave their posts unless it was for a very good reason.  What the…  The black armored soldiers stepped into the middle of the room, and in one fluid motion, drew their weapons from their hips, each aiming at a different delegation box, ready to fire… and were promptly turned into red paste from at least twenty different points.

Every diplomat in the room stopped what they were doing, looks of utter shock plastered on their faces.  It was quiet for one single, eternal moment, then everyone began shouting at once.  The bodyguards still had their weapons raised, ready to open fire on command.  

“What is this?  You had us come to kill us?”

“Treachery!”

“You obviously paid them off!  No one except you would do this!”

“How did this happen?  How did they get in here?”

“Inside help!  Who did this?”  Aw, shit.  Guns were at the ready, various guardians and even some of the diplomats squaring off against each other.  

“Whoh, hey!”  A singular voice called above the din, startling everyone.  Thomas Drake, black coat billowing, hands raised placatingly, addressed the various stunned and still twitchy diplomats.  “Calm down, everyone.  If any of you decides to do something stupid, we all lose.”  At least that had bought a little time.  “Now, if any of you actually noticed before you started to jump to conclusions, there was at least one assassin aiming at everyone present.  They were planning on killing everyone here.  I know quite a few of you present, and I know for a fact that none of you had anything like this planned.”  A few more bodyguards lowered their weapons.  “The question is, who did this, and why?”  Some of the diplomats nodded along with him.  Shepard saw Vir and Quill moving towards his position for a better vantage point.  But before anyone could say anything, the console of the Council started rapidly beeping.  Tevos answered it with alacrity.

“Yes?”

“Councillor!  The Citadel is under attack!  We have unknown and armed hostiles in the open!  There’s some sort of fleet coming, too!”  

“Great,” muttered Shepard.  But before anyone could react to this new information, the message abruptly cut off, along with most of the power save the lighting.  

“Double great,” muttered Vir, as he slid into position next to him.

And here.  We.  Go.  

[lennydaisy]

SWAN SONG || The Walking Dead AU || CHAPTER ONE.

‘You have to trust that every friendship has no end, that a communion of saints exists among all those, living and dead, who have truly loved God and one another.

You know from experience how real this is.  Those you have loved deeply and who have died live on in you,  not just as memories but as real presences.’

HENRI NOUWEN

                        The Walking Dead.

       Season 1-?

                                        FEM OC! and ?

Enjoy :) and here is the link to the PROLOGUE!

College. Something I never went to. Sure the thought was there. The ideas to get my diploma and possibly becoming a doctor sounded like a great idea. Until I hit senior year of high school. That was when I realised that maybe I'm not meant for school. Sitting in a classroom wasn't my ideal cup of tea, but I stuck it through high school because I was determined to not become a high school drop out.

When I was in high school it was as though everybody had already figured out what they were going to when they took their first steps into the big, bad world. I was never like that. I left high school and I felt lost. I had no clue what I wanted to do. I convinced myself that I was a disappointment to my family because everybody instantly knew what career path they wanted to pursue and I didn't.

I felt that way until I joined the police academy, a year after I left high school. I was in a real slump, applying to anything and everything, I wasn't getting anywhere until Ally suggested the police force. I instantly declined, not believing that I had any chance of making it. I wasn't the most physically active, any chance I got to skip gym class I grabbed with two hands, but the Police Academy was tempting. I wanted to challenge myself and also prove to all the people who thought I couldn't do it wrong.

And I'm glad I did. Joining the P.D was by far the best decision I made in my life. I found myself as a person. I went from being this shy, delicate flower to an independent and determined individual.

Just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean I didn't experience what's it's like to be a typical college student. I attend my fair share of parties, not that I enjoyed them but I still went to please Corey who didn't want to go alone because apparently, that's embarrassing. Aside from the parties, I don't understand why people stick it through college, sure a degree is a good excuse but honestly is any college student happy? Judging by the faces passing by my car the answers no.

My mind is still on autopilot from what had happened not even a half-hour ago. The scene still vivid in my mind, like a record, stuck on repeat, it won't leave me alone. Maybe if I hadn't rushed her out the door then she would still be here, at home with her husband, happy. Her husband. I've ruined a family-

My thoughts being abruptly stopped by the sound of knuckles furiously knocking on the only rolled up window. Moving my drooping eyes to the source only to be met by the slightly annoyed face of my sister Cora. Leaning over to push down the lock, I'm smacked in the face with the humid Atlanta heat.

"About time, I've been knocking for five minutes," she exclaims holding the door open, entering the car. Only humming in response, repositioning myself in the driver seat, staring deadly out the window, "Wow, what's up?" She asked instantly knowing something's off.

"What? Why would anything be up?" Shaking my head, trying to focus on now and not the past, "Oh I don't know maybe you burning a hole into my school with your eyes or the fact that you haven't acknowledged Maggie in the back seat." She states with that smart tone that I love oh so much.

Swirling round in my seat, I met with the contagious smile of Maggie Greene. She a delightful one. A pure soul who could honestly do no wrong, and yet somehow she's best friends with Cora. The pair are polar opposites, like two peas from completely different pods but it somehow makes sense. Cora is like a hyperactive puppy whereas Maggie is a house cat. Maggie keeps Cora grounded. Without Maggie, I don't even want to know where Cora would be.

When Cora first started college she got in with the wrong crowd. She started to miss important family events; like our weekly game of family-friendly monopoly. Cora wasn't Cora anymore, she was someone new, she was trying hard to become something she wasn't. That's until she met Maggie. Apparently, Maggie went through something similar, I don't know all the details, that's a secret between them. All I know is that they met in the student car park at night completely shitfaced with no way to get home. It all came from that singular moment of stupidity, and I'm glad it did because I've already 'lost' one sister, I don't need to lose another.

"Hi Maggie, sorry just had a weird day at work," I half lied, staring up the car again driving out of the almost desert car park, "The farm?" I asked, knowing where to drop her off having done it a couple of times.

"Don't worry about it Macy, we all have our days, and yes please if you don't mind," her southern accent radiating through the car, a genuine smile covering her face meeting at her eyes. Nodding my head, my eyes training back on the road but my mind and eyes can't help but wonder. It was only a few miles back that I saw those things from the news, they could be lurking around here too.

"You will not believe what Ashton said to me today," Cora said, kicking her feet up on the dash of my car, her hand sitting comfortably behind her head. "Oh please do tell," taking one hand off the wheel to push her dirty Dc. Martens on my beloved car.

Scoffing as her feet slap against the floor of my car, y'know where a normal passenger's feet are supposed to go, "He said, 'i think we should see different people', and I was like 'why', and he said, get a load of this, 'I just don't think it's working out'. Yeah no shit it's not working out, he never calls me, never texts me, and that's the first time he has ever spoken to me in school," leaning towards the cool air drifting through the window as she rants about her love life.

"Ashton a grade-A douche, I pretty sure we've had this conversation every time I pick you up," I state as the boredom begin to consume me at the ritual of Cora's love life discussion coming up once again. Looking in the rearview mirror I see Maggie nodding her head in agreement, "I agree, out of all the guys in our school you choose Ashton," she gags making a yuck sound, her face scrunching up at the thought of her best friends boyfriend.

"It's kind of your fault y'know," I laughed as she sided eyed me, "you met a guy called Ashton and expected him to what? sweep you off your feet?"

"She's got a point," Maggie pointed out hiding her laughter better than me, "No she doesn't!" Exclaimed Cora as she turns around to fully face Maggie in the back middle seat, "what about your love life huh, oh yeah it doesn't exist," she sassed hands crossed over her chest, a smirk on her face as though proud of her very mediocre remark.

Shaking my head at my sister's antics, "Maggie will meet a guy when she's ready too. Just because she not actively looking doesn't mean it will never happen. And I bet when she does meet someone, he'll be a million times better than Ashton or any of those other guys you've been with."

"Thank you, Macy," I hear her quietly responded, shyness overtaking her voice at my comment. Not being able to hide my smile at the innocent girl behind me and the slightly ticked off girl beside me, "um hello! You're supposed to be on my side-," Cora's voice shuts off to a silent whisper. Confused at her sudden change of tone, I glance her way. Her eyes trained directly out the front window, never blinking.

Trying to find what she was looking for wasn't hard. It's them. Only a few, 2 male and 1 woman, a couple of meters away from my travelling car. These are different, they're nothing like the ones I encountered earlier. The ones from before were coming towards me at an agonising walking pace, these ones however are running, running extremely fast.

Cora's heavy breath begins to fill the car, as Maggie mutters incoherent words. I however am static, this wasn't just a one time encounter. In the space of not even an hour, I've seen a dozen of these people. The government has issued official reports telling us, the public, that's there is absolutely nothing to worry about and they have this all under control. At first, I believed that, but now with these thing sprinting towards my car, I'm beginning to beg to differ.

"Um, Macy drive. Macy, please drive!" A panicked Cora heaves in my ear. Judging from my previous encounter, fight or flight is not an option right now. Not until I fully understand what these things are.

My tires make the all to familiar shrieking against the warm tar, with nowhere else to go but straight through the few in the middle of the road. The sound of the dead weight hitting the bonnet of my car before flying over the top was like nothing I've heard before. It's sounded sickening. A mixture of bones clashing and screams. A horrific sight and sound.

The car stayed in utter silence until I pulled up to the Greene farm, to where none of us dared to move a muscle. You could hear a pin drop over the sounds of slightly irregular breathing. The beating sun shining through the front window causing the car to feel more insufferable.

"That's those things from the new isn't it?" Asked Cora quietly as though scared to break the silence. Having not enough courage in my voice to reply, I just simply nod, "that's why you had a weird day at work, wasn't it?" She asked again, this time staring at me but I refuse to meet her eyes only nodding again. Hearing the shaky breath from behind me and the sound of the door opening, snapped me back to reality.

Looking out through Cora's window, I see a slouched Maggie struggling to keep her balance. Pulling my lips into a tight smile, "Be safe," I said gently toward the shaken up girl. Muster up a nod she replies, "you too, the both of you," before turning round to met her sister Beth at the porch. Seeing the pleasant girl brought a smile to my face as I waved back to the gleeful youngest Greene.

Once Maggie was safely inside her farmhouse that's when I pulled away, only to have something at the corner of my eye catch my attention. Hershel, Maggie's father, walking away from the slightly beat barn. In his hands some sort of animal handling pole. Nothing unusually really, Hershel is a vet but that's not what's concerning. The glooming blood dripping slightly off the loop is however concerning.

"Hey Mr Greene," greeted Cora, her voice still failing her a little. Laughing at the younger girls formalities, "how many time have I told you to call me Hershel," he said walking closer to the car, a cloth in hand as he tried to discreetly clean the pole in his hands, but the deed was already done, I had already seen it.

"A couple more times should do the trick," she tries to joke, wanting to forget what had just happened. Luckily enough Hershel doesn't notice the pressed bloody handprints of the front and sides of my car, as he leans to see me at the driver's seat, "Thank you for dropping our Maggie off again Macy, it really means a lot."

"Don't sweat it. Didn't want her travelling back home herself especially now with the mess that's all over the news," a sharp inhale from Cora causes me to reach over, comfortingly grabbing her sweaty hands in my own, rubbing the backs for her hands softly.

"Ah yes, I did see that. I'm sure its nothing to worry about," he waves his hand slightly, looking over his shoulder at the barn he had just left. I frowned my eyebrows at the elder's change in body language; his wondering eyes and shuffling feet are causing me to doubt the man's knowledge of the current situation.

"Better safe than sorry I guess," I dismiss getting ready to drive off again, "I suppose you're right," his voice becoming harder to hear with him no longer facing me. The sound of my engine starting up again is what snaps him in our direction, "Well Thank you again, have a good day," he farewelled beginning to make his leave, walking up the same creaking steps to the porch.

Before he could catch the door handle, I yell, "Hey Hershel," catching his attention, "Be safe," only to receive a simple nod before he descended into his home. Home.

"Let go home," I exhale tapping my sister leg, catching her teary eyes, "we'll be fine."

I don't know who I was trying to reassure, Cora or myself, but with what has been going on recently, I think everybody could use a bit of reassuring.

This is quite a short chapter but I need to start somewhere right? If you took the time to read this, Thank you! and I hope that you liked it :) 

I might start a taglist for this au, so if you would be interested in being tagged when I post for this au then just message me or comment to let me know!

I’m going to try and post chapter two later today hopefully too :))

DAISY.

[whitehotharlots]

Baby, it’s slow

Living in a world without hope means that sometimes you stumble upon a relatively minor grotesquery that nonetheless triggers a state of severe despondency. Taken by itself, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal. Viewed as an encapsulation of deeper and more absolute structural rot, it gives us a glimpse into how horrible everything truly is, how there is no reasonable possibility of reform.

Case in point, an article published today in Politico discussing the tension between the Biden campaign and their probable VP choice, Kamala Harris. This makes immediate sense. Biden is literally very old, and his political sensibilities clash with those of the current Democratic party, the members of whom value paying superficial attention to identity signifiers above all else. Harris’ nomination is presumptive not because of any political desires; it has instead been hoisted upon the Biden campaign as a means of counterbalancing the sin of nominating a white male. 

I’m no fan of Harris--a tough on crime, broken windows prosecutor who attempted to address social inequities by further criminalizing poverty. Her career is a sad template of a modern Democrat striver: a mix of cruelty and careerism with no real principles aside from self-assuredness and a desire for power. 

The most substantial event of the Harris campaign, however, was somewhat good. Or at least I thought it was. In the first Democratic debate, Harris “ambushed” Biden by bringing up his racist opposition to busing and his friendliness with extremely racist senate colleagues. She called his opposition personally hurtful, and in what was probably the most-covered moment of the debate, she mentioned that she was a member of one of the earliest classes that integrated Berkley, and the fact that states and municipalities failed to adhere to civil rights rulings means that the federal government needed to step up.

(Some were naive enough to think this onslaught marked the end of the Biden campaign, ignoring both the ease with which he lied in response to the criticism and the fact that no one in media bothered to push back against those lies). 

Anyhow, the start of today’s Politico piece reads as follows” When former Sen. Chris Dodd, a member of Joe Biden’s vice presidential search committee, recently asked Kamala Harris about her ambush on Biden in the first Democratic debate, Dodd was stunned by her response.

“She laughed and said, ‘that’s politics.’ She had no remorse,” Dodd told a longtime Biden supporter and donor, who relayed the exchange to POLITICO on condition of anonymity.

“Dodd felt it was a gimmick, that it was cheap,” the donor said.

First off, goddamn look at all the mutants Biden has already surrounded himself with. Chris Dodd, Larry Summers, Rahm Emanuel… anyone who thinks Joe isn’t going to immediately renege upon the progressive portions of his platform are every bit as naive and stupid as people who thought Trump would be a military isolationist.

Secondly… fucking seriously? This is the most offensive thing Harris has done to you, pointing out your shitty record on a very important issue? Saying that this is just a cheap gimmick? Good god, these people really can’t grasp the fact that their actions have consequences. They can’t conceive of being held accountable, in any way, for the horrible things that they’ve done.

But then something even more horrible was brought to my attention: Harris’ line of argumentation actually was a gimmick. Her campaign had T-shirts ready to go advertising it. When she went on Steven Colbert’s show soon afterward, she refused to expand further on her position. In fact, she laughed it off. “It was just a debate,” she said. Pretending to have a principled objection to the brutal treatment of black people was just a thing she had to do so that she’d get some attention on twitter. 

Good god. Good, good god.

The saddest and most desperate paradox of our time is that while the moral imperative to address issues of racial inequity has become more undeniable than ever, our ruling class has normalized a means of addressing these issues purely as a way to empower themselves. No one is going to attempt to fix anything. The only battles to be fought are in regards to determining who gets first dibs in cynically weaponizing the righteous anger of those who have been and will forever be brutalized. Pain is a commodity that pays out handsomely to all but those who were born to suffer it. And a politician can just admit to this, explicit and proud, and they will face no consequences. The only time we’ll ever question someone’s sincerity is when they make the mistake of actually being sincere.

[spell-cleaver]

“I understand why you keep Palpatine’s brat around, but do we have to keep up this charade of bowing to the twerp when discussing important matters, Lord Vader?

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

“I understand why you keep Palpatine’s brat around, but do we have to keep up this charade of bowing to the twerp when discussing important matters, Lord Vader?”

Luke stiffened.

He didn’t look up, but he was suddenly hyperaware of the many officers clumped around the table, the old men of the Empire turning to stare at him as Ozzel’s comment rang out, unnaturally loud. He’d only murmured it, at a briefing room table where everyone was talking quietly amongst themselves after the token greeting of the Emperor to start the meeting. But he was not as subtle as he thought, when he used his past favour and subsequent seat near the head of the table to lean forwards and whisper conspiratorially with Vader, so now all that reigned was a deadly silence.

Luke fought to keep his face blank, as his father had so painstakingly taught him, and just stared unblinkingly at Ozzel with an unnervingly calm smile to set him on edge—another trick his father had preached. But his reaction paled in comparison to Vader’s.

The room cooled rapidly.

“What do you mean,” Vader boomed; Luke’s skin prickled at the vibrations that hung on the air, “charade?”

Ozzel’s eyes were wide, glancing between Luke and Vader rapidly—he was used to Palpatine, who had allowed and even encouraged insults and criticisms of Luke’s conduct at every turn, to better him. He had thought Vader would be the same.

He was wrong.

“I— my lord,” he tried, not even bothering to address Luke. “I recognise the Emperor, in all his power and"—he did look at Luke, then: looked him over, top to bottom—”stature, as the heir to Emperor Palpatine and figurehead to this great Empire. However…“

He was growing bolder now, Luke could see. Vader was just— Vader was just letting him speak, letting him run, and he was taking his cue from that, he was being inspired, and… did Vader agree? Was that why he was letting him speak?

“He is a child. His own father regularly described him as a failure"—Luke flinched—"and while I will be honoured to follow him once he is grown and capable, while I understand the importance of tradition and ceremonies and a demonstration of respect to the wider public, for now I see no reason why we should waste our valuable time in meetings—”

“Listening to treasonous drivel from the navy’s most incompetent, imbecilic officers?” Vader purred.

Ozzel trailed off.

He swallowed. “Lord Vader?”

“That is your emperor you are insulting, Captain Ozzel.”

“My lord?” He glanced around the room. Luke was ready to throw up, vanish into the floor, or burn to a crisp. “He is Emperor in name, but we all in this room know where the real power in the galaxy lies. I am simply pointing out that there is no need to waste time—”

“Indeed, Captain,” said a voice. Luke flicked his gaze to the opposite side of the table, and practically sagged with relief when he saw who it was—General Veers, who’d been patiently and assuredly helping him learn how to shoot for over a week now, standing from his chair to his full impressive height.

He leaned forwards on the table. “There are a lot of things that waste an unnecessary amount of time in meetings about what the Empire’s strategy for its expansion into the Outer Rim will be, including insulting the Emperor without cause, justification or restraint.” He gave Luke a courteous nod; Luke returned it. “This time has been difficult for all of us—and it says a lot about you, Ozzel, that you have the disrespect and inhumanity to attack the Emperor, who is most bereft, in this time.”

He glared. “So please, for the love of all that is good, shut up and let us get on with the meeting.”

“General Veers,” Ozzel shot back, somewhat… sneering. “I would think a sensible officer like you would understand my issue with this entire farce; the boy is merely a pawn, an incompetent pawn, and…” He trailed off.

He reached for his neck, twisting his head to the side…

“Vader,” Luke said, realising. He flung himself to his feet. “Vader, stop it!”

But Ozzel kept choking. Gurgling noises burst from his throat, his cheeks reddened, then purpled.

“Vader,” Luke said, “stop.”

But it was difficult for even him to breathe, here.

It was so cold he shivered under his layers of ceremonial clothing, and the Force was like daggers in his veins even as he tried to ignore it—ignore what it was telling him about Vader.

“Vader!”

Vader released him; Ozzel slumped against the table. Luke waited for him to get up, to rub his neck and whine, or scurry to the medbay, but long moments passed and he didn’t move—didn’t breathe.

Luke sagged.

Vader hadn’t listened to Luke.

He’d just let him die.

Luke lifted his gaze to Vader, who stared back at him. That mask gave away no expression whatsoever.

Luke returned to his seat, and they continued with the meeting. No one bothered to mention the corpse still on the table.

*

“What were you thinking!?” Luke shouted the moment he and Vader re-entered Luke’s quarters. Nova poked her head out of her office in the corner to see what all the yelling was about. “You killed him!”

“He was being rude and extremely disrespectful to you, Majesty, so I made an example—”

“He was accusing me of not having any control over my own government, and the fact that a member of said government went against my orders to kill him, right in front of me does nothing to disprove his point!” He scoffed and threw himself down on the sofa, kicking off his shoes so he could lie down entirely. “Everyone already thinks I’m a puppet, and you just made it worse.”

“You are not a puppet, Majesty.”

“I am, so long as you refuse to listen to me, and even if I wasn’t,” he ran his hand threw his hair, “what people think you are is all that matters.” His father’s words—in that exact phrasing—rang in his head.

Perhaps that was what made Vader insist so heatedly, “What people think you are means nothing.”

“It means everything, when I’m the Emperor of the kriffing galaxy!”

“What happened?” Nova said, coming out of her office fully to sit next to his knees on the sofa, patting his leg. He shifted over to make room for her.

“Captain Ozzel insulted me in front of everyone. Vader killed him, despite the fact I clearly and publicly asked him not to.”

Nova said to Vader, “You imbecile.”

If Vader had eyebrows, Luke was sure they would’ve shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You swore to obey Luke. That’s important, for emperors to be obeyed. You just undermined him even more effectively than Ozzel ever could.”

“He insulted and demeaned you, Majesty. What,” Vader drawled, “else was I to do?”

“What General Veers did! He actually acted with respect and decency, and tried to handle it without immediately resorting to violence! He actually knows how to stay calm, and not fly into a rampage!”

Luke didn’t know how, but he got the feeling Vader narrowed his eyes at him behind the mask. “You believe General Veers is acting as a better vassal than—”

“Yes, Vader, that’s exactly what I believe,” Luke bit back. “You should be glad: you introduced him to me, he’s your officer. It reflects well on you.” He smirked. “Or it shows you up even—”

“Luke,” Nova said. He looked up at her, the cock of her eyebrow, and calmed down. “It won’t help.”

He flinched.

Yelling never did help. Losing control never did help.

It only got him hurt even more.

Right.

He lowered his gaze. “I… apologise, Lord Vader,” he said.

Vader reached out a hand before he stopped himself. “It is nothing, Majesty,” he said finally. “You have a right to shout.”

Then he added, “General Veers is an excellent general, tactician and soldier but you should not idolise him in all things, Majesty.”

Luke blinked. “I… don’t. I was just saying—”

“His relationship with his son is reportedly not close—”

“Which father-son relationships are?” Luke scoffed. Vader stiffened at that. “I don’t know why you’re so hung up about him.”

“I am not.”

“You—” Luke sighed. “I want to go on a tour of the Empire.”

Now it was Vader’s turn to stiffen in shock.

“What.”

Confusion, anger and panic roiled, Nova’s mouth fell open as she stared at Luke, but he shrugged both of them off and sat up, pushing against the pillows to say, “I was thinking about it on the way here. I am Emperor, and I’m supposed to have some sort of control or understanding over what’s going on—in my own palace and in the galaxy. So, with the coronation having been a few weeks ago, and the interviews with the main senators all but concluded… I want to take a tour of the galaxy. Be a visible presence, a visible person, so people can’t just accuse me of being a puppet.”

“This is insane, Majesty,” Vader said heatedly. “You have already been subject to multiple assassination attempts within this very palace—how will you fare elsewhere, outside of your own stronghold?”

“Are you doubting your own ability to keep me safe, Lord Vader?”

Vader stared at him. Luke stared back.

And he realised, abruptly, that there was terror in that gaze.

So. He… he knew the answer to that, then.

“I want to go,” he reiterated, no gentler than before. “I want to go, and see the galaxy the way I was before the Rebel attack on my life and my father’s death.”

“Would you like to be attacked the way you were?”

“Shut up,” Nova said. Vader swivelled his head to look at her, betrayed. “Luke’s right. He needs to get out of this palace—he needs to make an impression, rather than living in his father’s shadow for years.”

They exchanged a heavy look. Luke had no idea what that was about.

“Very well,” Vader conceded eventually. “I will… make the preparations. Where were you thinking of going, Majesty?”

Luke smiled. “It’s a bit unconventional, all the way out in the Mid Rim, but… Naboo might be a good place to start.”

Nova clapped. “That’s perfect—your father’s homeworld, sends all sorts of good messages—”

“And your birth mother’s homeworld,” Vader cut in pointedly.

Nova grinned. “Yes! And there’s something I need to show you, Luke—a house, where your parents got married…”

Vader… tensed up, suspiciously.

“No,” he said. “We will be on a tight schedule, we cannot stay for long—and for security reasons, we will have to stay in Theed.”

Nova snorted. “I’m sure.”

Vader glared.

But Luke just smiled. It was something.

It was something.

“Alright,” he said. “When do we leave?”

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I’ll continue it!

Beginning | Previous | Next

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Leap Day

Summary:  Leap Day is approaching and you have your eye on a guy from accounting. You work in a research capacity with the Avengers, scouring intelligence reports and doing research on localities where missions pop up, which means working closely with Captain America. When you’re overheard talking to Natasha about asking out the guy from accounting on Leap Day, Steve and Bucky go to great lengths to ensure that doesn’t happen.  

Features/Warnings: Dark!/Grey!Stucky. Elements of manipulation, potential dubcon (not so much in this part but in part two if I write a part two)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader

Notes: This fic has elements of manipulation. Steve and Bucky are underhanded and manipulative in getting what they want and if I write a part two that incorporates smut it will be dubcon. While I read dark!fic I don’t typically write it. This is me dipping my toes in that particular pool. Please let me know if you’d like to see a part two. 

Word Count: 2896

You sat in the kitchen of the Avengers living quarters at the compound. You were the resident researcher, the one who went through intelligence reports to compile details for briefings, the one who did research on the places the team would be going on everything from the government to local customs and the general lay of the terrain. Your job meant you worked closely with Captain America--sorry Steve, as he insisted you call him. Two years into your job and you still had a hard time with that one, even if you did consider him a friend. It had been at his insistence that you had moved into their section of the compound six months into your job there. 

Natasha was sat across from you, the two of you locked in a discussion on your love life, or rather the lack thereof. It was a Sunday and most of the team was scattered. It was a day off, except for light training, no mission on the horizon.

“So just ask him out. Leap Day is Saturday. You know there’s that whole tradition where women ask out guys on Leap Day,” she said. You laughed.

“He doesn’t work on Saturdays…besides I thought that was proposals,” you said. She smirked.

“You can still ask him out. Worst case, he says no, you move on with your life,” she said. You sighed. Rick worked in the accounting department. You crossed paths once in a while and you were smitten. You knew he had been flirting with you. There was no misinterpreting it. But neither one of you had made a move yet.

“Easier said than done. Rick’s just so...he’s the guy who all the girls would swoon for if this was high school. I don’t know that I can just ask him out,” you said. 

“Just do it. One of you has to,” she said. In the living area, Steve and Bucky both tensed as they listened to your conversation with Natasha. It wouldn’t do to have their girl going out with someone else, especially someone from accounting who could never protect her the way they could. 

“I think we need to pay the accounting office a visit tomorrow,” Steve said, his voice low. Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I think we do,” he said. The two sat in silence for a while longer, listening to what you and Natasha were saying. You’d see how wrong Rick was for you, and how right the two soldiers were. They just had to show you first. 

Monday morning you headed to the accounting office, two cups of coffee in hand. You handed one to Rick as you found your way to his desk, a smile on your face. 

“So, I was thinking. Maybe we could go out tomorrow?” you asked him. His smile fell. You could already feel the sting of rejection settling in.

“You’re a great person, a good friend, but...I don’t see you that way. I’m sorry,” he told you. You felt the sting of tears in your eyes. How had you misread the situation so poorly? You were sure he’d been flirting with you, sure that he was into you. 

“Oh...I...okay, yeah. Um, have a good day?” you replied, unsure of what else to say before turning on your heel and heading for your office. You shut the door as soon as you were safely inside, letting the tears fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You chastised yourself. It was high school all over again. Of course someone like him wasn’t into you. You had been foolish to think otherwise. You were pulled from your thoughts by someone clearing their throat. You let out a startled yelp, seeing Steve and Bucky sitting in the two chairs across from your desk.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked you. You shook your head.

“Nothing you need to worry about Captain Rogers,” you said. You saw the look of concern on his face as he stood and strode over to you. You were surprised when he brought a hand to your face, wiping away the tears that were still falling. Bucky was quick to join him. 

“You’re our friend, doll. We’re going to worry when you come in looking like someone just broke your heart. Who do we gotta go have a chat with?” Bucky asked.

“No one. It’s nothing. I was foolish for thinking someone like him could like me. That’s all,” you told them, pulling away and heading for your desk. You had had a crush on both soldiers once upon a time when you started. But once you settled and got to know them, it passed. They had become good friends, after some insistence on their part. 

“Someone like who, sweetheart?” Steve asked. You shook your head.

“You two aren’t here to talk about my relationship woes. What did you need?” you asked, your tone slightly clipped. The sooner you got them out of your office the sooner you could have your breakdown in relative peace.

“We wanted to go over the latest intel report with you, about the situation in Ottawa. But that can wait. Why don’t you take the day off?” Steve asked. You shook your head.

“I have far too much to get done today to do that,” you replied. The soft expression on his face hardened. You had never seen that look directed toward you.

“You’re taking the rest of the day off. No arguing. You report to me. And I’m telling you, it can wait until tomorrow,” he said, leaving no room for you to argue. Bucky gave you a small smile.

“Besides, we’re done with our work for the day. This was the only thing we needed to do today. We can go out and you can tell us what’s bothering you, doll,” Bucky said. You sighed. You missed the look the two shared as your shoulders sagged in defeat. There was no getting out of doing what Steve wanted, not when you knew he had no issue picking you up and forcing you out of your office. You stood and gathered your things, still missing the silent exchange between the two men.

“Good girl. Now, why don’t you go change into something more comfortable? We’ll go to that Italian place you like in town, hm?” Steve asked. You bristled at the first part of his comment. You took a moment before answering him.

“I think I’d rather just stay in. Have some time to myself tonight,” you said. His expression changed to something you couldn’t quite read. 

“If you’re sure...you know where you can find us if you change your mind. We’ll always make time for you, doll,,” Bucky said as the three of you exited your office. The door locked automatically behind you, thanks to FRIDAY. You just nodded at him, before heading for the residential building that housed the team. The duo headed in the opposite direction, toward Steve’s office. Once the door was closed, Steve gave him a look of annoyance.

“You should’ve insisted she go out to dinner with us,” he snapped. Bucky shook his head.

“Too much, too soon. If we want her to want us, we need to do this right. Push just enough. You almost had her running like a scared rabbit with your good girl comment. What happened to “let’s ease her into this”, or was that never your plan?” Bucky asked. Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re right. I got ahead of myself. She makes it so easy to want her,” Steve replied. 

“We just have to be patient. We handled the Rick problem. Now we just have to wait for her to seek us out,” Bucky said. 

By five in the afternoon, you found yourself looking for the two. You found them lounging in the living area, Steve reading over a mission report and Bucky reading a book. You leaned against the wall, not wanting to interrupt the two. Steve glanced up and smiled when he saw you.

“Change your mind?” he asked, causing Bucky to look up as well. You nodded.

“Yeah...I was thinking I could go for some Italian,” you said. They both stood up and walked toward you. 

“How about you go shower and change into something nice. We’ll make a night of it,” Steve said. While it was phrased like a suggestion, his tone was commanding. You felt your face warm and a fluttering in your stomach. You nodded at the two before heading to your room to take a quick shower. You chose a simple dress, one of your favorites for the time of year, slipping on a pair of flats. You opted against putting on makeup. It was a dinner with friends, you didn’t need to go to that much effort. You headed to the common area, to find they were already there waiting, both men wearing dress pants and button downs. You shook your head, reminding yourself to get a grip. 

“Ready, doll?” Bucky asked offering his arm for you to link yours with. You smiled.

“Yeah,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve came up along your other side, wrapping an arm around your waist. You could only assume what others who saw you would think. 

Dinner was nice. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a date. As far as you were concerned, it was two friends taking you out to cheer you up to take the sting out of the rejection you had faced. 

They walked you to your door at the compound when you returned. You stood outside your door and turned toward the two men.

“Thank you. I was feeling pretty low. I thought...I really thought he liked me. I don’t understand where I misinterpreted things,” you said. Steve brought a hand up to your cheek, tilting your head so you were looking at him. 

“His loss. A guy like that? He doesn’t know how to treat a woman like you,” Steve said. You weren’t sure who made the first move, but his lips met yours in a gentle but demanding kiss. You were breathless when he pulled away, acutely aware of Bucky’s presence beside you. You were turned around suddenly to face him. Unlike Steve, his kiss wasn’t gentle. When he pulled away, you looked between the two men.

“I don’t...I don’t understand I thought,” you said trailing off. Everyone had their suspicions about the two. 

“Doll, we’ve liked you for a while. And if you’re willing...we’d both like to take you on another date, see where this thing goes,” Bucky said, ducking his head a little. His eyes met Steve’s. Things were clicking into place. 

“I...people will talk,” you protested. You felt the fire ignite inside you at the thought of being with them both, but you knew what people would say. 

“Forget what others will say, doll. We can make you happier than some accountant,” Bucky all but growled. You paused. You had never mentioned that the guy you had asked out worked in accounting.

“How did you--,” Steve cut you off with another kiss. You tried shoving him away but you knew it was no use. You were confused. 

“Don’t you worry about how we know doll. He wasn’t right for you,” Bucky said. Steve pulled away from you.

“Now, sweetheart, why don’t you go on, get ready for bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Steve said. You nodded, still a bit dazed from the kiss. You missed the door handle at first, drawing chuckles from the two supersoldiers. Once you were inside and the door was shut, you let the events of the day play out. Maybe they had overheard you and Nat at some point. It was the only explanation that made sense. 

In the apartment they shared, Steve and Bucky sat down on the couch. They were quiet, both relishing in the fact that they had gotten to kiss you.

“We could’ve had her tonight,” Bucky grumbled.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to be patient earlier?” Steve asked with a grin. Bucky groaned. 

“I take it back. She’s so...she’s perfect,” Bucky said. 

“Soon. Like you said, Buck, we need to take this slow.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning you were up early. You were briefing the team that morning on the mission they’d be leaving for that afternoon, Steve and Bucky included. You had given thought to the previous night, deciding that while you liked both men, right now you couldn’t put yourself in that position. You slipped into the conference room, coffee in hand. You were startled to find  Steve and Bucky already there. 

“Careful doll,” Bucky said, plucking the coffee from your hands and setting it down. You set the folders down beside it, each one marked with a name. You pulled away when Steve moved to hug you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a frown on his face. You sighed.

“I thought about it. You guys are great but...I don’t think I’m in a position to well, put myself in that position,” you said. 

“Was it something we said?” Bucky asked, concern laced in his tone. He tried to think about anything that could have put you off. He and Steve didn’t account for this. 

“No, no. It’s...you guys are well, you. I’m me. You might not care what people think or say but...I’m not in a position where I can’t care. I don’t want people to think I have this position because of who I’m with. I don’t want to ruin our friendship either,” you said. Steve moved to say something, to argue, but stopped when he saw the subtle shake of Bucky’s head.

“If that’s what you want, doll. It doesn’t change how we feel. You know where to find us if you change your mind,” Bucky said as the door opened, Natasha shuffling in with Sam and Wanda. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You found yourself on Tinder in the absence of the team. Your only company was FRIDAY. Three days into the mission, you found yourself on a date with a guy named Wes. He was charming and funny. He was a school teacher, you had learned, teaching US history at a local high school. The team was due to be gone for the month, if not a little longer. The mission had taken a turn and you were working through the intel. In that time, one date turned to three turned into the two of you putting a label on things. 

You weren’t at the compound when the quinjet landed. Steve and Bucky shared a look of concern while Wanda handed Natasha several bills. Natasha smirked.

“How did you know she wouldn’t be here?” Wanda grumbled.

“I checked her Instagram. She’s out with the guy she’s seeing. Spending the night from the looks of it,” Natasha said. Steve’s shield clattered to the ground, drawing the attention of the team. 

“Must be more tired than I thought,” Steve said, picking up the shield. He wasn’t happy with this development and he could practically feel the tension radiating off of Bucky. They headed to their apartment in silence. Once inside, Bucky went to shower without saying a word as Steve pulled out his laptop. He found your Instagram with ease. For someone who worked in intelligence, you left your social media wide open. 

He was quick to find out all he needed to about this Wes Everett you were seeing. A background check came up clean. Parents still alive, three older brothers and a sister. Youngest of five. And decidedly not good enough for you. No one was. Only he and Bucky could give you what you needed. Bucky entered the room, sweatpants slung low around his waist. He seemed calmer, but still on edge.

“Wes Everett, thirty years old, school teacher and the youngest of five kids. Not a single thing wrong with him on paper,” Steve grumbled.

“When are we going to pay him a visit?” Bucky asked.

“Tomorrow, once she’s home,” Steve said. Bucky nodded. It was in your best interest that things with Wes end before you got hurt. Because he’d hurt you in the end, they were convinced. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like clockwork, you were in the communal living room, crying. You had a movie on that you weren’t paying attention to. Bucky sat down beside you.

“What’s wrong doll?” he asked, concern on his face. You let out a sob.

“I really thought it would last. He was a good guy,” you cried.

“Whoa, whoa, let’s back up, who?” he asked.

“I’ve been seeing this guy, Wes. He was so good, so sweet. He broke up with me. Things seemed fine when I left his place this morning. He didn’t have the balls to break up with me to my face. I was really starting to fall for this guy,” you said. 

“Come here, doll,” he said, opening his arms. You had no qualms about sitting on his lap and crying into his shoulder. He was Bucky, one of your closest friends there. He ran a hand up and down your back in comfort. Steve entered the room and a small smile emerged on his face as he took in the scene. Your crying had reduced to small whimpers here and there as Bucky whispered words of comfort in your ear. 

[marypsue]

house rule #3

So Darcy Lewis' new roommate might secretly be a supervillain. At least she always takes out the trash.

I timewarped in from 2012 to bring you this silly fic. Canon divergent(...ish? If anything contradicts canon pretend it's an AU) after Thor. I've never kept a timeline straight in my life and I don't intend to start now.

Happy New Year or whatever.

[on AO3]

...

Darcy goes back to school after New Mexico, and her roommate is gone.

Not, like, vanished by the government the way Darcy nearly was (thanks, Jane), probably, because apparently Melissa stopped and had a nice long chat with the landlady about why she was suddenly packing up and moving out mid-school-year. Oh, and took back the damage deposit that Darcy paid half of. Thanks, Melissa.

Darcy pays up for the damage deposit, goes back up to the apartment, puts on some angry music, and drafts an ad for a new roommate. She posts it online, then makes herself some noodles, eats them while watching Jenna Marbles videos on Youtube, and then goes to bed.

The next morning, there’s exactly one email response to her ad sitting in her inbox.

That’s how Darcy meets Lucy Walker.

Lucy’s an exchange student, over from England for a single semester. Her accent is as charmingly Mary Poppins-ish as her extremely convenient arrival. Darcy’s so relieved to have somebody to pick up the other half of the rent that she thinks she doesn’t even care if Lucy’s Single-White-Female-ing her right now. She says as much, and Lucy just gives her a good-naturedly baffled look before changing the subject to utilities.

Lucy’s good with Darcy’s 50/50 arrangement for utilities, isn’t horrified that Darcy doesn’t have cable and expects Lucy to pay for it if she absolutely can’t live without it (though she is horrified that Darcy doesn’t have an electric kettle, and by Darcy’s suggestion that she microwave the water for her tea), and seems satisfied with the smaller bedroom. She signs the lease before she leaves the viewing, and by the end of the week, she’s fully moved in.

The first night that Lucy stays at the apartment, Darcy orders in Thai and makes them both Long Island iced teas. It’s got tea in the name, she figures. The Brit will probably like it. Also maybe get drunk enough to let slip if she’s planning to wear Darcy’s skin like a suit.

But the alcohol barely seems to touch Lucy. If anything, she gets quieter, moodier. This was the opposite of what Darcy was going for, so she turns on some music to bring the mood back up.

“Oh, house rule number one,” she says, as she hits shuffle on her dance-pop playlist. “Stereo’s mine. I control the music. Unless you have, like, really good taste in music, and even then, ask first.”

Lucy smiles at her, slowly, over her novelty tiki mug of extremely powerful booze. “I find it better by far to beg forgiveness than ask permission. How will I know if I have, ‘like, really good taste in music’?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Darcy says. “Here, gimme your iPod, let’s take a look.” She holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers. Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“I don’t…have one of those,” she says, warily, and Darcy draws her hand back.

“Yeah? No big. I almost didn’t either, after the government stole it.” She shakes her head. “What bands do you like?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with many American bands,” Lucy says, and Darcy beams.

“Even better! You’re a blank slate.”

“Yes, I certainly am that,” Lucy says, into her tiki mug, her eyebrows rising.

“Okay, cryptic,” Darcy says, and skips to Party Rock Anthem. “Hey, do you need more booze?”

Lucy, it turns out, is in the States studying business, though if the way she talks about her one Shakespeare-focused lit class is anything to go by, her true love is drama. She’s here because her older brother did the exchange program and got so much out of it, though so far she seems pretty unimpressed with the States.

“Well, I mean,” Darcy says. “We are barbarians who microwave our tea.”

Lucy laughs so hard at that that Darcy suspects she’s not as unaffected by the Long Island iced teas as she’d like to pretend.

 …

 Darcy ends up using the electric kettle almost as much as Lucy does. She doesn’t convert from coffee, though. Starbucks still owns her ass. She should really invest in shares.

Lucy makes herself incredibly easy to get along with. Sure, she takes forever in the bathroom every morning – probably making her hair do that thing it does, Darcy’s got no idea how she keeps it in place, she’s starting to suspect witchcraft - but she wakes up at hours that Darcy’s only ever seen from the other side, so it’s not really an issue. Lucy pulls long (and slightly odd) hours in the library, doesn’t bitch about Darcy’s music, always washes her dishes and takes out the trash and replaces the toilet paper roll. She doesn’t throw wild parties or steal Darcy’s jackets or leave clumps of hair in the shower or perishable food out on the counter for hours or invite her boyfriend to basically move in rent-free like some roommates Darcy could name.

But she also…doesn’t seem to have any…friends.

Lucy never brings anybody to the apartment, which is a point in her favour as far as Darcy’s concerned. But she also never talks about meeting anybody at the library or for coffee. She doesn’t have people over, but she also doesn’t go out. She’s not bad-looking - pretty, even, in a pointy kind of way, with those dark Snow White curls and pale skin and big sad-puppy green eyes – but as far as Darcy can tell, there’s no boyfriend in the picture, not even a long-distance one.

And she doesn’t call her family.

At first, Darcy thought it was a time zone thing, but after some of the things Lucy’s said in passing about her dad – well, it sounds like things between her and her family are kind of…strained. Darcy isn’t sure, but she thinks Lucy might actually be adopted. Maybe. Lucy seems to live for cryptic answers to straightforward questions.

Ordinarily, Darcy would consider all of this not her problem. But ordinarily, Darcy would also not be coming home after classes on a Friday to find her practically-perfect-in-every-way new roommate curled up on the couch hugging Darcy’s pug pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall. Lucy’s not crying, but her cheeks are suspiciously shiny.

She doesn’t seem to notice Darcy’s come in until Darcy says her name twice, and then she jumps up with a guilty expression, like Darcy’d just walked in and caught her jerkin’ it. Wanking? She is British, after all.

“Don’t mind me,” Lucy says, scrubbing a hand under each of her eyes in turn, an extremely bright and extremely fake smile settling over her face. “I was just heading back to the library – how was your class?”

“Not interesting enough to distract me into changing the subject?” Darcy says. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine, because you’re obviously not. What gives?”

Lucy’s smile takes a turn for the embarrassed. “I’d really prefer not to discuss it.”

Darcy shrugs, dropping her satchel on the coffee table. “Sure. But – house rule number two. I’m like Dolly Parton. Nobody cries alone in my presence.”

Lucy rubs the sleeve of her dark blazer across her cheek. “Well, no one’s crying here,” she says.

“Yeah,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes as she unwinds her scarf from around her neck. “Anymore.”

“Really,” Lucy says, but her fake smile looks a little less fake. “Please don’t concern yourself. It’s not anything – not anything you can help.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, tossing her scarf over the hook by the door, her hat on top of it. “Wanna eat our feelings and make fun of ANTM highlights?”

Lucy gives her a blink that Darcy’s starting to recognize as her ‘I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference-but-I-don’t-want-to-look-like-I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference’ look.

“America’s Next Top Model?” Darcy says. “Tyra Banks? We were all rooting for you?” Lucy still looks blank, so Darcy grabs her satchel and pulls out her laptop. “Oh, this is happening. Reality television is everything that’s wrong with society today, which is what I love about it.”

She plops down on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table and her laptop on her knees. When she looks up, Lucy still hasn’t moved. Darcy pats the seat beside her. “C’mon, you’re not gonna be able to see anything from up there.”

Lucy does her best impression of a spooked horse ready to bolt, staring at the cushion next to Darcy like it’s a coiled viper.

“I should get to the library,” she says, half-heartedly. “Study…”

“No, what you should get is that pint of Cherry Garcia out of the fridge and bring it over here,” Darcy says. “Oh, and two spoons.”

 …

 Bad Reality TV Night quickly becomes an apartment tradition. If by ‘tradition’ you mean ‘whenever we feel like it’, which Darcy does.

They catch up on the highlights of the Bachelor, Jersey Shore, and Survivor, though Lucy also seems to like ANTM best. It’s a good excuse to spend time together that doesn’t involve chores or schoolwork. And Darcy’s never been one for standing on ceremony, but a good icebreaker is a good icebreaker.

Better than a taser, at least.

 …

 “What on earth is that smell?”

Darcy looks up from the choking clouds of smoke billowing out of the oven, waving an arm to try to waft it out of the way. Lucy’s standing in the doorway with her scarf pulled up over her mouth and nose and both of her eyebrows raised in a look that somehow manages to convey a whole range of emotions, from ‘disappointed and only a little surprised’ all the way to ‘looks into the camera like she’s on The Office’.

“Bread,” Darcy says, in the face of all the evidence. And then, with a last mournful glance into the depths of the oven, “Okay, the artist formerly known as bread. But, I put the fire out.”

“The oven was on fire?!” Lucy asks, her expression going straight to ‘alarmed’, and Darcy coughs into her hand.

“Key word was. Oh, and by the way, we need more baking soda.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You use it to smother oven fires? C’mon, even I knew that.”

Lucy pauses, her expression going carefully blank for a moment. “I don’t…bake at all. Never have.”

“What? Like you don’t even stress bake?”

Lucy’s expression stays blank. “It wasn’t something I was ever encouraged to learn.”

Darcy slams the oven door shut on the last few sad poofs of smoke, straightening up. Forget the aftermath of her bread. This is way more important. “You seriously don’t stress bake? What do you do when somebody makes you so mad you just wanna stab them?”

“Usually, I stab them,” Lucy says, in a voice so dry that Darcy honestly can’t tell if she’s joking.

“Okay,” Darcy says, with a shrug. “But you usually get way less arrested if you take it out on some dough instead.”

“Was that what you were trying to do here?” Lucy asks, waving a hand in front of her face like she can just shoo the smoke away. Funny, for a second it almost seems to be actually working, but then she snorks up a lungful and almost doubles over coughing.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy says. “Professor Doucheface was on his A game today, so I needed something to knead.”

Lucy looks slightly stunned, coming down from her coughing fit, but the ghost of a smile makes its way across her face. “I gather that ‘Professor Doucheface’ is not his given name.”

“Oh, it’s his given name all right. I gave it to him. At the beginning of the semester when he circlejerked about Machiavelli with these two fratbros in the front row for twenty minutes.” Darcy rolls her eyes. One of these days she’s going to figure out how to roll them right back so all you can see are the whites. It’s gonna look so badass. “It was all downhill from there.”

Lucy hums a little in the back of her throat. “Machiavelli made some interesting points.”

“Not you too.” Darcy tries to wave some of the smoke towards the open window. It very much does not work. “I keep forgetting you’re a business student. Is your whole degree just learning how to be an evil mastermind?”

Lucy taps a finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “…it rather is, now that I consider it. But I suppose there are worse things one could be.”

“No offense, but, like what.”

Lucy laughs at that, but it doesn’t escape Darcy’s notice that she doesn’t actually have an answer. Which is not actually surprising. Because seriously.

“All right,” Darcy says, peeking inside the oven and coughing when she gets a faceful of smoke. “I’m gonna clean this out, and then – we’re making chocolate chip cookies.”

 …

 Introducing Lucy to stress baking is probably the best idea Darcy’s ever had, ever. After the first couple of oven fires and garbage batches, there are always freshly-baked sweet treats around the apartment, and it constantly smells delicious. Darcy would worry about Lucy’s mental state if all that baking hadn’t led her to master the chocolate-chip-to-cookie ratio in all its ooey gooey goodness. She’s since moved on to cupcakes, and Darcy has high hopes for Lucy’s buttercream technique.

It’s a couple of weeks later that Darcy comes home and finds the kitchen full of racks upon racks of cookies and cupcakes both. She only pauses long enough to stuff a chocolate-chip cookie in her face before she asks, “Okay, is it your own Professor Doucheface, or something else?”

Lucy doesn’t answer right away, and doesn’t take her eyes off her dough.

After what feels like an entire ice age, she says, “I tried. To recreate a pastry that I remembered from home.” She shakes her head, a long, dark curl falling out of her messy braid. “And I couldn’t.”

Darcy chews on that for a moment as she chews on cookie. “You’re homesick?”

Lucy pauses, tucking the stray lock of hair behind one ear and smearing a white streak of flour along one Morticia Addams cheekbone. She flashes a rueful grin in Darcy’s direction, before going back to almost angrily kneading the ball of dough on the countertop in front of her. “You must think it’s silly. It was my choice to leave, after all, and yet here I am, wallowing.”

Darcy shrugs, leaning over to snag another cookie from the cooling rack. They’re still warm, the chocolate all melty and goopy inside. Heaven. “I dunno. Like, you’re halfway across the world all on your own.” She turns her full attention to separating a particularly sticky chocolate chip from her teeth before saying, “Mostly I’m just surprised because your home sounds like it sucks a fat one.”

Lucy gives a sharp, brittle laugh, and shoves the heels of both hands into the dough with surprising viciousness. She doesn’t talk for a long moment after that, just kneading and kneading and kneading until Darcy has to look away or risk getting hypnotized.

“I get it, though,” she says, ignoring the flat, disbelieving glance Lucy shoots in her direction. “I mean, the farthest I’ve ever been from home was New Mexico, and no offense to Jane or Puente Antigua, but that place sucked.” She demolishes the last bite of cookie, and licks the remnants of chocolate chip from her fingers. Hey, waste not, want not, right? “Although that was at least fifty percent the government’s fault. But! The other half was not having anybody to just hang out with. Jane’s great, don’t get me wrong, but can you say obsessive. Okay, and the internet connection made dialup look like the wave of the future, and you couldn’t get Starbucks without driving three hours, and -”

Lucy’s giving her a blank look. Darcy snags another cookie and waves it dismissively, barely managing to catch the top piece when it unexpectedly breaks in half in her hand. “Point is, we gotta get you out and meet some people. And I guess maybe some decent fish and chips.”

Lucy snorts dismissively at that, her hands rolling back into motion. That bread’s gonna be way overworked, but Darcy figures that’s one she’ll let Lucy figure out for herself.

“Also, it probably wouldn’t kill you to call your mom once in a while,” she says, chomping down on her cookie. How many is that now? Better question, does it matter. They’re best right out of the oven anyway. “I know shit’s weird with your dad and everything, but it sounds like your mom wouldn’t mind knowing you haven’t been eaten by a bald eagle or fallen off Mount Rushmore or whatever. And it sounds like your brother cares about you a lot. Even if he is a doofus.”

Lucy’s face cracks in a big, surprised, unamused grin, and she shakes her head, turning away with a soft huff of laughter.

“My brother cares about the person he wishes me to be,” she says at last, giving the dough another vicious shove.

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just let your mom know you’re not dead, she can pass it on.”

Lucy doesn’t look up from the dough. “I’m not certain it’s a good idea for me to try to contact my family.”

“Really? ‘cause I am,” Darcy says. “Are you worried about the long-distance charges? I know tuition’s higher for international students, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Lucy glares down the dough. “You have no idea what price I paid to be here.”

“I mean, I have some idea,” Darcy says. “You do give me your half of the rent every month.”

Lucy looks up, and then bursts out laughing.

“I like you, Darcy Lewis,” she says, once she’s got herself back under control. “Do you want to apply your flawlessly straightforward logic to every aspect of my life?”

Darcy shrugs. “Point me at the problem. I guarantee you that in twenty-four hours, either the problem’ll be gone, or you’ll have a way bigger, different problem to worry about instead.”

 …

 Lucy still demurs every time Darcy tries to invite her along any time she’s meeting friends, though. By the third or fourth time she makes up some bullshit excuse, Darcy’s starting to get fed up.

So she invites everybody over to the apartment instead.

Lucy comes back from the library somewhere between pizza and wine. She freezes in the doorway with one arm outstretched, overcoat and houndstooth scarf arrested halfway to the hook on the wall. A brief flicker of panic races across her face before she smooths her expression out, hanging up her coat and shaking out her hair.

“Darcy?” she calls, breaking into a broad smile when she catches Darcy’s eye. “Having a few friends over?”

“Yeah, come grab a glass of wine,” Darcy calls back from the living room. “We could use one more for Cards Against Humanity.”

“Cards against…” Lucy echoes, hovering in the entryway. Obviously she’s not going to take the initiative, so Darcy gets up and makes for the kitchen.

“Do they not have Cards Against Humanity in the UK?” Jared asks from the floor beside the coffee table, as Darcy pours out the dregs of a bottle of red into one of the only clean glasses. After a moment’s thought, she tops it off with white. Hey, that’s all rosé is, right?

“Yeah, and actually, what is the difference between the UK, England, and Britain?” Ayesha asks. “I’ve never been able to get it right.”

“Rude,” Darcy says, making her way back into the living room. Lucy’s still standing in the entryway, but her posture doesn’t look quite so stiff anymore, and her shoulders are creeping down from around her ears. Still, she looks awfully relieved when Darcy hands her the novelty plastic cactus-shaped cup of wine. “Nosy here is Ayesha, that’s Jared, strong and silent in the recliner is Vince, and half-passed-out-on-the-couch-already is Rachel. Guys, say hi to Lucy.”

“The practically perfect in every way?” Rachel asks, lifting her head from the hilarious pillow with a picture of a pug in a bedazzled tiara. Lucy’s cheekbones and the tips of her ears go brightly pink, but her grin is wicked.

“Ooh, Darcy. What have you been saying about me.” She takes a sip of her wine, makes a face at it, and then settles herself down on one of the cushions Darcy’s tossed around the coffee table, carefully arranging her pencil skirt. “How do you play this game, then?”

 …

 They add ‘Cards Against Humanity night’ to the roster of apartment traditions. Nobody really seems to mind that Lucy wins almost every time. Beating her is an interesting challenge. Like Rachel says, she makes them get creative.

 …

 They’re catching up on Big Brother highlights when Lucy asks Darcy, “Would you ever audition for one of these shows?”

Darcy snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. You?”

Lucy narrows her eyes, smiling thoughtfully at the screen. “I think I could win one. The only thing would be convincing the producers I’d be interesting enough to watch.” She turns that grin on Darcy. “You have an advantage there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms with a good-natured glare.

Lucy flicks her eyes ceilingward with an expression of affected innocence. “Only that these shows seem to reward distinctive and outsized personalities.”

Darcy mentally translates that into English, then shrugs. “Hey, I’ve been accused of worse. I think.”

Lucy smiles, and says nothing.

“You’d need a gimmick,” Darcy says, watching one of the Big Brother girls hitting another with an inflatable palm tree. “Like…always referring to yourself in the third person, or insisting people call you ‘princess’, or something.”

Lucy’s smile goes a little tight around the edges, but she doesn’t comment.

“No. I don’t think I could stoop to that for any length of time,” she says, at last. “I suppose that’s another plan to cross off the list for once I complete my degree.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do once you get outta here?” Darcy asks, with a glance over at Lucy. The inflatable palm tree fight got old fast.

Lucy doesn’t take her eyes from the laptop screen. “I thought I did.”

She really knows how to torpedo a mood, Darcy decides.

“Maybe I should audition for a reality show,” she says. “At least you know stuff about running a business. Probably. I mean, I don’t know, you could be failing out.”

Lucy huffs something that’s halfway to a laugh. “I assure you, I’m not failing out.”

“That’s what they all say,” Darcy says, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

Lucy glances in her direction, waiting until Darcy’s got her handful of popcorn before stealing the bowl and settling it into her lap. “What about that – Jane you worked for? Would she hire you back?”

Darcy snorts. Again. “Yeah, sure. If she couldn’t get anybody else.”

Lucy hums in the back of her throat. “Oh, never underestimate the power of being the only option. What were you doing for her, anyway?”

Darcy grimaces. “Making coffee, mostly. She’s an astrophysicist and I…am not.”

“Astrophysics?” Lucy asks, raising an eyebrow, a handful of popcorn apparently forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Now that sounds interesting.”

“Most of it went over my head,” Darcy says. “The wormhole stuff was pretty cool, though.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, but her face is like a big flashing neon sign saying ‘tell me more’. Darcy’s not sure how much she’s actually allowed to say without a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. guys rolling up, smashing through all her windows, and whisking her off to some top-secret torture pit, though, so she just says, “Let’s just say science fiction didn’t get it totally wrong, for once.” She takes a sip of her coffee, staring Lucy down. “So what were you planning to do before whatever, and why aren’t you anymore?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not if you get to leave me on that kind of a cliffhanger.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Okay. Guess we’re just gonna watch Big Brother, then.”

They watch Big Brother.

It’s about seven and a half minutes before Lucy says, slowly, “There is a…family business. My brother is the eldest, we always knew he would inherit, but -” She shakes her head again, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “He’s never had much of a head for business. I had assumed I’d be – taken on in a managerial capacity, but with the state of things between me and my family now…”

“See, I’ve never got that,” Darcy says. “Why not just let the person who’s actually good at the thing do the thing?”

“Our father is, unfortunately, something of a traditionalist,” Lucy says.

Darcy rolls her eyes.

“But perhaps it’s all for the best,” Lucy continues, darting a smile in Darcy’s direction. “I’m finding that this really is the land of opportunity. Even if you occasionally have to make your own.”

It’d be a little unfair to leave her hanging after that – even that much of a confession is a lot, coming from tight-lipped Lucy – so Darcy does end up telling her a little about New Mexico. Leaving out the bits about the Men in Black and the buff space aliens, of course.

Lucy’s a good listener – she makes all the right faces at all the right times, and asks relevant questions without interrupting. Darcy actually ends up telling her a little more than she strictly meant to. Although, to be fair to Lucy, Darcy usually ends up telling everybody a little more about everything than she strictly means to. One of these days, she’s gotta get herself a brain-to-mouth filter.

“It sounds as though you enjoyed yourself,” Lucy says, when Darcy finally runs herself out.

“I guess,” Darcy says. “I mean, it kinda stank at the time – literally, it’s hot in New Mexico and Jane’s trailer had the shittiest shower hookup. But it was also kinda an adventure.” She shrugs. “Except the parts where we all nearly died. Jane really needs to learn not to hijack vans to drive directly at tornados.”

Lucy leans forward, setting the popcorn bowl back on the coffee table. “Is Jane still researching these Einstein-Rosen bridges?”

“Think so. She wants to make her own, eventually, but it didn’t sound like that was gonna happen anytime soon. Sounded like she’d need her own nuclear reactor to get enough oomph behind it.”

Lucy nods consideringly. “Well, if she’s still working in that area, you might reach out and see if she needs an assistant.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. She’s got a couple articles published now. And funding. If she needs an assistant, she’s gonna pick somebody who knows the difference between a quark and a quasar.”

Lucy pouts dramatically at her. “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Darcy I know. Where’s that boundless confidence?”

“Taking a backseat to realism for five minutes? Like I said, I was the only applicant last time.”

“You only need an edge,” Lucy says, like it’s so super easy. “Make yourself stand out from the competition, demonstrate how you are the best candidate. You already have Jane’s confidence, that’s half the battle.” She winks at Darcy before adding, “Of course, you could always simply eliminate the other candidates, but I know your feelings on poison.”

“I’m never totally sure you’re joking when you talk about murder,” Darcy says.

“Because I’m not,” Lucy says, perfectly deadpan. “I am entirely sincere at all times.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna blame the accent.”

“What did you do when you applied the first time?” Lucy asks, going for another handful of popcorn and neatly sidestepping the conversation about her honestly worrying tendency to default to ‘when in doubt, stab them’. No wonder she likes Shakespeare.

“I just emailed Jane with the names and numbers of a bunch of my references,” Darcy says, going for her coffee again. “Like I said. Only applicant.”

The look Lucy gives her is probably the same look she gives to, like, baby animals that trip on their own tails. Like Darcy’s adorable, but only because she’s so pathetic.

“If there’s one thing you learn in business school,” she says, “it’s how to ace a job interview.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy says. “I interview great.”

Lucy says nothing, just looks Darcy up and down and then looks to her left with her eyebrows raised, like there’s a whole lot she could say but she’s politely restraining herself.

“Oh, what,” Darcy says, wiggling back further into the couch and re-crossing her arms. “Don’t give me that discreetly, Britishly rude shit. Spit it.”

A grin slowly sneaks its way across Lucy’s face, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “So forthright. And yet, so perceptive.”

“Well, you were broadcasting…pretty loud and clear,” Darcy points out.

“You’d be amazed what some people fail to pick up on,” Lucy says, half to herself.

“Whatever,” Darcy says. “Lay your wisdom on me, o business major. What’m I doing so obviously wrong?”

Lucy gives her a smile that only turns pitying a little at the end.

“Well, no one could doubt your confidence,” she says. “My only question is how you choose to channel it. I’m sure it’s admirable not to care about the impression one leaves upon others, but when one attempts to take on a new role, that impression is everything.”

Darcy waits, and when no more follows, shrugs.

“You don’t – ah – dress for success,” Lucy says, settling back on the couch with her back against the armrest, so she can look Darcy full in the face as she counts points off on her fingers. “You tend to treat punctuality as though it’s optional. Your forthrightness, while refreshing, could be seen to evidence a lack of tact or forethought – a tendency to charge in without thinking. Which, while a quality many seem to value in their leaders, is not in fact a strategy that frequently yields great success.”

“Unless you’re super buff and hot,” Darcy points out, thinking of Thor.

Lucy rolls her eyes, with a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. As your reality television proves quite handily, a great many rules have their exceptions if you are, as you say, ‘super buff and hot’.”

“Well, I’m already hot,” Darcy says. “So all I gotta do is hit the gym.”

Lucy gives her a flat, disbelieving look. Darcy makes direct eye contact, and flexes one arm, duckfacing before she leans over to kiss her nonexistent bicep.

She’s not sure which of them cracks up first, but she hopes it’s Lucy.

“Is that why you always dress like you’re just stopping in to the office to finish up the Johnson contract?” Darcy asks, when she gets her breath back. “Like, I know suits are required wearing for the business school, but you are allowed to wear, like, jeans or leggings or stuff on Saturdays.”

“I think it’s wise, to require a certain degree of presentation,” Lucy says, primly. “In many cases, the trappings of authority wield as much power as the authority itself. Others’ perception of you, of your legitimacy, is critical to exercising that authority.” She grins, wickedly. “Just ask Macbeth. Or any of the fools demanding your president’s birth video.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Please. Don’t remind me.” She very quickly seizes on the flaw in that logic, though. “But you’re not royalty - no, I know you’re not related to Queen Liz, don’t try that one on me again,” she adds, firmly, and Lucy rolls her eyes ceilingward with an innocent expression. “Or a president, or any other kind of leader of a country. You can get away with wearing jeans every once in a while, it’s not like nobody will ever take you seriously again.”

“So says the woman who wears nothing but jeans,” Lucy says, and then, her eyes crinkling up in a smile, “And has never once in her life been taken seriously.”

Darcy throws the pug pillow at her.

Lucy catches it with the ease of long practice, settling it behind her and making a big show of getting comfortable.

“Only a tiny fraction of a job interview – or, really, of any interaction - is its content. Like it or not, others draw conclusions from how you present yourself,” she says. “You want to present yourself in such a way that they draw the conclusions you wish them to draw.”

She looks at Darcy’s face, and sighs. “You need to learn to smize. But with your clothing, your body language, your choice of words. Smile without your mouth, speak without your words.”

Darcy blinks at her.

“Actually,” she says, “when you put it like that…that makes way more sense than just ‘you’re wearing that?’.”

Lucy gives her a broad, triumphant grin.

“Well,” she says. “If all it takes is a translation into Tyra Banks, there may be hope for you yet.”

Darcy looks around for something else to throw, but there’s nothing close to hand. Instead, she bobs her head in Lucy’s direction with a sarcastic glare. Lucy smiles back angelically.

“Don’t you ever get, like, tired of it, though?” Darcy asks, and Lucy’s smile suddenly goes blank behind the eyes. “I mean, always being on your best behaviour. Always overthinking what other people think of you -”

The smile drops off Lucy’s face so fast Darcy thinks it breaks the sound barrier. She could swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees in ten seconds.

Lucy glares at the laptop for a long, chilly moment before she turns a haughty, challenging look on Darcy. “I do not have the luxury of airing my dirty laundry for the world to see.”

“So you’re just gonna fake it, forever?” Darcy asks, feeling a little sideswiped. This conversation has taken a turn, and she’s not totally sure she likes the direction it’s going now. “That’s stupid.”

“You may try that flawless line of reasoning on my father,” Lucy says coldly.

Darcy shrugs. “I mean, if you’ll pay for my plane ticket. Or, like, call him, ever.”

“You have no idea what it’s been like, the kind of pressure -” Lucy starts, her voice low, her stare intense under lowered brows, but Darcy cuts her off.

“What, you think just because I don’t care what other people think about me, that I don’t notice it? Yeah, I know most people don’t absolutely love it when you just say whatever and never shut up. Total shocker.”

“All the more reason to have a care what face you present to the world.”

Suddenly, Darcy’s irritated, with Lucy, with Lucy’s whole Hamlet act, with the whole stupid world. “Oh, get over yourself. Like I’ve never tried. Do you really think I wouldn’t love to just always know what I’m doing wrong before I do it and be able to turn it off?”

Lucy’s expression softens, subtly, at that. “Believe me when I say I do understand. You’re far from the only one who’s unacceptable to the world the way they are.”

“Who gets to decide what’s ‘acceptable’, anyway? Because I feel like we should find them and like, gag them and toss them in a basement somewhere.” Darcy shakes her head. “I don’t want to pretend I’m something I’m not just to impress some randos. Sooner or later, they always find out I’m, well, me, and then I’ve wasted a bunch of time I could’ve spent watching cat videos. With people who actually like me.”

Darcy’s aware that Lucy’s watching her, very intently, and shrugs again, suddenly embarrassed by how much personal garbage she’s just spewed at a near-stranger. Darcy Lewis’ Lack of Filter strikes again.

“So like…yeah,” she concludes, lamely.

The smile Lucy gives her is a weak imitation of her usual confidence.

“An admirable philosophy, Polonius,” she says, sounding just a little too wistful for the sarcasm to really bite.

“Oh, fuck you,” Darcy sighs, flopping back against the arm of the couch with her arms akimbo, huffing a stray curl out of her face. “Sorry we can’t all be practically perfect in every way.”

There’s a moment of unbelievably glassy silence.

“I’m far from perfect,” Lucy says, quietly, at last.

“Sure,” Darcy says. “I just don’t know it, because I’ve never seen the ‘real’ you. Because you won’t chill out around anybody. And then you’ll get mad and resentful that I don’t get the ‘real’ you and it’ll all end in tears.” She bobs her head back up so she can look Lucy in the face. “Or, you could stop treating your life like it’s a job interview, follow my lead, and dump all your messy, complicated feelings on somebody you’ve known for like a month with no warning.”

Lucy’s face doesn’t change, and Darcy, unable to stop her face from saying words even under the best of circumstances, adds, “Y’know. Like we’re friends.”

The look Lucy gives her is entirely unreadable. Darcy gives it her best effort for maybe ten seconds anyway, then gives up trying.

“Just a suggestion,” she says, as Lucy rises from the couch.

“It’s been a long day,” Lucy says, avoiding eye contact. “And tomorrow will be as well. I’d best turn in.”

“Coward,” Darcy calls after her, as she starts down the hall. “Don’t be afraid of the overshare!”

She considers getting up and grabbing the pug pillow to throw at Lucy again, but decides it seems like too much effort.

 …

 The next morning, Darcy catches Lucy in the kitchen before she leaves for class, which is unusual. Still, Darcy Lewis has never been one to look the proverbial gift horse in its proverbial gift mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night,” she says, as she pours coffee into her cocoa puffs. “If I was outta line, or stepped over some boundaries…you know.”

Lucy blinks at the bowl of bobbing pale-brown cereal in dark-brown coffee, but says nothing, just passes Darcy the milk so she can add it to her creation.

“I apologise, as well,” she says, at last, with a brief, bright, not-entirely-convincing smile. “Some measure of what you said…touched a nerve.”

“I figured,” Darcy says. “It’s what I do best. Touch nerves, get jobs I’m not qualified for, make killer playlists.”

She meets Lucy’s eyes, and they share a smile.

“I’m not… I don’t share myself the way you do,” Lucy says, at last, turning to the cupboards for a spoon to stir her coffee. “I don’t believe I could, or that I’d wish to. But…”

She pauses to take a long sip of her coffee, the spoon still in it. “This past year, I’ve learned a few things about myself that I…am having difficulty coming to terms with. Things I’m afraid have not provoked a positive response from those I’ve chosen or been obliged to share with. I – it helps, to present myself carefully, to know I have some choice in how others perceive me. To have some measure of control.” Lucy gives the coffee another stir, staring into its spiral. “To be certain they aren’t seeing – certain aspects of myself that I’d prefer not to exist.”

“Wait,” Darcy says, trying to shuffle all of those pieces into order in her mind. “You’re insecure about your appearance?”

Over the top of her coffee mug, Lucy skewers her with a glare.

“Yeah, okay, fair. I guess it was a shitty thing to say anyway.”

Lucy turns her stare down into her coffee. “Perhaps this does make me a coward.”

“What? No way,” Darcy says. “It’s smart. Just, like, as a sometimes thing. Did you miss the part where I said if I could pretend to be a normal person, I would?”

“You shouldn’t,” Lucy says. “If you could, you wouldn’t be Darcy.”

Darcy bites her bottom lip.

“Thanks,” she says. “I think.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucy says, smoothly, a mischievous smile starting to play around her lips. “Take it as a compliment.”

Darcy aims a kick in her direction, which misses by a mile, then settles down to eat her cereal experiment.

“Well, this is terrible,” she says, a few bites in.

“I honestly don’t know what you expected,” Lucy says.

 …

 Professor Doucheface isn’t at the front of the class one afternoon not long after that. The smiling woman who’s taken his place explains that he’s taken a leave of absence and will be back when he’s back, which might not be before the end of the semester.

Darcy cracks a bottle of wine as soon as she gets home and hauls Lucy out of her room to do a toast with her. And then do karaoke with her. She’s pretty sure Lucy’s big, smug grin is just her being happy for Darcy, but still. It’s nice to see her smile.

She sucks at karaoke, though. Doesn’t know any of the words.

 …

  When Jane turns up at the apartment, it’s Lucy who answers the door. Darcy’s in her room working very hard, thank you, on a presentation about the Euro crisis using ‘Call Me Maybe’ as a learning aid. So she can’t really be blamed if she doesn’t hear the first time Lucy knocks on her door. Or the second. Or the third.

When Darcy finally ventures forth on a quest for snackage, Jane and Lucy are both sitting in the living room, Jane holding forth about some science-y thing, complete with hand gestures, while Lucy looks fascinated and occasionally nods encouragingly. She’s either the best polite listener in the history of polite listeners, or she’s actually interested in this wormhole stuff.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into astrophysics,” Darcy says, when Jane pauses for breath, and both Jane and Lucy turn to look at her with identical guilty expressions. Darcy can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, you guys should see yourselves. You look like my mom’s dog when she shredded the cat’s catnip mouse. The cat loved it, though. She was trippin’ for hours.”

Now they’re both kind of looking blank. Jane shakes it off first. “I do actually need to talk to you, Darcy.”

“Hit me,” Darcy says, collapsing onto the couch beside her.

Jane doesn’t move, but her eyes dart in Lucy’s direction. “Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“Ah,” Lucy says, looking from Jane to Darcy and back again. “I have plenty of studying to do. I’ll be in my room.” She pushes herself up from the armchair, smoothing down her skirt – a super cute A-line that Darcy would never wear but that totally works on somebody as tall and bony as Lucy. “Thank you, Dr. Foster, I found our conversation most…enlightening.”

“Oh, please, call me Jane,” Jane says, standing up herself and sticking out her right hand. Lucy blinks at it for half a second before taking it and giving it a very professional shake, with a brilliant smile. Darcy can’t help but notice that the height difference between them is hilarious. She always forgets how tiny Jane is. “Always a pleasure to meet young people with an actual interest in my field.” The look Jane gives Darcy is a little too fond to be a glare.

“Hey, I have an actual interest in your field,” Darcy argues. “I’m very interested in the easy science credits it bagged me.”

“ ‘Easy’ science credits?” Jane says, in mock disbelief, as Lucy heads down the hallway. “I seem to recall somebody saying she refused to die for six college credits…”

Lucy’s bedroom door shuts with a solid thunk, and Jane waits a couple of minutes before turning back to Darcy. Minutes? Probably seconds. Minutes are always longer than Darcy thinks. Or shorter, depending on the day and whether people are talking. “I know I only met her once, but I thought your roommate was…shorter. And less British.”

“Oh yeah. Melissa. She totally flaked on me while you and I were out playing X-Files in the desert,” Darcy says. “Lucy’s doing an exchange…thing. So what’s up?”

“Do you have something lined up for after graduation?” Jane asks.

“Depends. Do you still want to pay me in college credits?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “No. I actually have a budget now, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D., but it’s been hell on wheels trying to get somebody cleared to come work for me. They want it to be all ‘need-to-know’. But they need to know!”

“What about Selvig?” Darcy asks. Her stomach chooses this unfortunate moment to remind her why she came out of her room in the first place, and she furiously thinks at it to be cool. She might have an actual job lined up if she plays her cards right, here. One where she can goof off for money and gorgeous men literally rain from the sky. No way she’s letting a little Oreo craving get between her and that.

Jane shakes her head. “There’s some mystery project the director’s apparently been courting him for. Even if he’d want to, he doesn’t have time to run around after me chasing storms.”

“Ooh, mystery project,” Darcy says. “That sounds prestigious. And expensive. D’you think he’s hiring?”

Jane gives her a flat look. “They won’t even tell me what it is. No way they’re letting you within a hundred feet of it.”

Darcy shrugs. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Just wanna know what my options are, in case I decide to play hardball.” She considers it a moment. Not so long ago, Darcy would’ve jumped – well, okay, not jumped, casually agreed to, nobody who’s built like Darcy does much jumping – at the opportunity. But not so long ago, Darcy had not had a business major for a roommate. Lucy’s taught her a thing or two about negotiating and knowing her worth. Pretty much all of which she’s throwing out the window right now, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. “How much can you pay me, anyway?”

Jane names a figure. Darcy chokes on her own spit.

“Do you need me to drop out and start now?” she asks, when she can breathe like a normal person again. “ ‘cause I can drop out and start now.”

Jane huffs a soft laugh. “Finish your degree. I’m sure I’ll burn through the last few S.H.I.E.L.D. lab techs who’re willing to put up with me, and the spot’ll be open for you to step into before you even take off the cap and gown.”

“How sure?” Darcy asks, because, well, she doesn’t want Lucy to have had to break her best job interview tips down into pieces of Tyra’s advice for nothing. “Do I get, like, something to sign? Anything in writing?”

Jane actually laughs this time. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t just call. Well, that and the possibility of wiretaps.” She reaches down by her feet for the brown canvas messenger bag Darcy hadn’t really paid much attention to. “There’s, uh, a formal offer…”

Her smile turns apologetic, and Darcy just has time to feel a wave of the ominouses build over her before Jane pulls out a stack of printer paper an inch and a half thick. “And, uh, a couple of non-disclosure agreements. Oh, and a background check. And another background check, except this one’s off the record, because it’s being done technically illegally by a defected Soviet spy.”

“You’re joking, right,” Darcy says.

Jane gives her a smile that’s half a wince, and a pen.

 …

 By the time Lucy pops back out of her room in search of dinner, Darcy’s wrist aches something fierce, to match the throb behind her eyes from all the tiny, tiny, extremely important print, and she’s pretty sure the index finger on her right hand is never going to be the same again. But none of that matters, because Darcy Lewis Has A Job.

“Right out of school!” she crows, shaking out her hand. “How about that, Mom? Oh, and, there’s science in poli-sci, so, like, it’s even using my major. Using half my major. Does that count?”

Lucy looks at her over the mug of tea she’s just poured herself. “For purposes of proving your parent wrong? Oh, absolutely.”

“What?” Darcy says, and then remembers Lucy’s life across the pond is a soap opera. “Oh, no, my mom just – she was worried. Poli-sci was my…third? Third major in two years. She really wanted me to make my mind up, or at least pick something that would guarantee I wouldn’t be moving back in with her after graduation. She’ll be so super proud.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, just blows softly across the surface of her tea and kind of stares into the middle distance.

“You know what this calls for?” Darcy says, before the buzz can get any more killed. “Champagne. Lots of champagne.”

Lucy focuses back on her, quirking an eyebrow up with a hint of a smirk. “Job offer or not, you still can’t afford champagne.”

“Nope,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’. “But I can afford fizzy wine, and I can’t tell the difference.”

 …

 “Gotta ask,” Darcy says, as they stand in the walk-in cooler, staring at the bottles of prosecco, “does your family really suck that much? Because I’m gonna feel like a real asshole for trying to make you phone your mom.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just studying the glass bottles on the shelf in front of her. Maybe it’s the coat (it’s a nice coat, really thick and heavy, as Darcy learned when she had to pick it up every time it fell off the hooks by the door), or the scarf, or maybe Lucy’s just naturally cold-blooded, but she hasn’t shivered yet. Darcy, on the other hand, wore a spring jacket and is regretting it.

“I wouldn’t say, ‘suck’,” Lucy says, at last, slowly.

“No, you’d say, like, ‘bollocks’ or something,” Darcy says, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Lucy’s face unfreezes, and she darts a bright grin in Darcy’s direction, though there’s still something sad around her eyes.

“I like you, Darcy,” she says. “But unfortunately, not everything is so simple as you like to think.”

Darcy shrugs, without taking her hands out of her pockets. “I dunno. Sometimes people just make things complicated for themselves.”

They spend another quiet moment studying the fizzy wine, before Darcy shakes out her hands with a puff of breath. “Okay, do you actually have an opinion on what we drink, or are you just trying to avoid talking to me? Because if it’s the second one, I’m picking the cheapest bottle and getting out of here. I’m freezing.”

“Oh,” Lucy says, like she forgot they were standing in a refrigerator, and then reaches up and grabs a bottle of prosecco that is pretty clearly not the cheapest bottle on the shelf. “Here. I’ll treat.”

Darcy watches her suspiciously. “I thought you were broke.”

“Not so broke that I’ll drink that barely-alcoholic swill you call fizzy wine, thank you,” Lucy says primly, and Darcy can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks,” she says, once they’re through the checkout and back out on the sidewalk, Lucy pressing the bag holding their prosecco into her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Lucy gives her a smile that’s just a little unsettling. “I should be thanking you, Darcy. You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Darcy squirms internally under the attention. “We’re roommates. We do roommate stuff. Nothing special.”

Lucy bobs her head back and forth, like she doesn’t agree but she won’t come right out and object. “You opened your home to me. You’ve shown me hospitality above and beyond what was required of you. I won’t forget it.”

Darcy shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, don’t mention it. But if I’m ever in London and need a place to crash -”

Lucy’s smile is brilliant. “Oh, I expect that if you’re ever in London, you’ll look me up. I’ll take you out for fish and chips and we can tour the Tower.”

“Haunted murder prison. Sounds like a blast,” Darcy says. “You better take me on that giant Ferris wheel, too. I promise not to barf on anybody this time.”

Lucy blinks at her. “ ‘This time’?”

 …

 Exam season hits them both hard. Darcy spends a lot of time in the coffee shop, loading up on espressos in a desperate bid to keep herself awake after the string of all-nighters she’s pulled. Lucy practically moves into the library. Darcy doesn’t see her except in the apartment doorway, once, when she’s grabbing some books for class, and even then it’s only for long enough to say ‘hi’ and then ‘bye’ again.

Jane calls about a week and a half, maybe two weeks after Darcy signs the unbearable stack of documents. For one horrifying second, Darcy thinks the ex-Soviet spy turned up some dreadful, sordid thing in her family history and she’s not getting the job after all. But Jane doesn’t even mention the job. She barely even says hello. “Have you heard from Erik? I’ve been trying to get in touch, but he’s not answering his phone. Or his emails.”

“You did say he’s working on some top-secret classified mystery thing,” Darcy points out. “If I had to sign that many NDAs, I bet they’re taking no chances on him blabbing.”

“I know, it’s just – it’s not like him,” Jane says, and her worry’s a little bit contagious, even through the phone. “Wouldn’t he have warned somebody if he was going to have to go dark? Warned me?”

“Jane. C’mon,” Darcy says. “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Darcy,” Jane says, shortly. “You were there when he told us about his friend.”

“Yeah, but S.H.I.E.L.D. did that,” Darcy counters. “The people who hired him. Who vanishes their own employees?”

“People like S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Jane says grimly. “Let me know if you hear from him, all right?”

“Well, if he’s not talking to you, the chances of him friending me on Facebook or whatever are pretty low.”

“Darcy,” Jane sighs, “just say, ‘Yes, Jane’.”

“Yes, Jane,” Darcy parrots into the phone.

 …

 It’s been almost another week, almost a week since the last time she saw Lucy. Darcy’s holed up in her favourite campus coffeeshop, nursing her fourth – fifth? – latte of the afternoon, when the TV silently playing old episodes of Friends cuts to a news break.

It’s a short clip, repeating over and over. Some dude who looks more like an extremely glam pop star in a ridiculous costume than anything, and at first, with the sound off, that’s what Darcy thinks it is. Some dude trying to get in on the Gaga-Katy Perry weird costume trend. Looks like he might be singing to a big crowd in an outdoor arena. He’s really givin’ it, if the face he’s making is anything to go by. Probably a high E or something. The blue spotlight they’ve got on him is not flattering.

It’s about time the weird costume trend took off for dudes, if you ask Darcy. If she has to see another candy-shaped bra, she’s gonna throw up in her mouth.

She’s turning back to her textbooks when something makes her look back up. Some nagging feeling in the back of her head, like there’s something she should be remembering. She’s seen a tacky horned helmet like that before. Somewhere.

The dude in the costume doesn’t really look like he’s singing anymore, either. The camera zooms shakily towards his face, and Darcy’s forced to admit that most pop stars don’t glower at their audiences quite so much. It’s a crappy, glitchy feed, and the moment the guy makes eye contact with the camera, it washes out in a haze of electric blue. But it’s still long enough for Darcy to get an eyeful of pale, pretty, and pointy.

She’s seen a face like that somewhere, too. Recently.

“Oh,” Darcy mutters into her latte, and finally settles on, “shit.”

 …

 “Hi, this is Dr. Jane Foster -”

“Jane?” Darcy tries not to yell into the phone. “Listen, I need to know how far you are into getting this bridge thing working -”

“I’m unable to come to the phone right now,” Jane’s voice continues, blithely, “but leave your name and number at the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

“Dammit, Jane, are you screening your calls? That’s a new level of paranoia, even for you,” Darcy says, over the beep. “Come on! It’s me! It’s Darcy! Pick up!”

Jane does not pick up. All Darcy gets is a dirty look from everyone within earshot. Including the librarian.

“Is there something I can help you find?” she asks, pointedly. Obviously she’s just trying to embarrass Darcy into shutting up and going away, because she looks a little startled when Darcy hangs up her phone and pockets it, stomping up to the desk like a woman on a mission. Which she is.

“Yeah, actually, there is,” Darcy says, leaning heavily against the counter and making aggressive eye contact with the librarian. “I need everything you’ve got on Norse mythology.”

The librarian looks startled for a moment, before her expression turns professional again. She turns to her computer, taps a few keys on her keyboard, glancing briefly up at Darcy. “Okay, so all our translations of the Eddas are checked out right now, but there are a few interpretive texts available, and some articles -”

“Don’t you have, like, a ‘Norse Mythology for Dummies’?” Darcy asks, and the librarian gives her a look that clearly says she, the librarian, knows Darcy is going to fail whatever class this is for.

“Try the education library,” she says.

 …

 The education library is full of children’s books. Darcy would be insulted, except that she finds the exact book Selvig had brought back to show her and Jane, wedged on a shelf between a fat picture book on Greek mythology and the gold spine of Egyptology. Darcy pauses a moment to let a flood of fond memories pass over her – hey, any book that was shiny gold and had a big plastic gem stuck in the front cover was the coolest ever when you were, like, twelve – before pulling out the book on Norse mythology and finding herself a table. Thankfully, the furniture is all scaled for adult-sized people.

Darcy slams the book open, flipping past the sections on Yggdrasil and the nine realms, pausing briefly on the pages about Thor, before she finally finds what she was looking for. The illustration’s…weasellier-looking than she remembers, the face way pointier, but that is definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the helmet she’d just seen on TV.

Darcy shakes her head, turning her attention to the text that goes with the image. The book’s laid out more like an encyclopedia than a storybook, which is good, because right now Darcy just needs as much information as possible in as little time as possible.

She’s just about finished reading the section when her phone rings. It’s Jane, sounding almost frantic. “Darcy! What’s going on, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Darcy says, and Jane lets out a sigh that’s one part relief, two parts frustration.

“Then what was the panicky phone message about?”

“Panicky? On what planet?”

“Darcy, you were already talking when the recording started, and you just kept yelling at me to pick up. I thought you were being abducted.”

Darcy thinks back to the phone call, and is forced to admit Jane has a point. “I’m okay,” she says. “Aside from the part where I might be sharing an apartment with a homicidal Norse god.”

Jane’s end of the line goes dead silent.

“Jane?” Darcy asks.

“No,” Jane says, and then, like she’s warming up, “No, the bridge still isn’t working, they couldn’t -”

“Jane,” Darcy repeats, interrupting before Jane can really get going. “Checked the news lately?”

She can almost hear Jane deflate through the phone.

“Why wouldn’t he have contacted me?” she says, in this terrible small voice that Darcy feels a wash of secondhand embarrassment just listening to. “If he could get through, why not -”

“Jane,” Darcy says, a third time. “Focus.”

Jane seems to remember she has an audience. She clears her throat, dropping the pitch of her voice. Darcy can picture her, easily, shutting her eyes and shaking her head as she pulls herself together. “What do you mean, sharing an apartment?”

“I mean, how much did you tell Lucy about generating Einstein-Rosen bridges?” Darcy says. “Also, how loud were we talking about Selvig’s big break?”

“Not – I mostly kept to the theory, you know I signed a few non-disclosures of my own – Darcy, what -”

“I’m just asking,” Darcy says, drumming her fingers against the little weaselly illustration. “Because from what I’ve been reading, people tend to just, like, tell Loki stuff if he asks while he’s shapeshifted into a woman.”

There’s another, longer pause.

“No,” Jane says, again.

Darcy nods, before remembering Jane can’t see her. “Kinda think so. I know I should’ve been worried when she turned up so conveniently after Melissa flaked, but I just thought she was gonna skin me and wear my face over her face or something like that.”

Jane pauses again before she speaks, but it doesn’t somehow sound so heavy. “Did I know how graphic your imagination was when I first hired you?”

“Only applicant, remember?” Darcy says. “Look, it all lines up. The family drama, the my brother spent some time here and he believes it did him a world of good, the accent, the way she keeps just disappearing at really weird times for hours or days at a time – I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen her in a classroom or with a textbook – and she doesn’t know anything about music. Or get cold like a normal person, and there’s something here about…frost giants? Also, one of his nicknames is ‘Sky-Walker’, and apparently, in like Norwegian, that ‘oh’ in his name should be an ‘oo’ -”

“Darcy,” Jane says, firmly. “Breathe.”

“I am totally breathing,” Darcy protests. “Look, after you offered me the job, she bought us a bottle of sparkling wine and thanked me really cryptically and I basically haven’t seen her since. And in that time, Selvig’s dropped off the map, and a supervillain calling himself Loki who could be her fraternal twin pops up and starts chewing German scenery in a helmet that looks exactly like the one in this book.” Darcy sits back in her chair, bouncing off the back. “Also, I told her about this professor who was a total pain in my ass, and like two weeks later he was on leave for ‘undisclosed reasons’ and he still hasn’t come back.”

“This…could all be a coincidence,” Jane says, lamely.

“Oh yeah. Same way that weird homeless guy you kept hitting with your car showing up inside that storm was all a coincidence,” Darcy says. “Oh, my god. I’ve been watching ANTM highlights with a supervillain.”

“Okay, stay calm,” Jane says, in a voice that does absolutely nothing to make Darcy feel any more calm. “Does she know you know?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even put it together until, like, twenty minutes ago. God! I ate her chocolate-chip cookies!”

“Is she with you? Do you think you’re in any immediate danger?” Jane asks, being infuriatingly reasonable for somebody who was helpless with heartbreak not five minutes ago.

“No,” Darcy admits. “I don’t think so. Oh, shit!”

“What?” Jane gasps.

Darcy groans. “Left my taser at the apartment.”

 …

 Darcy stays late at the coffee shop, reluctant to go back to the apartment. Sure, she hasn’t seen Lucy in weeks and has no reason to think that’s going to suddenly change. And sure, nothing she’s read makes it sound like the god who might be her roommate can read minds. There’s no way, even if she did run into Lucy, that Lucy would be able to tell that Darcy knows.

Except for the part where she’s the literal god (goddess?) of lies and Darcy’s a mediocre actress at best. Yep. No way she’s gonna notice anything’s different. Or anything.

Fuck. Darcy is so, so screwed.

When the coffee shop closes and kicks her out, Darcy migrates to the library. When the library closes and kicks her out, Darcy complains very loudly that they aren’t staying open 24/7 for exam season. Her one-woman protest has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Darcy stands on the sidewalk outside the library doors, shivering in the chilly night air, and wonders if one of her friends would let her crash at their place overnight. She considers it for a minute before realizing that just figuring out how to ask would probably end up making things even more complicated than they already are.

Finally, Darcy decides she’s cold enough, tired enough, and grumpy enough to take her chances heading back to the apartment. So what if Lucy’s there? So is her taser.

“Tased a Norse god once,” Darcy mutters, under her breath, as she slouches determinedly towards the bus depot, hoping they haven’t stopped running for the night as well. “Can do it again.”

By the time she gets back to the apartment, Darcy’s so wound up that she jumps involuntarily when she opens the door. But there’s nothing to freak out about. Lucy’s coat isn’t hanging on the hooks by the door, which is a sure sign that she’s still out. Darcy wonders, for half a second, where she is if the library’s closed, and then feels incredibly stupid.

“Supervillainy. Right,” she says, into the empty apartment, tossing her coat in the general direction of the hooks. She double-checks the lock on the apartment door, brushes her teeth and washes her face, and then very carefully locks herself in her bedroom. After a moment’s consideration, she wedges her deskchair under the handle, too.

It takes Darcy a very long time to fall asleep.

 …

 She’s woken at some ungodly hour by a crash that has her leaping up out of bed, half-convinced somebody’s trying to break down her door. It takes Darcy a moment to boot her brain up out of sleep mode and realise it was just the chair falling over.

 …

 It takes another panicked phone call from Jane before Darcy remembers she was supposed to check in when she got home last night. She only just manages to talk Jane down from calling in S.H.I.E.L.D., which might seem a little crazy at first blush, but makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Yeah, okay, so maybe Darcy’s been living with the Big Bad of the week, but she doesn’t actually know that for sure, and it’s not like she has any useful information about any nefarious plans, and said Big Bad hasn’t even been around lately, and – look, it just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Darcy’s keeping an eye on the news, and it looks like they’ve got it under control. They don’t need Jane and Darcy butting in. They’re handling it.

Plus, she really, really doesn’t want her iPod confiscated again.

Darcy’s been walking on eggshells all day, jumping at every little noise, before she finally decides she’s done. She’s over it. Either her roommate is a homicidal extraterrestrial, or she isn’t. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and wear her skin like a – okay, she’s overusing that one. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and use her skull as a drinking horn or whatever, or she isn’t. And either way, there’s not a whole lot Darcy can do about it. So worrying about it like this is pointless.

What would be less pointless would be finding out 1) whether Lucy really is secretly an evil alien god, and 2) if she is, what to do about it.

 …

 To: lucy

From: darcy

house rule #3: if ur a supervillian u have 2 tell me.

 Read at 5:47 PM

 …

 It isn’t even a full day later that the Chitauri attack New York.

 …

 Darcy gets home from the library late, on purpose, though she doesn’t really expect to find Lucy there after the day’s top news stories. The apartment’s dark when she swings the door open, and gets darker when she slams the door behind her, blocking out the light from the hall.

Darcy slouches into the kitchen without turning on a light, throwing open the fridge instead. After staring blankly into its cold white glow for what feels like half an hour but is most likely less than five minutes, and still not having the secrets of the universe or of what she wants to eat revealed unto her, she shuts the door again and turns toward the hall and her bedroom.

“Darcy.”

Darcy is not too ashamed to admit that she screams like a little girl. She jumps backwards, fumbling for her taser, at the sound of a voice from the pitch-dark mouth of the hall.

The hall light blooms to life, revealing Lucy standing by the lightswitch. Under the circumstances, this is not actually a reassuring sight.

“Holy shit, you scared the pee out of me,” Darcy gasps, and Lucy’s eyes crinkle up at the corners in an apologetic smile. “Don’t lurk dramatically in the shadows like that, you’re gonna give somebody a heart attack.”

“I was waiting for you,” Lucy says, which is also not very reassuring, under the circumstances. Darcy’s questing fingers find her taser tucked into the pocket of her jacket, and close over it. “I wanted to talk.”

“You could’ve just texted me back,” Darcy points out.

“In person,” Lucy says.

“Great,” Darcy’s traitor mouth says. “Great, nothing about that sounds unnecessarily ominous, or anything.”

Lucy huffs a soft laugh, turning her face away from Darcy for a moment. Darcy can’t read her expression through the shadows the hall light casts over her eyes and the curtain of dark hair that falls in front of her face.

“I have the feeling,” she says, her eyes flicking in Darcy’s direction, bright even in shadow, “that you suspect I’m keeping something from you.”

“What?” Darcy laughs, nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“Possibly the fact that you’re right.” Lucy’s voice is wry, her mouth twisted in a smile, but all Darcy can see in her eyes is fear. “Darcy…I’ve lied to you.”

So this is happening. Darcy makes herself breathe at a normal human person rate. All things considered, she feels like she’s doing pretty good keeping her cool here. Like, sure, okay, she was totally chill around Thor, but she also never really got the vibe that he might stab her if she looked at him funny. And, as far as Darcy knows, he never actually has stabbed anybody for looking at him funny. So there’s that.

Lucy takes a deep breath, meeting Darcy’s eyes with an expression half steely resolve, half unspoken regret. “I’m not really a business student.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, her heart hammering in her throat, fingers curling tighter around the reassuring shape of the taser in her pocket. “I know.”

Lucy’s head snaps up, eyes going wide. “You know? But – I was so careful -”

Darcy makes a face. “Were you, though?”

Lucy – Loki? - looks away again, with a soft huff that’s almost a laugh. “No. I suppose I wasn’t.” There’s that strange wistfulness in her voice again as she says, “I did everything – everything – to try to impress my father, became everything he wanted, and it was never enough. I suppose…deep down, I wanted someone to see through the lie. To know. And not to care. Who – and what – I truly am.”

She turns back to Darcy, her smile wide and white and, for once, purely and genuinely happy.

“I’m a thespian,” she says.

Darcy blinks at her.

“Sorry, run that one by me again,” she says, sticking her pinkie into her ear and giving it a good wiggle.

Lucy’s still grinning ear to ear. “I’ve changed my major. You were right, Darcy. ‘To thine own self be true’. I’ve spent my life living for other people, but I have to live with the choices I make. It’s time I did something for myself.”

“So you’re…going into theatre,” Darcy says, slowly, still trying to catch up.

“Have gone into theatre,” Lucy says. “I changed my major after that night, when we talked. I’m in theatre arts now. I’m going to be an actress.”

“I,” Darcy says, and realizes that, for the first time in a very long time, she, Darcy Lewis, is at a loss for words. “Uh.”

Lucy’s expression doesn’t really change, but her jaw sets in trembling defiance. “You think I’m foolish.”

“What? No, I was just expecting something a little more mythological.”

Lucy frowns at her, Darcy’s perceived rejection apparently forgotten in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Darcy blinks a few more times, and then manages, “Congratulations, though. You’re the most dramatic person I know, it’s a perfect fit.”

“Well, that’s still a more positive response than my father had when he learned of my intentions to drop business school,” Lucy says, her eyes shining, but some genuine humour in the quirk of her mouth. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’d’ve found the courage without you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Wow,” Darcy says, suddenly feeling extremely guilty about suspecting her of being an alien supervillain. “Uh, thanks.”

Lucy’s smile falters, and she looks down at her feet. “Now, though, I suppose I shall have to break the news to my family. With the semester over, at least they can’t threaten to cut me off again.”

“Well,” Darcy manages, mentally shoving her thoughts off the rail they’d been on and onto a parallel set of tracks. “You already seem happier. If your family really cares about you, they’ll see that and be happy for you too.”

“My theatre final is a one-act stageplay,” Lucy says. “It’s tomorrow night at the campus theatre. I’d like for you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Darcy says.

  …

 The play is…all right. As plays go. It’s all about adults having Serious Conversations, which is so not Darcy’s scene. Give her elaborate costumes and musical numbers any day.

Lucy’s good, though. Especially compared to some of the other actors on the stage. She has a real talent, able to go from weepy to icy on a dime.

Darcy tells her as much after the curtain closes, when she brings a bundle of grocery-store chrysanthemums up to the stage in congratulations. Lucy’s smile practically glows. She’s totally in her element, and Darcy kind of feels like anybody’d be stupid to try to keep her away from the stage.

She goes with Lucy to the airport, when Lucy leaves a few days later. It’s kind of bittersweet, and Darcy can’t totally deny getting a little misty as they swap contact details outside of the lineup for international security.

“You better mail me a London Bridge keychain,” Darcy says, and Lucy laughs.

“Done.” She looks over towards the line winding slowly through the security checkpoint, then glances at the time on her phone, before turning back to Darcy. “Darcy, I need to thank you again.” She musters up a watery smile. “I know I was something of a handful. But you took me as I came, tried to make me feel welcome in an unfamiliar place, drew me out of myself, treated me as a friend… I won’t forget that. I won’t forget you.”

“Hey, I’m not going to forget you either,” Darcy says, with 100% unpasteurized honesty. “You definitely made my last semester interesting.” She pauses to give it 0.2 seconds of thought, and then decides, yeah. “It was fun.”

Lucy’s smile grows wider, more confident. “ ‘Interesting’ is certainly the word. But…yes. It was fun.”

She casts one more glance over at the security lineup, before she says, “You know, you’ll probably laugh. But for a short while there, I was afraid that you might be involved in the attack on New York.”

Darcy manages not to choke on her own spit, but it’s a near miss. “Say what?”

Lucy shrugs. “You’d always make these cryptic comments about aliens and how terribly the government treated you and whatnot, and then hastily change the subject if I pressed you. And you and your Dr. Foster were both so secretive about her work, but I knew it was in regards to wormholes to other galaxies – and that your Dr. Foster apparently regularly broke the law and had little to no regard for human life, if the stories about the van were anything to go by. What was I meant to think when I didn’t see you for a week and then the news was suddenly full of reports of a wormhole opened in New York to let an alien invasion force through?”

Darcy considers this for a moment.

“Also,” Lucy adds, “you put coffee in your cocoa puffs, which is not the act of a sane and rational human being.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Darcy says.

Lucy does that extremely irritating eyebrow thing that means she doesn’t believe that for a minute.

Darcy decides to let it slide. “You actually thought I helped organize an alien invasion? I can’t even organize my iTunes library.”

Lucy shrugs. “Every good mad scientist needs an Igor.”

Darcy shoves her, hard, in the arm, and Lucy bursts into laughter.

They push back and forth for a bit before Lucy looks at her phone again, and grimaces. “I’ve only got an hour. I should go.”

“Right,” Darcy says. “Well, if I’m ever in London…”

Lucy nods. “If you’re ever in London.”

Darcy’s not sure who starts it. All she knows is that all of a sudden she and Lucy are hugging, her face kind of awkwardly mashed against Lucy’s chest. Good grief, she’s tall.

The hug only lasts a second or two, and then Lucy is off, dragging her rolling carry-on behind her, glancing back only once to wave goodbye.

Darcy flashes her the peace sign, and watches her as she goes through a few turns of the slow-moving security line.

Then she feels like it’s getting kind of weird, and wanders off to find a Starbucks.

 …

 …

 some time later

 “Darcy, you don’t – I can’t afford for you to have your own intern! I can barely afford you!”

“It’s okay,” Darcy says, for like the fourteen millionth time. “Ian’s working for experience. Besides, he’s a friend. Friend of a friend.”

Jane sighs, shaking her head.

“So long as I don’t have to pay him,” she says. “And so long as he’s not – I don’t know, secretly a spy or a supervillain in disguise trying to steal or sabotage my research.”

Darcy snorts.

“Please,” she says. “If one of my friends was secretly a supervillain, I would definitely know.”

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

a post about the Democratic primary, which I did not enjoy writing

I haven’t talked about the Democratic primary here for a couple of reasons. I think that wrapping our minds about what Trump is doing in power – and what he and his backers did to get him that power – is a lot more important than any campaign tactic his eventual Democratic opponent can use, or even who the Democratic candidate is. I don’t even know who I’ll be voting for myself.

What I do know is that above all other issues, I’ll be voting on democratic values. That includes more conventional voting rights and election integrity issues that we’re used to discussing in American politics. It’s also about pounding the brakes on democratic backsliding at home, and giving institutional and moral support to people around the world who want the same. If we make enough progress on this issue, we can make enormous strides on other progressive priorities. If we don’t turn back this authoritarian tide, we will lose on everything else.  

And on my #1 issue, I’ve developed serious concerns about Senator Bernie Sanders.

This is a long post because it’s an attempt to articulate an uncomfortable pattern which requires a lot of context, but I hope you’ll take the time to read it, so let me assure you of a few things it’s not:

Concerns about Sanders seem to be collapsed into “is he as extreme and irrational a leftist as Trump is a right-winger” or “is he too kooky to win an election.” I’m not doing either of those. There is an argument out there that Sanders is too far to the left on policy. I’m … really not the person to do that argument justice. There’s an argument that, whether or not you like his policies, he would have a harder time winning a national election in a year that Democrats cannot afford any more disadvantages. I think this election really is going to be won or lost by the voters choosing to accept or reject Trumpistani autocracy, but it’s entirely responsible to consider that kind of thing. I have a substantive concern about Bernie Sanders, not because I oppose progressives but because I am a progressive, and I don’t pretend to have any insight into how it might affect his chances of winning a general election.

I don’t care a whole lot about what Senator Sanders feels in his heart or whatever. I tend to think this is more about being misguided than malicious, but that’s not make or break for the pattern I’m trying to describe.

I’m not trying to endorse someone else by process of elimination; like I said, I haven’t decided yet who I’m voting for myself.

I’m old enough to remember four years ago when only a few nerds had ever heard of superdelegates. Superdelegates, or unpledged delegates, are party activists and officials who get to vote at the convention along with the pledged delegates who are assigned in the state primary contests. They’re the backup plan put in place after the clusterfuck of 1968. We also got better at avoiding clusterfucks after 1968, so they weren’t an issue. Until 2016, when Sanders decided they were an issue for him because he was going to lose the old-fashioned way, and “superdelegates” were a convenient boogeyman he could use to turn progressives against the Democratic party. Then his campaign successfully talked itself into believing that this conspiracy theory about superdelegates going against the voters, so they started arguing that the superdelegates should take the nomination away from the winner and give it to him. This was always a pipe dream, but it did inspire Sanders supporters to dox a bunch of counterrevolutionary elected officials and progressive activists. Remember, he’s a member of the Senate Democratic caucus, so he’s talking all this shit as a superdelegate.

The sore losering only helped Donald Trump and his Russian backers, but it was delegitimizing enough that the Democratic National Committee felt pressured to revamp the presidential nomination process. Thus, a “unity” committee was formed to placate the feelings of those who were implacably infuriated that the person with the most votes had won the nomination. (The Republicans, whose party processes had allowed an unqualified, unstable, ideologically unreliable foreign asset to take over, made no such alterations.) The big concession on superdelegates is that they don’t vote on the first ballot. If someone wins a majority, then they win the nomination. If nobody gets a majority, then there’s a second vote where the pledged delegates are released and the superdelegates also get a say.

Presumably because pro-Sanders activists were so instrumental in drafting the new rules, they were all set to start gaming those rules before voting began. In early January, when it was assumed that former Vice President Biden would win more delegates than anyone else but come up short of a majority, groups supporting Sanders floated the idea that Warren’s delegates should be ready to join Sanders, or vice versa. The reasoning was that a vote for Warren or Sanders should be considered a vote for what they considered the relatively progressive wing of the Democratic party, and therefore pooling the two candidate’s votes together would represent the will of the electorate. Six weeks later, with Sanders having eked out a plurality in a few early states – more delegates than anyone else, but nowhere near a majority, and losing the popular vote – he’s out here warning that it would be very, very bad for everybody if the person who wins the plurality isn’t guaranteed to win the nomination. If 66% of voters split between two “establishment” candidates, well, that 34% who voted for the “anti-establishment” Sanders better get their way, or the party gets it!1

Sanders representatives also insisted states be allowed to keep holding undemocratic caucuses – until he was outplayed in the Iowa delegate count, at which point they realized the establishment $hills had been right about voter suppression being bad.

Look, real talk, small-d democracy is about trying to do what the voters want. If Sanders stays exactly where he is in the polls – winning a plurality of delegates with only about 1/3 of the voters – he will be getting a lot less support than he did in 2016. When he lost by a whopping 12-point margin, despite being propped up by the Kremlin, the Koch brothers, and thousands of years of patriarchy. If these trends hold (and they might not!) Democratic voters, who are the voters most likely to support his policies, do not want him. So – and I’m editorializing a little bit in this final assessment – spare me.

America is a big country and the Democratic Party is a broad coalition. There are going to be good arguments for and against a lot of different ways to pick a presidential nominee, but a key part of doing it as fairly as possible is to choose the rules beforehand and then stick to them. Campaigns making the best case for their candidate isn’t a bad thing, and a politician being able to change their mind is a good thing. But Sanders whips his supporters up with sweeping claims about the legitimacy of the process – until the opposite claim looks like it might be advantageous to him, at which point his campaign completely reverses itself on whether or not the rules of the election are fair. This is not acceptable. We cannot be playing this game when we are trying to defend the legitimacy of democracy itself against the most powerful person in the world.

On its own, I’d find that frustrating. But once a frustration starts overlapping with a genuine national security issue, it stops being a frustration and starts being a serious concern.

Senator Sanders was informed a month before the Nevada caucuses that the Russian government was supporting his campaign. Again. We still don’t know what kind of support they were giving him, though it’s probably more or less what they were doing in 2016 – pushing propaganda and making it harder for people to have productive discussions about the primary. He didn’t say anything about it, except to obliquely reference Russian trolls when he was challenged on the debate stage about some of his supporters being abusive online. (We’ll come back to that one.)

When this story broke, as it clearly would, Sanders reacted by attacking the newspaper. He claimed that the briefing his campaign received was classified, which a) it is unlikely to have been properly classified, which he would’ve known if he’d tried to work out a way to go public and b) didn’t stop him from using some of that information to his advantage during a debate. His campaign went around crowing about these great victories where he squeaked out pluralities knowing that those victories were tainted by a foreign government helping him and/or sabotaging his competitors. (Meanwhile, these competitors were not even told that they were at risk.)

He responded similarly to the Russian support he received in 2016. He failed to educate his supporters about the seriousness of the attack as it was happening. When asked later, he begrudgingly admitted to having known about it, falsely claimed to have tried to alert the Clinton campaign, and attempted to deflect criticism by literally blaming the victim. Admitting that he lost despite benefiting from the criminal sabotage of his opponent, rather than because he was the victim of some nefarious party establishment conspiracy, would have damaged the story he tells voters and been a blow to his ego.

Because he chose to deflect rather than face the issue, he has never dealt with the ways that the ways that the Russian attack probably did poison his movement. Nobody else has really wanted to deal with it either, so I’ll stipulate that this is my opinion, but I think it makes sense.

There is a qualitative difference between what Sanders tries to communicate to people and what his supporters do in response. I do not believe that Sanders wanted his supporters to vote for Trump, stay home, or discourage others from voting in 2016. I do not believe he wanted progressive organizers to be inundated with death threats. I do not think he wants people like anti-racist filmmaker Ava DuVernay or Parkland parent Fred Guttenberg to be swarmed with abuse online. I sincerely believe that if you hooked Sanders up to a lie detector, he would say that’s bad stuff and he doesn’t want any of it, and I am not inclined to be overly generous to Senator Sanders.

And yet it keeps happening, and it can’t just be blamed on Russian bots. Real people physically showed up in Philadelphia to heckle speakers at the convention in 2016. Abusive phone calls to perceived establishment enemies of Sanders really do slow down after he explicitly says he doesn’t want people to do that – which means that he dissuaded real people, who started down that ugly path because they thought it was what he wanted. There is an observable mismatch between what is being said and what is being heard. Something is jamming the signal.

Jamming the signal, incidentally, requires exactly the kind of stuff that troll farms do best. Post “edgy” guillotine memes and see who bites. Flood brutal criticism of mainstream Democrats with applause. When ostensible leftists use their independent platforms to spread disinformation or even just nastiness, toss a few coins in their Patreon – they don’t have to know they’re working for you, they just have to learn that pushing the envelope is profitable. Shout down even mild criticism by spamming it with garbage, so that skeptics withdraw or become defensive, while supporters internalize the idea that abuse is an acceptable response to dissent. Work hard enough to desensitize a campaign to that kind of behavior, and you might even get it to put a bunch of spiteful trolls in charge.

This is a theory, but I think it is the most likely theory. I certainly think it’s more persuasive than the alternatives, which are “those intelligence and disinformation professionals have spent the last few years shouting into the void and having no discernible effects on target populations, and also, all these people who say they’ve been hit with the exact type of toxicity that disinformation effort seems designed to provoke are actually all hallucinating and/or lying because the unbelievers of The Establishment(TM) are all conspiring to take Bernie down” and “this Russia thing is a fake news Democrat deep state witch hunt.”

I’m not saying I think Bernie Sanders is a Russian asset. I’m saying that the Russians seem to think he’s an asset to them.

The Sanders campaign has a complicated problem on its hands, and I don’t know what they should do about it. But it isn’t enough for Sanders to say “I don’t care who Putin is supporting.” It is his job as a United States senator who swore an oath to protect and defend the constitution to care about who Putin is supporting. It is his job as a presidential candidate to care enough to ask why Putin is supporting him. Even if he doesn’t care morally, he has to care politically, because plenty of voters care, and if he can’t give us an explanation we’re going to start trying to figure it out for ourselves.

Which makes it time to stop ducking the ugly question: why is Senator Sanders useful to people who are against everything he stands for?

Maybe, as the press and the Bloomberg campaign seem to think, whoever’s designing this strategy thinks Sanders is the most likely to lose to Trump, so of course they prefer him over the stronger competition. I hope they’re right. It would certainly be comforting to think that Trump’s Russian backers think we’re going to have a free and fair election based on how voters feel about the nominees, because it would mean they’re not relying on their ability to hack state boards of elections. And it would be comforting because the other possibilities get pretty depressing. Unfortunately, the Kremlin whisperers putting out this comforting explanation were also quite certain that the Russian government was just trying to cause chaos and didn’t have a preferred candidate in 2016 (they did), the Russian government only supported Trump because they hated Hillary Clinton (she’s not running and they’re still at it), that the propaganda campaign couldn’t have had an impact (it did), that the Russian government would never have attacked actual voting infrastructure because norms or whatever (lol) …. the mind-readers turn out to be big on the wishful thinking, is what I’m saying here.

Maybe it’s just a narrow convergence of policy. Sanders was one of only a small handful of legislators who voted against the Magnitsky sanctions that the Russian government is desperate to overturn. He failed to support further sanctions on Russia for the 2016 election interference – again, interference which helped his campaign. He’s called for neutralizing NATO against Russian aggression by letting Russia join. From the Russian government’s perspective, that’s as good as destroying it like Trump has been trying to help them do. Maybe those things are enough. I think those are bad positions and he should have to explain them. But he seems less committed to those things than Trump, who’s spent three years failing to deliver.

If four years of the Trump show have taught us anything, it’s that you can’t just write off the tinfoil hat conspiracy stuff; you have to acknowledge it and explain why it’s unlikely. So yes, it is theoretically possible that Russian intelligence believes they have some leverage over Sanders, either to manipulate him or to kneecap him at a moment they think is most advantageous to Trump. That doesn’t mean Senator Sanders has done anything wrong. It just means that there’s a bit of footage from when he visited the Soviet Union back in the day, and they might think they can use it to make a damaging deep fake. Personally, I think that’s pretty unlikely to be the motive here, because the cost-benefit analysis seems pretty thin, but we’re just trying to take a clear-eyed inventory about what’s possible.

A few hours after the Post broke the news about the Russian efforts to help him, his official Twitter account posted this:

I've got news for the Republican establishment. I've got news for the Democratic establishment. They can't stop us.

If you’ve been paying a bit of attention to Sanders you’re probably not too startled by that comment, which is exactly the problem. In a few short words, it boosts some of the most insidious narratives that pro-Trump propagandists have also been pushing over the past few years. It’s framed as a belligerent defiance of “party establishments” - AKA, those same American institutions that we know our adversaries want to destroy. It sets up a nihilistic false equivalence between the Democratic and Republican parties. In this little story, it’s Sanders up against shadowy forces and their conspiracy against him – he’s the real victim here, but also the center of the universe. (Sound like anyone else the Russian troll farms like?)

This tweet may or may not have been in direct response to the Washington Post’s breaking the story about Russian intelligence helping his campaign again, but the timing sure looks like a great American newspaper was being lumped in with the big, spooky “establishment” trying to “stop” Sanders. (A week and a half later, he’s still sore at the Post about something.) That, too, would fit a disturbing pattern of Sanders world’s relationship with critical press, or even with criticism in general. While all this was going on, there was a Daily Beast story about the kind of alarming behavior that seems to keep happening in pro-Sanders circles. A low-level staffer was running a gross Twitter feed that reflected badly on the campaign. The campaign responded to the story by taking out the trash, but supporters responded to the story by swarming the reporter and sharing pictures of his home address. This wasn’t surprising. If you dip into Democratic-leaning podcasts or cable news shows, it’s really common to hear people preface any criticism of Sanders with a semi-jokey “don’t yell at me on Twitter, guys!” or respond to someone else’s criticism with a rueful “RIP your menchies [Twitter inbox].” Journalists and political commentators know to expect disproportionate retribution when they criticize the Dear Leader. (Sound like anyone else the Russian troll farms like?)

Maybe you’re the kind of person who likes to give the benefit of the doubt. Couldn’t all that be  #ActuallyAboutEthicsInJournalism? I suppose a good test would be: what’s the response to negative feedback from a group of people, not just an individual who can be intimidated? And the answer is: conspiracy! Paid Protesters! Fake news, folks! That is not progressive, it is not healthy for our politics, and it’s exactly the kind of behavior that autocratic regimes around the world are always trying to normalize. Democrats, and all other small-d democrats, cannot start rewarding it.

That’s the context for this: Sanders has a long track record of defending authoritarian governments which call themselves socialist, communist, or otherwise leftist. Of course, authoritarian governments are more like gangster kleptocracies than “socialism” as Sanders sees it, but he just keeps rejecting opportunities to walk it back.

Too many progressive commentators with platforms have shrugged this off as some kooky Cold War thing that the media is blowing out of proportion, but it’s not just uptight Wall Street Journal opinion writers pushing back. A lot of Americans are Americans because their families ran for their lives from exactly these regimes. Five years of Latin American immigrants being Donald Trump’s favorite target, now we’re going to make people who fled Castro’s Cuba or Chavez’s Venezuela eat this shit sandwich? Mayor Pete Buttigieg was the first openly gay person running for the US presidency; was he supposed to add a bit in his stump speech about whether a dubious “literacy program” would help him in a concentration camp? The world is a complicated place where American leaders have to make hard decisions and don’t always get to work with nice people. That’s no excuse to be casual about rubbing salt in raw wounds.

I haven’t spent the past three years angry that Donald Trump fluffs up dictators because I’m looking for excuses to hate Donald Trump. Really, I’m good there. I’m angry about it because democracies are good and dictatorships are bad. When the American president is clear on that point, it really can make the lift just a little bit lighter for activists and freedom fighters and oppressed people doing the hard work of citizenship all over the world; when the American president fails to speak that truth, their work gets a little bit harder. I think their work is hard enough already.

You know that cliché about “Mussolini made the trains run on time”? It’s fascist propaganda. “Sure he locked up dissidents and inspired Hitler, but Infrastructure Week was a real success!” And he fucking didn’t even, because of course he didn’t, he was busy murdering everyone who could burst his narcissistic bubble. The Italian fascist regime polished up a few tourist-friendly routes and boasted to privileged visitors about how the trains were running on time. Then those visitors would go home with an innocuous sound bite to sanitize a brutal regime. Look, Prince Mohammad is letting women drive [and imprisoning the activists who made that a winning issue for him]! Sure, Putin is a heavy-handed old KGB guy, but he’s cracking down on corruption [as an excuse to imprison critics]. I’m not defending Castro, but hey, literacy program. Look, I’ve been to the Soviet Union, the bread lines didn’t look too bad on my guided tour!

Maybe the big money donors behind this Russian intelligence super PAC think Sanders will be susceptible to manipulation by their authoritarian regime because he keeps saying that he’s susceptible to manipulation by authoritarian regimes.

When someone seeking the United States presidency says that? Believe them.

I’m not saying Sanders is an aspiring dictator like Trump. I mean, I could be wrong, but that’s not my concern. A lot of politics is made up of civic habits. If we validate these tactics, we make bad habits that soften us up for a smart, focused Trump to come along in four or eight years. We can’t afford leadership that doesn’t understand, on a gut level, why those bad habits are dangerous.2

I’m not saying he’s the only flawed candidate on this issue, but he troubles me more than any candidate with even a slim path to the nomination. Representative Tulsi Gabbard is an exponentially more dangerous character – or at least she would be, if she somehow pulled ahead of “none of the above.” I have serious issues with former NYC mayor Mike Bloomberg; I’m less concerned about those issues because people can criticize Bloomberg without anyone mocking them for having been raped.

Because I think democracy is the most important issue on the ballot, I’m not going to mislead you with false equivalence. Sanders would not be as bad on Trump on these issues. He would not be stacking the courts with right-wing judges who are overtly hostile to voting rights, he doesn’t stand to rake in cash by cozying up to autocratic regimes, and an administration which pays lip service to democratic values is preferable to an administration which is overtly hostile to them. A vote to reduce harm can be cast with a clear conscience. It’s still the primary, though, so we have the chance to cast a general election vote for real improvement rather than damage control.

If I haven’t convinced you of anything, fair enough. If I have convinced you that this pattern is serious enough to consider as you’re voting in this primary … this isn’t one of those posts where I try to wrap up with a concrete suggestion about something you can do, for obvious reasons. I have a suggestion about voting tactically, though. Primary delegates are awarded proportionately to every candidate who makes it over what’s called a viability threshold. Basically, a candidate who gets 15% of the vote wins something like 15% of the state’s delegates, while a candidate who gets 14% gets zero. A vote for someone with 3% support is a vote for whoever wins the state, whether you like that person or not. Check FiveThirtyEight to see which candidates are polling above 15% (preferably above 20% to get outside the margin of error) and then choose your favorite of those candidates.

1A good argument for this particular system is that it gives candidates two chances to prove that they can build a coalition, because that is something Democratic presidents need to do. You can win an outright majority going into the convention, which requires satisfying a lot of diverse groups of people. If nobody can do that, then the convention gives you another shot to show you can win people over. If you have a plurality then you have a head start. If you can’t get from a plurality to a majority, you probably shouldn’t be nominated, because you would be a shitty president.

2The topic of this post is democracy, not politics, so I don’t want to go too far into it, but I do want to shoot down the bullshit counterargument: “oh, blah blah, knife to a gun fight, Democrats are wimpy little girly-men who always play by the rules, Republicans are big strong daddies who understand power, blah blah.” Guys? Guys. You’re not going to out-shitpost the Republicans; they have unlimited money flowing into sophisticated propaganda machines. You’re not going to out-bully the fascists as a means to an end; bullying is the end for them and they have a lot more practice at it than we do. You don’t get into a pissing match with a drunk. IDGAF about sinking to their level, it’s about refusing to fight on their turf. We’re not going to win their game on their terms.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 18

New part here, life moves on after the engagement is broken. 

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

_______________________________

“Well, people are definitely still talking.” Rig leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on top of my desk.

I glanced down at them, trying to decide if I cared about the papers beneath his shoes enough to tell him to move. I didn’t. Shrugging it off, I focused on his words instead.

“Let me guess, it’s not very flattering to me, right?” I smiled grimly, remembering the backlash of my previous life.

_______________________________

“You can’t go outside!” My mother screeched as soon as she saw me enter the outer hall. “Get back in your room!”

“But… I…” I hesitated, unsure. It had been a week since Ronan had broken the engagement and announced that he would marry Edith. I hadn’t heard anything from the queen since. I had thought to go try to see her. Seeing my mother’s expression, however, I second-guessed myself.

“Do you know what people are saying outside?” She laughed bitterly, pouring herself another drink. “They’re saying that you were either too incompetent to be queen and he had to break it off... or that you were unfaithful.”

I stopped in my tracks. “That’s ridiculous! I had passed the Queen’s training AND I’ve barely even left this house other than to go to the palace, much less spend time with another. When could I have been unfaithful?”

“That’s not what they’re saying out there.” Mother tossed back her drink in a single shot, wincing before pouring another one. “Apparently you were going to the Royal Gardens to meet other men fairly regularly.”

“But I was with Edith the whole time! She’ll vouch for me!”

She smiled at that. “Will she?”

_______________________________

 “Quite the opposite, really.” Rig laughed. “The Queen stepping forward when she did helped quite a bit, and apparently your teacher Mrs. Rendler has been telling anyone who will stand still long enough that you were the best student she had ever had, a genius.”

A broom swung down at his propped-up legs, swiping them off the desk. Rig’s feet slammed to the ground and he looked up, insulted, at his attacker. Hallers, clutching the broom, a self righteous expression on his face, didn’t respond, only cleaning off my desk and sorting the papers quickly before stepping back towards the wall.

Rig frowned, but didn’t put his feet back up on the desk. “You already have a great reputation within the duchy, due to the reforms you’ve done with the government, as well as financing so many to go to school and learn a useful trade. Most of the families here feel that they personally owe you, and word has spread that you would have been a perfect queen.”

I shuddered at the thought. “And marry that idiot? I’d rather shovel manure.”

“And that’s what everyone else seems to be thinking as well.” Rig’s grin widened. “There’s even a song that street performers are playing called ‘Ronan the Ridiculous.’ It’s about an idiot who cheats on a wonderful woman, drinks himself silly and falls into a latrine pit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that. “What? It’s only been a week! How did they write a song so fast?”

Rig shrugged. “I don’t know, but it must of come from either a very creative, or very vindictive mind. It’s an extremely catchy tune, and the nickname for the prince is becoming more popular by the day.”

From behind me I heard an evil chuckle. I turned around to look at Hallers, but he only smiled very professionally at me, with no sign that he had been laughing at all. I ignored the small suspicion building in my mind and turned back to Rig. 

“I’m happy of course that I’m not considered a failure, but I worry about what kind of backlash we might see from the palace, given how much ridicule the prince is suffering.”

I thought again of the smile the king had at the party, and how nervous it had made me at the time.

“Well, the Prince left a hunting trip right after his party and has been gone for the last week. He may even be unaware of how poor his reputation is right now, but I doubt that will last long.” Rig smiled viciously. “He’s coming back today, and my sources say that the King has already arranged to speak to him privately later tonight before he retires for bed. “ 

He started to lean back and prop his legs up again, but after a sharp glance from Hallers, he sat back up with a sigh. “I would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation!”

“… Do you know where they are meeting?” I asked, my mind racing.

Rig looked confused. “Well, apparently in the King and Queen’s visiting room?”

“The one that connects the two suites?”

“Yes…. Why?”

I gave a devious grin. “Rig, how do you feel about a field trip tonight?”

_______________________________

I gave him instructions about where to meet me, and a short while after the spy had left, Hallers knocked, announcing that I had another visitor.

For a moment I thought it might be Nate, and I strangely, I found myself smiling. I hadn’t seen him since the party a week ago, which I thought was odd. I had a lot I wanted to discuss with him…

“Introducing Lady Erica.” Hallers stepped aside to show the lovely young woman from the party. I felt a pang of disappointment, and shook my head, confused. Why would I be disappointed? How foolish.

 I stood up to greet her with a smile. “Lady Erica, what brings you here?”

“Can we speak privately?” She looked around, clearly nervous. 

Studying her for a few short moments, it was easy to recognize a familiar air about her.  I had probably looked very similar in my previous life multiple times. 

She was desperate. 

“Let’s take  a walk in the garden.” I led the way, and she silently followed behind me.  

As we entered the flower garden, I heard her take in a deep breath. “Wow, this is very beautiful, you must have a wonderful gardener!”

I looked around at the thriving flowers surrounding us with a smile. “Nope, that’s just Henry.”

 “…The Duke’s heir?”

“Yep. That’s him.” I found a few benches, sitting down.

She sat down as well, staring at me. “He likes flowers?”

“All plants, actually. But he took one look at my pathetic attempts of a flower garden and banned me from meddling.” I sighed. “It’s beautiful, of course, but it’s a little insulting to not have any say in my own garden.”

Erica laughed, the first happy sound she had made since arriving at my home. She seemed to catch herself, falling into silence. Letting her think through things at her own pace, I simply enjoyed watching the flowers, knowing she would speak up when she was ready.

It didn’t take long.

“I need your help!” She clasped her hands together in her lap, they were trembling. “I know you don’t know me very well, and have no reason to help me… but I heard that you help others and I didn’t have anyone else to turn to…” Erica was babbling at the end and I held up a hand, stopping her stream of anxious words.

“What do you need?”

Her face turned bright red. “So… I’m in love. But...” She hesitated again, looking at me pleadingly as if hoping I would know without her saying 

“It’s with the Captain of the Eastern Guard, rather than your earl fiancé.”

“H-how did you know?” Her draw dropping in shock, she visibly gathered herself together. “I hope you won’t tell anyone…”

I permitted a small smile to cross my face. “You would be horrified of the secrets that I am privy to, Erica. Yours are comparatively a light burden to bear. Now, you’ve been in love with him for years, what’s the issue now?”

“I- well, I…” She shook her head. “I think the Earl of Beral has known for a while, he seemed to make a few attempts to discredit my Robert, but somehow those charges always ended up going away.”

The earl certainly hadn’t done much this lifetime. In my last, Erica’s love had been ruined and had “disappeared.” She had been forced to marry the Earl of Beral a few weeks before my engagement was broken. This time he seemed much more distracted…

It’s probably because mother’s spending all her time away from home. 

I chuckled quietly at the thought. I had seen or heard very little of her since our confrontation. She came for birthdays and other major events as instructed, but otherwise was staying in one of the earl’s homes. 

It would explain why there was not as much rush from his end to force his young fiancé to marry him.  The few rumors he had paid to start about the Captain stealing money from his troop were easily dispatched with by Rig and his group. I had thought we were in the clear now that the time of their wedding in the last lifetime had passed.

But perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“Lately… things have gotten worse. Robert was attacked by some thugs on his way to his post several days ago. He fought his way out and escaped, but he thinks they were too well armed and prepared to be simple thieves. He thinks they may have been hired to kill him.” Her knuckles whitened in her lap. “I’m so scared for him!”

I studied her carefully. “What do you want of me?”

“Well, I heard that you have a few schools where you teach others to become seamstresses, and then help find them work.”She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

That surprised me. “Are you looking to be a seamstress?”

Finally she looked up, a determined light in her eyes. “I am a skilled at sewing, one of the best. I want to run away with Robert and start a new life. But to do that, I need to have a job.”

“Well, points for having some practicality.” I stood up, pacing as I thought. “If Robert leaves… he’ll be charged with desertion.” 

“Yes.” She didn’t flinch away from the word.

“You’ll have to leave the country, otherwise they’ll find you two and you’ll be much worse off than you are right now.” I muttered as I walked back and forth, my thoughts racing. “He’s a skilled guard… and you can sew…” I looked up. “Are either one of you skilled in numbers, would be able to look after the books, run a business?”

Erica looked confused. “I know Robert manages the money his troop receives so that his men get paid... but neither of us have business experience.”

“Not ideal, but you can be taught the rest…” I stopped in my tracks, smiling. “Okay, it’s decided.”

“What is?”

“You and Robert work for me, now. I have been looking to open up a new branch of Prosperity in a nearby country, and you two may be just what I need. You will take orders and sew, Robert can guard the shop and help with the accounts.”

“Wait, what?” Erica’s face fortunately had no trace of resentment on it for me planning their lives, and only showed bewilderment, “You own Prosperity?”

 I paused. “You didn’t know? I thought that’s why you were asking for a job.”

“I thought you might have connections because you always have such beautiful dresses!” She shook her head. “I never suspected…”

“Well, now you know.” I patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll arrange the paperwork for you to cross the border, and for somewhere for you to stay while you set the shop up. But you’ll need to leave soon… will next week work?”

She stood up as well, smiling. “I’ll talk to Robert, but I can’t see us getting a more generous offer.” Throwing her arms around me, she gave me a hug. “Thank you!”

I waved a hand, dismissing her words. “Don’t worry, I needed to open a new branch store anyways, so it’s to my profit.”

“Still…” She looked unconvinced.

“I’ll contact you in a few days once arrangements have been made, but first...” I stopped, feeling the need to change the subject. I looked around as an idea struck me. “Let’s get you a flower to take on your way!” 

 I made the offer and bent over a bush with large yellow blooms. But just as I reached out to pick one… 

“HOLD IT!” Henry rushed towards us, his face as angry as I had ever seen. “Why are you touching my beautiful geraniums?!”

I stepped back, holding my hands up to show they were empty of flowers. “I was just…”

“Just tearing out one of my prized blooms as a present?!” He sighed. “Have I taught you nothing, cousin?”

“Fine!” I rolled my eyes. “How do you propose we give her a flower then?”

Erica looked between the two of us, her eyes wide. “I don’t need a… 

“Of course we’re giving you a flower!” Henry snapped. “Everyone should have a flower! It just has to be done right!”

He then proceeded to carefully dig a flower out of the dirt, preserving it’s roots and replanting it in a ceramic pot. He then lectured the poor girl extensively on the proper care of the plant before gently placing the pot in her hands.

Hallers saw the slightly confused Lady Erica out, and I turned to walk back to my office. But Henry patted my arm, stopping me.

“Oh, cousin, before you go… this was mixed in with the letters I received today.” Henry reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a letter. “It’s addressed to you.” 

Curious, I opened the seal, and read the words in the letter:

_______________________________

To the Lady Lenora:

I apologize for communicating through this letter, but I wanted to assure you I wasn’t dead or run back to my country without saying goodbye. 

Your former fiancé dragged me along for his birthday hunting trip. We’re returning today, but I worry that I won’t be back earlier enough to be able to visit.

If you permit it, I would like to stop by your home tomorrow. I greatly miss our talks together. If nothing else, it will be a reprieve after a week spent in Ronan’s company. If I hear one more comment about how wonderful his horsemanship is I may be physically ill.

I look forward to seeing you, and hope to find you in good health and high spirits.

Yours truly,

Nathaniel.

_______________________________

“Good news?” Henry asked.

I realized I was smiling as I read it, and wiped the expression from my face as I folded the letter once more. “No, nothing important.”

I felt a pain in my stomach again, and rubbed it absentmindedly.

_______________________________

Later that evening I snuck out of my home again, meeting Rig at the usual spot. 

“So what’s this about, girl?” He grumbled, looking tired and stretching as he spoke.

 I grinned. “We’re going to spy on the king.”

That caught his attention. He paused mid-stretch, his mouth wide open in shock. After a few moments he recovered, and dug a finger into his ear as if trying to clean it out 

“Sorry, I think I misheard you… What are we doing?”

I laughed. “We’re sneaking into the palace, and we’re going to listen in on that conversation between the Prince and the King.” I looked up at the sky. “Before the king retires to bed was when they arranged to meet right? We should be right on time if we leave now.”

Rig stared at me. “You’re crazy.” He sounded impressed.

“I am, but not about this.” I grabbed his arm, pulling him along. “Come on.”

“But… how…”

“I know how to get in, AND a secret passage behind the visiting room.” I felt a moment of anxiety, trying desperately not to think about the LAST time I had been in those tunnels.

“It’s risky, girl.” He shook his head, even as he followed behind me, making no other sounds with his movement. 

“It’s necessary.” I thought once more to the king’s cold stare. “I need to know what they’re planning.” 

“Well, if you say so.” Rig shrugged. “You only live once, right? Might as well make it interesting.”

Smiling I pulled him along. “Not exactly true for all of us, but still, let’s go.”

[mrtroy]

America Needs Both

I've been reading a lot of opinions of my friends, pundits and others over the last few weeks.  Corona virus.  Racial injustice. Police brutality.  The coming presidential election. 

I feel like with each passing issue, the divide gets deeper.  The differing sides seemingly getting further apart.  Some of these opinions I agree with. Some I don't.  But the more I think about it, the more I realize as a nation, we need both sides of most of our issues.  No, we don't need racism.  We don't need looting.  Or police brutality.    But we do need the ability for people with different opinions and viewpoints to be able to have those viewpoints without vilifying them.  We need a nation where we understand that black lives matter. But we also need a nation where our public servants (police, teachers, government officials) matter too.  You may be angered by one side of that paradigm right now, but in order for our nation to truly live up to its ideal, we need both.  We need a nation where people in cities feel represented.  And we also need to provide opportunities to those who live in rural America.  We need corporations.  And small businesses.  We need non-profits.  And agencies that watch out for at risk portions of the community.  Right now, there's a good chance that the idea of voting for the candidate opposite your preferred political party seems like an outrageous thought, but lest not forget that whoever our next president is will again be governing our entire nation.  Forget who wins, how beneficial will it be to our nation to have roughly half of our citizens enraged?  Say what you want about Donald Trump, but he realized in 2016 that a large subsection of our population felt like the policies that Barack Obama's administration had enacted didn't appeal to them.  Pause.  Whatever you think about that statement above, it is true.  Now, fast forward to 2020, whoever wins this election will signal to our nation that we either want to go the same direction, or back the other way.  Joe Biden is currently running campaign messaging that is asking potential voters to condemn the acts of Donald Trump and pledge their allegiance to Biden's campaign.  Let's just say this works. I have no idea who will win this election, but just for the sake of this piece, let's say it's Biden.  Come January of 2021, we'll have the opposite half of our nation that can't wait to vote a president out of office.  Not only that, but if Biden were to follow suit with Obama and Trump, and if balances of power stay split in the House and Senate, we're going to spend the next four years seeing different pieces of legislation that previous administrations enacted be reversed.  Or, we'll see the opposing party block things in the Senate to the point where very little will change in Washington.  At this point as you read, you might be thinking, okay, you're a moderate, or, you're arguing for party reform, or maybe the abolition of the electoral college.  And while some of those things may be the answer (I'm not educated enough on those topics to know for sure) what I'm actually arguing for is something that isn't political at all.  It comes back to the examples I gave at the beginning of this piece.  America needs both of its major points of view.  As people, are we better off accepting our neighbor with a different point of view, or turning them into a sworn enemy until they see things exactly how we do?  Before you fire off a retort to a school of thought where you just can't possibly accept Point X of someone's viewpoint, realize that person may be reading this same piece and thinking the same thing about not accepting your point of view.   If we continue in these cycles of behavior, where do we end up?  Do we just keep browbeating each other until one school of thought dies out? Or, do we end up having the public conversations where we say one thing to avoid drawing a reaction, but actually believe something else in private?  To be clear, I don't know how to fix every issue. I don't know how to find a common middle ground for some of society's most inflammatory issues.  But what I do think would be a good start would be to stop trying to make every issue one-sided. 'If you don't believe this, you must be a raving lunatic.' Or, 'If you believe this, you can't possibly call yourself a good person.'  And yes, I have been guilty of reacting in the above manners in discussions I've had. But, bringing these kinds of attitudes to any conversation / debate / issue rarely leads to change and it rarely helps anything.  So, rather than jumping all over your neighbor - or silently writing them off in your brain - the next time you disagree with them, I think we all need to do a better job finding a middle ground.  And again, this isn't to say that we should tolerate terrible things in our country because we're doing the neighborly thing and accepting people's vile viewpoints.  But it is to say that we should be able to find a way to find a middle ground on things that are worth finding a middle ground on.  Because I think many of us can agree that the status quo we've got going on isn't working. For the rest of this year, we can find some solace in saying, 'Vote in November.' But come December, all of us have to live with the officials we elect - and it doesn't do us much good if roughly half of the population is ready to lose their mind if their candidate happens to be the one who loses.  -- I have always thought American ingenuity was our greatest virtue as a country. Throughout our history, we've had groundbreaking inventors and innovators that have figured out new and better ways to do things in more effective ways.  We need to muster up some more ingenuity as a nation. To modify how we think and how we react to opposing thought. We have to empower the things that make us different to also make us great.  We cannot simply agree to disagree.  Or, stop trying to address topics in our world because the opposing sides on certain issues are simply too far apart.  We also cannot simply take politics, or matters of social / racial justice off the table when things get too touchy to deal with.  We must not run to the safety of only those who think like we do and attempt to isolate ourselves from anyone who thinks differently.  We must ask ourselves, in 2020, do we want to attempt to solve the issues plaguing our nation, or do we want to continue to point out how stupid, or wrong, or morally bankrupt our neighbors are?  Let's say you were brought into a situation as a third-party mediator in a fight between two neighbors in the town next to yours.  Let's say you agreed with one of the neighbors, but after talking to the second neighbor, you could see that he or she was 100% convicted on where they stood  -  and weren't trying to be a jerk about anything in any apparent way...  If it was your goal to help these neighbors, would you start your engagement with a ruthless insult of the second neighbor?  Would you tell your neighbor that if he didn't come around to seeing things the way the first neighbor did, he may as well be an idiot?  Would you tell your neighbor that his family - and anyone that thinks like him - is a worthless pile of garbage for thinking the way he does?  Unfortunately, it seems as though these kinds of tactics are often resorted to in response to things happening that we don't agree with.  What about trying to find solutions?  What about trying to listen?  What about trying to work towards mutually beneficial outcomes?  These are the things we need to be doing.  Not arguing.  -- In closing, as discussions, debates and conversations happen over these next few months, try to be empathetic to your fellow humans.  Yes, there are some terrible people in the world who have thoughts that are not worth considering a second side of. However, there are also millions of our neighbors that think differently than we do that are fantastic human beings who deserve to be heard and respected. 

America is better when the right and left find common ground.  America is better when opposing viewpoints are met with intrigue not detest.  America is better when we try to find solutions, rather than simply attacking our neighbors.  In a fantasy world, it might be nice to envision a way where one opinion or one side of an issue worked for everyone, but because that’s never been true at any point in history, America needs to embrace the fact that there are two sides to every issue, and we’re better off if we can consider both. 

[spaceiplier]

SPACEIPLIER: Headlock

“This is the GAAP. Repeat, this is the GAAP. We are hailing the… the Barrel? Please respond.”

The voice crackled through the comms. Mark, sitting in the cockpit, looked up from his food. A little light blinked. Reaching over, he hit the button. “This is the captain of the Barrel. How can I help you?”

“We are hailing you,” a formal and tight voice said, slightly distorted over the comms. “Permission to board requesting. Permission granted?”

Mark was thrown back to his time at the Academy at the tone of voice. All official words and serious demands. Over the years, he had become used to the casual way citizens spoke to each other. Simple requests instead of demands. Distress signals sent out as pleas.

That, and Sean’s off-hand insults as he told them — not asked — that he was coming on board, and they couldn’t stop him even if they wanted.

“Uh, yes,” Mark said, rising to his feet and looking around the pilot pit. Everything was a mess. “Give us a few minutes to… uh… get the docking station set up.”

“Understood,” the GAAP officer replied. “Signal us when ready.”

The comm went dead. For a moment Mark quickly thought over the state of his ship. Then, with a flick of a switch, Mark switched it over to ship wide.

“We have fifteen minutes to get this entire ship clean!” He shouted into the comms, panic seeping into his voice. “Get up and start cleaning.”

“What’s going on?” Amy asked back, the comms crackling from her work shop.

“GAAP is boarding. Don’t know why, but they’ll be onboard soon. Just kick Chica’s excess goop under the couch, we don’t have time to deal with that now.”

Signing off the comms, Mark bolted out of the cockpit.

He had some dirty socks in the hallway that needed taken care of stat.

“Did they say what they were here for?” Tyler asked as Mark ran past him, scooping up a bundle of dirty laundry in his arms.

“Didn’t ask!” Mark shouted back, almost tripping over the sleeve of his cardigan. “There are some old meals in the kitchen sink. Just put them in the incinerator.”

“Got it,” Tyler said, shaking his head and running off towards the room.

“Did we do anything recently that would have warranted a GAAP visit?” Ethan asked as he caught up to Mark, his arms tangled in wires from one of his and Kathryn’s projects.

“I don’t know?” Mark chucked the laundry into the chute. “Invite Sean for dinner?”

“What…” Ethan nervously stopped. “What if it is about Sean?”

“We’re not giving up Sean,” Mark answered sternly. “Not now, not ever.”

Ethan nodded. “What do you think they’re going to say?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Mark said. “Now tell Kathryn that she needs to hide her hacking gear. And make sure that stuff Sean gave us is hidden!” He raised his voice as Ethan started sprinting down the hall.

Bing ran by, holding several boxes of scrap metal, followed quickly by Amy whose face was covered with grime and soot. She gave Mark a tense smile before following the robot into her shop.

This would be interesting.

.

.

Amy came up next to Mark, tapping the back of her hand to his. The tension in his shoulders lessened slightly, but he still anxiously watched the hanger door.

“They’ve boarded,” Kathryn said, attention focused on the panel, slowly directing the GAAP to land their ship.

Mark ran his hand through his hair and squared his shoulders. Time to see what was going on.

The hanger door slid open, and Mark felt himself snap to attention out of habit. Back straight, arms at his sides, head tilted forwards. He might not be an Academy student anymore, but old habits died hard.

Amy tapped her hand against his again, letting him know he wasn’t alone, before taking a small step behind him. She always had his back.

There were three GAAP officials. They stood in the doorway, two slightly behind the obvious leader. At the forefront was a towering Graeldur, a few heads taller than Tyler. He held his hat in his hands, shoulders slightly caved to give him a less intimidating appearance. Somehow, the effect was achieved. He smiled with near grandfatherly kindness. The attachments to his uniform showed his years of experience and rank.

On one side of him was a human officer. He fidgeted with the side of his pant legs. His eyes flitted from person to person, and he was always moving some part of his body. When Ethan gave him a smile, he attempted to smile back, but it faltered halfway. The dirty blond hair was neatly cut, slicked back against his head. Every crease of his uniform pressed to a near perfect line.

The last was a Nasazza woman. She was shorter than her companions but somehow exuded the most confidence. Her smile was quiet, but there was something hard and intelligent in her features. Maybe the way she watched Mark steadily, or the way her hand carefully traced the lines of the knife strapped to her leg. Her long silver hair was pulled back, and her silver and pink scales rippled, momentarily blending parts of her into the background. At her feet was a small dark yellow dog with a scrunched face. It was missing an eye, and it breathed heavily.

“Hello,” the Graeldur said, voice rumbling deep in his chest. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mark Fischbach. I have heard many stories about you and your crew. Many great things.”

He extended a rocky hand. Mark took it. It felt rougher than Tyler’s. As they shook, Mark saw the Nasazza woman shift, eyes darting from him to his crew.

“My name is Kamuk Kivlithos, third of my name,” the Graeldur said. “I am the commander of the GS Alestra. I am here to issue a warning, but also to ask for your help.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Kivlithos let go of his hand, looking around. “Perhaps this would be a conversation better had somewhere more comfortable? While this is of urgency, we have much to discuss.”

“Of course,” Tyler jumped in, ushering their guests down the hall. “This way.”

Mark, ever grateful for Tyler’s diplomatic nature, let them pass him by. The last one to go was the Nasazza. As she passed him, their eyes met. For a second, all the softness was gone. Her eyes hardened and her smile vanished as she stared at him. It wasn’t cruel. It was searching. It was learning. She knew things about him, and she wanted to know more.

It lasted only a second, but it sent chills through Mark.

She was here for a reason.

Then she was gone, and Mark was left staring at an empty wall.

There had been plenty like her at the Academy. Mostly guest teachers, old officers, or the ones with specialities. The ones who had seen some shit, but looked cool enough to convince some gullible kids into joining the military. Mark had seen people like her before, and they had always unnerved him.

He followed his crew into the common room. Kivlithos had already taken a seat, his officers on either side. The rest of the crew spread out on the opposite side. Bing stood in the corner, hand tapping on his leg. Mark hesitantly moved to take a seat between Amy and Tyler, keeping an eye on their guests.

“Forgive my rudeness,” Kivlithos said, leaning forwards and extending a hand to the human. “I should have introduced my crew sooner. These two are some of the best and brightest of my crew. This is Dodgy, a specialist in tech. A bit nervous, but he knows what he’s doing.” Kivlithos laughed and patted the human on the back. Dodgy gave his commander a wavering smile, his hands keeping up an erratic pattern on his legs.

“Hi,” he said, not exactly meeting anyones eye. “I’m, uh, glad to, um, m-meet you.”

“And this is Marzia,” Kivlithos said, turning to the Nasazza. She closed her eyes with her smile, waving happily. Her other hand stayed on the dog sitting upon her lap. “She is part of the Calmaltare Units. One of the best, in fact.”

Ah. That explained it.

The cold analytical stare. How easily she slipped around. Even her species made sense with that occupation. Nasazza were amazing at adapting and hiding. Especially hiding. As prey on their homeworld, their species had adapted to be able to blend into their surroundings, using the superficial layer containing pigments, and their under layer with guanine crystals. They were quiet, steady, and deadly.

As a Calmaltare, Marzia easily became one of the most dangerous people Mark had ever seen.

“But that’s enough of introductions,” Kivlithos said, his easy smile growing taught. “I’ll cut straight to the chase here, to avoid any confusion. You recently were in contact with a Xanhull, correct? Within the last few months, according to our sources.”

“Uh,” Mark looked back at Amy. “Yes. We called him Dark. He… he didn’t exactly leave a good impression here.”

“They are a criminal and a threat to the government,” Kivlithos said. “While we cannot say much as to why they are, it is imperative that we capture them as quickly. We must avoid any damage they may cause in the future.”

Dodgy nodded, pulling out several files. He handed them out. Mark took his, flicking it open and looking through the holo-pages. There were pages upon pages of information on Dark. Much of it was redacted or vague, but it all spelled out the same thing: he was dangerous.

There was a moment of silence as they took in the information.

Kivlithos sat, blankly watching them with his hands clasped. There was tension in his hands. Marzia still smiled sweetly, somehow contributing to the sense of urgency in the room.

“This… this isn’t that much information,” Ethan muttered, eyes quickly scanning each page and committing it to his data banks.

“Why can’t you do it yourself?” Mark finally asked, looking up. “No offence, sir, but we’re a ragtag group with no official sources or contacts. The most we do is help out those we come across. Our funding is limited, and our time used to help ourselves survive, along with those we find. How could we help more than the government?”

“Unfortunately, this Xanhull has evaded our grasp for centuries, before even the GAAP was founded. They always seem to be one step ahead of us, no matter what.” Kivlithos’s blank expression cracked as his mouth tightened and his brow furrowed. “The last time we saw them was roughly fifty years ago. It was an encounter that left many dead. They are dangerous, and not to be taken lightly.”

“This is why we need you,” Marzia began, taking over for Kivlithos. Her voice was high pitched and small, somehow light and airy despite how harsh the topic was. “From what we were able to gather, this Xanhull seemed to trust you. At least... to some degree. You have spent more time with this being than anyone else. You know more about them than probably we do. You all have a much higher chance of finding them, and possibly capturing them. If not, we will be a step behind to capture them, but we need your help.”

Her eyes met Mark’s, and her smile grew sardonic. “The Xanhull was drawn to you. Perhaps you will be drawn to them.”

Chills ran down Mark’s spine. Those connections to Dark had always left a sour taste in Mark’s mouth. The ringing in his ears, the burns on his hands, the odd nightmare from the first night… every connection to Dark had damaged him.

It hurt him, or it hurt those around him. Dark hated him, and wanted him dead. The only connection was a fragile line, drawn with blood and rage.

Mark wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue any of that. Going after Dark seemed like inviting that same experience back. With how much Dark hated him… Mark wasn’t sure that any connection would bring him closer to capturing him. Maybe closer to Dark finally killing him.

No, he didn’t want to find Dark. Not with how much Dark had hurt him, and hurt his crew.

“I’m sure the GAAP can handle it,” Mark said dismissively, getting to his feet and handing back the files. Kilvlithos blinked, and Marzia frowned. Dodgy nearly squeaked as Mark roughly pushed the files on him. Mark started walking to the door. “You’re much better equipped to handle this.”

“The Xanhull is looking for something,” Kivlithos said suddenly, the urgency in his voice making Mark pause. “Something dangerous. It will kill thousands.”

Mark slowly looked back. “What do you mean?”

Marzia placed a hand on Kivlithos’s arm, taking over talking. “We cannot tell you much. It’s a secret kept closely by our representatives. We barely know what it is. We only know that it is dangerous, and Dark wants it so that they can hurt thousands. Millions, even. An entire planet could fall this device. And the Xanhull wants it, and as we both know they will get what they want.”

Dodgy opened the file Mark had shoved on him, showing him a series of graphs and statistics, “S-s-see here there is an eighty p-percent chance of t-total destruction f-for anyone who would c-c-come into contact with this object!”

Mark hesitated.

They were asking him to put his and his crew’s lives at stake for the sake of millions of people across the galaxy. They were asking him to risk everything to find Dark. Objectively, it was a no brainer. The lives of five people versus the lives of millions? Of course, he should choose to help. He would always help.

On the other hand, this was his family, and family was more important to him than anything in the galaxy.

A hand tapped against his as Amy stood.

“We’ll help,” she said, her voice clear and steady. When she glanced over at Mark, though, he could see that she was having the same thoughts as him. She knew the same as him that they always helped. No matter the cost. “Of course we’ll help.”

“Excellent!” Kivlithos boomed, his voice shaking the room. He got to his feet, grabbing Mark’s hand to pull him into a handshake, yanking his attention away from Amy. “Dodgy will send you all the information you need briefly. Please understand we cannot tell you everything, but hopefully, it will be enough. And, to keep us in contact with your crew more closely, we have decided to leave behind Marzia. Just to keep an eye on things.” He winked.

Mark glanced over at Marzia. Again, her face was light, but her eyes were cold and calculating.

This would not end well.

.

.

“What are you working on?”

Ethan jumped, his head hitting the table above him. Tools went flying, and Ethan scooted out to glare at Marzia.

She leaned over, innocently watching him work with curious eyes. Her hands were clasped behind her back. She had changed into civilian clothes, but still somehow stood out in the mess of Ethan’s room. That dog — Maya, Marzia had called her — sat at her feet watching him with the same curiosity.

“How long have you been watching me?” Ethan asked, holding his head and glaring at her. The parts of the cleaning system he’d been attempting to fix scattered. He had been putting this off for weeks now, and finally the amount of dog hair and Dulcosi goop building up had convinced him to fix it. “I don’t know how it works in the GAAP, but that’s creepy.”

“Long enough,” Marzia shrugged. “I’ve found your work interesting. You used to work with the GAAP, and the things that came out of your work during that time—”

Ethan tensed and started gathering the scattered tools. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve read about me, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, crouching to pick up one of the tools. She handed it back to him. “I know that you’ve had a hard time. Your creator was… unethical, to say the least, despite the great advancements he has made. It’s fascinating to see how far you’ve come since then.”

“Thanks?” Ethan snatched the tool from her. “Listen, I don’t really like talking about back then, so as cool as you think I am, keep it to yourself, okay?”

“Very well,” she said, keeping the light tone. Her next words, however, were cool and professional. The switch in her tone threw him off. Marzia’s voice was the kind Ethan just expected to sound happy and agreeable. The professional GAAP officer wasn’t something he expected from the small Nasazza.

She moved slightly closer, “I have come to ask for your help, however.”

“Yeah?” Ethan leaned back under the table, attempting to appear disinterested. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“I have been trying to link my devices to the main ship,” Marzia explained. “There are a few issues I am having, and Mark told me you were the best to talk to about that.”

Of course Mark shifted the work onto him.

Ethan sighed, “What do you have?”

“Just a comm and my personal computer.” Marzia held out the comm. “It will also help me upload the information Dodgy has sent me directly to your computers.”

“Great, gimme.” Ethan took the comm from her hands. It was standard GAAP issue, but when Ethan opened it up there was more to it than he had expected. “Damn, lady. What kind of upgrades do you have on this thing?”

“My profession requires more intense equipment,” Marzia said, sitting next to him. “Can you hook it up?”

“Yeah, just gimme a second.” Ethan fiddled with the controls for a few moments before it clicked. “There. Mark still has main control and everything, but you should be good to go.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” she said. She moved as if to stand, but hesitated. Marzia looked like she was fighting herself over something. The curiosity finally broke her. Marzia sat back down, hands clasped. “Can I ask you something?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“Your counterpart. Blank. Have you been in contact with him recently?”

Whatever semblance of a heart Ethan had sank. Regret, cold and sharp, sank itself into his stomach.

Oh… him.

“He’s dead,” Ethan muttered, looking down at the floor and trying to keep his voice steady. “He couldn’t turn back on again. They just kept turning him off, even though we knew it was breaking us. He didn’t… he couldn’t… shouldn’t you know that? You’ve read about me.”

Marzia frowned, then blinked as she gasped, “Oh, you didn’t know? Blank turned back on! He was back up and running, doing his duties with your creator. Nearly a month ago, however, he disappeared. No trace of him anywhere. Nobody knows where he is now.”

Ethan gaped at her. Blank… Blank was alive? He wasn’t broken? How… where… when…?

Thoughts raced through his head, leaving Ethan without anything to grasp onto. For so long he had just accepted that Blank was gone. He was the only one left from that shitty place. But he wasn’t. Blank wasn’t gone. He wasn’t dead, just... missing.

He’d escaped.

He’d made it.

“Where was his last known location?” Ethan asked, looking back up and hoping Marzia couldn’t hear the desperation in his voice. “Please, where is he? I need to find him. I have… I need to go. He has to be looking for me, I need to find him!”

“I can send you all the available details,” Mariza said calmly, getting to her feet. Ethan scrambled up as well, standing nearly a head over her. “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I thought he was dead,” Ethan said, looking down at his hands. Useless, helpless hands. “I thought I was alone.”

Marzia grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to meet her eyes. She smiled, and this time it was truly kind. “You aren’t. You weren’t then, and you aren’t now.”

Her words comforted him, but he still had to do something. He couldn’t just sit here.

“I have to go find him,” Ethan said, desperation turning into determination. He needed this. “He’s alone. He needs me.”

“Soon,” Marzia assured him. “But I need you here first. ‘Dark,’ as you all call them, is the priority. The moment there is some spare time, you may go look. But for now, I need you focused on capturing Dark as soon as we can.”

Ethan nodded. All he wanted to do was take the coordinates and start looking for Blank, but he knew he couldn’t. Dark was going to hurt people.

Sorry, Blank, he thought. I’ll come find you as soon as I can.

.

.

“Sorry, am I disturbing you?”

Amy brushed some metal bits off of her welding jacket, shaking her head. “No, not at all. I’m just finishing these cuts up. Did you need something?”

Marzia hesitated at the door. She was wearing high-end civilian clothes, looking much more relaxed from a few days ago. Her eyes danced over the equipment around Amy’s feet, landing on the small welder Sean had given her for Scarlix Day.

“I was going to… I was going to ask… I’m sorry, but is that a Flux-Electron Welder?” Marzia asked, disbelief in her voice.

Amy winced. She knew that having something that high-tech would come back to bite her in the ass eventually. It was convenient, and made the cleanest welds with little to no fumes, but it was insanely expensive.

There was no way Sean had obtained it through honest means.

“It was a gift,” Amy said, picking it up. “A friend got it for me.”

“A rich friend,” Marzia huffed. She moved farther into the room, coming to stand near Amy. “I’ve only seen those… well… I don’t believe I’m allowed to say, but they are expensive. How does it handle?”

“You weld?” Amy asked, holding it out for Marzia to take. It looked almost clunky in Marzia’s smaller, more delicate hands.

“Occasionally,” Marzia said, sounding forlorn as she turned the tool over in her hands. She handled it like a professional. “I wish I could do it more, but my job has me working nearly round the clock. Not much time for hobbies. I did get a chance to work my skills during a short holiday with… a friend.”

“A friend?” Amy asked. The way Marzia had said that word, like she was treading around dangerous waters. She said it the same way Amy referred to Sean.

“Yes,” Marzia said. “Something like that. May I try this out? I got to use their Friction XII Welder a few cycles ago, but it handled so clumsily. I’d love to see how this one works.”

Amy could take the hint. Accepting the change in subject, she got up and offered Marzia her place. “I have a mask, jacket, and gloves in my cabinet. One second.”

Once outfitted properly, Marzia grabbed several scraps Amy had lying around. Just little bits Amy had cut off of her current project. Manipulating them around, she slowly formed them into a small box.

“It’s so smooth!” Marzia exclaimed, taking off the mask. “No catch at all on the wire feeder, and there is no feedback from the fumes! I can’t even smell them.”

“It’s nice for extended lengths of time,” Amy agreed. “I’ve stopped getting headaches as frequently.”

“What are you working on?” Marzia asked, handing the welder back and leaning over to look at Amy’s current monstrosity. “It’s huge.”

“One of the biggest I’ve tackled,” Amy said, flipping a few switches to cycle out the air. As the vents kicked up, Amy raised her voice. “It’s a challenge, but I got a commission from a regular, and they wanted this for a wedding. Here, see?”

She turned it to show off the half formed statue. It was nearly four feet tall. An image of two beings — a human and a Ninkain — dancing together. Amy wasn’t particularly found of figure sculpting, but this was one of her favorite customers. And besides, it gave her an excuse to practice.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” Marzia sighed wistfully as she walked around it. “A wedding… I can only imagine how wonderful that will be. Have you been sculpting for a long time?”

“Mostly just in my spare time,” Amy admitted, feeling a little awkward having a stranger look over her work. “I didn’t really have the funds to do it for a while until I met Mark. Before then, I was working as a bouncer. Didn’t pay much, and most of my funds were going towards Henry’s medical bills. Now I have a bit more time for this.”

“You have a good eye for detail,” Marzia said, smiling kindly. “Your passion for this shows.”

“Thanks,” Amy said, accepting the compliment with a shrug. “We all have to have hobbies, right?”

“Of course,” Marzia said. She clasped her hands, bouncing on her heels. “Don’t feel pressured, but I haven’t gotten to work in a shop in months, and I’d love to sharpen up some of my rustier skills. Would you mind if I used your shop?”

“Totally, dude,” Amy said, gesturing at her equipment. “Just keep it clean and you can use it all you’d like.”

“Thank you!” Marzia hugged Amy suddenly, her twin tails wagging happily.

“Uh, your clothes?” Amy said, getting over her surprise. She was certain those clothes cost more than her entire closet put together.

“Oh, I have others,” Marzia said, pulling back and looking down at the short dress she was wearing. “I never really cared for this outfit anyway.”

Amy blinked. How much did the GAAP pay Calmaltare? She thought the dress looked like it should be worn to a inner-system party, not a welder’s shop, but she wasn’t about to argue with a member of the Calmaltare.

.

.

Pant pant pant pant...

Mark stared at the little dog. The dog stared back, breathing hard.

Maya, was it? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was this little ball of heavy breath had started waddling after him, and he couldn’t shake them. Now they were at a stalemate. Mark stared at Maya, and Maya stared back. Both were parked in the middle of a back hallway, uninterrupted for nearly half an hour now.

“Do you ever blink?” Mark muttered, mostly to himself. Maya didn’t respond. If anything she just started breathing harder, her one eye staring into his soul.

“Oh, there you are!”

Mark finally broke eye contact with the dog, looking up to see Marzia standing at the end of the hallway, Chica weaving through her legs. With a huff, Maya got up and waddled over to Marzia.

“Your dog is weird,” Mark said, watching Chica and Maya sniff around each other. “No offense.”

“Well, she isn’t technically a dog,” Marzia said, leaning over to pick up Maya. Pressing on the back of her neck, Maya’s one eye flashed pink for a moment. “She’s a robot. My little companion.”

“I guess that’s why she didn’t blink,” Mark muttering, still upset he hadn’t beaten her. “Are you not allowed real animals? Being Calmaltare must be dangerous. What happened to her other eye? Shouldn’t it have been replaced by now?”

Marzia giggled and rubbed Maya’s head. “You sure ask a lot of questions,” she laughed, setting Maya back down on the ground to play with Chica. “No, we’re not allowed real animals unless they’re service animals, and the eye is a long story. She doesn’t really need it, and I think she looks cute like this, don’t you?”

Maya sneezed.

In some strange way, the little dog was cute, if Mark was being honest.

“Yeah,” Mark said, getting to his feet in time for Chica to jump onto him. He grabbed her front paws, holding her as she panted up at him. “I guess. Where’d you get her? She’s crazy realistic.”

Marzia’s eyes lit up for a moment, opening her mouth to answer excitedly. Then, the light died down in her eyes. “A friend,” she said cooly, slowly petting Maya.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “A friend.”

For a moment they just watched each other. Sizing the other up. Then, Marzia broke out into a grin. “I’m allowed to have friends,” Marzia said, giggling. “My job doesn’t keep me from being a person.”

The shift in mood threw Mark off. Any trace of the dangerous weapon Marzia was disappeared in a blink, replaced with a person that was somehow scarier. It was a person keeping a mask. While Mark was still stumbling to get back on his train of thought, Marzia turned around and walked away.

“Wait! We’re close to finding Dark’s last known location. Bing will let you know when to get suited up,” Mark called after her.

Marzia waved and disappeared around the corner.

There was something off about her. Maybe it was just that she was a government spy, but Mark couldn’t shake the feeling under his skin that Marzia knew something.

She was hiding something important, and she knew it.

.

.

It was a mess.

Marzia walked into the crime scene purposely, stepping over several glowing markers with Maya waddling after her. GLE officers swarmed the club, scanning and collecting everything. A few were taking statements from several patrons. The lights had been turned on, throwing the normally dimly lit nightclub into harsh light it was never meant to see.

Mark and Tyler hung back, watching them work. Marzia had other ideas, moving about and exchanging short words with each officer.

“Detective!” Marzia said loudly, approaching the last man standing near the center of the room. He wore a long brown coat, a cap pulled low. His scowled at them, puffing on an electric cigar. “What happened?”

“You know you don’t have to call me that anymore,” the detective huffed, taking a long drag and breathing it out. The sour scent wafted through the air as he puffed a small smoky circle. “And I only know what I saw, which isn’t much. Shouldn’t you be talking to Bert’s division?”

Mark nudged Tyler. The two started following Marzia, careful to not disturb any evidence.

They’d received the call yesterday. The Xanhull had been seen at a club. Several had been injured in the resulting fight. They’d gotten to the small, nightclub-filled moon as quickly as they could.

The detective and Marzia continued to bicker amicably. Mark looked around as he and Tyler approached. Everything was neatly wrapped up with glowing caution tape and white sheets. A large tarp hung off the back wall, covering something. The few witnesses - the owner of this establishment and other employees - looked bored and ready to leave. There was nothing there that especially screamed ‘Dark’ to Mark.

It was broken and dirty. Not his style.

“Who are you?” A GLE officer approached them, hands raised to block them from continuing farther. “No citizens allowed.”

“They’re with me,” Marzia said, lazily flashing her badge. “Just let them look around.”

The GLE officer glared at them before backing off. Mark and Tyler reached the detective and Marzia, joining the conversation.

“Who are you?” the detective repeated from the GLE officer, raising an eyebrow and tapping his electric cigar. He seemed grumpy, tired, and ready to leave. There was something in his eyes that told Mark he’d seen more than Mark could ever know.

“I’m Mark,” Mark said, “Mark Fischbach. And this is Tyler. We’re, uh, looking for someone.”

“Fischbach?” the detective huffed, narrowing his eyes. Then they cleared and he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you’re here.”

Mark nervously looked at Tyler. What?

Tyler shrugged.

“Take all the looks you want.” The detective pointed his electric cigar at them forcefully, then at the bar. “I’m going to be over there, making some goddamn comm calls. Don’t take anything. I still need to look a few things over.”

Marzia rolled her eyes. “GLE,” she muttered under her breath. The detective glared, then stormed off, muttering something that sounded like a metaphor.

“Okay?” Mark replied, tilting his head in confusion. “Who was he?”

“Abe Lincoln,” Marzia explained. “Former detective for the GLE. He was fired when he started obsessing over this one serial killer case. Couldn’t move on. Couldn’t accept that this was one criminal beyond his ability to catch. Tragic, really. He was brilliant.”

Mark watched Abe plop himself down on one of the bar stools, grabbing a bottle and starting to drink. He seemed familiar.

When had Mark seen him before?

“Here’s the evidence you asked for,” a GLE officer ran up to Marzia, handing her a holo-file.

“Thanks.” She waved him off, skimming through it. For a few seconds, she just read, occasionally muttering something under her breath. Then she stopped, an eyebrow raised.

“Huh. Interesting.”

“What is it?” Tyler asked, leaning forwards to see.

Marzia didn’t respond. Just held up the holo-file.

Nice try, gret.

The words were scratched into a wall, but it was somehow still ornate and clean. Each line carefully forced into the wall. Each letter deep and purposeful. Looking towards the back of the nightclub, Mark saw the wall covered with a thin layer of tarp.

It was Dark. He had been here.

“The Xanhull knew we were coming,” Marzia said, frowning as she looked back at the holo-file. “Someone told him.”

“Nobody from my crew,” Mark said quickly, ready to defend his friends. “I trust them.”

“Then it won’t hurt if I run some tests,” Marzia said smugly, already moving onto the next task. Continuing to flip through the file, she said, “Trust means nothing without proof.”

Mark struggled to come up with a biting remark, but found nothing. Huffing, Mark turned and stomped over to the covered wall.

“Mark!” Tyler hurried after him.

Mark ripped the tarp off, drawing several angry cries from the GLE. He didn’t care. He just stared at the words with growing frustration. His hands felt hot as he clenched them. The slur stared back at him, mocking him.

Gret. That stupid fucking word that scarred every inch of his life. That one word that had marred him as different. As something outside of what should exist. Mark didn’t give a fuck about purists and their arrogant views. He was a person with the same rights to exist as anyone else. ‘Gret’ didn’t bother him. Or… at least… it hadn’t for years.

But now that word was coming from a man who personally wanted him dead.

Dark could go fuck himself.

Pompous bastard.

“Let’s just finish this up and go home,” Tyler said behind him, voice quiet and steady. “We’ll find him eventually.”

Leave it to Tyler to have a level head in the face of this bullshit.

“I want this over with as soon as possible,” Mark growled. The less time he had to spend looking for Dark, the better.

“Then let’s find him,” Tyler said. “Let the GAAP throw him in a hole so far down we won’t ever have to think about him again.”

Marzia whistled, drawing their attention to her. She gestured them over, pointing at Abe. Mark grumbled, but followed the direction.

“What do you want?” Abe grumbled as they approached, kicking his feet up on the bar. He took another swig of whatever was in the bottle, wincing as it burned.

“What did you see?” Marzia asked, file open to take notes. “You were last one on the scene, according to several eyewitnesses. You were confronting one of the criminals,” Marzia said, calm but forceful.

“I’m guessing you won’t leave until I tell you, huh?” Abe asked, rubbing his temples.

“You got it.” Marzia smiled sweetly.

“Fine,” Abe said. He sat up and turned to face the trio standing behind him. “But you owe me, GAAP lady.”

“I’ll cover your expenses for the next few nights.”

Abe huffed in agreement. “The criminal I was talking to was the man I’ve been chasing for god knows how long. His name’s Wilford Warfstache, or at least that’s what he calls himself. He’s a shapeshifter. Most recently, he’s taken the form of you.” Abe paused to point at Mark. “Plus a few aesthetic changes. Pink hair. Mustache. Few inches taller.”

Mark faintly remembered the pink being who’d broken into his ship a while back. The asshole who’d purposely made himself taller.  

“I’d had him pinned down a few months ago when he up and vanished,” Abe continued. “Then I got a lead that brought me here. I was confronting him when he shot one of the victims. The angry one shot the other. Everything was chaos after that. I didn’t get a good look before I was getting dragged away with the crowd.”

“What did they look like?” Mark asked impatiently.

“Hold your cavalli,” Abe snapped, glaring at Mark. “I’m getting to it.” The ex-detective leaned back against the bar. “The first one looked like you too, but with longer hair and a little taller. He had two lines running down his face. One red and the other blue. He dressed nice. Too nice for this place. I think the other must have been built to look like him. He was a robot with red and blue panelling, wearing a blue sweater. Looked a little beat up. Jumpy too.”

Google. How the fuck did Dark get his hands on Google? Mark glanced at Tyler, who was staring in wide-eyed shock. Sean had told them Google had jumped ship. Just up and left. Somehow the robot must have found Dark. Poor Sean had been distraught when he’d called.

“You know it?” Marzia and Abe asked simultaneously. They shared a disgruntled look.

“I think,” Mark started slowly. He had to be careful to not give away Sean. “I had a robot a little while back that matched that description. He ended up going rogue and disappeared.”

“What would Dark want with him?” Marzia asked. “A rogue robot isn’t usually someone’s first choice in companion.”

Maya snorted.

“He was an information robot,” Tyler answered, taking over for Mark. “He had the ability to learn information. I can only guess that Dark would want the robot to find whatever he’s looking for.”

Marzia hummed under her breath, making a note in her files. Abe scowled, muttering something about ‘pink’ and ‘too deep now.’

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Abe grumbled, mostly to himself.

“What question?” Mark asked, feeding the former detective the line he was clearly waiting for.

“What were they doing with Wilford?” Abe asked, frowning at his bottle. “He’s not usually one to spend a lot of time with any one person. From what I gathered, however, he’d been with this ‘Dark’ fellow for a while now.” Abe finished his thought off with a deep swig of booze. For a second, Mark thought Abe looked worried, his hands trembling around the bottle.

Then he looked up, and the concerned man was gone, leaving a disgruntled, disgraced detective.

“So nice to learn you’re on a first name basis with the criminal,” Marzia said dryly. Abe flinched. “Don’t worry. My superiors won’t hear about it. Just keep the friendliness under the table, Abe.”

He grunted, the worry lines lessening in his forehead. “There’s more than one reason I got fired. We both know it, so cut the crap.”

“Anything else you can tell us?” Marzia asked, ignoring him.

Abe thought for a moment. “I did overhear that Dark fellow yelling at the robot about something. A Celestial, I think. He was mad that the dude wasn’t here. Real mad. I don’t know what he’s after, but if it has to do with a Celestial…” Abe shuddered. “This guy is bad news.”

Marzia frowned, and Mark and Tyler exchanged anxious looks.

“Thanks for the help, Abe,” Marzia sighed. “I’ll be sure to contact you if we see your killer anywhere.”

“Glad I could help,” Abe grunted, lifting the bottle of booze towards the trio in a gesture of goodwill. “And thank you too. Give the others my best.”

“For what?” Tyler leaned in and muttered in Mark’s ear. Mark shrugged, and they started walking away. Marzia picked up Maya and followed quietly behind.

“Relate information to P3WD,” Marzia said quietly to the little robot dog. Maya sneezed, her eye flashing pink.

Mark and Tyler climbed back into their pod, leaving behind the flashing nightclub. Marzia leaned against their pod, her expression serious.

“This is worst than we thought,” she said. “I can’t tell you exactly why, but we need to find Dark. Fast.”

“Why? Why can’t you tell us?” Mark argued back, exasperated.

Marzia clutched Maya tightly. “It’s not safe. Not right now.”

She walked away, holding her dog close as she climbed into her own pod.

.

.

Mark paced his and Amy’s bedroom, running his hands through his hair.

Nice try, gret.

How had he known? How had he known that Mark was coming? Nobody besides the GAAP knew that his crew was tracking him. He could practically see Dark’s face. The sneer he was probably wearing as he carved the letters into the club’s wall.

You’re a mistake.

Something nudged his foot. Mark looked at the ball that he’d walked into. Another one of Chica’s toys. Picturing Dark’s smug face, Mark kicked the ball as hard as he could. It ricocheted off the wall and returned to slam Mark in the gut.

Mark gasped as the air was forced from his gut. He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

You care. Pathetic.

Dark was the pathetic one, Mark thought.

Regaining control of his airways, he huffed and sat down on the floor. He glared at the ball. What was so wrong about attachments? Dark had always been dodgy whenever anyone asked him about family or relationships, but Mark had never really thought much of it. Maybe he’d lost someone a long time ago, and so he’d built up walls, convinced to never let anyone in ever again. Maybe he had some empathy.

Mark picked up the ball, examining the bright reds and blues.

No. Dark wasn’t some half-assed trope. He wasn’t going to find redemption in the ‘power of friendship’ or whatever sickly sweet bullshit lines from a movie could pull out to show that this man wasn’t as bad as he seemed. He wasn’t a good person, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to find forgiveness from Mark.

Tossing aside the ball, Mark laid back on the floor, covering his face with his hands and letting out a tired groan.

He was so tired.

They all were. Tyler worked long nights, Kathryn digging through every contact she had, and Amy supporting them all. Ethan took every piece of information they had, running it through his data banks. Even Bing pitched in where he could. Marzia was relentless, especially after the nightclub. She pushed them on. Pushed them farther.

Mark was used to working hard. He liked working long hours. He liked feeling like he was accomplishing something. This wasn’t that. He wasn’t doing anything but running in circles, chasing a ghost. Marzia was working his entire crew down to the bone, and the stress was starting to get to all of them.

You know nothing, gret.

He might not know a lot, but he knew that they were going nowhere.

They needed help.

.

.

“BEEP BEEP ASSHOLES PREPARE TO BE BOARDED.”

Panic. That was all Mark felt as he bolted out of his room, determined to reach the docking bay before Marzia did.

He had forgotten to tell Sean that they had GAAP agents on board. Sean wasn’t one to give forewarning to his sporadic visits, and panic only continued to rise in Mark’s chest as Sean’s hearty laughter echoed through the halls.

Mark crashed into Bing as he rounded a corner. Bing looked more excited than usual, which was really saying something.

“Suh, dude!” Bing said happily from under Mark. “It’s Sean!”

Mark scrambled off of Bing. “Bing, shut up. Go into timeout mode.”

“What!” Bing protested. “I didn’t break anything!”

“Just shut up and go to your charging module. You can’t be seen with Sea- I mean Jack! Okay, I don’t have time to tell you again!”

Bing pouted, but Mark only got a glance of the poor robot’s dejected expression before continuing his own sprint to the docking bay. He’d make it up to Bing later, but right now he needed to make sure his friend didn’t end up in prison because of Mark’s own stupidity.

Mark skidded around the corner to the docking bay just as Sean’s ship aligned up. Marzia stood at the door, staring at it with a little smirk. A hand traced the intricate hilt of a knife strapped to her leg.

Mark’s chest tightened, and not because he was out of breath.

“It seems we have a guest,” Marzia said, not bothering to look at Mark.

“Uh,” Mark wheezed. He wanted to make up something to cover Sean’s tracks, but it was too late. He was too late. The rest of the crew appeared, all wearing equally frantic faces as Sean sauntered through the door.

“Hey, fuckos!” he exclaimed, punching Mark in the shoulder. “Guess who just got back from…”

Mark didn’t know if it was the crew frantically shaking their heads behind Marzia, or Marzia’s raised eyebrow, but Sean stuttered to a halt. The scales on his arms shot up, tearing through his sweater.

“Mar-m-mmmmmwoooow who is this?” Sean stumbled over his words, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “You… uh… didn’t tell me you had a guest.” Sean said, quick to hide his surprise and glare pointedly at Mark.

Maya snorted, waddling over to sniff Sean’s boot.

“Uh, this is Marzia,” Mark said as he stepped forwards, gesturing between them. “Marzia, Se-Jack. Jack, Marzia. Marzia works for the GAAP.” Mark said, putting every amount of emphasis he had into GAAP.

“Pleasure,” Sean said, fangs clenched and bared as he extended a hand Marzia. Mark was almost positive Sean was going to judo flip Marzia over his shoulder. The two shook hands peacefully, if not roughly.

Sean spat on his hand and wiped it on his pants, cleaning it of Marzia’s touch.

“Likewise,” Marzia said cheerfully, wiping her own hand - which was now covered in grease stains - on a handkerchief she pulled out of the slim dark pants she was wearing.

All seven people stood in tense silence for what felt like forever, Sean glaring daggers at each of them. Chica, Henry, and Maya’s panting filling the silence.

“Should we, um, go sit down?” Amy suggested, cutting the tension like a spoon through molasses. “Dinner should be ready any minute now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sean said, pushing through the crew. He walked quickly down the hall opposite to the common room, tail lashing behind him. Mark and Amy exchanged glances.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Mark said. “You guys go eat. We’ll be there in a bit.” Before anyone could say another thing, he was chasing after his friend.

Mark caught up to Sean, who had stopped towards the end of the hall. Mark slowed his walk as he saw the Velm, approaching him slowly.

Sean was leaning against the wall, arms folded and lower lip stuck out as he glared at the opposite wall, his chest lowering and raising roughly as he attempted to calm himself. He didn’t look up as Mark jogged up to him.

“What’s up?” Mark asked, sliding onto the wall opposite of him. Sean huffed and turned his head to glare down the hall. Mark rolled his eyes, “Come on, man. Talk to me.”

“You know ‘what’s up,’” Sean growled, the scales rippling on his arms. “The GAAP? Really, Mark? And you didn’t think to at least let me know?”

“We didn’t exactly have a lot of choice about Marzia’s extended stay,” Mark said, kicking Sean’s foot to get his attention. He looked back at him for a second before returning to pouting down the hall. “And we kind of forgot. We’ve been… we’ve been busy. This whole business with the GAAP has been crazy.”

“Yeah, it usually is, isn’t it?” Sean said, standing up straight. “Well, since you’ve got that mess on your ship, I’ll be on my way. Didn’t expect to have to cut the visit so short, but I don’t think my kind is going to be very welcome here.”

“Sean, come on.” Mark reached out, grabbing Sean’s arm as he attempted to walk away. “Just stay for dinner? Just an hour, and then you can go. We’ll avoid politics or any of that government business. It’s been forever since we’ve seen you.”

“Just a month,” Sean muttered. “Scarlix Day.”

“Too long. Also—”  Mark looked down the hall both ways before turning back to Sean— “I need to cash in a favor. It has to do with this whole mess, but don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

“I’d better,” Sean sighed, straightening up and shaking out his tense scales. “Let’s get this over with.”

The two walked back to the kitchen. The others were getting everything set and ready for dinner. As they entered, Ethan gave Sean an anxious smile before darting over to save a falling stack of bread.

“Where is Bing?” Marzia asked, looking around.

“Charging!” Mark said, much too loudly. “He, uh, was feeling low.”

“Ah,” Marzia answered, giving him a blank look. Mark hated it when she started wearing the mask.

“Let’s eat,” Amy said, attempting to draw attention away from the missing robot.

The others sat around the table, Sean sitting as far away from Marzia as he could. The food was quickly passed around, everyone serving themselves.

“So, Jack,” Marzia started. Everyone around the table froze, and flinched when a plate clinked against the table. “How do you know these guys?”

Sean opened his mouth to answer, when Tyler butted in.

“We’re cousins!” he said, smiling much too widely and practically leaning across the whole table to cover Sean, who was rolling his eyes. “Close buddies. Grew up together.”

“But you’re Graeldur,” Marzia pointed out. “And Jack is Velm.”

“I’m—” Sean attempted to cut in.

“Adopted!” Ethan also threw himself across the table to save Sean. “I mean, I’m not adopted. Well, I kind of am. I don’t really have a real dad, or mom, unless you count my creator, and I don’t because he’s kind of a dick. And dead to me. So I’m kind of adopted into this crew, cause you know… Anywho… What I meant to say is Jack’s adopted, right, Mark?”

“Right!” Mark said, eagerly jumping onto the train of lies. He could see Sean sliding down into his seat out of the corner of his eye. “I grew up next door to Tyler, so I can totally one hundred percent confirm this!”

Kathryn grabbed Sean, forcing him to sit back up. He gave her the most tragic, betrayed look Mark had ever seen. Kathryn wasn’t swayed, but patted his arm comfortingly.

“He lost his family in a crash,” Kathryn added, wiping a non-existent tear from her cheek. “I couldn’t believe it when Tyler told me about it.”

“Look, I’m just—” Sean attempted to stand, but Amy forced him back down.

“Tyler and Mark are like brothers to him,” she said, giving Sean a tight hug. “They grew up together so closely. I bet they could tell you all about it.”

“Oh god…” Sean muttered, tensing in Amy’s strong grasp. Mark knew there was no way he was getting out of that mechanical grip any time soon.

“Oh really?” Marzia took a drink, the corners of her mouth turned up. “I’d love to hear every detail.”

“Yes!” Tyler said. He held a hand to his chest, looking off into the distance. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was a little pebble. Jack was a tiny lizard who squeaked a lot.”

“Jack did squeak a lot,” Mark affirmed, smiling nostalgically.

“I did no—”

“Shush, we’re reminiscing!” Ethan said quickly, putting his finger over Sean’s lips.

“We used to play in the gorge by our houses, and explore the caves. Jack ate bugs. So many bugs,” Tyler sighed.

“Okay, that one—”

“One time, he tripped on a rock. He broke two of his toes and chipped his tooth,” Mark interrupted, trying to contain his laughter. “He had to walk around on crutches for weeks, because the hospital was too far away. He also whistled every time he talked.”

Amy still had one arm firmly keeping Sean in his seat, the other planted over her mouth to keep herself from laughing. Kathryn was keeping a perfect poker face, but her ears were shaking and her tail twitched rapidly.

“He went through an edgy phase when he was a teen,” Tyler said, taking over so Mark could relax. “He had gauges and—”

Sean yelled, “OKAY TIME TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT, DEAREST COUSIN.”

Tyler let out a chuckle and leaned back in his seat. “I guess that’s enough stories for now.”

“No, why don’t we tell some stories about you two?” Sean suggested, grinning wickedly. “I remember Mark one time was cooking some dinner for everyone, but instead of putting flour in, he put in actual flowers from the garden. His dad took one bite and had to run to the bathroom to throw up.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Well, one time Jack accidentally tripped and managed to pull down his pants in the middle of school.”

“Well, one time Mark told this one girl he liked her, and she slammed her lunch tray in his face in front of the whole cafeteria.”

“Uh huh. Jack once got gasoline on his hands and set off alarms at our school.”

“The same girl he had a crush on got him to eat two live worms!”

“He biffed it into a mud pile!”

“He broke his arm learning to pilot!”

“He had blue stripes!”

“He had a bowl cut!”

Sean and Mark had both climbed on top of their chairs and were yelling with growing intensity at each other. Everyone else watched in stunned silence, Henry and Chica hiding under Amy’s legs. Someone needed to intervene before either of them said something they would regret.

“I THINK NOW’S A GOOD TIME TO END STORIES,” Tyler yelled forcefully, grabbing the back of both of their collars and yanking them back into their seats. “Why don’t you both go cool off a bit?” Sean and Mark glared at each other before standing up and storming off in opposite directions.

“Well, this has been eventful,” Marzia patted her mouth with her napkin before standing. “I think I’m going to bed. Thank you for the meal, Amy. Kathryn. Ethan.” She nodded to each of them before bouncing out of her seat and skipping down the hall.

“Tyler, can you get Sean?” Kathryn asked, stacking the dirty dishes in Ethan’s arms. “Amy, would you get Mark?”

.

.

A few minutes later, everyone except Marzia was back in the kitchen. Tyler held Sean under one arm, the Velm’s tail lashing as he glared at Mark across the room.

“Can I leave, please?” Sean plead, looking up at Tyler.

“Politeness will get you nowhere,” Ethan pointed out.

“Shut up, Ethan, I’m bargaining for my freedom.”

Ethan snickered and leaned back in his seat.

“Can you two apologize so we can have a proper discussion?” Kathryn groaned, rubbing her temples.

“The only thing that needs discussed is how quickly I can leave,” Sean said, crossing his arms.

“Oh shut up,” Mark muttered. “You’re the one who escalated it.”

“You’re the one who said I was adopted!”

“That was Tyler, you idiot!”

“Says the guy who ate worms!”

“You grew up eating bugs!”

“It was normal! I was, like, two! You were fifteen!”

“Yeah, well—”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT IT,” Kathryn yelled, preventing another yelling match. “We have more important things to talk about than your childhoods.”

“Maybe you should have just let me talk for myself then,” Sean said, squirming in Tyler’s arms.

“Is it that bad being my cousin?” Tyler asked, sticking out his lower lip and fake crying.

“It is when you tell a complete stranger things I told all of you in confidence,” Sean hissed.

“Or when you were completely wasted,” Ethan snickered, his face quickly falling when Kathryn glared at him. “Sorry.”

“Just, what the fuck guys? I spill my darkest secrets and you tell Marz… that GAAP agent and…”

“Look, we should just move on already,” Amy sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re both idiots, congrats. In case any of you have forgotten, we’re chasing Dark.”

The room quickly sobered.

Sean looked around in disbelief. “Seriously? Why the fuck would you guys even try to find that dickwad again?”

“The government asked us. Now,” Mark held up his hands as Sean snorted sarcastically. “I get that you hate the GAAP, but we do need your help.”

“I’m not helping the GAAP,” Sean said, shaking his head. “No way, no how, not ever.”

“What if it’s us?” Kathryn asked, holding out a file. Tyler let go of Sean, whose eyes widened as he dropped to the floor with a thud. Standing up, he reached forwards and took the file. “We need your help. We’re working on limited information, and we’re honestly grasping at straws.”

“Dark seems to know when we’re going to show up. He’s always a step ahead. Sometimes twelve steps,” Mark said. “We’ve been working our asses off, trying to catch this asshole. It’s not working. We need to try something else.”

“That’s you,” Ethan said. “We need your help, Sean.”

“What am I supposed to do? This file is full of nothing!” Sean asked, snapping the folder shut. “It’s just redacted information and bullshit. I don’t know why else you would expect more from the GAAP. And another thing, why should I help? Dark’s not my problem, and he shouldn’t be yours.”

“He’s going to hurt people,” Amy said quietly. “Which makes it our problem.”

“So?” Sean huffed. “People get hurt all the time, and the GAAP turns a blind eye. Why are they so suddenly concerned about them now?”

“Dark is going to hurt millions of people,” Tyler said. “Whatever he’s looking for, it’s going to kill planets.”

“Besides,” Mark said, folding his arms. “Even if it was one person, it’s my problem. I won’t stand by idly when I could help. I can’t.”

“Millions died when Scarlix was destroyed,” Sean growled, lowering his head and staring down at the floor. “The GAAP didn’t care then. Why should I care now?”

“We’re not asking you to care about the fucking GAAP,” Mark argued back. “We’re asking you to care about people.”

Sean clenched his hands. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to start sentences that went nowhere. Finally, he slammed the file down on the table, causing them all to jump.

“Fine. I’ll help. Don’t expect me to be happy about it,” Sean said.

“Thank you,” Mark said, smiling quietly. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever, hero,” Sean huffed, his own smile breaking out. “You owe me big on this one.”

“Next Scarlix Day’s gift will be great. Just you wait,” Mark chuckled. The two stood, and Mark pulled Sean into a hug. “We’re helping people. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Wheeeeee. It sure feels good helping the fucking government,” Sean said dryly, but Mark could hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

.

.

“Sam, lights please.”

“Beep!”

“Be careful, Sean,” Robin’s voice said quietly in his ear. “This place is higher security than what you usually tackle.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sean muttered, his voice echoing more than he liked around the huge room. “I’ll be careful, dad.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just get into the files already.” Sean looked around. Line upon line of glowing computers lined the dark halls. The ceiling stretched up farther than he could see. Several dimly lit drones scanned the room, one barely sweeping under Sean’s position. Its line of sight was just below where Sean had plugged in a remote hard drive. Sam hovered above it, staring with his glowing eye. Sean hugged the wall, keeping an eye on the vent he’d crawled out of.

“There’s a lot of stuff in here. What exactly are we looking for?” Robin asked.

“Get the files; ask questions later,” Sean replied, curling tighter against the wall. “The sooner I get out of here, the better.”

“Okay, just a couple more minutes.”

“Sean, patrol coming. ETA five minutes,” Chase said in his ear, sounding more anxious than usual.

Sean checked the watch on his wrist. Ten minutes early. Why the fuck were they doing rounds early?

“Tackleball tournament,” Robin answered his thoughts. “They want to see the final playoffs so they’re doing rounds early.”

Sean had to refrain from groaning out loud. He’d never cared much for sports, and now it was going to actually kill him.

“Hold on. Just a few more minutes.” Robin’s voice was growing increasingly more anxious. “If it’s too long, get out of there.”

“I promised my friends I would get this,” Sean hissed under his breath. “I’m not going to let them down.”

“Cool. I am also your friend and I don’t want to see you die either.” Robin snarked back.

“Less talk-y more work-y.” Sean checked his watch again.

For a few tense moments there was nothing but the quiet whir of machines. Sean watched everything move, hoping that the doors on the far end would stay shut. For their sake, he hoped he wasn’t going to get caught today.

“Done.”

Sean grabbed the hard drive and slipped into the vents just as the door opened. The guards loudly talked and laughed, jibing each other about their differing teams. Sean slowly slunk away, looking through Sam’s night vision mode to see his way out.

That was close.

An itch in the back of his mind agreed.

.

.

“What do you think is on here?” Sean asked Chase, looking the little hard drive over with a hungry look in his eyes. “Big scandals? Government secrets? All the information about how that representative from Jythma spends all their money on gambling at Nihill Floating City casinos?”

Chase shrugged. “Yeah, probably. There is a lot on there.”

“We should look.”

“We should not look,” Chase countered.

“Why not?”

“Because that reasoning is the reason behind half your near death experiences.”

“Only half,” Sean argued amicably. “Besides, I can sort out half the junk in here before we send it to the Barrel, and then they won’t have to.”

The two sat in front of the dash. Chase mindlessly tossed screws into a cup while Sean sat in his chair, legs propped up on the dashboard. JJ cleaned in the background, dancing to music only he heard as he swept up Sean’s last meal.

“I’m looking,” Sean said, letting his legs hit the floor. Before Chase could stop him, he had already jammed the hard drive in and was scrolling through.

“Alrighty, sorting by X’s…” Sean muttered, eyes alight with eagerness.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Chase said, picking up the mug and dumping the screws out into his hand.

“Shush. Ooh, Xanhull: Earth 3430-3478. This looks interesting. What were Xanhull doing on Earth? Don’t you want to know?” Sean elbowed Chase as he opened the file.

“Not really,” Chase said, leaning in to read anyways.

For a moment, the two read in silence. The childish joy Sean had felt at breaking into GAAP’s most secure servers was quickly fading, replaced by cold horror.

“What the fuck?” Sean muttered, feeling sick. Image after image… lines upon lines of words invoking images in his head he couldn’t stop thinking about… Sean couldn’t bring himself to look away, learning more and more. As he finished, the horror and disgust were replaced with stubborn determination. He turned to Chase, shutting down the file.

“We need to tell the Barrel.”

[wisdomrays]

Essentials for Fruitful Criticism

QUESTION: What do we need to be careful about while making constructive criticism, which is an important means of seeking the better at everything, so that it will be effective and fruitful? What are the essential points to be observed both by those who make and receive criticism?

ANSWER: Criticism means criticizing a statement or behavior, revealing its negative and positive sides, and making a comparison between what is and what should be; it is one of the important scholarly essentials that facilitates progress toward the ideal. In this respect, it has been employed since the early generations of Muslims. For example, in the methodology of Hadith, a given report would be evaluated with a critical approach in terms of its text and the reliability of its chain of narrators. Indeed, criticism took its place in the methodology of Islamic disciplines from the beginning, in order to unearth the truth at issues such as finding the right meaning to be derived from Divine commandments and interpreting them correctly. This scholarly discipline of criticism served as a sound filter against alien elements incompatible with Islam. As the discipline of munazara (comparing and discussing ideas) also developed, the new interpretations that emerged as a consequence of fruitful discussions were also put to criticism, tested with established criteria, and sparkles of truth were attained in the end.

Particularly at questioning the reliability of the chain of narrators in the field of Hadith, there was a serious accumulation of literature. Numerous volumes of work sought to help authenticate whether statements reported as Hadith genuinely belonged to the Prophet, blessings and peace be upon him. But even while making judgment and evaluation at such an important issue, scholars showed the utmost sensitivity at refraining from excessive remarks. For example, Shu'ba ibn Hajjaj, one of the important Hadith scholars of the classic period who systemized the subject of criticism (naqd) for the first time, once used an interesting term while referring to the critical evaluation of narrators. Addressing a fellow scholar, he said, "Come, let us make some backbiting on the path of God," drawing attention to both the necessity of doing this vital task and that it must solely be done for the sake of God.

The method of criticism was successfully employed particularly during the first five centuries of the Islamic calendar in the fields of both religious and positive sciences, for the sake of reaching the most appropriate. Therefore, this scholarly method can be employed in our time as well, given that fairness, respect, and mindfulness are maintained. At this point, let's refer to the manners and method of criticism briefly.

Adopting a Fair Attitude and Soft Style

The issue criticized must be presented in a very sound style and utmost care must be shown at using a polite manner of speaking. That is, the criticism is not meant to evoke a negative response, but to be easily welcomed. When you present your alternative thoughts and plausible approaches for solving certain matters, you will be shown respect if you do it in agreeable politeness. For example, suppose that you are stating your opinion on a certain subject and the person you are addressing thinks the opposite. If you say, "This is what I knew about the matter, but I see that it has a different side as well," that person will likely come to you after a while and confess that your opinion had been more appropriate. And this time, you will respond by thanking that person for being so fair. In this respect, one should know how to—to some degree—dismiss one's ego, experience, and knowledge for the sake of upholding righteousness. In other words, if you expect the reasonable to be met reasonably, you should even evaluate others' not-that-reasonable thoughts within their own reasonability, adopt a welcoming attitude toward them, and form an atmosphere of sincerity where people can be welcoming toward truths.

Making General Statements without Targeting the Person

History has witnessed that, in whatever field, those who do not show respect to others' thoughts and who continuously dismiss others as worthless, ruin so many worthy things without even noticing it. For this reason, whatever is the nature of the element before us, we should adopt the principle of treating them all with a certain degree of respect. This is a very appropriate means of making people before us accept the truths that we present. Otherwise, no matter how great the projects that we offer, statements slammed on others' heads will not be welcomed. When criticism is not expressed politely, it will inevitably be received negatively, even if the matter that we criticize is an obvious mistake of someone that conflicts with the decisive and established teachings of religion. For example, you might witness that your friend has gazed at a forbidden sight. If you jerk into telling his embarrassing mistake to his face in a direct way and reproach him, he may respond by trying to justify some devilish considerations—God forbid! In particular, if the individual in front of you is not ready for a criticism of his attitudes and behaviors, then every criticism of yours will evoke reactionary behavior and disrespect against truths, or even make that person hostile against his own values. Even if such people understand what they hear is true, they will do their best to devise new arguments to get the better of the person before them, owing to the trauma of receiving that criticism like a mighty blow on their head; they will be continuously imagining the best way to answer the criticisms directed toward them, even when they retire to their bed at night.

Thus, matters need to be told indirectly, without taking individual persons as targets.Indeed, when the Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, witnessed a person's wrong, he did not directly criticize that person. Instead, he gathered people together and spoke about that act in general, which allowed the doer to hear the lesson. On one occasion, for example, a man who had been commissioned to collect taxes said, "This amount is the tax I have collected and these were given to me as presents." Upon hearing this, the Prophet addressed his followers from the pulpit and made a general statement about when he commissions a person to carry out a certain commandment of God and that person states that a part of what he collected belongs to the state and the rest is a present to him. To show how mistaken this idea was, the Prophet asked whether those gifts would have been presented had he sat in his parents' home.

The issue of who makes the criticism is also very important. If something needs to be told to someone, one should not be too eager to do that personally, but rather leave the issue to another person whom the one to receive criticism loves very much. In such a situation, even criticism from a beloved friend will be taken as a compliment. If it seems likely that a criticism you need to make will receive a reactionary response, you should leave it to someone else because what really matters is not who voices the truth but whether the truth meets with a heartfelt acceptance.

At this point it is useful to relate a relevant parable of the two grandsons of the Prophet, blessings and peace be upon him. Although this parable about Hasan and Husayn does not take place in the reliable sources of Hadith, it conveys important lessons.

Accordingly, the two boys came to make ablutions somewhere and they saw a man who splashed water all around but did not wash his limbs properly as required for a valid ablution. These two young talents of keen insight sought a way to show him the way without humiliating him. With this intention, they asked the man to tell them which one of them made ablutions correctly. They made ablutions exactly as they had learned from their blessed father Ali ibn Abi Talib, may God be pleased with him. When they were done, they asked which one of them did it better. With the ease of being free from humiliation, the man calmly replied that they both did it so well and that his own way was wrong. Therefore, it is important to reiterate that the style we use at correcting wrongs bears great importance in terms of acceptance.

Educating Individuals to Accept Criticism

Additionally, making people able to accept criticism and evoking a righteous feeling of respect in them constitute a separate dimension of the issue. The Companions, who had attained an ideal level of righteousness, could comfortably warn one another about any wrong that they had committed without causing any negative reaction at all. For example, during a sermon, Umar ibn al-Khattab, may God be pleased with him, reminded people that it was necessary to keep bridal dues (mahr) within affordable limits and told them not to ask for too high amounts. What he suggested was a reasonable solution to prevent possible abuses. Even today, an understanding attitude of this issue will definitely fulfill an important function at solving a social problem. While Umar was drawing attention to this fact, an old woman spoke up and asked the caliph, "O Umar, is there a Qur'anic verse or hadith on this issue that you know and we do not? The Qur'an commands, 'But if you still decide to dispense with a wife and marry another, and you have given the former (even so much as amounts to) a treasure, do not take back anything thereof' (an-Nisa 4:20), thus not setting a limit to the amount of bridal dues." In spite of being the caliph governing a great state that challenged the two superpowers of the time, Umar said aloud to himself, "O Umar, you do not know your religion even as much as an old woman." This degree of righteousness caused Umar to be referred as "al-waqqaf inda'l haqq" (one who halts when he meets the truth). That is, when he faces a righteous argument, he stops like a car that suddenly comes to a halt while moving downslope. It is necessary to effect this feeling in people. For this reason, we should make a deal with a certain friend and authorize him or her to comfortably criticize any wrong that arises in our personal attitudes and behaviors.

In conclusion, a person who intends to criticize, or rather to correct certain matters, must first understand the issue well and make a serious effort in terms of making the correct remark. Secondly, the other person's feelings must be taken into consideration and fathom whether that other person is ready to welcome what we are about to say. If a negative reaction seems likely, one should not think, "I definitely want to be the one who expresses this truth," but instead leave the criticism to another person whose remarks will be more influential. Considering the circumstances of our time, when arrogance has become so prevailing and people cannot tolerate even a little criticism, these principles have gained a greater importance. As for those who receive criticism, they should uphold righteousness above everything else and respond to criticisms with gratitude instead of reacting negatively.

[bountyofbeads]

Turkey Begins Syria Incursion, Targeting Militia Backed by U.S. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/09/world/middleeast/syria-turkey-kurds.html

Kurds mobilize in Syria as Turkey poised for imminent attack

By LEFTERIS PITARAKIS and BASSEM MROUE | Published October 9, 2019 :9:25 AM ET | AP | Posted October 9, 2019 10:15 AM ET |

AKCAKALE, Turkey (AP) — Warning of a "humanitarian catastrophe," Syrian Kurdish forces who are allied with the United States issued a general mobilization call Wednesday as Turkey threatened to invade northeastern Syria.

The Turkish operation would ignite new fighting in Syria's 8-year-old war, potentially displacing hundreds of thousands of people, and the Britain-based Syrian Observatory for Human rights reported that people had begun fleeing the border town of Tal Abyad. Kurdish politician Nawaf Khalil, who is in northern Syria, said some people were leaving the town for villages farther south.

Turkey has long threatened to attack the Kurdish fighters whom Ankara considers terrorists allied with a Kurdish insurgency in Turkey. Associated Press journalists on the Turkish side of the border overlooking Tal Abyad saw Turkish forces crossing into Syria in military vehicles Wednesday, although there was no official statement from either side that the offensive had begun.

Expectations of an invasion increased after U.S. President Donald Trump on Sunday abruptly announced that American troops would step aside ahead of the Turkish push, a shift in U.S. policy that essentially abandoned the Syrian Kurds, longtime U.S. allies in the fight against the Islamic State group in Syria. But Trump also threatened to "totally destroy and obliterate" Turkey's economy if the Turkish push into Syria went too far.

Turkey has been massing troops for days along its border with Syria and vowed it would go ahead with the military operation and not bow to the U.S. threat. A senior Turkish official said Turkey's troops would "shortly" cross into Syria, together with allied Syrian rebel forces to battle the Kurdish fighters and also IS militants.

Trump later cast his decision to pull back U.S. troops from parts of northeast Syria as fulfilling a campaign promise to withdraw from the "endless war" in the Middle East. Republican critics and others said he was sacrificing an ally, the Syrian Kurdish forces, and undermining Washington's credibility.

Fahrettin Altun, the Turkish presidency's communications director, called on the international community in a Washington Post op-ed published Wednesday to rally behind Ankara, which he said would also take over the fight against the Islamic State group.

Turkey aimed to "neutralize" Syrian Kurdish militants in northeastern Syria and to "liberate the local population from the yoke of the armed thugs," Altun wrote.

Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan discussed plans for the incursion with Russian President Vladimir Putin. Erdogan's office said the Turkish leader told his Russian counterpart by phone that the planned military action in the region east of the Euphrates River "will contribute to the peace and stability" and also "pave the way for a political process" in Syria.

Turkey's Defense Minister Hulusi Akar told the state-run Anadolu Agency that Turkish preparations for the offensive were continuing.

In its call for a general mobilization, the local civilian Kurdish authority known as the Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria, also asked the international community to live up to its responsibilities as "a humanitarian catastrophe might befall our people."

"We call upon our people, of all ethnic groups, to move toward areas close to the border with Turkey to carry out acts of resistance during this sensitive historical time," it said, adding that the mobilization would last for three days.

The Kurds also said that they want the U.S.-led coalition to set up a no-fly zone in northeastern Syria to protect the civilian population from Turkish airstrikes.

The U.S.-backed Syrian Kurdish group urged Moscow to broker and guarantee talks with the Syrian government in Damascus in light of Turkey's planned military operation. The Syrian Kurdish-led administration said in a statement it is responding positively to calls from Moscow encouraging the Kurds and the Syrian government to settle their difference through talks.

Syria's Foreign Ministry condemned Turkey's plans for an invasion, calling it a "blatant violation" of international law and vowing to repel the incursion. Although it blamed some Kurdish groups for what is happening, saying they were being used as a tool to help an alleged "American project," it said Syria is ready to welcome back its "stray sons if they return to their senses," referring to the pro-U.S. Kurdish fighters.

Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov accused Washington of playing "very dangerous games" with the Syrian Kurds, saying that the U.S. first propped up the Syrian Kurdish "quasi state" in northeastern Syria and is now withdrawing its support.

"Such reckless attitude to this highly sensitive subject can set fire to the entire region, and we have to avoid it at any cost," he said during a visit to Kazakhstan. Russian news media said Moscow communicated that position to Washington.

Earlier Wednesday, IS militants targeted a post of the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces in the northern Syrian city of Raqqa, which was once the de facto IS capital at the height of the militants' power in the region.

The SDF, which is holding thousands of IS fighters in several detention facilities in northeastern Syria, has warned that a Turkish incursion might lead to the resurgence of the extremists. The U.S.-allied Kurdish-led force captured the last IS area controlled by the militants in eastern Syria in March.

In the IS attack, three suicide bombers struck Kurdish positions in Raqqa. There was no immediate word on casualties. An activist collective known as Raqqa is being Silently Slaughtered reported an exchange of fire and an explosion.

The Observatory said the attack involved two IS fighters who engaged in a shootout before blowing themselves up.

IS claimed responsibility, saying one of its members killed or wounded 13 SDF members.

Also Wednesday, Iranian state TV reported a surprise military drill with special operations forces near the country's border with Turkey, in Iran's Western Azerbaijan province. The TV didn't mention the expected Turkish offensive into Syria or elaborate on the reasons for the drill.

The head of the Arab League, Ahmed Aboul Gheit, said he was alarmed at Turkey's planned offensive, adding in a statement that such an invasion would be a "blatant violation of Syria's sovereignty and threatens Syria's integrity."

Aboul Gheit said it also threatens to inflame further conflicts in eastern and northern Syria, and could lead to an IS revival.

Turkey Begins Syria Incursion, Targeting Militia Backed by U.S.

By Ben Hubbard | Published Oct. 9, 2019 Updated 9:52 AM ET | New York Times | Posted October 9, 2019 |

BEIRUT, Lebanon — Turkey launched a planned military incursion into northeastern Syria on Wednesday aimed at flushing out a Syrian militia backed by the United States, President Recep Tayyip Erdogan wrote on Twitter.

Mr. Erdogan said the operation aimed to “prevent the creation of a terror corridor across our southern border,” but provided no other information about where Turkish forces had entered Syria or how far in they would go.

Earlier Wednesday, a Syrian militia backed by the United States had mobilized its forces and warned of a “humanitarian catastrophe” as Turkey massed troops near the countries’ border for an incursion it said would begin “shortly.”

Turkey’s planned move to root out Kurdish militants in northeastern Syria, after the United States withdrew its forces from two observation posts near the border, has sparked fierce debates in Washington and could open a dangerous new front in Syria’s eight-year-old war.

New violence between Turkey and the United States-backed Syrian Democratic Forces would pit two United States allies against each other in ethnically tinged battles, leaving Washington in an awkward position.

Mr. Erdogan has been threatening to send troops into northeastern Syria to uproot the militia, which the United States has partnered with for years to fight the Islamic State, also known as ISIS. Turkey considers the militia a terrorist organization linked to a Kurdish guerrilla movement.

In an op-ed in The Washington Post on Wednesday, Fahrettin Altun, Turkey’s communications director, wrote that Turkish forces, with their Syrian rebel allies, “will cross the Turkish-Syrian border shortly.”

“Turkey has no ambition in northeastern Syria except to neutralize a longstanding threat against Turkish citizens and to liberate the local population from the yoke of armed thugs,” he wrote.

For its part, the Syrian Democratic Forces said the area was “on the edge of possible humanitarian catastrophe” because of the looming Turkish incursion.

“This attack will spill the blood of thousands of innocent civilians because our border areas are overcrowded,” the group said in a statement.

The Kurdish-led administration that governs the area issued a call for “general mobilization” to fight the Turks.

“We call upon our people, of all ethnic groups, to move toward areas close to the border with Turkey to carry out acts of resistance during this sensitive historical time,” it said.

Early Wednesday, Mr. Trump reiterated his opposition to United States military presence in the Middle East, writing on Twitter that “USA should never have been in Middle East.”

He said that Turkey should take control of captured Islamic State fighters from Europe whose countries had refused to take them back and who were imprisoned in northeast Syria.

Which Groups Control Syria

Kurdish forces control the northeastern part of Syria.

“The stupid endless wars, for us, are ending!” Mr. Trump wrote.

Tens of thousands of Islamic State fighters and their families are in prisons and camps overseen by the Syrian Democratic Forces, whose leaders say there have been no discussions with the United States about handing over the facilities.

A military coalition led by the United States partnered with a Kurdish militia in northeastern Syria beginning in 2015 to fight Islamic State extremists who had seized a territory the size of Britain that spanned the Syrian-Iraqi border.

That militia grew into the Syrian Democratic Forces and eventually took control of the areas liberated from the Islamic State, pushing it from its last foothold in Syria earlier this year.

But the partnership angered Turkey, which considers the militia a part of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, or P.K.K., a Kurdish guerrilla movement that has been fighting the Turkish state for decades.

In recent days, Turkey has been preparing an incursion, with forces bused to the border and howitzers positioned behind dirt embankments, pointed at Syrian territory.

After a phone call with Mr. Erdogan on Sunday, the White House announced that Turkey would be sending forces into Syria and said the United States would not help or hinder their advance.

On Monday, United States soldiers withdrew from observation posts near the Syrian border towns of Tel Abyad and Ras al Ain, in the area where Turkey is expected to enter.

The commander of the Syrian Democratic Forces, Mazlum Kobani, told The New York Times on Tuesday that his forces would resist any attempt by Turkey to establish a foothold in Syria.

His forces have been key to the United States effort to defeat the Islamic State in Syria, battles that left them holding more than a quarter of Syrian territory.

Mr. Kobani and a range of current and former United States officials have warned that a new fight with Turkey could pull his forces out of areas where the Islamic State remains a threat, opening a void that could benefit President Bashar al-Assad of Syria and his Russian and Iranian backers, or the jihadists.

Mr. Trump has repeatedly sought to withdraw the roughly 1,000 American troops posted in northeastern Syria as part of his longstanding promise to extricate the United States from what he deems “endless wars.”

But he has faced fierce pushback from others in Washington, including from Republican lawmakers.

On Tuesday, Mr. Trump sought to clarify his position, writing on Twitter that the United States had “in no way abandoned the Kurds,” but that it also had good trade relations with Turkey.

He threatened that “any unforced for unnecessary fighting by Turkey” would be “devastating” to its economy and currency, but without explaining what sort of action would cross the line.

Senator Lindsey Graham, Republican of South Carolina, addressed Turkey on his own Twitter account on Tuesday, warning the country not to go ahead with the operation.

“To the Turkish Government: You do NOT have a green light to enter into northern Syria,” Mr. Graham wrote. “There is massive bipartisan opposition in Congress, which you should see as a red line you should not cross.”

Erdogan orders Turkish offensive against northern Syria as Kurds mobilize civilian defense

By Kareem Fahim, Karen DeYoung and Asser Khattab | Published October 09 at 9:52 AM ET | Washington Post | Posted October 3, 2019 10:15 AM ET |

ISTANBUL — President Recep Tayyip Erdogan announced Wednesday that Turkey’s military has launched a long-expected offensive into northeastern Syria targeting U.S.-allied Syrian Kurdish fighters who have played a central role in battling the Islamic State militant group.

“The Turkish Armed Forces, together with the Syrian National Army, just launched #OperationPeaceSpring against PKK/YPG and Daesh terrorists in northern Syria,” Erdogan wrote on Twitter Wednesday afternoon, referring to the Syrian-Kurdish force as well as the Islamic State.

“Our mission is to prevent the creation of a terror corridor across our southern border, and to bring peace to the area,” he said. Turkish media outlets aired footage of warplanes leaving from an air base in Turkey’s southeast and large explosions in Tel Abyad and another Syrian border town.

The offensive has presented the Trump administration with a dilemma, because of the Syrian-Kurdish forces alliance with the United States.

The White House announced Sunday that it was withdrawing U.S. troops from the area that Turkey planned to invade, igniting a firestorm of criticism. Republican leaders denounced Trump’s abandonment of the Kurds. Pentagon officials struggled with explanations, humanitarian workers warned of civilian casualties, and Kurdish commanders said they might be forced to abandon their Syrian prisons holding thousands of captured Islamic State fighters and head for the front lines against Turkey.

Turkey views the Syrian-Kurdish fighters as terrorists allied with Turkey’s Kurdistan Workers’ Party, or PKK. A spokesman for President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Fahrettin Altun, writing in The Washington Post on Wednesday, called for international support for Turkey’s offensive. 

“Turkey has no ambition in northeastern Syria except to neutralize a long-standing threat against Turkish citizens and to liberate the local population from the yoke of armed thugs,” Altun wrote. 

Officials said they were uncertain whether Turkish forces would conduct a symbolic feint inside the border — which they said could enable the U.S. troops to return to reactivate the safe zone — or would force their way deeper into Syria.

Outside experts have cautioned that a large-scale Turkish operation, if it precipitated a security breakdown at prisons holding Islamic State militants, could prompt a larger U.S. withdrawal from Syria. The American presence, which includes about 1,000 troops in northeastern Syria, is a lean force dispersed across a number of bases.

Sabah, a Turkish newspaper close to Erdogan’s government, published a report Tuesday describing how the battle might unfold. It said Turkish armed forces would wait for the full withdrawal of U.S. troops before commencing any operation. Warplanes and howitzers would pound enemy positions, then Turkish troops would enter Syria from several points along the border, east of the Euphrates River. 

The military would advance as far as 18 miles into Syrian territory, the report said, without naming its source. After the operation was completed, Turkey would “continue its humanitarian work to bring back locals in the area.”

On the other side of the Turkish border on Wednesday, many residents were steeling themselves for the worst. Mikael Mohammed, a Kurdish father of three who owns a clothing store in Tel Abyad, a quarter-mile from the Turkish frontier, said he had not received any customers since Tuesday. U.S. troops based in the town withdrew early Monday after the White House announcement.

“All the shops around me are open, except that there are no people,” Mohammed said in a telephone interview. “The only people heading to the marketplace today are those who need to buy food or things that are absolutely necessary. People who are out there in the streets look as if they are going to someone’s funeral.” 

And the town itself was divided. Some residents supported the Syrian-Kurdish force, called the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), as it faced off against Turkey’s military might. Others supported rebel groups backed by Turkey.

“We have people who were displaced from Afrin because of the Turkish invasion — they are worried that they will be displaced once again,” he said, referring to Ankara’s 2018 military offensive against a Kurdish enclave west of Tel Abyad. 

“People are scared. When we used to see U.S. troops in the streets of Tel Abyad, we would feel safe; they were here to protect us. Yesterday, we saw U.S. troops, but this time they were on their way out of the area, and that terrified people,” he said. 

DeYoung reported from Washington and Khattab from Beirut. Sarah Dadouch and Liz Sly in Beirut contributed to this report. 

Turkey begins military offensive in Syria, Erdogan announces

By Helen Regan | Updated Oct 9, 2019 |

CNN | Posted October 9, 2019 9:54 AM

(CNN) - Turkey's offensive in northeastern Syria has begun, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan announced Wednesday, just days after the Trump administration announced it was pulling US troops back from the border area.

"Turkish Armed Forces together with the Syrian National Army against PKK / YPG and Daesh terrorist organizations in northern Syria #BarışPınarıHarekatı has started. Our aim is to destroy the terror corridor which is trying to be established on our southern border and to bring peace and peace to the region," Erdogan tweeted.

"#OperationPeaceSpring will neutralize terror threats against Turkey and lead to the establishment of a safe zone, facilitating the return of Syrian refugees to their homes. We will preserve Syria's territorial integrity and liberate local communities from terrorists," Erdogan added.

The start of the operation to move US-backed Kurdish forces away from its border came hours after Turkish government communications director, Fahrettin Altun, said the country's military was set to cross into Syria along with the rebel Free Syrian Army.

In a tweet early Wednesday, Altun said the the Kurdish People's Protection Units, also known as the YPG, had two options: "They can defect or we will have stop them from disrupting our counter-ISIS efforts."

Syria condemned Turkey's "hostile intentions ... and the military build-up at the Syrian borders," according to Syrian state news agency SANA.

"The aggressive behavior of the Erdogan regime clearly shows the Turkish expansionist ambitions in the territory of the Syrian Arab Republic and cannot be justified under any pretext," a source at the Foreign Ministry said Wednesday, SANA reported.

The statement added that the Syrian government holds some Kurds responsible for what is happening "as a result of their dependence on the American project."

CALLS TO AVOID A 'POSSIBLE HUMANITARIAN CATASTROPHE'

The expected offensive comes days after US President Donald Trump provoked a storm of criticism, including within his own party, by announcing that US troops would be pulled back from the border area.

Trump's decision effectively provides Turkish troops with a green light to attack US-backed Kurdish forces, though Trump threatened to punish Turkey economically if it does "anything outside of what we think is humane."

Ankara regards the YPG as a terrorist group affiliated with the Kurdistan Workers' Party (PKK), which has fought the Turkish state for more than three decades. But the US backs the YPG and credits the Kurds for helping defeat ISIS in Syria.

The Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) said Tuesday that "all indications" point to a Turkish attack on its border areas and called on the international community to help avoid a possible humanitarian disaster.

In series of tweets from the verified Twitter account of the SDF, the General Command said the border areas of northeast Syria "are on the edge of a possible humanitarian catastrophe. All indications, field information and military assembly on the Turkish side of the border indicate that our border areas will be attacked by Turkey."

"This attack will spill the blood of thousands of innocent civilians because our border areas are overcrowded," the SDF said. It went on to call on the international community and those countries fighting against ISIS "to carry out their responsibilities" to avoid a "possible impending humanitarian disaster."

Separately, the group claimed Tuesday that the Turkish military shelled one of its points in northeastern Syria on the border with Turkey in an "unprovoked attack."

The SDF, which has vowed to defend itself against any perceived Turkish incursion, called on the US-led coalition and the international community to implement a no-fly zone over northern Syria similar to the one implemented in Iraq.

The Turkish Defense Ministry said Tuesday that the Turkish Armed Forces is "the only coalition and NATO army fighting the DAESH (ISIS) terrorist group in the Euphrates Shield Operation."

"Turkey is one of the countries most affected by DAESH's bloody activities and has fought against this terrorist organization both domestically and beyond its borders with increasing tempo and intensity," the ministry said in a tweet posted on its official twitter page.

The Euphrates Shield Operation, launched in July 2014 inside Syrian territory, was not only aimed at fighting ISIS but also the YPG.

On Wednesday, the SDF said ISIS "sleeper cells" attacked Kurdish positions in Raqqa, Syria, in the early hours, as tweeted by Mustafa Bali, head of the SDF press office.

Manbij Military Council spokesman, Shervan Derwish, also tweeted about the attack citing security sources saying, "more than 50 armed Daesh group in Raqqa are launching a coordinated attack to control Al Basel base in center of the city."

On Saturday, Erdogan announced that the country had "completed our preparations and action plan" and was ready to launch a "ground and air operation" east of the Euphrates river, with the goal of establishing "peace" by clearing the region of "terrorists."

Reinforcements deployed by the Turkish army could be seen arriving at the border town of Akcakale on Tuesday, according to the state-owned Anadolu news agency.

TURKEY WON'T 'BOW TO THREATS '

The Kurds have long been considered as among Washington's most reliable partners in Syria and in the broader campaign against ISIS in the region.

US-backed Kurdish forces have been responsible for holding all captured ISIS fighters in the area. However, according to the White House, this responsibility will now fall to Turkey.

Trump has defended his decision to remove US troops from the area, saying he was "not siding with anybody" -- Kurdish forces or the Turkish government -- and reiterated an earlier warning to Turkey about potential economic devastation.

"I told Turkey if they do anything outside of what we think is humane ... they could suffer the wrath of an extremely decimated economy," the President said.

Turkish Vice President Fuat Oktay said his country won't "bow to threats" in an apparent response to Trump's warning.

"Turkey will teach a lesson to terror organizations that threatens our southern border and we will give an opportunity for Syrian refugees who are currently in Turkey," Oktay said. "Our message to international community is clear. Turkey is not a country that will bow to threats."

The abrupt move, announced in a Sunday night statement from the White House press secretary following a call between Trump and Erdogan, has prompted a rare show of bipartisan opposition to the Republican President.

Trump has faced a barrage of criticism from within his own party, including Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, Sen. Lindsey Graham and former US Ambassador to the UN Nikki Haley about the decision.

And the former top American general overseeing operations in the Middle East said Trump's "decision to seemingly abandon our Kurdish partners could not come at a worse time."

"The decision was made without consulting US allies or senior US military leadership and threatens to affect future partnerships at precisely the time we need them most," retired Gen. Joseph Votel, who led US Central Command from March 2016 to March 2019, wrote in an opinion piece in The Atlantic.