#and leave america alone to do our own thing

[girlactionfigure]

This was written by Eric Hoffer in 1968. Amazing how some things never change.

"The Jews are a peculiar people: things permitted to other nations are forbidden to the Jews.

Other nations drive out thousands, even millions of people and there is no refugee problem. Russia did it, Poland and Czechoslovakia did it, Turkey threw out a million Greeks, and Algeria a million Frenchmen. Indonesia threw out heaven knows how many Chinese-and no one says a word about refugees. But in the case of Israel the displaced Arabs have become eternal refugees. Everyone insists that Israel must take back every single Arab. Arnold Toynbee calls the displacement of the Arabs an atrocity greater than any committed by the Nazis.

Other nations when victorious on the battlefield dictate peace terms. But when Israel is victorious it must sue for peace. Everyone expects the Jews to be the only real Christians in this world.

Other nations when they are defeated survive and recover but should Israel be defeated it would be destroyed. Had Nasser triumphed last June he would have wiped Israel off the map, and no one would have lifted a finger to save the Jews.

No commitment to the Jews by any government, including our own, is worth the paper it is written on. There is a cry of outrage all over the world when people die in Vietnam or when two Negroes are executed in Rhodesia. But when Hitler slaughtered Jews no one remonstrated with him.

The Swedes, who are ready to break of diplomatic relations with America because of what we do in Vietnam, did not let out a peep when Hitler was slaughtering Jews. They sent Hitler choice iron ore, and ball bearings, and serviced his troop trains to Norway.

The Jews are alone in the world. If Israel survives, it will be solely because of Jewish efforts. And Jewish resources. Yet at this moment Israel is our only reliable and unconditional ally. We can rely more on Israel than Israel can rely on us. And one has only to imagine what would have happened last summer had the Arabs and their Russian backers won the war to realize how vital the survival of Israel is to America and the West in general.

I have a premonition that will not leave me; as it goes with Israel so will it go with all of us. Should Israel perish the holocaust will be upon us."

Uri Kurlianchik

@VerminusM

[avelera]

"Weirdness", Decency, and the Historical Echoes of Walz's tide-turning call-out of MAGA

At the risk of writing a high school paper about American politics in 2024, I think there's a historical echo that I'd like to add to the conversation of why Walz calling MAGA people, "weird" seems to finally armed Democrats with a line of personal attacks against MAGA that resonates with voters and seems to have overall broken the spell on this, well, weird behavior by them.

I think the one line of discussion that I haven't seen explored as to why the "weird" attack seems to be working to call out this aptly-named behavior by the far right in America is its similarity to the end of another far right movement in America: McCarthy's Red Scare.

It is popularly attributed that the moment, the quote, that brought about the end of the Red Scare was this:

"Until this moment, senator, I think I never gauged your cruelty or recklessness . . . . Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?"

Special Counsel for the U.S. Army Joseph N. Welch confronting Sen. Joseph McCarthy (source)

Many historical accounts will say this is the moment the spell broke with McCarthy. That this is the moment when Americans looked around like the naval officer at the end of Lord of the Flies and basically said, "What the hell is going on here?"

I think Walz's "weird" quote is this moment.

I've been waiting for this moment to occur with MAGA for some time. It did indeed feel as if no amount of pointing out the lunacy, the absurdity, of the movement was enough. I think other commentators might be right when saying that appealing to how dangerous they are, how scary they are, wasn't working. I could speculate on a variety of reasons for this, like that people like to be part of the winning side and being "scary" can feel good. Or that because of Godwin's Law it's nearly impossible to impress upon people how serious and swift the rise of fascism can be even when it's right in front of you, because no one wants to believe that "our sort of people" would do that sort of thing.

But calling out the MAGA movement as "weird" seems to be working because it echoes Welch's "decency" attack. It is treating childish behavior with the response it deserves. It's huff of exasperation, it's the admonishment of the social choir saying, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you care about other people's personal lives so much? Why the hell are you trying to ban books like the Nazis did? Why are you going after women and immigrants and trans kids? Why can't you just be a good neighbor and leave people alone? At long last have you no sense of decency?"

We're tired of it. The MAGA movement has gone too far beyond the wishes of the moderate "silent majority" (such as it is and that's its own topic of debate) and is now obsessed with its own culture war issues that have grown increasingly detached from anything anyone really cares about day to day except for their die hards. And those die hards are so out of touch they don't realize it happened.

If I may end on one last rumination, I think that part of the reason the MAGA movement has lost touch is because of Trump's skill at marketing. Now, I loathe pretty much every aspect of the man, I struggle to think of any point on which I don't, but there is one thing, one thing I'll give him credit for which is being an arguably generational talent at marketing, branding, and self-promotion. He's good at getting his name on things and making them all about him (before he inevitably runs them into the ground).

But the thing is with marketing, you do a thing called A/B testing. You see which message resonates the most. And if a feel-good ad gets you 30% response and a misogynistic ad gets you 60% response, you go with that misogynistic one because the numbers support it (I actually saw this happen with an ad campaign so it's based on personal experience).

Now, if you notice that 16 year old boys really like your product and if you sell to them, you move more product, even if you lost the interest of everyone else, you're still doing a good job at moving your product (see Hollywood for the last few decades). Because a large, certain audience is better in marketing than trying to achieve broad but tepid appeal.

But the thing in politics is that you actually do have to expand your appeal. You have to get over 50% in the US. That means expanding the coalition, appealing to more people. But that runs counter to the way a lot of product marketing would work, where you'd single out your best audience and market aggressively to them because you'll get a better return. That, I think, is why Trump risks losing the middle even as he has the right locked down. He is a marketer, not a politician. He has his reliable audience. But that reliable audience isn't enough to win office. It's just enough to get reliable buyers of his product. And he doesn't know how to expand beyond them.

To bring this all back to "weirdness" and "decency", I think this too plays into what we're seeing. The MAGA movement has turned in on itself through its constant marketing to itself, always seeking a bigger outrage, a bigger sequel to bring people to the theater. That has put it out of touch with the wider mainstream. It's made them weird, a weird subculture within America that is not in touch with what most people want out of their government.

At least, that's what I hope. We'll find out in a few months now, won't we?

[breelandwalker]

Snow Moon - February 23-24, 2024

Boots and mittens on, witches - it's time for the Snow Moon!

Snow Moon

The Snow Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs during the month of February. Despite what certain groundhogs will tell you, February is the month that sees the highest rates of snowfall across much of North America, according to the National Weather Service, and many alternative names for the moon and the month in which it falls reflect this.

As with many full moon names, we find the roots of the Snow Moon among the indigenous peoples of North America. In this particular case, a colonist explorer noted in 1760 that the Naudowessie (Dakota) people called this month Snow Moon specifically due to the tendency for snowstorms to come during that month. Some other indigenous names for this moon and month refer to commonly-sighted animals. Some examples include Eagle Moon (Cree), Bear Moon (Ojibwe), Groundhog Moon (Algonquin), and Goose Moon (Haida). Another notable example is Hungry Moon (Cherokee), denoting the scarcity of available food in deep winter.

The Snow Moon this year is what is known as a "micromoon" - basically the opposite of a supermoon. Where a supermoon brings our beloved satellite closer to Earth, at the perigree (or zenith) of its' elliptical orbit, a micromoon is at the apogee (or nadir), placing the moon at a point comparatively farther away. The moon will be at peak illumination at 7:30am EST on February 24th, meaning the moon may appear to be full on the 23rd and the 24th, depending on where you live.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

February is a month of change and transition. Though winter still holds on, many places may be showing early signs of spring. Little buds may be coming out on the trees, certain species of birds are beginning to migrate back, and hibernating animals start to wake up and reappear.

As we begin to turn toward the end of our long winter's rest, it's a good time to think about how we prepare for oncoming change and how we care for ourselves and our practices during times of stagnation.

With the moon in apogee, we might also contemplate the concept of distance as it relates to our practices, be it keeping long-distance bonds fresh, doing things remotely either alone or as part of a larger group, or feeling distant from your craft or your deities. And yes, such things are normal and cyclical. Our inspiration and motivation wax and wane just as the moon does. If it feels like you've been far away from your craft for too long, perhaps it's time to bring it back into your orbit.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Gather fresh snow or icicles for moon water, or make your own moon ice by leaving a bowl of water out overnight to freeze, if the temperature drops low enough.

If it snows in your area, you can wish upon a snowball. Grab a handful of powdery snow, whisper your wish to it, and throw the whole thing up in the air to release the wish into the universe

With winter scarcity in mind, practice creating a minimalist spell as an exercise. Create a workable spell with as few components, words, movements, or ritual elements as possible. This is more of a challenge if you're used to using material components or rituals in your spellwork. Many witches cast spells with focused thought or energy work alone.

Explore the concept of self care as magic. Use your routines to create moments of rest and harmony, make a point of being kind to your body and your mind, and cultivate a more positive relationship with yourself - it's the only one guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Connect with your local biome by looking for any early signs of spring in your area. Feed the returning birds and identify the plant and animal species you see around you as they appear one by one.

Happy Snow Moon, witches! 🌕❄️

SOURCES & FURTHER READING:

Bree’s Lunar Calendar Series

Bree’s Secular Celebrations Series

Snow Moon: Full Moon in February 2024, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Snow Moon: The Extraordinary Full Moon of February 2024, The Peculiar Brunette.

Moon Info - Full Moon Dates for 2024

Calendar-12 - 2024 Moon Phases

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, check out my monthly show Hex Positive, and find my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Cue the beat drop

Blurb: After Eddie goes missing, assumed dead, you replace him as lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin.

Pairing: Vampire!Eddie Munson x Stranger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of grief and death, mentions of trauma, mean-ish!Eddie, blood(?), possibly an inaccurate attempt at description of Kas from D&D. Fictional Corroded Coffin songs.

-

Trauma permanently alters the brain, and whether or not we are willing to admit it, it changes our lives and who we are. We never really get over it, at best we can make peace with it- grieve with it and try to put it to rest. But a large life disruption leaves a new normal behind and there is no returning to who we were before. Before this.

It had taken Gareth and Jeff two and a half years to muster up enough courage to paper up flyers all over town- every window, sign post and street lamp had one stuck and stapled to it. They were looking for their new lead guitarist and vocalist for Corroded Coffin- a legacy that Eddie Munson had left behind.

Being new to Hawkin’s came with a profound sense of oblivion. You were unaware of the history and all you knew were the rumours of what had happened a few years prior to your arrival in the cursed town. Words twisted and whispered from ear to ear. Elderly ladies clutching their Holy jewellery as they walk through the streets, mumbling prayers beneath their breaths. It was unsettling, to say the least. Oddly, though, there was something about Hawkin’s that called to you. A dark beckoning leading you from one place to here. Where you’ll remain.

-

‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.’ Friedrich W. Nietzsche

When you first read that quote, you never understood it. Not then. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss… staring back at you.

Corroded Coffin had soared in popularity. One of their singles, It Only Takes Six Feet, ended up on the Hot Top 100 billboard in the whole of America, sitting at #86 on the list. It was a song dedicated to Eddie, written by all of the members of the band. Of course you did most of the edits and redrafts but it was made by you all. For him. For the man who started it all.

After the stats came in, and the fans followed like metal headed soldiers, the rest was history. Corroded Coffin had its own army of ‘devil worshippers’ and their songs were playing across America on radios, stereos and TV’s alike.

It led you to here. Centre stage with blinding lights blurring your vision. Your lilac guitar slung over your shoulders securely, your hands supporting the weight. The audience is a single organism of moving, reeling silhouettes, who are screaming lyrics wildly back at you. The feeling is intoxicating. The way your voice echoes on the speakers, or how your body glistens and glitters with sweat and even the confidence radiating from your choice in outfit. Tonight felt electric. Everyone was paying attention to you…

You narrowed it down to it just being a really great gig, but things hadn’t been this good since you left Hawkin’s for a small out of state tour. Being back in the bands origin town created an atmosphere that was.. unearthly. Something darker and deeper than you could never comprehend.

Eddie really just couldn’t believe it. Hearing his own lyrics leave your precious little mouth. It seemed wrong- it was wrong.

He watched you with intent from the back of the concert hall, blending in with the shadows cast upon him as he hugged the walls.

No one paid him any mind, he was purposely invisible- seeking out your attention and yours alone. His eyes glow, flickering like a faulty light bulb between a thrilling onyx and a fierce maroon. He wanted you to clock him. To seek him out in the crowd. You and Eddie had never had the pleasure of meeting and Eddie planned to change that. After all, you deserved to know who you were singing about, right?

The fans adored you, and because of your reputation, your angelic voice and your looks- you invited in a wider spread of demographic. You expanded the band without changing a thing and it made you feel accomplished. You were proud of what you contributed and so was Gareth and Jeff.

It made Eddie giggle demonically to himself so see a photograph of him taped to Gareth's drum set. It was a decent picture to say the least, however he couldn't help but wonder why they were paying him so much tribute. Was it some sick and twisted way to promote the band and get more media coverage? Or were they really just as pathetic as he thought and still missed him.

Eddie preferred the 'sick and twisted.'

The hall falls eerily dormant to you as there is a brief pause between songs. The audience remain enthralled but their screams are drowned out but a high pitched ring in your ear. At first, you thought it was mic interference. You never understood it. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss... staring back at you.

Staring into you.

Despite being beneath the sweltering stage lights, your skin coats in an unavoidable freezing spread of goosebumps. Your breathing staggers outwith your control and your head blazes with fog. You can hear Gareth trying to speak to you from behind but you're bolted to the spot, your eyelids fluttering in sync with your heart which you are now suddenly over aware of thundering inside of your chest.

You move a hand to where it beats beneath the skin, clutching at the fabric of your sheer pink blouse as you fight the urge to collapse- but unfortunately for you, your efforts go to waste. Eddie made sure of that.

-

You come to a small flashlight being shone in your eyes and a worried paramedic frowning at you.

“She’s awake!” Gareth yells over to Jeff and both of them appear in your line of vision, they are a bit distorted figure wise but you recognise them nonetheless.

“You’re backstage. You’re in your dressing room, can you tell me which town you are in?” The paramedics voice feels like it is a thumping base inside of your head and you wince inwardly to yourself. Gulping thickly before you reply.

“Hawkins.” You bark rather harshly, your throat dry, “Water? Please?” Gareth nods and both him and Jeff leave the room to go grab you a refreshment. Trust those two to make a one person job into a two person job.

“You’ll be alright, it was probably dehydration.” With a click of a button the flashlight turns off and it is placed back in the medics equipment bag, “I’d recommend taking it easy for the rest of the night- but I know you young ones don’t really listen to anyone these days… so take some pain medication and drink some bloody water, please.” With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders he exits the room, heaving a sigh and leaving you to recollect your fractured thoughts.

What the Hell happened?

“You collapsed. Is what happened, love.” His voice comes from behind you, a hissing in your ear like a serpents tongue. Which seems impossible because you are situated on a sofa which is pressed against a wall. Logically, no one should be able to get behind you.

Whipping your head over your shoulders frantically, your eyes shot wide with terror as you search the room, only for your gaze to land on him cackling in front of you evilly. The tiredness has been shaken from your bones and the adrenaline flooding your bloodstream is enough for you to jump and go straight through the ceiling.

You know him. You know this man.

“Boo?” He remarks with a sinister grin.

You always thought, when put in these situations, that your trigger response would be fight or flight.. but you are frozen as cold as ice, to the spot.

“This is the part where you try to run away but I ultimately catch you.” His voice is strained, like he is longing for a drink of water, “Cat and mouse, my favourite game.” His large hand finds his chest in a sentimental gesture, “Usually it would warm my heart- but I don’t have one anymore.”

Not anymore? Confusion wraps a noose around your mind. What is he talking about? And why does he look so familiar and yet so alien?

Noticing your rigid unmoving frame Eddie frowns mockingly, “Awh,” He starts with a coo, “You’re no fun.” His bottom lip pokes out before he is biting back a smile. Flashing what you can almost pinpoint as fangs…

“I recognise you…” Your weak voice sounds pathetic as it leaves your throat in the form of a gulp- starting strong and then fizzling out into a whisper. Eddie cocks a brow, his hawk like eyes narrowing in on you.

“I’d like to hope so, sweetheart, considering you were just singing my lyrics.” He leans against your vanity mirror, crossing his strong arms against his chest, not having a single care for any of the products he has just swiped off of the desk.

“Eddie?” Your eyebrows knit together tightly on your face, eyes pinching as you shake your head, “I must be hallucinating. This isn’t real.” You let out a breathy laugh, bringing your palm to your face where you run it down your skin semi-aggressively.

“I must’ve hit my head hard!” You continue to laugh, your mind reeling. Eddie stares at you- a mix of amusement and impatience dominating his features.

“That’s adorable.” He pushes himself from the vanity mirror and within seconds he is in front of you, pinning you down onto the worn leather of the decades old sofa, “I don’t know if I should find you cute or annoying.” His fingers grip your face with a punishingly tight force and you squirm beneath him, fear replacing every one of your comedic thoughts.

“Please,” you squeak out, hoping there is some humanity left inside of him. But you would be wrong to assume, “Eddie, please…”

Your feeble attempts make him snicker beneath his breath, his grip only worsening on your cheeks, “This isn’t a dream, baby. I’m real, I’m here- I may not be alive… but I bet this pain feels pretty human to you, doesn’t it?” He quirks his head slightly, like a psychotic interested dog and you wince, your fingers clawing desperately at his wrist to try and get him to ease up, “It’s a shame that you might have bruises left on this pretty face of yours. I can see why Gareth chose you.” His chest rises and falls with more distorted laughter, “Poor lad, he so clearly wants to fuck you… but you don’t want him, do you?”

The dark sounds of his strangled cackle fills the room, you can hardly breathe with his weight on top of you. He is too strong, so unwavering. It makes you question..

What is he?

“You’ve replaced me.” He clicks his tongue, evidentially displeased, “You replaced me- and you hadn’t even met me.” He brings his face dangerously close to yours, your breathing is erratic and uncontrollable and only now are you able to really hone in on his appearance.

His eyes are blown to an impure murky shade of black and his lips are crusted ever so slightly with a tinged shade of red. Spider web like veins have crept themselves up his neck and arms- the hue of them being a deep purple… almost like the veins are dead- void of any blood at all.

“That’s it, baby, take it all in.” His pointed tongue sticks out, the muscle meets your face as he licks a long strip from your cheek to the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down your face, but Eddie was relishing in the saltiness of the liquid, “Tastes good, but not really what I’m gunning for.”

His obsidian eyes settle on your neck and you can feel your pulse quickening. Your legs have entered the equation as you start to thrash more violently against him, coming up short.

“Eddie stop! Please! Please!” You’re wailing now, screaming for your life and it irks Eddie beyond description. Violently he lets go of your face, only to clamp his hand steadily across your mouth.

“Those aren’t the type of begs I want to hear, gorgeous.” Your fists pound against his hollow chest and he brushes your attempts at self defence off like it is nothing. He even fake yawns at your bratty behaviour.

“You sounded so pretty up there on stage, I just had to meet you. That’s why you had that little dizzy spell.. that was me, you following along?” He sniffs at your hair, his nose tickling down to the shell of your ear, “Call me obsessed- but I might be your biggest fan.”

Heaven opens the floodgates to your eyes and you are a quivering, sobbing mess beneath Eddie. Your limbs are much too tired to fight against him and you can see your demise approaching.

“I’m not going to kill you,” He answers your thoughts, almost like he can hear you think, “I’m just so fucking hungry.” Craning your neck off to one side Eddie nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his nose poking and prodding at your skin- right above your main artery, “I also want my position back as lead guitarist.” His voice is much gentler now, a breathy whisper against your flesh, “I’m sure we can find room for you somewhere though, hmm?” You can tell that his words have a demented double meaning and you muster up enough energy to try and push him off again.

Your limbs feel like jello, weak and boneless. Eddie feels as though he is made of steel. Weighty with effortless leverage against you. Your eyelids feel fluttery as you look at the dressing room door- hoping Gareth and Jeff are just outside.

You can see shadowy figures dancing beneath the crack in the door and you mumble out a cry from beneath Eddie’s palm, “They won’t be able to help you.” His words are punctured by his teeth piercing your skin- harshly but with surgeon like precision.

Fire scorches your blood at the contact and your eyes shoot open with furious panic. You can’t scream against his hand, but you try. Choking out sobs and knocking at Eddie’s body. He doesn’t give, if anything he sucks at your neck harder, growling lowly into your ear. All you know is pain, it’s all you know- no more fear, no more terror. Just pain. Agonising. Paralysing… and then..

Nothing. You go numb. Your body falls limp against the cushions, the hard wooden beam running through the sofa presses against your spine in an almost relieving way and you let out a large sigh through flared nostrils.

Eddie finishes with you, unhooking his talon like teeth from your veins and studying your expression closely, “You might feel a bit lightheaded, but you’ll be okay.” His fingers stroke against your cheek which is aching from his previous grasp, “You look so pretty… so exhausted.” With a clasped hand he strokes your hair back and away from your face, only to grasp it roughly and pull you up from the leather material which now has a very prominent outline of your body wedged into. You yelp out, your hands flying to the back of your head where you grab his wrist.

“Now go and open that door, and tell them we were having a quickie… maybe I’ll reward you later if you’re good.” With a knowing wink he pushes you away from him brutishly, slapping your ass and laughing as he watches you move on wobbly legs toward the dressing room door. You don’t understand why, but you listen to him. His voice is like music to your ears- and you’d do anything to hear him speak to you again.

And being the good, obedient, brainwashed girl that you are- you open the door to Jeff and Gareth, looking like your world just got rocked.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[highfantasy-soul]

I think The Acolyte is such a needed show and people really should seek out minority voices speaking on the conflicts within because it is really bringing to the forefront our culturally-taught biases when it comes to assessing 'both sides'.

I've seen a lot of takes thinking they understand the Acolyte by saying "It's great because BOTH SIDES are the same! They both made mistakes and share an equal part of the blame for what happened!"

And to that, I just have to take a deep breath and say as calmly as I can: Just because the storytelling isn't black vs white, pure good vs pure evil, because the show IS being told with nuance, it DOES NOT MEAN "both sides" are the same!!!

One side is an oppressed group living in solitude after having been pushed out of the 'republic' by a militant religious force. They are minding their own business, by themselves, simply existing.

The other side is that militant religious force who pushed them out of the republic who has come to the planet the coven is on, goes to the coven, interferes with their lives with the express purpose of disrupting who they live, and demanded to take their children.

Any 'mistake' made on the part of the indigenous group is NOT EQUAL to the 'mistakes' made by those coming in and trying to impress their own culture on the native one. The coven didn't go to Coruscant. They didn't march into the Jedi Temple where they were training padawans and demand to test them to give them the choice to come be trained as witches. The Jedi came to them.

I think, especially Westerners, have been so indoctrinated in the idea that it is their RIGHT to go anywhere in the world they want and interfere with every single other people group because well, Westerners are civilized and good - we need to make sure the savage 'others' are living according to our own standards and 'morals' - it's a GOOD thing to "make sure all people are being treated well". Plus, they might have resources that could benefit the rest of the world! It's not right that they hoard it all for themselves! It's our right to come and enjoy the beautiful land and local foods (that we of course change to fit our palettes) and entertain ourselves by watching the natives live in their 'unique and quaint' ways that are just SO FASCINATING to watch!!

It's the white savior mindset that leads to missionaries. It's the colonist mindset that led the Manifest Destiny in North America and the subjugation of Africa, India, the Middle East, South America, and I'm sure I'm forgetting many other non-Eurocentric colonist behaviors.

Read the personal writings of the colonists at that time: many BELIEVED they were doing the right thing. Many BELIEVED that they were 'helping' the other culture they were in fact, really subjugating. I would bet that the nuns who ran the Residential Schools for Native children in the Americas believed they were helping the children they stole - but that doesn't change the horrific harm they caused. The way a lot of oppressive regimes work is that they get people who truly believe they're helping people on board to enforce their will upon others. Those at the top (largely) know it's a lie, but moral superiority has always been a great motivator for humans. And individuals indoctrinated from birth (or 4 years old) can get that self-important self-righteousness so ingrained in them that even when their leaders tell them to leave well enough alone, they've been taught their entire life that they're the only 'correct' way to live, so it's their MORAL DUTY to 'save' others even when everyone else is telling them to stop.

THAT is where the nuance in The Acolyte comes from: The Jedi (specifically Sol and Torbin though Indara chose to bully her way into 'appeasing' Sol's concern about the girls rather than insisting on a sit-down with the adults of the coven) truly believed they were doing what was right, that they were 'protecting' the children of an indigenous group they knew nothing about.

The nuance is NOT "both sides are equally culpable". As though both the witches and the Jedi are in the exact same position with the exact amount of power and resources as the other.

If the forces were equal, one side wouldn't have been wholly massacred while the other all walked away alive - able to go back to a home that wasn't destroyed and all it's people killed.

Yes, it's important to show the repercussions on those who unwittingly caused a massacre (Torbin's Borash vow, Kelnacca's self-imposed exile) but that IS NOT TO SAY 'both sides suffered equally'. It IS to say "neither side was maliciously evil and got a kick out of causing a massacre, both sides genuinely had good intentions for their actions". Which again, is NOT saying "both sides are equally at fault for what happened".

It's just been very concerning seeing how many massacre-apologists there are out here blaming the coven for their own slaughter rather than...the ones who slaughtered them. No, protecting yourself against an invading force IS NOT being to blame for that invading force using your resistance as an excuse to wholesale slaughter everyone.

It is the responsibility of the invaders to bend over backward for the local population to prove they mean no harm - it is NOT the responsibility of the local population to immediately kneel to the invaders and do whatever they want in complete submission so that the invaders don't kill them all.

[deancashorrorfest]

Step right up to another wondrous round of DeanCas Horrorfest! The writers and the artists have collaborated to make this year one for the history books. We've got ghouls, we've got monsters, we've got blood, we've got gay love --- And when I say you shouldn't miss this, I mean you really don't want to miss this collection of spooky stories... you really don't know what could happen if you do 🤡🔪 I'd like to thank all our contributors for keeping the spirit of samhain alive and well. DeanCas Horrorfest would be nothing without enthusiastic cult members participants like you. ❤ So, without further ado...

You Better Not Stay || Rated E

story by @friendofcarlotta with art by @demeters-sketchbook

Recent high school graduates Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have been friends since childhood, and dating in secret for a little over a year. But their relationship has an expiration date: Cas is leaving town, and Dean… well, Dean isn’t. Not with his dad breathing down his neck and a family business to run. 

For their final date, Dean takes Cas to the old skating rink where they used to spend time as kids. What Dean doesn’t know is that when the rink closed down, something else took up residence there. And it won’t let them go without a fight. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The (After) Life of the Party || Rated M

story by @thebatmandiaries with art by @milfycas

After a fight with Sam one night, Dean wakes up in a world he is unfamiliar with. This world only has one rule: kill or be killed. As a designated Killer, he must kill all the Survivors before they have a chance to complete their task. If he doesn’t, he ruins the risk of becoming a Survivor himself. With the help of Charlie and Benny, other Killers, he slowly finds his footing in the new world he was thrust into. If only there wasn’t a strange blue eyed man to distract him… Link to Fic || Link to Art

Danger In The Mirror || Rated M

story by @dwinchester1979 with art by @keikakudom

Castiel is pulled through the mirror into a nightmare. Now his husband has to cover for his mysterious missing presence as he desperately tries to get Castiel back. Can they figure out the secret of the mirror before time runs out, or will Castiel have to face the girl with the silver dagger all alone?  Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Beginning || Rated E

story by @valleydean with art by @hawkland

One year ago, soon after Lucifer was freed from the Cage, Dean and Sam parted ways. Since then, Dean has been hunting on his own and, along with Cas despite his declining grace, searching for a way to prevent the apocalypse. When the outbreak of the Croatoan virus begins, Dean and Cas head to Bobby’s to plan their next move. On the way, as the contagion rapidly spreads through America, they must contend with the rabid infected, martial law, and humans who will do anything to ensure their own survival. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Clutch || Rated M

story by @dogfishmonger with art by @dolgoyangi

Dean is a normal, stable man in his 20s: He has a job. He has a boyfriend of three years, even if they're on the rocks. He has a little brother in pre-law. There are, simultaneously, things in his upbringing that he simply isn't supposed to question: His father's unexplained, undefined trips out of state. His mother's death. The body he once found in the basement. When Sam runs off in search of answers, Dean and Cas head east to find him. But after catching up with him, something's... different. Wrong. Dean and Cas are at odds—again—with Dean believing that Sam could be in danger, and Cas suspicious that Sam is the danger. Returning to normalcy will involve more digging into forbidden territory than Dean was ever prepared for. In the end, he doesn't even know if it was worth it. They're left with just as many questions as answers, and the answers they do have are ugly, insidious things, glistening oil-spill black and undulating. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Void Within || Rated E

story by @preetkiran1016 with art by @sketcheun

Dean's still getting used to the ache of loss and grief burning a hole into his chest. Still not used to the empty space where his brothers used to be. His life is a day to day drudgery, the eternal crawl, and since Cas broke up with him, he's not quite sure what he's got left to stick around for. When Jack and Claire go missing, well, he can't just sit back and watch. Digging deeper, Dean finds himself caught in the middle of a complicated web he can't hope to begin to untangle. Missing Kids, Doomsday Cults, and the sudden return of Castiel in his life have Dean spiraling, even with his trusted Service Dog, Miracle, by his side. But the one question remains, above all others- Who were the Men of Letters, and what were they doing in Lawrence? Dean doesn't think he's going to like the answer. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Crawling Dark || Rated T

story by @sylvanfreckles with art by @cactus-79

Dean was hoping for a straightforward case, something that would let him and Castiel have a little private time together. But what they found in the caves beneath Delving, Colorado was a stinking labyrinth of a death and decay, with an ancient horror at its heart. At the mercy of the darkness around them, Dean and Castiel must face a creature of immeasurable strength and insatiable hunger, with light as their only salvation. After all, it is better to light a candle than to curse the crawling dark. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Apres Moi, Le Deluge || Rated M

story by @folkbloodbaths with art by @an-android-in-a-tutu

Dean and Sam are on a camping trip, and they haven’t been home in a few days. When a sudden rainstorm and an injured ankle have them seeking shelter, an abandoned ranger’s cabin offers an unexpected port in the storm. Except, the abandoned cabin isn’t abandoned. Is its occupant, Castiel, just a recluse, or is he someone — or something — more sinister? Dean can’t help but feel drawn to him, even as he begins to have strange and terrible dreams about rising flood waters and a canopy of billowing black wings. And still, the rain continues to fall. Link to Fic || Link to Art (cw for flashing gif)

For Crying Out Loud || Rated M

story by @rowanspn with art by @solstheimart

Their relationship is perfect. At least, it was once. After a harrowing rescue from the depth of the Empty, a heartfelt reunion, and a breath of reciprocation, Castiel and Dean started to live life as they deserved. However, every Winchester knows that happiness does not stay long, not for that bloodline anyway. One night, following a fight worse than ever before, a terrible accident rips Castiel's life, and heart, in two. The guilt threatens to consume him but there is something far darker hiding in the shadows of his home. Will Castiel find a way to survive the ache in his chest or will the evil within his lonely walls kill him before it gets the chance? Link to Fic || Link to Art

Shall We Begin Again? || Rated E

story by @livingonaprayerstiel with art by @blanchescarlettm

Castiel is rescued from the Empty and wants to pick up where he left off with Dean. But, it is soon revealed that the Empty is not as gone as it seems. Castiel will have to find out who or what can be trusted as he acclimates to his new life. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Tenebrous || Rated E

story by @deancodedcastielenby with art by @hawkland

The war is over, Chuck is done and it's now the time where the Winchesters get peace... or is it. The war against God may be over, but that doesn't mean smooth sailing. Jack promises to be hands off, but there is a storm coming almost 12 years in the making. Sam knows something is wrong with Dean, it started out small, but now.... now it's become a problem so he enlists the aid of Rowena and Eileen, the only ones he can count on, to help him solve the mystery of Dean Winchester before its too late. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Conversion || Rated E

story by @bleuzombie with art by @nickelkeep

In order to avoid a jail sentence trans man Dean agrees to attend religious-based residential treatment for 90 days. Dean fights to maintain his sense of self as he is attacked mentally, and physically, and fights to protect his new friends Charlie and Castiel. Soon the treatment turns to torture. Jail would have been preferable. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Elevator Game || Rated E

story by @motherofdragonflies with art by @xfancyfranart

The game is simple. Get in an elevator, and follow the rules. If you follow them correctly, the elevator will rise and when the doors open, they will open onto a world that is not your own. When his brother goes missing after investigating the death of a teenage girl in a hotel in St. Louis, Dean Winchester is dismayed to discover it involved an internet legend called “the Elevator Game”. He’s even more dismayed when Castiel—who walked away weeks ago and hasn’t been returning Dean’s calls—shows up, also looking for Sam. Dean doesn’t want to work with Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t seem thrilled about working with him, either. Can they put their differences aside when they discover that Sam disappeared after playing the Elevator Game? Will Dean and Castiel play the game and travel to the Other World themselves? Will they find Sam before it's too late? The choice, dear reader, is yours. You are in control of the story. But choose wisely, for once you play the Elevator Game, things may never be the same again. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Like Ivy || Rated E

story by @abi-cosmos with art by @soloarcana

Dean Winchester was raised to be a killer, but after losing his brother Sam, he could do with a chance to lay low and rest up. Luckily, a 'roommate wanted' advertisement stuck to the window of a coffee shop leads him to Castiel, a professor at a local college who offers him three weeks' accommodation. At first, Castiel gets under Dean's skin, but they soon develop a friendship within the isolated house they're living in. Despite how haunted he is by his past, or how Castiel seems able to read his mind, Dean feels drawn to him and can't help but take things further. But Dean isn't the only one with secrets, and the line between friendship, love, and obsession gets bloody and blurry. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Rough Trade || Rated E

story by @squirrelofcelestialintent with art by @alicetallula

Dean is used to doing what he has to in order to get by, especially whenever his tough, temperamental father kicks him out during one of his rages. Even if it means getting on his knees for a little extra cash. He can take care of himself. He always knew the dangers of a trick going sideways, and he accepted it. What he didn’t expect was for someone to burst out of the darkness and save his sorry ass. Least of all a weird, nerdy little dude who seems to have just as many secrets as Dean and doesn’t know how to use a vending machine. Dean has street smarts and Castiel has (a little) cash. They’re both headed for the west coast to find their families. Teaming up seems like a safe bet. But the more time Dean spends with Cas, the weirder he seems. And the more he suspects that what he saw Cas do to his attacker on the day that he saved him - the terrible, inhuman thing - wasn’t a trauma induced hallucination after all. Screw it. With someone on their tail, Dean’s going to find out who his real enemies are soon enough. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Autumn Obscurum || Rated M

story by @xiejie-liubo with art by @hawaii-shirt-queer

Bartholomew's Bend is a quiet, ordinary place where ordinary people live their ordinary lives. Nothing of note ever happens, and all of the citizens are content to keep it that way. However, their tranquility is shattered when a series of disappearances startles the town's denizens, coinciding with the arrival of the Carnivale Obscurum and its proprietors, Asmodeus and Sands. Inspired by Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes Link to Fic || Link to Art

Can You See Me? || Rated T

story by @kingdumbass with art by @ephemerastardust

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 1995. After being stowed with their Uncle Bobby for the foreseeable future, Dean and Sam set out to make the most of their summer ‘vacation’. When they aren’t filling warm afternoons splashing in the creek, riding their bicycles, or suffering through old TV reruns, they’re in for cleanup duty.  Namely, sorting through all of Bobby’s old crap.  One day, while rummaging through the long-forgotten attic, Sam discovers an antique spirit board and convinces a skeptical Dean to try summoning a spirit. The results of which turn out to be a little more supernatural than Dean bargained for. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Link to Ao3 Collection

Happy Halloween! 🎃👻

[nanaten]

every day i think about what would happen if ninten agreed to go with giegue at the end of mother 1,,

With the themes present in Mother 1 I don’t think a world could exist where Ninten would willingly go with Giegue knowing that his family and friends would still be killed. No amount of self preservation instincts could make a boy so incredibly set on friendship and love make such a cruel and selfish decision. But I do think he would offer himself up in some sort of compromise— a la, “You know what? Fine. I’ll go with you if you leave earth the fuck alone, too.”

To be more specific, Giegue would arrive at Mt. Itoi, see a beaten, bruised Ninten, pained and tired from the fights he has been made to endure throughout his journey— and despite his anger, he’d feel some pity for this boy. Seeing such a pained face, looking strikingly like the mother he once loved, he would recall how grateful he once felt for Ninten’s family— specifically, how grateful he felt for Maria’s part in his life, and he’d feel a new, strange sense of empathy. After all— Ninten is the only part of Maria left in this world. Young and sweet and loving, uncorrupted by humanity’s shrill selfishness. And he’d want to preserve that.

“Ninten! You alone, I may save you. Just you alone. Board our Mother Ship with me…” Giegue would say, and Ninten would be confronted with the option. To stay with Giegue.

Ninten weighs out his options. The eight melodies— how can he really guarantee they’ll do anything substantial? How can he be sure they’ll be enough?

Can he, and his weakened team, beaten down after the battles they’ve endured, really defeat Giegue? Is it truly possible? Keep in mind Ninten doesn’t even know the limit of Giegue’s abilities. Giegue has the ability to destroy Earth as he knows it, he could do much more, Ninten can only imagine.

But Giegue’s expression, and this newfound offer… it can be used as leverage.

Weighing his options; he bites his tongue. “I’ll go with you,” Ninten would say, “But please, don’t hurt earth. There’s people here that I love, like you loved Maria. I will leave with you, and that can be your revenge.”

Giegue hears this and thinks. Taking the great grandson of the man who had betrayed him all those years ago— it’s a different type of revenge, it’s personal, and cruel in a way that hurts the mind, hurts the heart. It may not feel as… cathartic as what Giegue initially had in mind (thing being, of course, bloodshed,) but it does work. Alas, it’s not quite enough to satiate the deep-rooted hunger in the depths of his soul that yearns to see suffering.

Giegue adds another coviot— for he is not a good, kind creature anymore, he seeks the upper hand, he seeks as much chaos as possible. He responds to Ninten; “Very well. But in turn, I will be leaving the aliens I have summoned on earth. I will not go out of my way to kill these foolish humans you worship, Ninten, but may they never know a moments rest. May they never feel truly safe.”

Ninten agrees to this, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart. He knows the people of America are strong enough to protect themselves against Giegue’s creations, and more than anything, he knows Ana, Lloyd and Teddy are strong enough to protect everyone as best they can.

Ninten follows Giegue into the Mothership, feeling sick to his stomach. He can’t believe what he’s just done. He sits there, and he sobs. He was never the type to feel homesick or things alike, but in that moment, he missed his mother very much. Giegue did not say anything in response to the child’s cries. It seems the alien didn’t grow up to be anything like the mother who once held him as he shed tears of his own.

Ana, Lloyd and Teddy are speechless. They felt like it wasn’t their place to interrupt the conversation between Giegue and Ninten— it was personal, with history they weren’t intertwined in. They can’t even bring themselves to cry; not yet, for they’re simply lost. A newfound burden is placed on their shoulders to protect the citizens of American— and also to let a worried mother know that she won’t see her son again for a very, very long time.

[lesbicosmos]

day 3 of @painlandweek !!

day 3 prompt: love confession/first kiss

summary:

charles is slowly coming to realise the true nature of his feelings for edwin, but he hasn't told him yet, out of fear edwin has always moved on. luckily, niko is there to reassure him how utterly wrong he is

notes:

title from my love mine all mine my mitski <33

also on ao3!!

nothing in the world belongs to me but my love, mine all mine

The agency barely had a chance to rest after everything went down in Port Townsend before they were straight back to taking on new clients and solving new cases. It would have been nice to have some time to think and reflect on everything they’d been through, but Charles and Edwin were both happier they were back to their usual routine. Visiting America was fun - when they weren’t in peril, at least – but they’d missed London, missed the comfortable homely feeling of returning to their office after every case.

Their new normal was still different from the old normal, of course. Now, it wasn’t just the two of them – they had Crystal and Niko, too. They’d moved to London after Niko had recovered from what happened to her fighting Esther, and they were both now fully fledged members of the agency. Even Jenny had moved across the pond with them; she’d wanted a new start after the whole psycho-date-murder thing and then the crazy-witch-blew-up-the-family-business-and-tried-to-kill-her-tenants thing. Part of the reason she moved was also because she had grown too fond of Crystal and Niko to let them go – not that she’d ever admit to that, of course. Then there was the Night Nurse, who popped in every few days to check they were working. She pretended not to like the job, or the boys, but they could both tell she was becoming attached.

Their latest case was strange – not so much in itself, but for the group. It was the first case they’d done with only three detectives, since Crystal was busy. She was off attempting to fix things with an old friend, who she had discovered through her memory-marbles that she had hurt whilst under David’s control. The others had offered to go with her for support, but she insisted she did it on her own. She’d been doing it a lot; going off alone to try and make amends with her past. She’d only seen her parents once, though, in the two months since moving to London. It hadn’t exactly ended well: she’d let all her anger out at them, screaming at them for never even noticing that their daughter had been missing for weeks. They hadn’t even apologised, so Crystal just left. She wanted to fix things with them, she really did. But she was hoping for them to reach out to her, to apologise, to try. It hadn’t happened yet, so she’d moved on.

Luckily, this specific case didn’t seem to be one that required Crystal’s abilities. Of course, her presence would have been preferable – it felt like a part of them was missing without her now - but they could still get the job done while she was away. The client herself, a woman named Cordelia, wasn’t actually a ghost – she was alive, able to see ghosts after a near death experience as a child. She had fallen from a treehouse in her garden, which left her with such traumatic injuries she had to have an arm amputated (Edwin had spent several minutes enthusiastically learning about her prosthetic, enthralled by the advancements in modern bionic technology).

She had brought them the case of her wife Faye, who had died of a long-term illness a few months prior. Faye hadn’t been ready to move on – they had only been married a year, she thought they would have so much time left – so she ran from Death. Cordelia had joined her, never wanting to leave her side. They’d settled near London after travelling from Scotland, and had found a new life – or, afterlife in Faye’s case – together. They were happy.

At least, they had been until they had crossed paths with a mage who cursed Faye to be stuck in the most basic form a ghost could take – a bright white orb. Usually, a ghost would take that form after immense stress to recover their energy, but could always willingly turn back. Faye, however, didn’t have that freedom. She was truly stuck. She had, however, figured out how to possess their TV screen, and used it to communicate with Cordelia.

If it had been magic that put her in that position, it would require magic to reverse the effects. Edwin knew this, and told Cordelia such. They had arranged to visit their house in two days, after the three of them had done their research and formed a plan. Cordelia had given Niko her phone number in case they needed any more information, and then left the office.

Charles watched as Edwin spent the next 48 hours with his head stuck in books, trying to find one page he knew existed in at least one of the many in their collection. Charles knew this was going to be a case that relied almost entirely upon Edwin’s arcane knowledge, so left him to it. He did, however, keep finding himself zoning out watching the other boy. He had always been somewhat enamoured by the way Edwin got so hyper-focused on his books. Over the years, he’d memorised his mannerisms: the way his index finger would repeatedly tap the book’s cover when he got impatient about finding one particular spell or piece of information; the crease between his eyebrows when he didn’t quite understand what he was reading; the delighted smile of accomplishment that would appear when he found what he was looking for. Charles was someone who got bored very easily, but he found himself thinking he could watch Edwin just doing his thing forever. That feeling had only gotten stronger since he had realised that his feelings for Edwin might be more complex than just ‘best mates’, and that they might have been that way almost the entire time they’d known each other without either of them quite realising it.

“I’ve got it!” Edwin said suddenly, that relieved and proud smile plastered across his face.

“Brills!” Charles replied, re-associating with the real world.

As it turned out, Edwin only needed to make a potion and say an incantation for the curse to be broken. Within twelve hours of figuring it out, Charles, Edwin and Niko were standing in Cordelia and Faye’s living room. Cordelia was sitting out on the bench in the garden as they waited for Edwin to be ready, Faye’s orb form perched on her shoulder.

Niko and Charles stood in the doorway of the living room as Edwin worked. He was wearing those many-lensed goggles that Charles had begun to find oddly endearing, despite having laughed at them for several minutes the first time he used them. He was pouring some strange glowing liquids together, biting his lip slightly in concentration. Charles couldn’t help but stare at him. Edwin’s lips had been on his mind a lot lately, and he still hadn’t grown quite used to the realisation that he might just be in love with his best friend. It was especially unbelievable since he knew Edwin was in love with him too. Or at least, he had been a few months ago. He could have gotten over it now for all Charles knew, could have taken what Charles said on those stairs at face value and simply accepted that his feelings would never be reciprocated. That was the primary reason Charles hadn’t told him yet. He was scared he was too late.

He kept watching Edwin work, watched him recite the Latin incantation over and over under his breath, ensuring he was getting the pronunciation exactly correct. He watched Edwin’s hands as he picked up the tweezers, grabbing a tiny leaf of some kind and dropping it into the vial. Along with everything about the rest of him, his hands were another thing Charles couldn’t stop thinking about lately. He so desperately wanted to hold them, wanted to feel them sliding up his arms, holding his waist, cupping his jaw-

Charles’s thoughts were cut off when his view of Edwin was disturbed by a pink-nailed hand snapping in front of his face.

“Charles! Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Charles shook his head, turning to Niko.

Had she been talking to him the whole time? If she had been, she showed no signs of annoyance; only smiled at him in a sly, almost knowing way.

“I know that look,” she said confidently.

“What?” Charles chuckled nervously.

“Edwin, Charles and I will be right back,” she said, turning to Edwin, and before either ghost could argue, Charles felt a hand grab his elbow and drag him out into the hallway.

“What was that for?” he asked when she let his arm go.

“I think I know what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really think you’re subtle with your staring, huh?” she giggled.

Shit. Was he being that obvious? Had Edwin noticed? No, he was too busy working. Wasn’t he? What if he wasn’t?

“You should tell him,” she said.

“I can’t,” Charles stammered.

“Why not? You already know he feels the same.”

“What if he doesn’t anymore, though? What if he’s like...moved on?”

“Charles, if there’s one thing I can tell you about Edwin, it’s that that is literally impossible. I think he’d still be in love with you in a century, even if you didn’t feel the same.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not saying you have to tell him, like, right now, but I think you should soon. If you’re sure about how you feel, that is.”

She gave him a look that said she already knew the answer to that.

“Oh. I definitely am.”

He’d spent the last three months trying to figure out if he was sure. And he was. He still didn’t quite know how to tell the difference between loving someone and being in love with them, but if he wasn’t in love with Edwin, then who else? Who else could there possibly be that he could love as much as he did him? There were other things he knew for sure in his heart:

That Edwin Payne was the best person he knew, and that he loved him more than anyone in the world

That he would do anything to keep him safe and happy,

That he literally could not imagine his afterlife without him

That he really, really wanted to kiss him.

Surely that had to be enough? They could figure the rest out as they went along.

“Yeah, I had kinda figured that by the way you were watching him making that potion like he was the prettiest thing in the world,” Niko smiled.

That’s because I think he might be, Charles thought, but didn’t say that out loud. Maybe he’d tell Edwin himself that part one day.

Charles thought Niko must have some kind of magical powers of her own, because within one short conversation with her, he had gone from convinced Edwin had moved on from him to desperate to confess everything. Maybe it was just Niko in general, or maybe it was because he knew how close she and Edwin had become, how comfortable he had been around her. Charles may have been looking at the situation through tinted glasses, but Niko would know the truth. If she was convinced Edwin still felt the same way for him, then he believed her. He loved her for that. Not only for being someone Edwin could open up to and trust, but for being someone he could, too. She just had something about her that made her amazing, and everyone around her felt it. Charles was so grateful to have met her.

“I’m gonna tell him tonight,” Charles stated.

Niko let out a noise that was quite possibly a squeal, and jumped forward to hug him. He hugged back, laughing.

“Oh my god! I’m so excited!”

“Shhh,” Charles shushed her, still smiling. “Don’t want him to know beforehand do I?”

“Oh, of course,” Niko dropped her voice to a low whisper.

“Are you two finished out there?” Edwin called from the living room. “I think we’re ready.”

Charles and Niko walked back into the room, both trying to hide their smiles. Edwin’s glasses were on his head as he brandished the finished potion – a tiny orange vial.

“We simply pour this over Faye, I’ll recite the incantation, and it should return her to her humanoid form.”

“Aces!"

“I’ll go get them,” Niko said, opening the door to the garden and walking out.

When they returned, Cordelia sat on the sofa with Faye in her hands as Edwin explained what was going to happen.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yep,” Cordelia replied, and Faye seemed to grow brighter for a second in response.

Edwin knelt in front of them, shaking the vial one last time before pulling the cork from it. He slowly poured it over Faye and began reciting the incantation in perfect Latin. Charles and Niko watched on in awe.

After the third recital, something started happening. Faye began to glow brighter and brighter until everyone in the room had to look away. When they looked back, the orb was gone and a woman had taken its place, laying across Cordelia’s lap.

“Oh, you’re back!” Cordelia said, taking Faye’s face in her hands and kissing her soundly.

Charles couldn’t help but turn his eyes back to Edwin, picturing themselves in their position – Charles on Edwin’s lap, Edwin’s hand softly cupping his cheek as they kissed. He forced himself out of the moment.

“I’m okay,” Faye replied, manoeuvring herself until she was sitting beside Cordelia instead of on top of her. “Thank you so much,” she said to all three of them, taking Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“Don’t thank us, this one was all Edwin.”

Edwin looked at them, smiling proudly.

“It was no problem, really. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Really, though, thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

“Well, I’m just happy we could help,” said Edwin.

With that, the three of them said goodbye to Faye and Cordelia, and headed back to the office with the satisfaction of a case successfully closed.

When they returned to the office, the boys immediately got comfortable, taking off their jackets and relaxing. Edwin sat on the sofa and took out his notebook to finish the case notes, while Charles perched on the edge of the desk. Niko, however, stayed near the door, her pink coat still on.

“Are you not staying, Niko?” Edwin asked.

“No, sorry. I uh…” she realised she hadn’t thought of an excuse to get out of their way. “Crystal… she told me to meet her in town. I think we’re going to grab food so, I’d better go.”

“Ah, I see. Well, tell Crystal we said hello. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” she smirked, giving Charles a wink before turning and leaving the office.

Charles rolled his eyes, exhaling slowly to try and keep the nerves at bay. Evidently, he also exhaled loudly, as Edwin stopped writing and pointed it out.

“Are you alright, Charles? You’ve seemed even more restless than usual since we closed the case.”

“Yeah, I’m fine mate,” Charles replied, unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?”

Charles opened his mouth to lie, but stopped himself. “No, actually.”

Edwin sat up straighter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, it’s just… okay, I hadn’t actually figured out how to say this.”

“Well, please tell me once you’ve articulated your thoughts. Whatever it is, you know I am always here to listen.”

Edwin opened the notebook again to continue writing while Charles thought, but it turned out he really didn’t need that long.

“I think I’ve figured out what it means,” he blurted.

Edwin put the notebook fully down beside him, looking up at Charles. That signature confused crease was appearing between his eyebrows again, Charles noted.

“I’m afraid you might have to be more specific than that.”

“My feelings. The rest. I think I’ve figured out what it means.”

Edwin stood up, taking a step towards Charles.

“Charles…” he said quietly.

“Stop. I know what you’re gonna say. I know you’re gonna think I’m just doing this to make you happy because that’s what I always do but I’m not. This is too important to both of us for it to be something I just pretend to go along with. I mean it. I’ve figured it out, I don’t know how it took me so bloody long, but I think I’m sure now.”

“And what exactly is it you’re so sure of?” Edwin’s voice was slightly shaky.

“I do love you. In the same way you love me. Everything I said on those steps is true, and the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more they just point to the obvious. People don’t go to Hell without even making a plan first for someone who’s just a best mate. But I didn’t even think twice before I did it for you.”

“Charles…” Edwin stepped closer.

“I think I just didn’t really think it was an option ‘til you said it and now I’ve been thinking too much about it and how much I always want to be next to you and how much I always want to watch you just doing your nerdy thing and how much I really wanna kiss you and-”

Charles was cut off by Edwin’s lips crashing into his. His hand moved up to cradle Charles’s cheek, and the feeling was even softer than Charles had imagined. Charles leaned into it, pushing his face even closer into Edwin’s and deepening the kiss. They kissed for what felt like hours before Edwin backed away slightly, instead resting their foreheads together.

“It did not take you forever then,” Edwin laughed breathlessly, and Charles could feel it on his face.

“No. Gonna be honest it didn’t even take me three months.”

“No? Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I thought you might have moved on.”

Edwin stepped back at that, his hand having moved from Charles’s cheek down to his neck, his thumb hovering over his collarbone.

“You…what?”

“I thought maybe…since I told you I didn’t feel the same, I thought you might’ve…y’know.”

“Charles,” Edwin said, his face stern. “There are some things that are simply facts. The Earth is round. You and I are dead. Nothing will ever change either of those things. One of those universal truths is the fact that I am in love with you. Yes, if you didn’t feel the same I would have learned to conceal those feelings, but they would never have stopped being there.”

“Edwin…”

Charles didn’t know what to say. Hearing it from Niko was fine – it stunned him a little, but he could handle it. But hearing it from Edwin himself…god, it was overwhelming. He couldn’t string any words together, so he simply pulled him in for another kiss.

“I love you so much,” he murmured into Edwin’s mouth, and Edwin just kissed him harder.

Charles made a mental note to thank Niko in the morning, before all coherent thought was wiped from his mind by Edwin’s lips.

[guess-how-i-stole-this-body]

I live on an island where USA military is all we are. Nearly every man in my family is/was related to the military. My grandfather is a war veteran. Yet none of them can vote if we stay here (Guam). Cost of living is high and is getting higher, most highschools have to do half days because of poor conditions, and our language and culture is dying. These problems don't exist if you live on base. Andersen base is known for their low priced goods, Naval hospital's lobby rivals our hotels, and the military kids get their own private schools just for them (complete with opportunities not open to the rest of the island last I checked.)

Yet we're told we are supposed to be grateful that the U.S is here. People had the audacity to say the military families, the people who could afford nice houses on and off base, should get supplies first before the locals during SUPERTYPHOON Mawar. And for a while, this made sense to me. Of course we should be grateful. It could be worse. We could be under the rule of Japan, after all they were the ones who put us into concentration camps. During WW2. Things were so bad that CHamorus back then used to sing for America to come back. They saved us out of the goodness of their heart.

So then you can imagine how frustrated I am at this narrative as I watched our """saviors""" bomb another indigenous population who are put into concentration camps. You can imagine my conflicting emotions when I see posts about gay veterans/military members. I don't understand why anyone, let alone a queer, would be proud to serve this country. A country that wouldn't lift a finger to fight for our queer rights. A country that would leave our people to rot in torture camps if it weren't for the fact our land is close to Asia. I don't understand at all.

[dimonds456]

Historians:

Hello. My name is Dims, and I am currently 21. It is 4:56 AM on May 10th, 2024.

Rafah is currently being bombed and invaded.

I don't know how much of a digital footprint we'll leave behind, if any, but if I can do one thing with my time here on this Earth, I want you all from the future to know that we tried.

Us, the citizens of the United States of America, are fighting so hard to stop the genocide happening in Palestine. We see their suffering, we hear their voices. A vast majority of the citizens of not just the US, but the entire world are on Palestine's side. But no matter how hard we fight to change the world, to give to the Palestinians and let them know they're not alone, it's not up to us.

The only people with the real power to ceasefire and help Palestine are our leaders and politicians. And none of them will help.

We're trying- don't you doubt that for a second- but we can protest as much as we want, and if they still hold any power over us, they won't bend unless they think it's financially beneficial to do so.

President Biden has said he's delivering aid to Palestine, but all he's really been doing is sending them expired food that tastes like shit, dumping it in the ocean, and making them swim for it while Israeli soldiers fire upon crowds of innocent, starving people.

President Biden has said that he will not allow Israel to invade Rafah, but here we are. He hasn't lifted a damn finger to stop them.

President Biden has said that all people deserve life insurance, all while allowing a LITERAL GENOCIDE to occur, with his blessing.

Genocide Joe does not speak for us.

Historians, if you are reading this, please don't let our voices be erased with time. I know about my country's habit of erasing it's own atrocities and painting itself as a shining bastion of freedom, and I have no doubt in my mind that it will do that once again after the dust of this conflict has settled. No matter what happens- a ceasefire, or total destruction, the United States will write in history books that it either helped to defeat a terrible foe, or it came down on Israel with an iron fist and stopped it dead in its tracks.

My country is responsible for the genocide of thousands of indigenous tribes.

My country is responsible for the war, violence, and massacre of many countries overseas, including Iraq, Palestine, Yemen, the Congo, and so, SO many more.

My country is responsible for the colonization of Hawaii, as well as the entire rest of the land we occupy.

My country WILL try to sweep this under the rug.

Don't let them. No matter what, PLEASE don't let them.

To any Palestinians that are reading this message right now, be it once this is posted or far into the future, we hear you. We see you. We will continue to fight for you. It's not over, and I refuse to stop raising awareness and talking about Palestine until you are free. And, if that doesn't come to pass, then by God we won't let them forget. We won't let you all get swept under the rug. This genocide is a stain on my country's already bloody past, and we can't let them pretend it's not there anymore.

We are failing you now. I am so, so sorry we can't do more. But we will continue to fight for as long as we can. I promise.

FREE PALESTINE!

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 52

Living in the Avengers Tower had countless advantages: a state-of-the-art medical center, an extensive library filled with rare volumes, a private home cinema with plush seats, and a vast pool that sparkled under ambient lighting. After my workouts, I made it a ritual to swim a few laps, letting the water soothe my muscles while classical music floated through the air from hidden speakers.

One evening, as I floated on my back, the water cradling me gently, I heard someone clear their throat, pulling me out of my tranquil state. I turned my head to see Natasha crouching at the edge of the pool, her expression serious yet triumphant. "Sorry for interrupting, but I got it," she announced, her voice steady.

My heart skipped a beat as I swam swiftly over to her. "Really? All of them?" I asked, my voice barely concealing my astonishment. Natasha nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. "Every single person who jumped ship and went into hiding when Hydra blew up."

I climbed out of the pool, the cool air hitting my wet skin as I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. Water dripped from my hair, leaving a trail on the sleek tiles. Natasha waited patiently, her eyes following my movements. "I put the files on your desk," she said, her tone softer now. She hesitated momentarily before continuing, "I'm not sure what you're planning to do, but I assume it's dangerous... so I'm in."

I shook my head, trying to sound convincing. "No, I'm not planning anything..." But Natasha saw right through me. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you're not telling Steve either."

I had no idea how she always managed to read me so well, but she was right. I was planning to go after everyone who thought they had gotten away with what they had done to Bucky. I knew Steve would disapprove, but he wouldn't find out—he was too busy with his own search for him.

I knew Natasha could be discreet, and having her help would make things a lot easier, so I relented. "Fine, you can come, but we won't tell anyone. Agreed?"

She squinted her eyes, studying me for a moment before nodding. "Fine, I won't tell," she agreed, though her expression remained skeptical. We decided we would decide on our first target when Steve and Sam were in Washington next week.

Later that night, as I returned to my room, I noticed a folded piece of paper lying in front of the door. I glanced around, trying to see who might have left it, but the hallway was empty. Carefully, I picked up the paper.

The note read: "Meet me at the Captain America exhibit tomorrow at 8 a.m. Come alone." It was signed with the initials "JBB." My eyes widened in shock. This had to be from Bucky.

I slipped into my room, pressing my back against the door as I stared at the small, creased paper in my hand. It had been almost a month since Bucky vanished without a word, and now he wanted to meet. And why did he insist on meeting alone? Had he regained his memories? Was this some sort of trap?

A whirlwind of questions stormed through my mind, each one more pressing than the last. The only way to find answers was to go to the exhibit tomorrow. As I examined the note again, my mind raced with a mix of hope and trepidation.

"You seem stressed. Everything alright?" Steve's voice broke through my thoughts as he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. The sight of his still-damp chest caught me off guard, and I jumped, inadvertently dropping the note.

My gaze was momentarily fixed on the droplets of water glistening on his skin. Steve raked his fingers through his wet hair, sending a few stray drops cascading onto the floor. His eyes then fell to the note lying on the ground.

In a rush, I bent down, snatched up the note, and slipped it into my back pocket, my movements quick and furtive. I straightened up, forcing a casual smile as I met Steve's concerned gaze.

I decided I would tell him about the note after the meetup. I didn't want to risk scaring Bucky away by showing up with Steve.

"You look freaked out," Steve remarked, walking over to me. As he approached, the clean scent of soap filled my nostrils, mingling with the faint warmth of his skin. He looked down at me, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

I splayed my fingers on his bare stomach, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin through the thin towel. Gently, I pushed him back a step, trying to create a bit of distance. "Yeah, I’m good," I said, striving to keep my voice steady and composed. Despite my efforts, I could feel my heart racing, betraying my calm facade.

“So, about next week,” Steve said, towel in hand as he dried his hair, his movements methodical and deliberate. “I think you should come with us to Washington. I believe we’d have a better chance of finding him if you’re with us.”

The suggestion hit me like a bolt of lightning. “I can’t,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I had a chance to reconsider. Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at my abrupt response.

He set the towel aside and placed his hands on his hips, his gaze intense and probing. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion and concern. “I thought you’d want to find him just as much as I do.”

His eyes bore into me, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. I knew I couldn’t reveal the truth—that I was planning to track down the remaining Hydra operatives who had slipped through the cracks.

“Camping,” I blurted out, cringing inwardly as the lie left my mouth. “I go camping with Nat.” Even as the words escaped me, I could tell how flimsy they sounded. I quickly tried to salvage the situation. “It’s more like survival training,” I added, hoping to lend it some credibility, but Steve’s skeptical expression didn’t waver.

He narrowed his eyes, studying me with an intensity that made me squirm. “You couldn’t do that any other week?” he asked, his tone edged with suspicion. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as if he were struggling to reconcile my explanation with his gut feeling that something was off.

“Nat is a busy woman,” I said, trying to sound as earnest as possible. “That’s the only week she has available for me, and it’s important to me... I really should learn how to... survive, you know?” As the words tumbled out, I felt like I was digging myself deeper into a hole.

Steve’s eyes remained fixed on me, his expression a blend of confusion and resignation. After a moment, he simply shrugged, the gesture conveying a mix of acceptance and reluctant understanding. “Okay,” he said, his voice flat. He turned and began to get dressed, the rustle of fabric punctuating the silence that followed.

The next morning, I slipped out of the room before dawn, making my way to catch the early bus that would take me to the museum. The Captain America exhibit was eerily quiet at this hour, with only the faint shuffling of feet from a group of kids and their teacher breaking the stillness.

I found myself standing before the glass case that housed the uniforms of the Howling Commandos. Steve’s old suit was prominently displayed in the center, surrounded by the relics of a bygone era. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I called these men my friends. As I gazed at the display, a wave of nostalgia and grief overcame me, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. The memories of camaraderie and loss were as vivid as ever.

“Hey,” came Bucky’s voice from behind, pulling me abruptly from my reverie. I quickly dabbed at my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to hide the evidence of my emotions. Turning around, I saw him standing there, his face partially obscured by a baseball cap and his shoulders hunched under a brown jacket.

“Hey,” I replied, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness as I crossed my arms, trying to appear casual despite the storm of feelings inside me. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever was to come.

"Thank you for coming," Bucky said, his voice tinged with the same nervousness I felt. He looked as unsettled as I was, his eyes darting around as if searching for the right words. I nodded, unable to find the right words myself. My mind was a whirlwind of questions, and I didn’t know where to begin.

"I just wanted to see you... I'm leaving..." Bucky's voice faltered as he took a hesitant step closer.

"What do you mean you’re leaving? Where to?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper, though the urgency in it was unmistakable.

"To Europe... maybe Romania," he replied matter-of-factly, his tone carrying a weight of finality that left me reeling. I stood there, overwhelmed, my mouth slightly agape as I tried to process his words.

"I need a new beginning... but not here," he continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Not all of Hydra is dead. They can’t find me... or they’ll just wipe me again." The despair in his voice was palpable, and the vulnerability he was showing cut through me like a knife.

"You can’t just leave. We just got you back..." My voice trembled, and I clenched my fists, trying to hold onto my composure. The weight of his decision felt almost unbearable.

Bucky reached out and grabbed my arms, his gaze intense and unyielding as it locked onto mine. "Come with me," he pleaded, his voice urgent. One of his hands moved gently to caress my face, his touch both reassuring and heartbreaking.

I pulled away, shaking my head in disbelief. "I can’t just pack up everything and move to Romania with you... What about Steve?" I asked the question hanging heavily between us.

Without responding, Bucky took my hand and led me into a secluded corner of the exhibit, away from the curious eyes of the few early visitors. The quiet space felt like a cocoon, amplifying the gravity of our conversation. "I love you," he said, his voice firm yet tender. "And I know you love me. That’s all I remember, and it’s all I need to remember. We can leave all of this behind."

His words, raw and earnest, hung in the air, and the desperate longing in his eyes made my heart ache. The idea of leaving everything behind to start anew with him was both tempting and terrifying, and I was caught in the tumult of emotions that swirled within me.

I took a step back, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision. "Bucky, I can’t... I do love you, and I always will, but I’m with Steve now."

His shoulders slumped, and he took a step back, his gaze falling to the floor as if the weight of the world was too much to bear. The silence between us grew thick, palpable.

"He’s looking for you," I said, my voice wavering as I searched his eyes for any sign of understanding or hope.

Bucky’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and resignation. "Then tell him to stop looking," he snapped, his voice tinged with anger and sadness. Without another word, he turned and walked away, the echoes of his footsteps fading as he disappeared into the shadows of the exhibit.

Next Chapter

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 10: "Bridgerton, d'une façon ou d'une autre"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Not a soul showed up to the Bridgerton Ball, but thankfully, the red dress you promised Benedict he would love did not go to waste.

Word count: 2.1K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

"Oh, my Lord."

Colin and Anthony looked in the same direction as Benedict, his eyes fixated on you just arriving at the ballroom with your arm locked with Eloise's.

"Seriously, Benedict, you could have-" Colin's complaint was cut short by his brother's disappearance.

"You look breathtaking, my heart."

You smiled, feeling your cheeks burn. "Thank you, Benedict. You look quite alluring."

"You two are disgusting." Eloise rolled her eyes.

"... gotten any lady you wanted but decided to get her." Colin completed his sentence, only for the eldest Bridgerton to hear.

"When will you get over this, Brother?" Anthony questioned.

The younger brother scoffed. "When will you apologize to her, Brother?"

"I've tried." Anthony rolled his eyes.

"Not enough, apparently!" Colin exclaimed. "I cannot comprehend what your problem with her is either."

"She is very insistent on marrying Benedict, which seems quite suspicious to me."

"Suspicious why? What do you think she is hiding?"

"She could be with child and desperate to marry, needs money-"

Colin gave his brother an amused grin. "Did you not hear she owns the Palace of Versailles? Did you not know she owns the most prosperous winery in Burgundy? Like, three palaces, mansions, mines in the Americas, properties all throughout France? And how could she be with child? She's a fine lady. I do not understand how you can think that."

"You never know, Brother," Anthony sighed. "She has a cousin who is the lord of the house. Perhaps he kicked her out and she-"

"If that were the case, how could you even consider forbidding Benedict to marry her, knowing she is alone in the world?" Colin inquired. "Are you really that heartless?"

"I do not want our brother to end up like that."

He shook his head. "I can think of a hundred fates worse than living the luxurious life of a duke, Anthony, just… leave her alone. Look at them!"

Anthony did as Colin told him, looking at how annoyed Eloise seemed as you and Benedict talked and shared loving glances.

"Benedict had doubts, is what I mean to say."

Colin shook his head. "I believe that having doubts is common for someone like Benedict, who has never shown any interest in marrying. Now he does, I do not find that strange."

Anthony did not say a word.

"Red is certainly your color," Benedict whispered when Eloise had finally had enough of you two and left. "How perfect my future wife looks in red."

You felt your face go warm. "Good God, do not say that, Benedict! Someone might hear you."

"I swear, as soon as we are in London I will get you the shiniest ring so I can scream to the world that you shall be my wife."

"I did not know you were so interested in marrying me." you teased him, making Benedict laugh.

"I cannot wait to show you off, for you to be mine."

"I believe I am already yours, my love."

He smirked. "I could dishonor you once more if you continue to say these things."

"Oh, Benedict Bridgerton… you certainly are head over heels."

He smirked. "Are you not?"

"I believe my eyes say more than my words ever could."

"To me, your words are worth more than all the gold in the world."

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

"Has… she published, Mama?" Eloise asked her mother, stealing your attention from Benedict and his from you.

"Indeed she has," Violet replied next to Lady Danbury, making everyone look at them: the Bridgertons, the Sharmas, you. "Now we may know why we are the only ones here."

Eloise took the paper from her mother and began reading it under curious, worried glances. Soon, she gave it back and ran away.

No one dared to follow her except for you.

"El! Eloise!" you screamed through the hallways. She closed the door, and you knocked as if your knuckles were unbreakable. "Eloise, open the door! It is me!"

She opened the door hesitantly and eventually let you in. Her eyes were red, and to be honest, you had never imagined you would see her crying.

You sighed, closing the door behind you and hugging her. She hugged you back, breaking down.

"El…, what did Lady Whistledown say?"

"Theo." she answered, and that was all you needed to know.

You guided her to her bed, and there you hugged her again. "I am so terribly sorry that this happened to you."

"I just… I keep on being a disappointment, do I not?"

"You reached that conclusion too fastly for my liking," You pursed your lips. "You are not a disappointment to absolutely anyone, Eloise. Do not think for a second the contrary."

"I should want what every lady wants. Even you want it: a husband, children, you… you are certainly an inspiring woman in my life, and even you want that. I- I felt something with him, but I still could not bear the idea of having to marry and be with child and…"

"Good thing you do not have to," you muttered. "And I did not want a husband, to be honest… Benedict was- he was unexpected. I was never looking for a husband, that was an excuse to be here, but when he came into my life, I suddenly wanted all of it…" you added, stroking her hair carefully to not ruin the coiffure. "What I mean is that you shouldn't assume that that is not the life you want for yourself, because marrying does not necessarily mean you will be a wife and a mother only: you can still be the independent, fun, amiable, and charming Eloise Bridgerton. You are not disappointing anyone by choosing to be your own person and be true to yourself."

She smiled lightly. "You have your way with words, do you not?"

You laughed. "As long as that makes you feel better, then I do."

"It does," She chuckled. "Do I have to face everyone now?"

"Not unless you feel comfortable doing so."

"I should."

You cleaned her tears with the blankets and gave her a comforting smile, standing up. "Shall we, my dearest Eloise?"

She snickered. "Yes."

Eloise and you intertwined your arms and returned to the ballroom, and soon everything was fine as if nothing had happened.

"I am afraid that we called it a tie."

You smirked. "I do recall that, my heart. Who must I dance with?"

"Lord Henderson did not attend," Benedict mentioned the old men in bankruptcy trying to court you, faking pity. "You will have to settle for me."

"You cannot imagine how much I wish that the moment in which I have no remedy but to keep only one dance partner comes very soon."

He smiled widely. "That makes two of us."

"May I have this dance, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"This, and every dance that follows." Benedict offered you his hand, and you took it.

You started dancing, and even though everyone was dancing all around you, it was you and him only.

Your whole world.

"I plan to travel in a couple of weeks, perhaps. I must discuss that with my grandfather," you answered. "And, of course, you are more than welcome to join us, Colin! As long as your brother Anthony permits you to travel overseas with a stranger."

Colin hid a laugh. "Of course I do not need Anthony's permission."

"It seems like everyone needs Anthony's permission these days."

You had returned from Aubrey Hall earlier that day, and Lady Danbury and the Sharmas had already gone back home. Right now, you and Colin were chatting in the sitting room, drinking whiskey, and talking about your plans for when you return to France.

"Are you asking me if Benedict needs Anthony's permission to marry you?"

"I sure hope none of you depend on Anthony's permission to exist."

He shook his head, finishing his second glass of whiskey. "I suppose Benedict might need Anthony's approval, but I most certainly do not!"

"What do you mean by that, Colin?" you questioned, knowing full well his intentions; though, in your mind, they were a joke.

"If Benedict doesn't propose, I shall be your husband."

You snorted. "You'll be my husband? Only because I will take you to the Americas or are you aware of my wish to visit Egypt once more and want to join?"

"That does count as a token of appreciation," Colin smiled, now joking. "My wife you will be."

"I shall get the Bridgerton last name one way or another."

Colin laughed loudly. "You know, my Grandmother's ring has an emerald in it, and according to Lady Whistledown, you are quite the enthusiast."

Neither of you noticed the intrusive presence in the sitting room, a presence that had arrived some time ago as she took notice of Eloise's return and wished to check on her after the latest Lady Whistledown issue.

Unbeknownst to either of you, she was listening to the latter part of the conversation, not catching the joke.

And she knew deep in her heart that you were a lady Colin would never give away. Unlike no other… A Duchess to be, well educated, polyglot, enchanting, artistic, diverting, kind, beautiful, intelligent. All she could never consider herself to be.

Oh, she was jealous.

"I certainly hope our children look like you," he said, pouring another glass of whiskey. "It's a good thing my Mother adores you above any other woman that there is. She surely would be disappointed if I marry someone that isn't you."

"Why do you say that? Is there anyone else in your mind?"

"I have grown fond of the French ladies, but my future wife has got to be a duchess. One that will take me to the Americas and Egypt and will let me take her to Greece and Italy," he added. "And one who wears yellow as well as you. You look ravishing in yellow, my Lady. Certainly, more beautiful than the sunrise, if I may add. No one manages to look as good in it as you do."

"I am thankful for your kind words, Mr. Bridgerton. You have gained your spot as my travel mate."

Penelope fought the tears piling up in her eyes, disappearing from the scene before Benedict joined you and Colin in the sitting room. Early enough to not notice the kiss the second Bridgerton so recklessly gave you.

The younger's jaw threatened to fall from his head. "You are not supposed to do that, Brother!"

"I cannot help myself," he confessed with a smirk, giving you a flirty smile. "She will be my wife soon anyway."

Colin rolled his eyes, finishing the glass of whiskey as Anthony joined you three in the room.

"Uh, may I speak to you, Lady Y/N?"

The effect of the alcohol made you drop an amused laugh. "Just Y/N. And yes."

Anthony shook his head. "Did you two get her drunk?"

"Do not look at me, I just got here." Benedict excused himself.

"Guilty!" Colin exclaimed, and you both laughed.

"Of course, you can speak to me, Anthony. In fact, I am so very happy to speak to you because I was hoping you could give me something I have wanted to have for a while."

He frowned in confusion. "What would that thing be?"

"Your brother Benedict's hand in sacred marriage."

The two younger Bridgertons accompanied you in laughter.

"I have already asked her to marry me, Brother, I wish to have your blessing."

"Before I say anything in regards to that," Anthony sighed. "I wish to apologize, Y/N, for my harsh attitude towards you. I admit it was inappropriate and that my discomfort with the situation was not related to you, I just reflected on my frustration with your and Benedict's relationship and I am sorry. I hope we can put all this situation behind us and pick up right where we left off."

"Of course, Anthony. If you ask me, our interactions two days ago never happened."

Anthony smiled. "Thank you," He nodded. "And you do not need my approval, but, by all means, you have it."

Benedict chuckled, taking your hand in his.

Dearest gentle reader,

It is with such shame that I break scandalous news about our very own Lady Y/N of Burgundy.

In an utterly unexpected and upsetting turn of events, many were fed off her lies as she dresses up like a man each day of the week and joins the men in the Royal Academy of Art, impersonating her nonexistent brother.

The ulterior motives of her secret adventures are still unknown, however, we do know that she is certainly still looking for a husband.

Don't you, dear reader, think that now she will not have it as easy?

[evita-shelby]

No one but you

Or Buck and Diane won't leave me alone and they demanded an au of them getting together.

Cw: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of illegal abortions, cheating, spoilers for Masters of the Air (and some for Peaky Blinders since Diane is a Peaky Blinders OC)

Link to No one has to know

They shouldn’t have let come this far, and yet they are meeting up in a hotel room because neither can stop themselves from this. They loved each other, they were each other’s peace in this hell and yet, there was no guarantee this would change for the better tonight.

She waits for him on the bed that might as well be theirs considering how often they come here. She’s nervous, she’d broken up with Tom last time he was on leave because she knew he would never raise a baby that wasn’t his. It had hurt, she loved him, but she loved Gale, and it was his baby she was having.

He didn’t know yet. He would leave this room knowing that but whether he is willing to leave his Marjorie to raise a child with her is another thing entirely.

Diane had known of someone here who could take care of it before it even showed, and yet, she hadn’t wanted to erase a future with a blond-haired baby boy that was a perfect mix of them both.

John Gale Cleven, blonde haired with his smile and her mismatched eyes. Conceived in love and sin under a tree.

“Are you feeling better, Di. Helen said you weren’t in today because of it.” He asks with concern as he left his jacket on the hook and, for a moment, became Gale Cleven, not Major Gale Cleven with a sweetheart back home.

“Yeah, just needed some time off.” She smiles nervously and hates herself for not being careful. This was the last thing they needed, but she doesn’t want to get rid of it, and it’s better if she tells him now. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

Buck knows exactly what she means and goes through every stage of grief--- except anger----as he crosses the room and joins her on the bed. “How far along are you?”

“A month, maybe more.” Diane answered avoiding his eyes, she has no idea why she’s bracing herself? Rejection? No, Gale Cleven isn’t the type to do that. Shame? Actually, both were already keeping their entire relationship a secret because both had someone waiting for them, so it could be that.

“Does your Tom know?” Gale held her hand in comfort, and she shook her head. He knew she’d ended things with Tom, but never the specifics of it.

“He thinks it’s just the guilt of our arrangement that led to me breaking things off with him. I didn’t want to make it worse when I still wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.” Diane leaned against his shoulder knowing her fears about him tossing her out like last week’s trash for getting pregnant. “You don’t have to do right by me, I have enough money to not care what people think of me as an unwed mother,”

That is a lie, the word whore will be thrown around enough for Gale to feel the insult all the way in America.

“I’d marry you even if there was no baby, Diane. At least we won’t have to hide any longer.” A small consolation even if it means setting themselves on fire to make this wrong into a right.

“A small consolation, isn’t it?”

And it is.

While what men did off the clock was no one’s business, Gale’s reputation of an honest and principled soldier does take a hit.

Bucky is angry on Marjorie’s behalf, and angry at him for not listening to him. Even worse for not telling him.

“I love her, Bucky, and she’s having my baby. I feel terrible for what I did to Marge, but its too late for that now.” He can’t just abandon his own child, and even if everything’s gone to hell, Buck can’t regret choosing Diane over Marge.

She understands what he’s going through, she is here and perfect and this was their only chance to be together.

“Can’t argue with that, Buck. So, when’s the wedding?” he gives him a pat on the shoulder, still smarting for this betrayal of their friendship and yet still there for him as always.

“As soon as her folks come from Birmingham, and we get a license. I don’t want to risk the baby being born on the wrong side of the sheets if I don’t come back.” Buck answered getting to the good part. “I was thinking of you being my best man.”

“Only if I can sing at your wedding.”

Even with Bucky’s caterwauling and the night bombings, it’s one of the happiest days in his life.

It’s September, when Gale Winston Cleven marries Diane Elizabeth Shelby a month and two weeks since they made love under their tree.

She looks beautiful, in a plain white dress and whatever flowers the children at the base managed to make into a bouquet for her.

He gets three days in London as his honeymoon, three days and two nights in a townhouse owned by Diane’s father, a man who understands why he can never accept a medal in this godforsaken war.

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” He said before every mission and kissed her goodbye because now she was Mrs. Gale Cleven not the nurse he pretended was only his friend.

The letters from home had come, angry, disappointed, and resigned. Marge’s had tearstains from crying, his mother was happy for him even if she compared him to his father, but they understood why he did this and wished them the best.

If she makes you happy in ways I couldn’t, then I hope the two of you will be happy together, Marge had written and with that her letters ceased all together, her photograph sent back and replaced with Diane on their wedding day.

When he asked her what she thought Tom did with his picture of her, she shrugged and answered, Tom had torn it up, burned the pieces, and tossed the ashes in the shitter.

But Tom and Marge were their past, Buck and Diane were now each other’s present and future.

“I love you.” The words still come as whispers, and yet they no longer carry the guilt or shame they used to come with.

He has six more missions to go.

Six more and he will get to see the mysterious Arrow House before going to train boys in the States. They’d have to face his family and friends sooner or later, sooner seemed better if it took them away from the bombs.

Being Mrs. Cleven is great, they are out in public as husband and wife with nothing to stop them. Some dirty looks are there because everyone knew about Tom and Marge and yet none of them can truly judge them because everyone sought comfort any way they could.

They are given a tiny house on the base because, they do provide space for married couples serving together. She does her work he does his and at the end of the day they are each other’s peace here.

Gale kisses her hungrily when he comes back from his missions, seeking release from his torments in her and relishing having no reason to stop loving each other anymore.

“Twenty-two. Three more and we get to go home.” Buck trails his fingers on her arm and kissed her shoulder so sweetly Di wished he didn’t have to go.

She had a bad feeling; she’d seen the results in the cards and felt a stab in her heart when Gale’s card came next in the sequence and known this was a mission he wouldn’t come back from. The young witch had told him about it, but he assured her he’d always come back to her.

He loves her and she loves him even if death tries to part them.

“I know, can’t wait to see where you grew up.” She pushed back the preemptive grief and smiled through it. She has good news too, something that will give him some bit of joy before everything goes to hell. “The cards say it’s a boy.”

He smiles broadly, almost silent in his joy as he embraces her tightly as they lay in bed. “Would you mind if we named him John?”

“Not at all, love.”

They decided on John Egan Cleven when he leaves for Bremen. Bucky would be his godfather, of course, and the godmother would be Janey Dogs, one of Diane’s best friends who happened to be Romani as well. Janey’s father, Johnny, had two wives even if it went against tradition and the law, but he was the exception amongst the families they traveled with, something Buck still couldn’t wrap his head around.’

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” Those are the last words he says before he goes on the mission he did not come back from.

No one save for Bucky understands the pain she feels and promises he will be avenged when they part ways, Bucky to Germany and Diane to her parent’s home in Birmingham.

Bucky’s captured two days after.

She writes to his mother to comfort her; she promises to use her dad’s and her own money and influence to find out what happened and if necessary, demand they return his body home.

He's not dead, Di feels it in her heart that he’s alive and tells his mother so.

They begin corresponding, taking comfort, and learning every little thing they can about Gale’s life before the war, during the war and now as he is held in a German Prisoner of War Camp.

Diane writes letters to him the moment she learns where he is, assures him they are fine here in Arrow House. She tells him about the estate, the gardens, about her family and how well she gets on with his mother through letters.

All of them holding anything that can help them survive long enough to escape the Germans. It takes a while for him to write back and sends Bucky’s apologies for getting captured too and asks her subtly what they should do next.

“You used to do the same with Marge’s letters,” Bucky points out as Buck inhaled the still fresh smell of Diane’s perfume in her letters.

It was as comforting as Marge’s had been back at Thorpe Abbotts, he had almost forgotten that. He still felt guilt for hurting her that way, but Gale couldn’t say he regretted choosing Diane and his son that day.

“I know. If I hadn’t fucked it up, they could’ve been friends.” The blond admits to seeing the similarities in the two women.

“What does Mrs. Cleven say?” Bucky asks as the most trusted of their men gather pretending to listen go on about his wife.

News from the front and what her readings say they should do are hidden in meaningless phrases, made up gossip and anything she can make up under the guise of a lovesick young bride. He writes back in a similar code asking her to ferry the information they manage to hide in love letters to anyone important enough to be of use.

Gale sees his twenty-sixth birthday at Stalag Luft III. He doesn’t tell her what he did to stay healthy enough to live, as far as she knows he’s being kept well. She tells him his namesake, Winston fucking Churchill, has put her in contact with Allied Intelligence to come up with a fool-proof escape plan when the invasion begins.

Stay put, stay safe, we will be waiting for you as we always are, she wrote.

Winter of 1943 turns to the spring of 1944 and on May 14th of 1944, John Egan Cleven is born in great health contrary to the lie of him being premature like they told his family.

On June 18th of that year, as his Father’s Day gift, Buck receives a photograph of his son and a lock of blonde hair wrapped in a thin ribbon with a code.

While the invasion of Europe had begun that summer, they couldn’t escape safely until 7 pm, January 27th, 1945.

“Di says evening of January 27th of next year. Do you think we can stay put until then?”

“Gives us enough time to plan this shit right.” Bucky lights up at the news and quickly forgets all the times he doubted Diane’s abilities for telling them to stay put. “Nurse, heiress, psychic and spy, you sure know how to pick them, Buck.”

“Meatball picked her, if anything I should be thanking DeMarco for the mutt.”

Seven months to have the allies close enough for them to escape safely.

And they do, with minimal casualties they reach allied soldiers after escaping during the Moosburg March on January 27th of 1945 at seven in the evening just as Diane had said.

“I told you; I’d come back, I always do.” Twelve days later, on February 8, 1945, he is reunited with his wife and his son at the same tree they fell in love under.

[darkwood-sleddog]

I just watched some of your bikejoring (?) videos, and I was wondering if you could talk a little about the commands/instructions you're giving them? I know absolutely nothing about dog sports, but they're really cool to watch!

I scooterjor (it's like a large, beefed out razor scooter, but for dogs) when there's two dogs in the video dryland and I'm on a steel cart when there are 3 dogs. When we have enough snow, we're always on a sled!

I use traditional english language mushing commands which are taken from horse driving, since this was the closest context to animal directional commands white colonizers (often missionaries...) had when first coming across dog sledding in the Americas. Traditional Indigenous practices typically still use their own languages.

What I use:

-Hike: meaning "go" (although I rarely if ever have to use this command, they will go regardless)

-Gee: meaning turn right

-Haw: meaning turn left

-On-by: meaning keep going past that distraction (if still moving).

-Line-Out: meaning lean into harness and hold the line tight until release. This is super important to reducing potential for tangles as well as having the dogs stay in place when asked (they are strong enough to pull through every brake I have with the exception of my snow hook and that's only dependable under certain weather conditions that are becoming rarer with climate change).

-Woah: meaning stop

The reasons these commands are used, besides tradition, is that they all end on different sounds and/or are quite distinct which makes it easier for the animal to learn and employ what is asked of them. With training animals, be it dogs or horses or cats or rats or anything else, clarity is KEY. It also ensures that when discussing directions with others in your group you aren't accidentally commanding your animals as you can say "right" and "left" freely before a decision is made.

Woah, said in a long slow tone, is universal amongst many languages and amongst many animals that work together with humans. Patricia McConnell goes over this in her book "The Other End of the Leash", which if you have any passing interest in animal behavior and the communication between people and dogs, is a good read.

Even Indigenous language commands are meant to be distinct such as in Greenlandic where they typically use "ILI" for right and "IJU" for left. (Notice how even in Greenlandic the command for right ends in that more "eeeeee" sound like "gee" vs the command for left is a more low tone. Language surrounding such simple things, such as directions, is super cool imo.

Regardless of traditional commands mushers may choose to use their own entirely. It's really up to personal choice. A lot of us also bulk out more typical commands with others that suit our specific needs.

Additional commands that i've trained:

-leave it: meaning leave that distraction alone (if already distracted and stopped). I brought this command in from regular daily obedience training. If they don't leave the distraction at this command in harness we stop them running and reset them which they do not want (stopping = boring for sled dogs) so they're usually pretty motivated to avoid having this told to them and will react pretty quickly.

-Gee over: meaning get to the right hand side of the trail (useful on walks as well)

-Haw over: meaning get to the left hand side of the trail

-Trail: get on the trail (if dog is off the trail, usually after holding them in a stay when asked to go over). We run on a multi-use trail that often has bikers and snowmobiles. Having my dogs get to the side and hold themselves there is crucial not only to the team's safety, but to be conscious of other trail users.

[woodchipp]

Hi there! I came across your post dissecting Omocat's Motivational Speech. I decided to read it with a friend of mine and holy crap-HOW did ANYONE read that and NOT see this person as a horrible jerkhole?! Seriously, we saw WAY more red flags in this writing BESIDES the ones you pointed out?! I usually don't say anything, but I couldn't keep quiet with what was put here:

"the stress will be there. you can overcome it but it will not go away"

Why are they making stress as something that can never leave after encountering something that causes it??? It CAN go away! One simply just TAKE A BREAK FROM IT, or STOP DOING WHAT'S STRESSING THEM OUT! There's no reason to make stress out as this force that permanently looms over a person after introduction. If that's the case, more human beings would be dying from that (it's one of the aiding factors to a lot of serious health problems and a lethal one on its own)!

"The next thing is to know you are not alone on this. We have a team of, I don't now, 10 ppl here everyday working. I can vouch that you are all, for the most part, nice people."

For the MOST part??? So Omocat doesn't truly believe that the people slaving away in making their game, and are considered as FRIENDS by them, are nice people??? Guess that makes sense considering how Omocat treated them behind the scenes. Why show kindness to people if one doesn't believe that they deserve it, right?

"There are some people who have more work than others, so I ask for those who have a bit less on their shoulders to remain courteous. It's distracting and feels really bad to hear laughter or people enjoying themselves when you have so much wor to do."

This MAY sound reasonable at first glance, but my friend immediately point out that this is manipulative language to shame and guilt trip employees into not complaining about mistreatment or taking much needed breaks from working. Coporate companies LOVE to use this kind of talk to keep employees in line by playing on their sympathy to help their fellow man, and the fear of being singled out and hated by everyone in the workforce.

"Thinking of all the choices I made down the line could have led to a different possible worse situation. This kind of thinking needs a certain level of humility"

Oh really? Cause Melonkid DID suffer the worse situation from not only not being paid royalties, was mistreated while working on this game, but is being ganged up by former coworkers AND most fans of the game! On top of being lied on to be painted as mentally unstable! So uh...way to make this line moot, Omocat.

"Another thing that helps is the way I view deadlines. Deadlines are deadlines. They are immovable. They are above me, like higher beings."

THIS shocked us. Not only is it unprofessional to say such a thing to employees, but...WHY??? I'm not joking when my friend asked if Omocat's studio is stationed outside of America, because to portray deadlines as a deity when this is a LITERAL talk to a literal dev team? Yeah, that's cult talk.

"Think of deadlines as a demon you have to continually give nourishment and sacrifice to or else it will destroy our game/ And everytime you work on the game, finish something. you're saying fuck you to that demon"

Okay, these are no longer red flags anymore, these lines are just Omocat conditioning employees with cultist mentality to have control over them as they work on the game. Moving the deadline is impossible because it's a being higher than our existence, so stop asking to have it moved so you can rest. Don't you dare take anymore breaks than the limited amount I am allowing YOU to have, or else the "demon" destroys all our hard work and you will be to blame for it. That's what these lines are actually saying. In what way is this suppose to be motivating? In what way is this NOT evoking an ominous sense of danger from this person?

"It actually means so much to me that I have to pull back on a lot of emothons since I have a natural tendency to take everything to do with this game really personally."

Yet that's exactly what Omocat did with the Melonkid situation. Instead of handling the whole thing professionally, like a person who owns a business is SUPPOSE to do, they instead acted like this employee had ruined their life with handling financial affairs over royalties. Goodness, out of the many speeches I had read online out of controversies, THIS one was the most blatant in the person's true colors. The fact that none of the fans see this is beyond disturbing, it just shows the growing trend of victim blaming that is putting actual victims in danger. Yet, allow horrible people to take advantage of the narrative as long as they play things right.

holy shit I absolutely did NOT catch that "for the most part" part. that's peak passive-aggressiveness

Given that she apparently also mistreated her ex-manager (who was a friend of hers as well), I'm not surprised that this is the way she seems to treat people she considers "friends". It's still immensely disgusting, sure, but it's not all that surprising.

Personally, I wouldn't go as far as to claim that her equating deadlines with a demon is "cult talk", but yeah, I can't possibly see how such rhetoric is supposed to be even remotely motivational. "nourishment and sacrifice" Jesse what the fuck are you talking about

Also... how is giving the "demon" nourishment saying "fuck you" to it?what a thoughtful metaphor

my joke theory that the devs exhausted the Kickstarter money on huge amounts of weed is seeming more and more plausible by the day huh

The fact that none of the fans see this is beyond disturbing

As I've mentioned before, this kind of controversy would've completely erased any other developer off the face of the Internet by now. But since Omocat is responsible for making a game specifically tailored to appeal to the sensibilities of Tumblr/Twitter users, she's pretty much inviolable :)

[baejax-the-great]

tell us about pillow talk I beg!!!!

Pillow talk is a Mass Effect WIP that I swear I am going to update one day for real. I have like four half-chapters that every once in a while I add a couple sentences to. Here's part of one:

“Researching something?” Shepard asked, peering through the glass case over her desk down to Garrus below on the sofa.

Garrus cursed under his breath. It was impossible to know how much she saw on his datapad over his shoulder. Lying was too much of a liability for getting rightfully roasted, and there was no telling that EDI would keep his secrets. He might as well show it to her, even if it made him feel like an idiot. After half an hour of searching, it was becoming clear the entirety of Citadel knowledge could not solve this particular mystery.

Shepard walked around to stand in front of him, wrapped only in a towel after her shower, and he handed the datapad to her.

“Human circadian vocal variations,” she read out loud, sounding unimpressed. “Is someone talking weird? Do I talk in my sleep? Or wait, do I snore?”

“Nah. Well, not that I’ve noticed. You’d have to actually sleep for me to hear anything. What I have noticed is that sometimes at night, your voice sounds different. I thought it was a translator glitch, but it only happens at night.”

Nadia grinned, tossing the datapad to her coffee table. “At night? Or specifically when we’re in my cabin?”

“Huh. I guess… in your cabin.” It had never happened in the field. Or on missions or on shore leave. In fact, it had only ever occurred when they were alone. Was it some sort of human mating thing? A different voice only for their lover? He was almost flattered, but that would have come up in one of those romantic vids Tali had sent him, probably. Unless it was too personal to include…

Nadia was still smiling, even bigger now. She had already figured it out, and she didn’t look too upset he had noticed whatever this was. “What do I sound like?”

“Hm. It’s like you have a different accent, I guess. During the day, you sound like you are from my area of Palaven. The capital.”

“And right now?”

“An area that’s pretty far east of where I was born, somewhat north.”

Shepard had already pulled up a map of Palaven on her own omnitool, and Garrus pointed at the region.

“What are they known for over there?”

“A spicy fish stew and really boring music.”

“Huh. Anyone else on the crew sound have a different Palaven accent?”

“Kasumi and Chakwas. Oh, and Miranda.”

“Show me.”

They dropped pins across the map, and Shepard nodded at each one, like it was just where she suspected.

“It looks like whoever made your translation software decided to overlay a map of Earth onto Palaven with the Alliance HQ on top of your capital and just assign accents from there. Of course, Australia looks to be in the middle of an ocean, so they had to adjust earth continents for it… huh. You said my night time accent was here?”

“Yeah.”

“I definitely don’t sound like I’m from here?” Nadia pointed at a completely different region.

“Almost nobody lives on those islands, but no.”

“My father would be rolling in his grave if he had one.”

“You gonna enlighten me anytime soon, Shep? I’ve been awfully patient here.”

“The official language of the Alliance is English. It originated here” –her finger pointed to a sparsely populated region on Palaven and a small island on Earth— “And that is the accent Chakwas has. My accent is standard to here, North America, but English is not my first language.”

“I’ve heard that Earth has an unusually high number of languages.”

“Yeah. Someone told me that before globalization you could go five kilometers in any direction and find people finding a different one. Don’t know if that’s true. I grew up on Mindoir, though, and our entire colony was French-speaking. I haven’t had any reason to speak it in a long time, but I realized in here, with you, there was no reason not to when we already relied on the translator.”

“So when we’re alone—”

“I speak French, which comes from here, France, which is where my mother was born. My father was from here” –she pointed to the sparsely populated islands north of Palaven. “He would be very disappointed to learn I sounded more French than French Canadian. He tried very hard to make sure I used their slang and variations over my mother’s. I wonder if it’s a limitation of the software.”