#charge sheet against the government.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

SoCal Gas spent millions on astroturf ops to fight climate rules

Today (19 Aug), I'm appearing at the San Diego Union-Tribune Festival of Books. I'm on a 2:30PM panel called "Return From Retirement," followed by a signing:

https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/festivalofbooks

It's a breathtaking fraud: SoCal Gas, the largest gas company in America, spent millions secretly paying people to oppose California environmental regulations, then illegally stuck its customers with the bill. We Californians were forced to pay to lobby against our own survival:

https://www.sacbee.com/news/politics-government/capitol-alert/article277266828.html

The criminal scheme is spelled out in eye-watering detail in a superb investigative report by Joe Rubin and Ari Plachta for the Sacramento Bee, which names the law firms and individual lawyers involved in the scam.

Here's the situation: SoCal Gas is California's private, regulated gas monopoly. They are allowed to lobby, but are legally required to charge their lobbying activities to their shareholders, and are prohibited from raising customer rates to pay for lobbying.

The company spent years secretly violating this rule, in the sleaziest way possible: working with corporate cartels like the California Restaurant Association and BizFed, the monopoly paid BigLaw white-shoe firms to procure people who posed as concerned citizens in order to oppose climate regulations that are essential to the state's very survival.

The bill topped $36 million – and it was illegally charged to its customers, the Californians whose immediate health and long-term survival these efforts opposed. SoCal Gas refuses to disclose the full extent of the spending, as do its lawyer-procurers, who cite legal confidentiality and a First Amendment right to secretly seek to influence policy in their refusal to disclose their profits from this illegal conduct.

The law firms involved are a who's-who of California's most prominent corporate fixers, including Reichman Jorgensen and Holland & Knight. The partners involved have a long rap sheet for anti-climate dirty tricking, most notably Jennifer Hernandez, notorious in climate justice history for an incident where activists claim she posed as one of them, infiltrating a campaign to force corporate despoilers to clean up their pollution in order to sabotage it, while secretly on a wealthy, prominent landowner's payroll.

Hernandez claims to care about the environment and says that her longstanding, corporate-funded, extensive campaigns and lawsuits against state environmental regulations are motivated by concern over their impact on working people. Her firm, Holland & Knight, denies serving SoCal Gas in opposing gas regulations, but it received $594k in ratepayer dollars, and submitted comments opposing the rules on its own behalf. Those comments were nearly identical to the comments submitted by SoCal Gas.

Hernandez also represents an obscure organization called The Two Hundred for Home Ownership in "a flurry of lawsuits" over California Air Resources Board rules on pollution, seeking to overturn the state's landmark climate change regulations.

Two Hundred for Home Ownership was founded by Robert Apodaca, who told the Bee that Hernandez's work for him is pro bono and not funded by SoCal Gas, but his entry into the fray occurred just as SoCalGas was founding an astroturf group called Californians for Fair and Balanced Energy (C4BES), which pretended to be an independent organization, disguising its relationship with SoCal Gas.

Apodaca is also founder of United Latinos Vote, an organization that had been largely dormant for seven years, not receiving any donations, until 2018, when the California Building Industry Association gave it $99k. The CBIA is a large-dollar recipient of donations from SoCal Gas, and its CEO insists that it was not acting on SoCal Gas's behalf when it made its unpredented donation to Apodaca.

The CBIA donation to United Latinos Vote was forerunner to a flood of corporate donations from the likes of Chevron, Marathon and Phillips 66. Shortly after receiving this cash, United Latinos Vote ran a full page ad in the LA Times, accusing the Sierra Club of pushing for anti-gas appliance rules that would harm working class Latino families.

This ad, in turn, featured prominently in advocacy by the SoCal Gas front group C4BES, funded with $29.1m in ratepayer money, which it then spent seeking to link clean appliance rules with anti-Latino racism. A quarter of California's carbon emissions come from home gas use.

SoCal Gas is regulated by the California Public Utility Commission (CPUC), which tolerated this mounting illegal conduct for many years, even as the company circulated internal memos as early as 2015 discussing its plans to oppose electrification in the state on the basis that it constituted "a significant risk to our business."

But last year, CPUC fined SoCal Gas $10m. Now, CPUC's Public Advocate office has filed a damning, extensive report on SoCal Gas's unlawful conduct, seeking $80m in rate cuts to compensate Californians for the funds misappropriated to protect the company's shareholder interests:

https://docs.cpuc.ca.gov/PublishedDocs/Efile/G000/M517/K407/517407314.PDF

Additionally, the Public Advocate is demanding $233m in fines for the company's refusal to allow investigators to audit its books and discover the full extent of the fraud.

SoCal Gas is the nation's largest utility, but (incredibly), it's not the dirtiest. That prize goes to Ohio's FirstEnergy, which handed $60m in ratepayer dollars to state politicians in illegal bribes in exchange for coal and nuclear subsidies and cancellation of state climate rules. That scandal led to GOP speaker of the Ohio House Larry Householder being sentenced to 20 years in prison:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ohio_nuclear_bribery_scandal

There is something extraordinarily sleazy about using ratepayers' own money to lobby against their interests. SoCal Gas and its Big Law enablers have funneled millions in Californian's money into campaigns to poison us and boil us alive, and they did it while using workers and racialized people as human shields.

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/19/cooking-the-books-with-gas/#reichman-jorgensen

Image: Maryland GovPics (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/mdgovpics/6635539089/

Jackie (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/79874304@N00/197532792

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝕌𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞

🥀Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact 

🥀Au: royal, navy, space, sci-fi

🥀Trope: role reversal

🥀Summary: When your first mate successfully enacts a mutiny, you're left with one simple task... to be his cum bucket

🥀Kinks: uniform kink, oral (m), masturbation (f), degradation kink, mean dom! seonghwa, brat sub! reader, spitting, deep throating, choking, thigh slapping, creampie(s), overstim, marking, fingering(f)

🥀Word Count: 1,541

🥀Betas: @mejuii

🥀Day Twelve: Mommy Kink 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Fourteen: threesome/ritual

Seonghwa strode into the Captain's Quarters, his heels clacking purposely against the polished-with-wear metal. He tossed a long strand of hair out of his face, eyes looking for you. He stood in all his powerful glory before you in the bed. The leather of his outfit creaked despite the gold embroidery. He was clad in such from the tops of his shoulders starting with his long jacket, the corset like adornment along his ribcage, the straps that held the sheath for his sword and guns, and finally the pants and boots, that left nothing to the imagination, to be honest.

You were where he left you, naked and in bed. You had only the stark white sheet hiding your bare skin, but even that seemed to irk the man that used to be your first mate.

The U.S.S Utopia had been your ship, and you, its Captain. You had sailed her all along the Milky Way, plundering and stealing, after the American government fell to the people during a coup d'état. Then Seonghwa, with an evil grin, had convinced the crew to mutiny against you. You loved the Utopia and had pleaded that you would do anything to remain on board and not get plunged into the freezing depths of the dark sea, aka space. Seonghwa gave you one choice: remain as a useful tool, as a cum bucket for him, and he would allow you to stay. You agreed immediately and had remained so for several months now. And he had not tired of you yet.

The now-captain ripped his sheets off your body, eyes searching still for the dried cum on your skin. He seemed enamored with leaving his mark on you, in more ways than one.

“Lover,” he said in a sing-song voice, clueing you in that he was in a cruel mood. “I told you to remain here, in my bed, with my cum on you.”

“I did, Seonghwa!” You insisted.

Seonghwa waved a gloved hand in your vague direction. “I see nothing.”

“I was cold!” You insisted, trying not to look eager. “Perhaps the sheet brushed it off!”

You had washed his cum from your body as soon as he had left the room. You wanted him to come back and punish you. You looked forward to it, in fact.

Seonghwa sighed heavily, undoing his pants. “I don’t know how you ever were in charge of this ship. I’ll just have to repeat my handiwork and then some.”

There was some type of cruel kink for enjoying Seonghwa fucking you in an almost carbon copy of your captain’s outfit made to fit him. You loved the feel of the leather against your bare skin. There was something dirty and cheap about the way that Seonghwa couldn't be bothered to disrobe while he fucked you. You were addicted to being used by your past first mate; you simply could not get enough of it.

“Suck me off,” He said lowly after he had undone his pants just enough for his cock to be pulled out.

You took his soft cock and pulled him into your mouth. You stared up at the cruel captain with wide, eager eyes. You knew everything that he loved--and exactly what set him off. Your tongue curled around his head as blood rushed to his cock, and then he commanded you to touch yourself. You made loud noises of pleasure as you rubbed a finger against your clit and his cock grew in length even faster. Soon you were able to bob up and down him, hollowing your cheeks so that he could feel all of you.

Simply put, Seonghwa just wished to order you around. You had spent most of your career belittling him and his self-worth. So now that he was captain, he took every chance to return the favor. It never made him feel less than the whimpering second in command he always saw himself as, but still he pushed forward.

Seonghwa’s fingers floated over your head, a pretend-softness before he grabbed your hair harshly. When he pulled you off his cock, you kept your tongue out of your mouth and he spit onto it. Then he shoved you back on his cock, practically face fucking you. He wanted to see those tears form in your eyes and hear the chokes as you barely managed his length in your mouth and down your throat.

“You love sucking my cock, don’t you, you pathetic whore,” Seonghwa spat. “Always eager to have a dick in any hole you can get.”

Case and point, you pushed a finger inside of yourself, moaning loudly. That made anger burn in Seonghwa’s dark eyes. “I didn’t say to fill yourself, did I?”

Seonghwa pulled you off his length again, and you began to protest. “Seonghwa!”

“That’s Captain to you!” He snarled, and your mouth snapped shut.

He began to pace in front of the bed, brewing up a plot. How did he want you now? How did he want to cover you with his cum? There were so many options but he knew he needed to walk the ship again later, to keep an eye on his crew that had been so easily swayed to mutiny against you.

“Captain, please,” you begged. “I’ve been good.”

“Puh-lease, you don’t know the meaning of good,” Seonghwa spat his words. He pulled at his corset, and you saw your way in.

“Doesn’t fit you as well, does it, Seonghwa? Too snug at your ribcage or too small for your waist?”

“I wear this outfit better than you ever did,” Seonghwa roared, eyes like coals in his head.

Seonghwa made you ride his cock while he laid down on his bed, fully clothed of course; made you stare at him in your old captain’s outfit tailored to fit his body. He commanded you to speak of how he is a better captain than you and if you were interrupted by a sharp thrust of his upwards, you got a slap on your thigh with his leather glove. And when he came inside you, he held you down on his cock, a cry leaving his plush lips. Only once all of his cum had been pumped in you, did he allow you to raise yourself up, watching as his cum clung to his cock and poured out your cunt.

But that wasn't enough for Seonghwa, oh no, he wanted more.

He painted your body with bruises and cum, never tiring of abusing your body and seeing the stars light up in your eyes as he did. Because make no mistake, he was well aware that you loved to provoke him and what followed. But he was too drunk on his power, too drunk on you, to stop himself from giving you exactly what you wanted.

Seonghwa fucked you against the headboard, gloved hands wrapped around your throat, chest peeking above the corset, looking like a debauched pirate captain that ever sailed the Milky Way. His evil grin was apparent, eyes traveling all over your face as you made choked noises.

He released your throat, but you only whined, moving his hands back. “Please, Seonghwa, more,” you said with a raspy voice.

“Such a slut for me, aren't you, lover?” Seonghwa grinned in triumph.

“Yes, Captain,” You agreed, rocking your hips eagerly forward.

Seonghwa squeezed his hands around your throat again. He gauged by your face how close you were to your climax, and when he let sweet air invade your lungs again, you came so hard for him that your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You were drowning in pleasure and still, you groaned about him making a further mess of your pussy. Seonghwa looked you straight in the eyes and fucked you through your orgasm. He drank in every scrunch of your nose and whine about it being too much (it was everything you wanted), until he came inside of you again. You both felt his cum slip out of your hole as he fucked your cunt, following his pleasure. There simply wasn’t enough room for all his cum and yet still he continued to unload into you.

“You exist to be my cum bucket, lover, and don’t you forget it,” Seonghwa whispered into your ear.

Later, when you were passed out in his bed and only the lights of the stars left to reveal all the ways you belonged to him, Seonghwa admired his handiwork. His cum was all over your body, marks of his teeth and hands painted on your skin. And still it wasn't enough. You had screamed his name hoarse, sounding bittersweet from your lips, red after the blowjobs and biting. But it never erased your jeering face of old from his memory.

So he pushed his hands between your legs and patted your cunt. Your body jolted and you groaned as you woke up. Seonghwa's lithe fingers played with your pussy, still wet with desire and his seed. And after everything he put you through, you reached between your legs and pressed his fingers further into your body.

Seonghwa smiled, the first one of pure glee rather than cruelty. You were programmed to be greedy for him, and that was enough.

🥀Day Twelve: Mommy Kink 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Fourteen: threesome/ritual

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part two | rated t | 4k words [ part one ]

all my thanks and love for @fragilecapric0rnn for beta reading again. thanks for your help, and for kindly correcting my silly mistakes 💜

Eddie catches all the not-so-subtle winks Dustin throws him every time one of the kids wheedles details about the next campaign out of him, or Robin gets him going on government conspiracy theories, or Steve cracks him up with a bitchy remark.

The kid’s about as subtle as a train full of cowbells crashing into a packed clown car.

But he makes it seem so easy, to just… be their friend. Too easy. As if Eddie doesn’t have a lifetime of reasons not to.

Against his better judgment, slowly but surely, they’re eroding his finely-honed walls. Growing like moss, like ivy between the cracks.

The kids barge in one day arguing at full volume. Steve trudges in behind them and drops into the crummy plastic chair closest to Eddie’s bed, the one usually occupied by Wayne or Dustin. Well, when Dustin’s not going toe to broken toe with his friends over—

“We can’t split the party under these conditions!”

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

Steve heaves a ragged sigh, and Eddie watches as if entranced by the complicated movements of Steve’s fingers as he alternates pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging over his eyes.

He looks wrung out. When was the last time he got a decent night’s sleep?

“So someone has to pull double duty. We’ll draw straws and rotate every week,” Mike says, like he’s being the pinnacle of reasonableness. Whatever it is, Eddie’s sure he isn’t.

“That’s not fair! We should just pull someone off and make them exempt. Like Nancy or El, someone we need on more useful things.”

“What the hell are you little gargoyles arguing about?” Eddie reaches for his DM baritone and comes up short. Maybe his diaphragm got rearranged with all the rest of his guts.

It still works to cut through the kids’ argument though. Steve shoots him a grateful look.

“We’re trying to decide what everyone in the party would do in the inevitable zombie apocalypse,” Mike hurries to explain.

“Inevitable..?” Eddie glances out the window he can just barely see from his position on the bed.

It’s been weeks since they wasted Vecna, with no sign of his sorry ass returning. No blood and ash raining from the sky, no earthquakes splitting the town apart, and definitely no zombies.

“Yeah, ‘cause see, if we’ve got El on recon, Nancy and Lucas take point with ranged weapons. Argyle’s in charge of foraging and cooking—”

Steve groans and slumps back in the seat as the kids pick up steam again. He’s so dramatic, Eddie can’t help a snort of laughter he covers with a cough. Steve’s got a hand splayed over his face, from his jaw up into his hairline, like he can block out the whole world. Or at least this one conversation.

With hands like that, maybe he can...

“But someone’s gotta stay back and guard the base! And you can’t have one person on watch, what if they fall asleep or get attacked or—”

A stupid little smile curls over Eddie’s lips as he watches Steve out of the corner of his eye while the kids keep arguing.

“We’re thirteen people now, Mike! There’s no way to divide watch shifts evenly between thirteen people and twenty-four hours in a day! Even Holly can do that math!”

Eddie whips around as reality drops on him like a load of every perfidious brick this group has worn down over the past couple weeks.

“What did you just say?”

Dustin gives him a disappointed look, “C’mon, Eddie, I know you of all people can do this math. Thirteen—”

No way. Absolutely not. That cannot possibly be correct. It has to be a mistake. It has to.

Eddie does a headcount, checking them off on his fingers hidden under the thin hospital sheets to double check their math. Someone got counted twice or not at all.

His three Hellfire gremlins plus Lady Applejack and Red. Nancy and Robin and Steve round out the Hawkins crew. Add in Supergirl and Zombie Boy with their whole “saving the world” schtick for an even ten, and now he’s really starting to sweat. Then there’s Jonathan and that guy Argyle. Plus Eddie makes…

“Oh my god, I’ll do it! I’ll be the designated hitter,” Steve half-shouts. The kids just stare at him blankly, and he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes so hard Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t black out from it. “I’ll take the double shifts in your make believe zombie apocalypse. Happy?”

Steve’s hand, the one that was covering his face, sits warm and heavy over the sheet covering Eddie’s trembling hand. Eddie has no idea how or when it got there, or if Steve even really registers where it’s landed. Not exactly holding his hand, not with the sheet between them, but definitely there. Something to focus on that’s not how he already died and he’s still being fucking haunted by the spectre of his birth.

So no, he’s not happy, and neither are the gremlins. They immediately start shouting over each other to argue with him.

“Out!” Steve starts to rise from the chair, leaning his weight on Eddie’s hand and points at the door with a snap. “Get out! Go bother Max and Lucas with this shit, or I’m not driving your sorry asses back here tomorrow.”

And just like that, Dustin ushers them out, still grumbling and arguing. He shoots Steve a look, but Steve glares him down with a hand on his hip.

The door slams behind them and it’s finally, blissfully quiet.

“Jesus Christ with those kids,” Steve mutters as he reclaims his seat, “It’s like they can’t shut up for five minutes.”

Eddie is silent next to him in the bed, and he’s pretty sure if Steve’s hand wasn’t on his, it’d be shaking. The rest of him is. This clawing, aching, tingling vibration just under his skin. The tremor is coming from inside the house.

He knows better than this, he knows better, what the hell is he thinking.

He needs to stop fooling around and get his act together, or with his luck, there really will be a zombie apocalypse and all of these people will be casualties of it. All because of him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, sheepishly. “This is like, your room. I shouldn’t’ve kicked them out if you wanted them here. You just... you looked like you needed a break.”

“Yeah, I— yeah, it’s fine,” Eddie says on a rough exhale. Takes a steadying inhale. And judging by the bags under Steve’s eyes, “Looks like you could use a break yourself, man.”

“They’ve just been arguing about that stupid zombie apocalypse shit for hours!” Steve throws himself back in the chair and launches into his own rant.

One hand gestures wildly, digging through his hair and underscoring his words, while the other stays where it’s been planted, gently covering Eddie’s. Twitching and flexing occasionally.

He lets Eddie catch his breath. He gives him enough space that Eddie could slip his hand free, could pull away without making a big deal out of it. He has to feel Eddie’s hand by now, he has to. But he doesn’t move away.

Eddie doesn’t move away either.

He doesn’t have a good reason not to. In fact, he’s got nothing but good reasons to pull his hand back and let them both pretend like none of this ever happened.

But Steve’s hand is warm and solid over his, even through the sheet. And where would he put his hand anyway? Where would it go, untethered? If anything, it’d interrupt Steve’s flow, and it really seems like he needs to get all this off his beautifully hairy chest.

“—And they’re acting like it’s such a problem we’ve got an uneven number now!“

“Well they’ve kinda got a point. I mean, with thirteen…” Eddie interjects.

Steve flashes him a broad, cocky smile. “Hey, thirteen’s my lucky number.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie mumbles, mostly to himself.

Steve hears him anyway. “No, I’m serious! It’s been my jersey number since I was a kid. Like even way back when I was just playing tee ball. Oh, and get this! Somehow, all through grade school, I was number thirteen on the roll call list. Every year! I mean, that’s crazy, right?”

No, crazy is being pulled out of hell itself by the sheer force of will and determination of a guy whose lucky number is thirteen.

This is just too ironic for words. It’s bordering on absurd.

But Wayne’s always tried to tell him truth is stranger than fiction.

Eddie keeps his mouth shut with gritted teeth, holding back a laugh. Or maybe a scream. Either would land him in the loony bin, because once he started, he wouldn’t ever stop.

“And anyway, the way I see it, our luck’s never been better.”

That unsticks Eddie’s mouth.

“What?” he sputters. “Steve, three people are dead, Red and Henderson both have broken bones, and you got chewed on by fucking demon bats!”

Steve shrugs his shoulder loosely, like it’s just the price of doing business. “Yeah, but we actually figured out who’s behind all this shit. I mean like, everything, since ‘83. Since Will went missing and Barb... We finally got answers. And we closed all the gates now, for good. He’s gone. It’s over. And we’re all still here.”

Steve’s eyes slowly trace over Eddie’s own slightly mangled body. Over the tubes and wires snaking out between the bandages wrapped around his arms. Over the one taped across his cheek, until he meets Eddie’s eyes through his lashes. “We couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

Eddie doesn’t have a clue what to say to that. To any of it. The only thing he brings to the table are nerdy references and loud music and a penchant for getting anyone close to him killed.

But Steve makes all that sound like a good thing. Like Eddie is a good thing.

If he keeps this up, Eddie might almost start to believe him.

Steve clears his throat and releases Eddie from the trap of his honeyed hazel gaze, but not before Eddie sees the rosy pink color starting to tint his cheeks. The same heat rising over his own face.

“Sorry man, we’re doing a terrible job of letting you get any rest today. The kids came in here arguing, and then I just went off like that. I can go, if you want some peace and quiet,” Steve pushes the chair back, and Eddie’s fingers twitch under his hand.

Yes. “No, you… you can stay. If you want.” Eddie grabs the remote with his free hand and waggles it at him, plasters on a smile. “Let’s just watch some tv. Put on whatever you want.”

Steve doesn’t look quite convinced, but he does scootch his chair back closer to the bed. “No no no, it’s your tv, man. I know Dustin’s always stealing the remote.”

“C’mon, seriously…” Eddie thinks for a moment until he lands on, “What did you watch when you were home sick as a kid?”

“Uh no, absolutely not.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You’re gonna laugh...”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie says, with all the sincerity he can muster.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, before he blows out an aggrieved sigh. “Alright, look… when I was little, like real little, like younger than the kids, my mom would set me up on the couch with a big blanket with a hot water bottle… And she’d put on General Hospital.”

Eddie presses his lips shut tight to contain his snort of laughter. It still blows his cheeks out though, and there’s a smile he can’t quite keep in.

Steve glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it.

Eddie shakes his head, grinning, “General Hospital it is.”

They surf the channels for a while but can’t find it playing anywhere. Instead, Eddie lands one of Wayne’s old favorite spaghetti westerns, and starts outlining all the tropes of the genre. But it turns out Steve’s grandpa was just as big a fan, and Steve matches him beat for beat as they roast the stilted dialogue.

Eventually, Steve’s eyelids start to droop. His head drops a few times, before he jerks back up, blinking hard. Eddie keeps talking to him, but softer now. Slower. More and more space between each sentence.

Steve’s breath slows and evens out, his chin tucks into his chest and one arm wraps around his stomach. He falls asleep in that uncomfortable hospital chair with his hand still over Eddie’s. 

It’s release day.

It’s finally, finally release day. Marked on his calendar and circled in red. Or it would be, if Eddie had a calendar. He’s never been good at keeping up with those kind of things.

The point is, he’s been counting down to this day for weeks. Weeks. But this is it, today’s the day.

He’s already been denied twice thanks to the government goons.

The first time, he was so out of it on painkillers, he didn’t even realize that maybe he should be taking their questions seriously. That one’s on him for answering everything in character as Samwise Gamgee.

The second time though, he’d bet his remaining guitar on petty revenge. All because he wouldn’t sign their stupid NDA without reading it thoroughly first. Or it could have been his demand for more than a pat on the back from Uncle Sam. Eddie wasn’t about to walk away from this all shit empty handed.

But all that’s settled now. He and Wayne got a modest farmhouse with some land, ready and waiting for them just outside of town. His name’s been cleared and the yokels bought the cover story, hook, line, and sinker. And there’s a stipend coming to a bank account with his name on it every month, as long as he keeps his trap shut. It’s enough that Wayne won’t have to work unless he really wants to.

All the doc has to do is sign his release form, and he’s gone. Eddie is leaving today or so help him—

But it’s not the doctor that comes through the door, or even Wayne.

It’s Steve.

With a “knock knock”, out loud, even as he knocks on the door, peeking around it, and beaming when he sees Eddie.

“Wayne sent me ahead with this,” he drops a hefty duffel bag on the foot of Eddie’s bed. “He and Dustin are just finishing up at the house, they’ll be here any minute.”

Eddie balks a little at that, but Steve chuckles knowingly.

“Don’t worry, Henderson’s leaving with me. I had to bribe him with a trip to the comic book store, but at least it’ll give you and Wayne some time to get settled at the new place.”

“Is it good?” Eddie can’t help but ask. Hates how small it comes out. There’s always a chance the suits decided to screw them over.

Steve answers with one of those soft smiles of his. “Yeah, man. It’s great. You’re gonna love it.”

“Good, good,” Eddie says absentmindedly. He has to tear his eyes away and grab the bag, start rifling through it. All the while trying not to wonder who picked out these clothes and who packed them up and—

“I’ll uh, give you some privacy,” Steve says as Eddie pulls out a heavy red plaid and a pair of sweats.

He pulls the curtain around Eddie’s bed between them, but he doesn’t leave. Instead he asks if Eddie wants the latest (and hopefully last) hospital gossip.

“Uh, duh! I gotta know if Luellen’s made a move yet.”

Eddie wrangles his arms inside the hospital gown and pulls it roughly over his head to throw it in a heap in the corner. Ooo-ing and gasping at all the right moments during Steve’s tales of intrigue.

He has to move slower than he wants to, has to take his time and sit on the edge of the bed, dangling his legs to the floor to shimmy into the sweatpants.

And whoever picked the flannel deserves a goddamn Nobel prize. He’s able to slip it on easily without agitating his remaining stitches or lifting his arms above his head. And once he’s got the buttons done up, it’s loose enough not to snag or cling.

Eddie digs around in the bag again and fishes out a pair of slip-on shoes. They’re not his, not his usual style, and definitely don’t go with this getup. But the worn leather is soft, and at least he doesn’t have to deal with the whole mess of bending over to tie them. Or— god forbid— ask Steve to come over and tie them for him.

That’s an ordeal he’s not sure he’d survive.

Whoever packed this bag is getting a fruit basket.

In a soft purple crown royal bag tucked in on the side, he finds his rings and his necklace, and it makes something in his heart clench. Something slots into place, just by sliding the rings back on his fingers, the pick over his head. Whole, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Screw the fruit basket, they’re getting a whole goddamn orchard.

Eddie’s been quiet for a long moment, not quite keeping up his end of the storytelling experience.

Steve’s gone quiet too, and Eddie’s not sure how long it’s been since either of them said anything.

On the other side of the curtain, Steve clears his throat, and his sneakers squeak on the tile as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Are you decent?”

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “I’m dressed if that’s what you’re asking.”

He catches the tail end of Steve’s eye roll as he pulls back the curtain. He looks Eddie up and down as he comes around. Smiles softly and gets comfortable on the foot of the bed, one leg folded underneath him.

“Ready to go?”

“You have no idea,” and Eddie has to fight the urge not to throw himself back dramatically on the bed. Damn the stitches.

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya. My longest stay wasn’t even half as long as they’ve kept you, and I was climbing the walls by the end of it.” He rubs unconsciously at the scar running through the edge of his eyebrow.

Eddie does not take his hand and pull it away to soothe the aching memory himself. He doesn’t even think about it, really. Definitely doesn’t have to distract himself with an old habit like sliding his rings off and on his fingers.

“What, unseasoned hospital food doesn’t appease your refined palette?” he teases in a haughty voice.

“If I had to eat one more piece of dry, rubbery chicken…” Steve threatens.

“No way, man, the pork chops are way worse.”

They argue back and forth, ranking the rest of the limited hospital menu on a scale of pudding cups to sawdust, and it’s good, it’s easy.

Until there’s a lull in the conversation, and Steve clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. Sits up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up.

“Hey so I was thinking… Maybe once you’re all cleared, I can take you out for dinner sometime? I promise it’ll be better than any of this crap.”

Steve looks so earnest, so hopeful, with that confident damn smile curving his lips and his heavy lidded eyes watching Eddie. His hands flex like he wants to reach for him. But he stays still and gives Eddie his space. Must somehow know Eddie would be even more likely to run if he did.

A tight knot of want and can’t claws roughly up Eddie’s throat and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

He has to tell him. Knowing Eddie, being friends with Eddie, it’s dangerous. It always has been. He’s let himself indulge in this fantasy for way too long. He has to put a stop to it, now.

It’s more dangerous than Dustin, than Wayne, than Chrissy. Not just a friend but something— someone more.

“Steve…” who Eddie cannot even begin to think about being anything. He won’t.

Eddie Munson is nobody’s happy ending.

“You don’t want— this,” he chickens out at the last second.

Steve’s smile slowly fades and he blinks a few times. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his head tilts to the side, considering for a moment. “I think you should let me decide what I want.”

And Eddie wants to scream.

This isn’t about you!

But of course, it is. It’s about him, and every single person that’s come before him, and every one that’s sure to come after him, and everything that has and will go wrong.

The words catch in Eddie’s throat, and he can’t say any of them. So he just sits there, frozen and silent and begging Steve to understand.

Steve looks away and lets out a long breath. Not quite a sigh as he shakes his head. He stands and starts heading towards the door.

He turns back before he gets there though, catching Eddie again in his earnest gaze.

“The real question: is what do you want, Eddie?”

And nobody’s asked him that in such a long time. Every day since he woke up in the hospital has been the same. All of his meals are pre-planned and brought at the exact same time, whether he’s hungry or not, whether he likes the food or can even keep it down or not. His schedule, from when to sleep to when to take his meds to when he does physical therapy, has been out of his hands. And then Dustin shows up with whoever he decides to bring with him that day.

Eddie’s been resurrected, but what choice has he really had?

Part of him, this new part of him born from his death and a second chance at life, is just daring him to see how far he can push his newfound luck. To prove once and for all if the curse really is broken.

Eddie’s never said no to a dare.

Steve turns to leave, one hand reaching for the door, and Eddie scrambles to his feet. Takes a few shaky stiff, baby deer steps forward as he calls him back, “Steve—”

He holds Steve’s gaze for an impossibly long moment, tracing the swirls and whorls and questions in his hazel eyes, his freckles and moles and scars.

Go big and go home.

“How about a kiss?” Eddie asks. “For luck?”

Steve’s face morphs through several expressions so fast, Eddie can’t keep track of all of them. He lands on something incredulous, his lips curving upwards in a smirk even as his eyebrows fall and pinch in the middle at the sheer audacity—

But he crosses the room in two swift strides to stand in front of Eddie. Throws a quick glance at the still-shut door, at his mouth, before meeting his eyes again. Eddie barely starts to nod, and Steve’s lips are on his.

His gentle strong hand around Eddie’s elbow reels him in, pulls him closer. Eddie’s lands on his bicep, and the flex of muscle ignites a frisson of sparks under his palm to race through his bloodstream.

Steve’s other hand caresses Eddie’s unblemished cheek. Like he’s something precious. Something to hold onto, something dear.

As far as kisses go, it’s Eddie’s first.

Soft, sure and confident, the kiss is everything Eddie could have ever dreamed of. Hurried— not as in frenzied. Hurried as in greedy. Desperate to steal the breath from his lungs before he’s even noticed it’s missing.

Eddie kisses Steve back with equal fervor, trying to pour everything he has, everything he wants, everything he fears into the movement of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.

Eddie’s hand joins Steve’s on his cheek, keeping him close. An anchor in the tsunami flooding his senses with everything Steve. Cherry lip balm and hairspray, fresh laundry, and the musky hint of sweat underneath it all. It’s intoxicating. Incomparable. Incredible.

And Eddie’s just gonna blame the weeks-long hospital stay for how fast he goes weak at the knees.

Steve’s sure, steady hand in the small of Eddie’s back guides him slowly backwards until his thighs hit the bed again, and he sits hard, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Eddie reaches for him, eyes wide and staring up at Steve through his lashes, hooking his fingers through his belt loops. Two steps away is too far but Steve wastes no time crowding closer to stand between Eddie’s legs. He gently tips Eddie’s face up with a featherlight touch and kisses him deeply while Eddie holds him firmly by his hips.

Consuming and consumed, devouring and devoured. Wanting and wanted.

When they come up for air, Steve swoops back in, once, twice, and a lingering third time, like he’s reluctant to stop. And Eddie strains his neck to meet him kiss for kiss.

Steve finally pulls away just far enough to sigh breathlessly against his lips, “Is that all you want, Eddie?” His eyes screwed shut tight.

No. Eddie wants everything. For now though, he’ll settle for– “Somebody said something about dinner and movie?”

“Oh so now there’s a movie, huh?” Steve says, but he’s smiling and nudges his nose against Eddie’s.

“Don’t go thinking I’m a cheap date now, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s smiling too. Smiling too much for more than quick kisses that skate across their lips.

With each peck, Eddie schemes how to get Steve’s lips on his again. How to keep him. Keep him safe.

They break apart when the sharp clack-clack of heels echoes down the corridor from Eddie’s room, heralding the doctor’s arrival.

Eddie was born under a bad sign. But maybe here, in this new life, he can make his own luck. 

[ also on ao3 ]

[coochiequeens]

Not the first time Japanese women and girls suffered through sexual violence from American servicemen.

By BRIAN MCELHINEY AND KEISHI KOJA STARS AND STRIPES • July 12, 2024 Source - Stars and Stripes

CAMP FOSTER, Okinawa — A U.S. airman stationed at Kadena Air Base, in his first appearance Friday in a Japanese court since his indictment in March, denied charges against him of kidnapping and sexually assaulting a minor.

Senior Airman Brennon Richard Edward Washington, 25, assigned to the 18th Logistics Readiness Squadron, was charged with kidnapping and non-consensual sex with a minor in December.

His case, and that of a Marine lance corporal charged in a separate case with attempted sexual assault, sparked protests from Okinawa Gov. Denny Tamaki of the U.S. military’s failure to discipline its troops.

He also protested to Tokyo of its and the Naha Public Prosecutors Office’s failures to promptly notify the prefecture of the charges. The case only came to light in late June when Washington was scheduled for his first court appearance.  

The hearing began at 1:40 p.m. before a full courtroom.

“Is anything wrong with the facts written in the charge sheet?” Naha District Court Judge Tetsuro Sato, head of a three-judge panel, asked Washington after the charges were read.

“I’m not guilty,” Washington said. “I did not kidnap, I did not rape.”

According to the indictment provided by the prosecutors’ office, Washington approached the girl in a Yomitan village park Dec. 24 “with the purpose of kidnapping and conducting indecent acts on her.”

Prosecutors allege Washington said to the girl, “Let’s talk in the car because it’s cold.” From the park he drove the girl to his home off base, where he sexually assaulted her, knowing she was under 16, according to the indictment.

Washington’s attorney told the court that the airman “admitted that he took the woman to his house and performed sexual actions.”

“But he asked the woman’s age, and he thought that she was 18 years old,” the attorney said. “He did not have intentions to molest her and abduct her. Until the time she left he was unaware that she was under 16. He did not pull down her lingerie; it was done with her cooperation.”

The Japanese prosecutor said the girl went to the park after a fight with her mother, which she explained to Washington using a translator app. Washington, who went to the park after fighting with his wife, told the girl he was a “special detective in the military,” the prosecutor said.

The prosecutor played footage of the incident from security cameras in the park via table monitors only Washington, his attorney and the judges could see. Washington appeared calm while watching the video.

“Washington talked to the girl at around 4:30 p.m., saying ‘daijoubu?’ (are you OK) in Japanese,” the prosecutor said. “He asked her age, and she said her age in Japanese and also made gestures with her hands.

“The girl went back home crying, and her mother reported it to the police,” the prosecutor added. The hearing adjourned after the video showing. The next hearing is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. Aug. 23.

The victim and her mother are expected to appear to provide statements; partitions will be erected to protect their privacy, according to Sato. Washington was released from jail and restricted to Kadena following the indictment, and the U.S. government took his passport, 18th Wing spokesman Capt. Alvin Nelson told Stars and Stripes via email July 3.

“The U.S. military takes these allegations very seriously, and the 18th Wing has been cooperating with local authorities to ensure a thorough investigation while ensuring due legal process under the applicable laws and agreements,” Nelson said.

[crowfootwrites]

Devotion & Diplomacy - Part VII

Hi hello! Apologies for the like, 6 month hiatus. I want to promise it won't happen again, but really, it's not a money-back guarantee. 😅 I'm very excited to post this chapter and hopefully get the rest of them out in short order, as there are only 11 total! So we're almost there! Shit's about to get really real in this story, too, so I'm practically vibrating (though that might be the coffee).

Tagging my usuals: @horta-in-charge, @starrynightgardens, @sleepycat82, @vreenak, and @deepspacedukat 😘

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3

Warnings: lots of political tension and discussions of occupations, obviously; general Cardassian douchebaggery; some fluff that fades to black in the beginning | Words: ~3,415

The distinctly ashy golden light of Cardassia’s sun filtered through the thin window coverings in Daro’s bedroom, and Emrys stirred. The light on this planet always reminded her of some old Earth photos she’d once seen of the sky during “wildfire seasons”, before fire suppression systems were so readily accessible, and as she found herself lying in a room bathed in dusky light, she was hit by a sudden pang of homesickness. 

She rolled over languidly, searching for Daro, but the bed was empty. Today was a day of rest on Cardassia, meaning she had a rare day off. She was sorely tempted to stay in bed, but the appeal was lost with Daro nowhere to be seen. Stretching, she pulled herself out of his bed, wincing at some soreness between her thighs and tightness in her muscles. She went to swipe Daro’s shirt from the day before off the floor to tug on, when she heard a content hum coming from the doorway.

She glanced up to see a smiling Daro leaning leisurely against the doorframe with two mugs in his hands.

“I could get used to this view,” he murmured. Clad in only a pair of his thin sleep pants, Emrys took a moment to appreciate his broad chest, the pattern of his scales and ridges beginning to feel familiar already. 

“I could say the same,” she volleyed back, her eyebrow piqued in interest.

Daro chuckled, moving into the room before handing her a mug. Dropping his shirt back to the ground, she took her cup and crawled back into bed with it. He followed her lead, settling himself beside her in the soft sheets and resting his back against the headboard. It was the most relaxed Emrys had ever seen him. She curled up against his chest and sipped her tea quietly.

“You don’t have to report to Central today, correct?” Daro asked, resting his cheek against the crown of her head.

“Blessedly, no,” she said with a quiet huff of laughter. Her mood soured slightly as she realized what the next meeting would be like - the next topic on the table was Bajor, one that was sure to fan the flames that characterized nearly every treaty session they’ve had over the past several months. 

Daro noticed the slight change in her demeanor and shifted, lifting her chin with a finger so he could study her. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I know it’s counterproductive to spend time off worrying about the next time I have to go to work, and I don’t intend to dwell on it for long, but… I was just thinking about our next session. If I had to guess, it’ll likely get very ugly.”

“What points will you have to discuss?” he asked curiously, tucking her head back under his chin.

She hesitated, prepared to dance around the question as so often had to when meeting with Central Command, or other Cardassians in general. But this was Daro. He’d already made it clear that he disapproved of many of his government’s decisions, although Emrys would never share that with anyone else. 

She took a bracing sip of tea before setting it on the small table beside the bed. “The Occupation.”

“Ah,” Daro responded quietly above her. 

“The Federation won’t sign a treaty as long as Cardassia continues to occupy Bajor,” she noted.

“Understandably,” he agreed. 

Emrys breathed a laugh. “I wish everyone in power here thought like you.” She traced patterns absentmindedly along his chest. “I think I’m mostly concerned because I’ve been given so little to work with. It seems ridiculous to even have to say that - there shouldn’t have to be any bargaining to end a literal occupation, but to Ziven and the rest of Central Command, controlling Bajor is paramount. They won’t give it up, even though we know it’s costing them a fortune, and rather than recognize just how hard Cardassians will fight to keep their place on Bajor and give me something to negotiate with, my superiors believe that the Ziven will just… I don’t know, bow to my will. I suppose I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, how I’m going to handle it.” 

Daro remained silent above her and, unable to see his expression, Emrys worried that she’d offended him somehow. She lifted her fingers from his chest but before she could move away, he’d grasped them in his hand and placed them back against his skin, pressing her hand flat to his chest beneath his. 

“I am immensely sorry that you are having to fight with them about this. We… we should have never gone to Bajor,” Daro murmured, his hushed voice full of regret as his thumb rubbed slowly against the lip of his mug. “The people on Cardassia had little knowledge of what was really going on – the Central Command painted a very different picture of the Occupation. They still do, really.” He paused, his eyes unfocused on the wall before them. Instinctively, Emrys adjusted her hand on his chest to intertwine their fingers together. Daro’s gaze followed the movement, his heart heavy in his chest.

“I appreciate,” he began gently, shifting so he could look in her eyes again, “that you do not judge every man for the actions of others. I am certain I don’t deserve that kindness.” His fingers tightened around hers for a moment. “I carry a great deal of shame for what has been done, and my part in it.”

Emrys recalled what he’d said to her when they first met. We all carry things with us that we’d sooner forget.

“Central Command,” he continued, “has always had a way of telling parts of the story, painting part of the picture, twisting facts and situations. That way, they can convince you to think and believe whatever they want. There are… many terrible things that I was a part of because we weren’t given all of the information, or because Central Command had lied to us. But even in those times when I wasn’t involved directly, or when, afterward, we’d discovered how they’d used us- I remained silent when I shouldn’t have. And I will have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Emrys guided their clasped hands toward her, placing a soft kiss on the back of Daro’s. “If you hadn’t, it’s very likely you wouldn’t be here with me now. And for that, I’m very grateful.”

A somber smile crossed Daro’s face as he contemplated the woman in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to wind up with this merciful, lovely human in his arms, but he knew in that moment he’d do anything to keep her. 

Determined not to ruin their day, Emrys gently extricated herself from Daro’s arms and sat cross-legged on the bed facing him. 

“What are your plans for today, Glinn?” she asked with an impish grin. 

Daro schooled his features into a serious mask before leaning over and setting his cup on the bedside table. Before Emrys could react, he’d shifted onto his knees and pinned her beneath him on the bed. Her initial yelp morphed into an infectious giggle as his lips latched onto her neck. She could feel his smile against her skin between kisses.

“My plans look a great deal like this, irc’lin.” 

— — —

Emrys took her usual seat between Romar and Varsek, feeling prepared for the day’s session. Daro’s presence over the last few days had been a source of intense comfort for her, so gratifying that the mere thought of seeing him had the power to get through long days at Central Command. That very morning, she’d woken curled into his reassuring warmth – their sunrise had been colored by tender whispers and lingering touches. They’d had breakfast together and Daro walked with her to the Imperial Plaza before departing with a fervent kiss. Thoroughly lost in thought, Emrys’ fingers brushed fleetingly over her lips as she recalled the greed of his mouth on hers.

“Beck!” 

The gruff utterance from Varsek at her side broke through her daze and she shifted in her seat, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. Varsek rolled his eyes and faced forward again, the disapproval in his visage obvious. 

Emrys tried to ignore it, knowing that he was likely on edge about the topic the Federation would be bringing to the table today. Just as she was. But unlike Varsek, she couldn’t afford to lose her head. She’d prepared as much as she could. She’d also requested more time to lay the groundwork with Central Command before bringing this particular negotiation point up - that her request had been denied wasn’t her fault. Should today’s session go sideways, she could always politely remind her superiors that she’d solicited a different approach.

Gul-Tar Ziven settled in his seat, his countenance severe and, as always, giving nothing away. His sharp eyes seemed to find Emrys more often than usual as the remainder of his officers seated themselves, and Emrys shifted almost imperceptibly in her seat when she noticed.

“It is my hope that everyone had a restful night.” The rumble of his voice carried over the long conference table. “As discussed when last we met, there are matters of critical importance to be raised today, and it is my sincerest hope that the Federation will be willing to recognize the,” his gaze zeroed in on Emrys, “considerable sacrifices that our great Union has made over the course of these negotiations, and will grant us the few propositions that we are extending today.”

Despite the growing desire to roll her eyes, Emrys maintained composure. Ziven was certainly starting on a bold foot this morning. 

“The Federation,” he continued, “denies our legitimate claims of mapping errors which detract from the expansion efforts that the Cardassian Union has worked toward for hundreds of years.” Varsek huffed loudly beside Emrys, a sentiment she shared although she wouldn’t show it – they hadn’t denied anything, they’d simply proven that their claims were unfounded. Ziven argued onward. “Despite this refusal, we are taking under consideration the request to finalize the border as it exists on Federation maps, despite the deleterious effects it will likely have on our nation.”

Emrys generally prided herself on her temperate nature; she was normally slow to anger and mostly unflappable. But almost a year of listening to Ziven make these kinds of arguments was starting to wear on her. “That is very gracious of you, Gul-Tar,” she asserted, her voice carrying strong and even across the room. “I assume that, in exchange for your acquiescence on that point, you would request additional allowances from the Federation on other points.” 

She paused, loath to detonate the room as she knew she was about to. “Bajor, perhaps?”  

The background hum of people shifting in their chairs and the occasional slide of water glasses against the table died down and a pall of utter silence settled over the room. All eyes darted to Ziven. He sighed dramatically.

“Please understand, Lieutenant Commander,” Ziven offered, an appeasing tone to his voice. Romar hummed quietly beside Emrys, an almost smug sound – Ziven was giving away just how important this objective was for him.

“Cardassia Prime is a planet with limited natural resources. Over the last two centuries, our people have faced famine, disease, and terrible poverty. We survived and came away stronger only because of our expansionist approach – we have successfully welcomed new worlds and new species in, to make a more perfect Union for us all, one in which we all distribute resources amongst each other to ensure the safety and prosperity of all of our citizens.”

Emrys had begun shaking her head before Ziven had even finished speaking. These outright lies were too much, even for Emrys. 

“And… the Federation is to believe that the Bajorans you’ve enslaved are safe and prosperous?”

One of Ziven’s eyes twitched – she could see it even from the far end of the table. But she didn’t give him the luxury of time to reply.

“Your continued occupation of Bajor is unacceptable,” Emrys declared, her tone sharp but unwavering. “It is a point of non-negotiation for continued peace with the Federation.”

Ziven opened his mouth to argue, but Emrys barreled onward, her hand held up to silence him. “I am well aware of Cardassia’s reliance on the materials that they… obtain,” she added, attempting to remove most of the derision from her voice, “from Bajor, and the Federation would be willing to help lessen the impacts of this transition with provision of certain resources, but the Federation can not, under any circumstances, remain on peaceful terms with an empire built upon oppression.” 

The room was quiet as Emrys finished, but she could feel the tension simmering below every Cardassian chest plate around the table.

“If I may, Gul-Tar,” Emrys ventured, leaning forward slightly in her seat for emphasis. “In addition to the significant cost that I am sure this occupation is creating for the Union, the Federation has received reports that the resistance on Bajor is only growing more fervent. Their continued plight is garnering sympathy from others – some of whom are not quite so diplomatic as the Federation and whom, I would imagine, would be quite happy to supply Bajor with materials needed to give the Union a run for its money.”

“If I recall correctly,” she added with emphasis, “I believe there have even been whispers that the power of the Bajoran Occupational Government is eroding, their stance against their own people softening.”

Ziven’s expression gave nothing away, but Emrys noted the uncomfortable look on the faces of the advisors seated closest to him.

Silence stretched onward, so Emrys opted to move forward with their demands, hoping that her reminder of the ways in which Cardassia’s occupation of Bajor was a greater cost than an asset had been effective.

“In addition to the cessation of the occupation, the Federation would require that the space station Terok Nor be surrend-”

“No.” The Gul-Tar’s voice boomed across the table and Emrys’ mouth snapped shut, her fingers clenched around the arms of her chair. 

Not wanting to risk losing ground, Emrys spoke up again. “To which part are you refusing, Gul-Tar?” 

“All of it.” He sat rigid in his chair across from Emrys, and she didn’t need Romar at her side to feel the anger coming off of him in waves. Many of the Cardassians seated by him began shooting concerned glances at one another. “The Federation demands too much,” he challenged, a sliver of a threat at the edges of his words.

The Cardassian seated directly to his right, Legate Domat, if Emrys remembered correctly, leaned close to Ziven, murmuring something to his leader before righting himself, his calm visage a sharp contrast to Ziven’s. A strained silence had settled over the room, everyone in attendance waiting with bated breath to see what might come next.

Beside her, Romar shifted in his seat, leaning closer to her as well. “He is reminding the Gul-Tar,” he whispered, “that the Union has expended significant resources in the course of the occupation and war and that they would be at a significant disadvantage in returning to combat with the Federation.” Emrys inclined her head towards Romar, meeting his calm gaze with lifted brow, once again grateful for exceptional Vulcan hearing. She studied her lap for a moment, trying to piece together her next move. With the Cardassians having little to bargain with themselves, she felt her confidence rebuilding. 

“Respectfully, Gul-Tar,” she began again, “the Federation has received reports of the working conditions and various… safety hazards on Terok Nor, which only reinforces the Federation’s insistence that Cardassia withdraw from Bajor. Releasing all Bajoran workers from Terok Nor would be a compulsory part of that withdrawal. And what purpose will a refinery station serve with no Bajorans to perform the operations of that station?” 

Ziven rose from his seat, despite Legate Domat’s hand on his forearm, perhaps trying to keep him calm. “Perhaps,” Ziven managed through gritted teeth, “you did not understand the gravity of my earlier explanations. Or perhaps… you simply were not listening.” Emrys fought not to roll her eyes and Varsek practically growled beside her. 

“Our Union relies on the uranium ore that is mined on Bajor and refined on Terok Nor. In destroying Cardassian efforts to expand and unite new planets with our Union, the Federation will be condemning innocent Cardassian citizens to the suffering of our past - to a future of famine and poverty.” Ziven had begun pacing behind his chair and even the Legates on either of his sides looked somewhat nervous. Emrys had to admit that this was the most agitated she’d seen Ziven in a while. She considered rethinking an approach – perhaps she needed to mollify him. There was, after all, a small but loud part of her that worried about what could happen if Ziven, or any of his men, truly snapped in this room. Would she survive it? 

But when she considered again what was at stake, recalling the detailed report from a Federation mole on Terok Nor, describing the truly hideous brutality there, she suddenly had no desire to offer Ziven anything. 

Straightening her back in her chair, Emrys interjected. “While I would hardly consider Cardassia’s forced occupation of other planets to be uniting them with your Union,” she responded sharply, and Ziven turned on his heel to face her, his expression murderous, “I was indeed listening to your shared concerns.”

Emrys rose, hating the feeling of being looked down on by the Gul-Tar. Clasping her hands behind her back so he would not see her fidgeting, she lifted her chin and continued. “As I stated earlier, the Federation is prepared to support the Cardassian Union in ensuring its people’s needs are being met. We are happy to assist with the provision of resources – perhaps our assistance will be useful as your Union determines how they might provide for themselves without enslaving others.” 

Ziven had begun making his way around the table, but Emrys refused to show fear. “The Federation would be willing to assist in the formulation of additional treaties and trade agreements that would offer Cardassia access to materials that you are sorely missing.” As Ziven stalked menacingly around the remaining corner of the table, two of his own men rose and called out to him and Romar stood to tower stoically in front of Emrys. Emrys heard, rather than saw, Varsek and a few other Federation members rise from their chairs as Ziven encroached upon their space. The heavy press of apprehension seemed to slow everything in the room.  

“I would advise against this course of action, Gul-Tar,” Romar warned calmly, his hands still clasped loosely before him. He was the picture of calm and for not the first time, Emrys wished she could appear as cool and collected as Romar. 

Ziven stopped just short of Romar, the two men evenly matched in stature, although Emrys knew Romar was much stronger than Ziven. Not that that would matter if Ziven had a weapon, she chided herself. Sighing, Emrys stepped up beside Romar, gazing at Ziven’s furious countenance. 

“We mean no offense, Gul-Tar,” she assured him patiently. “However, it would seem to us that the relinquishment of Terok Nor should be neither surprising nor debatable. If the Cardassian Union agrees to withdraw from Bajor, would it not also follow that they would need to release the Bajorans in residence on Terok Nor?”

Ziven glowered at her, his chestplate shifting rapidly with the rush of his breath. Emrys’ eyes flickered to his jaw working, as though grinding his teeth, her hands trembling behind her back.

A wad of spit shot from Ziven’s mouth, landing on the floor just before Emrys, the sound of it slapping the ground harsh in the quiet, cavernous room. 

Before Emrys could even process what was occurring, Romar had stepped behind her to secure Varsek, who had taken an offended stride toward Ziven. Every Cardassian in the room stood uneasily, the screeching of their chair legs against the floor cacophonous in Emrys’ otherwise stunned mind. With Romar occupied with a pissed off Varsek, Ziven leaned close for a moment, a deadly look in his eye as he hissed, “Hear me well, siml’vrerUj. Cardassia will never relinquish Bajor.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched from the room, leaving a host of edgy Cardassians and Federation members in his wake. 

Translations:

siml’vrerUj (seemul-vreh-roozh) - "filthy female"

[triplesilverstar]

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Aliases 

Word count: Roughly 1. 5K

A/N: So the second of my Dad!Vash drabbles/blurbs which seem to keep getting bigger and bigger… Gee I wonder why. Anyway enjoy some nice ice skating fluff with some more interactions from the reader this time as they watch Vash and Rei learning how to skate. Or in Vash's case, falling on ice.

Failing limbs and a soft cry and Rei’s skates got caught up in his feet once more as he pitched forward to land on the slippery surface. Only to stop as he found himself in the air, the clear blue ice replaced by a head of dark hair planted against the cold sheet. “Papa!” 

Looking up with his hand around Rei’s middle, Vash smiled trying to hide the wince as his cheeks hurt from the impact. “We gotta be careful, can’t have you getting hurt.” Keeping Rei in the air, Vash pushed himself back up to his knees before placing Rei back down and holding his hands out for the boy to get his balance on the thin blades under his feet. “There we go buddy. Ready to try again?” 

A short little nod from the little blond as Rei’s fingers gripped his fathers long digits tighter through his little mittens and tried to push himself forward again. It had been an afternoon of chilly delights as father and son tried skating for the first time. With Rei quickly learning that while he might not have been very good at pushing himself across the frozen water lining the space, he was better at it then his Papa was.

It was a new concept, one put on by the Earth forces that both you and Vash think is to try and convince the inhabitants of the planet that they’re there to help. Neither of you fully believe it, and you certainly know attempted good will gestures and public relations stunts when you see them. The whole reason they were going around different towns and setting up the skating arena for a few days was to show what they could do to improve the lives of the inhabitants of the planet, if they were the ones in charge of the government and how the natural resources were used. The people of Noman’s Land hadn’t survived this long to hand it over so easily, but when Vash had gotten word that one of the units was coming to the town nearest to your little ranch he had sat you down and pleaded. 

“Mayfly, we both know it’s an attempt to sway the population and I’m still wanted but I don’t want Rei to miss the chance for something so wholesome.” With this best puppy dog face on as he smiled softly with a hand over yours as his thumb brushed your knuckles. 

All you could do as he kept those eyes on you with his adoration and pleading you dragged a hand down your face before setting him with a hard stare. “I’ll think about it.” 

There wasn’t that much thinking on your part as every chance he had Vash was whispering in your ear how amazing an experience it would be for Rei and never voicing how you knew he also wanted to go. Unlike you Vash had never seen ice, sure he’d felt cold like that at night but to see a building with the floor covered in the clear frozen water. 

It also didn't help that Vash had help in his pleading and pestering, with Rei asking just as much as his father even if he didn't fully understand the reasons why you were so hesitant. So while you internally warred with yourself and both males in your life acted like whining puppies left out in the harsh conditions of a sandstorm. 

Eventually you caved. Vash and you sit Rei down and put a series of rules in place to make sure your little family wasn’t found out. Then once Rei was in bed you set down a set of rules for the grinning madman to make sure he didn't reveal anything about your identities either. 

On the day of and the moment you and Vash stepped through the door with Rei held up in his fathers arms, his growing limbs wrapped around his scarfed neck as he looked around you knew it was worth it. Seeing the awe spread on his little chubby cheek as his face was split with a grin and he let out a happy little squeal of delight he was quick to try and hide. The look on Vash’s face had been just as wonderful to your eyes and seeing the slight puff of vapors past his sun chapped lips and the tip of his nose already turning pink. 

You’d taken to walking around the edge of the sheet of the frozen surface as Vash and Rei donned skates and stumbled their way out to the ice like so many of the other townsfolk. It was sweet how many times Rei would fall, or almost fall only to be swept up in his fathers arms before it happened. Vash of course wasn’t so lucky and the evidence of those rescues was starting to become apparent. Covered in bruises and his face red from the ice it kept being wedged against, yet he never gave up trying to help Rei skate along and while he wasn’t getting any better Rei certainly was. His little legs pushed him farther and farther as he grew more comfortable on the thin metal strapped to his feet, calling out for his Papa to catch up to him. 

An afternoon of laughter as Rei started to skate circles around Vash and tried to help his father grow more comfortable. At this point though you were certain Vash would never improve beyond his stumbling and wobbly short glides.

Eventually though from even your place at the edge you could see Rei let out a yawn and his own pale cheeks were starting to turn red from the cold. Making a motion for your husband and son to come towards you and Rei made it about halfway before he fell back on his butt and laughed too far ahead of his father to be caught this time.

Giggling like mad when Vash arrived to help him up and Rei instead pulled his father down beside him. “It's weird to be chilly and warm at the same time Papa.” You could hear from your place at the edge as his voice carried, making you shake your head. 

“Well, I for one am ready to be warm Rei.” Vash answered before scooping him and slowly making his way towards you with a somewhat sleepy looking sprout in his arms. “Did you have fun my little Rei of Sunshine?” A wide smile on your face as you took your little boy from Vash so he could work on taking the blades of his feet as he plopped down beside you. 

“Yes Mama. So much fun.” Letting out a little laugh before yawning and snuggling against your chest as you sat beside Vash and starting undoing Rei’s and slipping his own shoes back on his smaller feet. Once his feet were once more protected from the cold, you turned towards Vash as he pulled his own shoes on, his breath wafting up in little clouds along his black hair. 

“How about you Sunshine?” Holding back the chuckle rising through you at the look he gives you. 

“My face hurts, but this was worth it.” Reaching up to rub at his jaw before his shoulder froze. “For Rei.” Tacking on at the end before pushing his fingers into his bruised flesh, only for you to place your palm over his and rubbing into the chilled flesh before giving it a pat. 

“Come on Eriks” Using the alias since you didn’t know who was around to overhear you speaking. “Let's get you and our baby home to warm up.” Standing up with Rei in your arms as best as you can, the boy getting to be almost to big for you to carry comfortably in your arms as you once had. 

“I'm not a baby Mama.” A broken complaint from the boy in your arms rubbing at his eyes,sending a smile at Vash as he made a motion to take the boy back. 

With a bit of maneuvering you passed Rei back to him and heard a mumble of “tell Mama I'm not a baby Papa.” Followed by a yawn. Taking the skates from Vash you headed back to the little kiosk you had gotten them from near the door before drifting outside to find Vash already atop his tomas with Rei in front of him and the reins for your own mount in hand. 

Climbing into the saddle and a brief thank you to your spouse, the two of you turn towards home and begin the journey back. Taking notice of Vash still rubbing his cheek you let out a short laugh. “Once we get home and get Rei settled I'll kiss all those boo-boos better.” Giving him a wink and you see the red rising on his cheeks for a different reason than when you had been inside the frozen arena. 

“You know, I've been thinking.” He drawled on, his grin growing wider and more lecherous. “I think I want another one.” 

“Not a baby.” Both you and Vash erupt into laughter at his sleepy tone. 

“Not in front of the baby, but we'll talk about it.” You roll your eyes and a smaller voice pipes up.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from the New York Times:

As Elon Musk’s Starship — the largest rocket ever manufactured — successfully blasted toward the sky last month, the launch was hailed as a giant leap for SpaceX and the United States’ civilian space program.

Two hours later, once conditions were deemed safe, a team from SpaceX, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and a conservation group began canvassing the fragile migratory bird habitat surrounding the launch site.

The impact was obvious.

The launch had unleashed an enormous burst of mud, stones and fiery debris across the public lands encircling Mr. Musk’s $3 billion space compound. Chunks of sheet metal and insulation were strewn across the sand flats on one side of a state park. Elsewhere, a small fire had ignited, leaving a charred patch of park grasslands — remnants from the blastoff that burned 7.5 million pounds of fuel.

Most disturbing to one member of the entourage was the yellow smear on the soil in the same spot that a bird’s nest lay the day before. None of the nine nests recorded by the nonprofit Coastal Bend Bays & Estuaries Program before the launch had survived intact.

Egg yolk now stained the ground.

“The nests have all been messed up or have eggs missing,” Justin LeClaire, a Coastal Bend wildlife biologist, told a Fish and Wildlife inspector as a New York Times reporter observed nearby.

The outcome was part of a well-documented pattern.

On at least 19 occasions since 2019, SpaceX operations have caused fires, leaks, explosions or other problems associated with the rapid growth of Mr. Musk’s complex in Boca Chica. These incidents have caused environmental damage and reflect a broader debate over how to balance technological and economic progress against protections of delicate ecosystems and local communities.

That natural tension is heightened by Mr. Musk’s influence over American space aspirations. Members of Congress and senior officials in the Biden administration have fretted privately and publicly about the extent of Mr. Musk’s power as the U.S. government increasingly relies on SpaceX for commercial space operations and for its plans to travel to the moon and even Mars.

An examination of Mr. Musk’s tactics in South Texas shows how he exploited the limitations and competing missions of the various agencies most poised to be a check on the ferocious expansion of the industrial complex he calls Starbase. Those charged with protecting the area’s cultural and natural resources — particularly officials from the Interior Department’s Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Park Service — repeatedly lost out to more powerful agencies, including the Federal Aviation Administration, whose goals are intertwined with Mr. Musk’s.

In the end, South Texas’ ecology took a back seat to SpaceX’s — and the country’s — ambitions.

Executives from SpaceX declined repeated requests in person and via email to comment. But Gary Henry, who until this year served as a SpaceX adviser on Pentagon launch programs, said the company was aware of the officials’ complaints about environmental impact and was committed to addressing them.

Kelvin B. Coleman, the top F.A.A. official overseeing space launch licenses, said he was convinced that his agency was doing its duty, which is to foster space travel safely.

“Blowing debris into state parks or national land is not what we prescribed, but the bottom line is no one got hurt, no one got injured,” Mr. Coleman said in an interview. “We certainly don’t want people to feel like they’re bulldozed. But it’s a really important operation that SpaceX is conducting down there. It is really important to our civilian space program.”

[empirearchives]

Arrests made during the pro-Napoleon riot in Montpellier

Context: After the defeat and abdication of Napoleon in 1815, the new government made favor of “Bonapartism” a crime and made a series of arrests across the country known as the “White Terror”.

From Napoleon: A Symbol for an Age: A Brief History with Documents, Rafe Blaufarb

———

Charge Sheet against Suspected Bonapartists (January 3, 1816):

Roquier (soldier): said of His Royal Highness the Duke d'Angoulême: “Is that monkey coming? I don't give a damn about our rulers....”

Roche (merchant): repeatedly stated that Bonaparte would soon return....

Etienne (no profession given): wore a blue and white cockade with red thread.

Balp (landowner): said the government is like a bucket going up and down, that having changed 10 times in 19 years, it might well change a dozen more times....

Barban (deserter): cried “Long Live the Emperor” in a billiard hall and insulted the King.

Dejean (ex-soldier): said the triumphal arch erected at Meze for the visit of His Royal Highness the Duke d'Angoulême should be his gallows.

The Quatrefages brothers (court record-keeper): illicit nocturnal meetings at odd hours in their house....

Bertrand (surgeon, intern at the hospital): [found in possession of] a mysterious letter full of effervescences and four other documents, all contrary to Bourbon government and favorable to the usurper.

Carra (wife of Cavanon) and her brother: said the mail of November 26 had not arrived because the Parisians were revolting against the Bourbons....

Bouchoni (no profession): limitless attachment to the usurper's government; participated actively in the unfortunate events that occurred in Montpellier on June 27 and July 2, and signed an innkeeper's register under a false name.

Pau: under an arrest warrant for the disastrous events of Montpellier....

Campan (special commissioner of the usurper): held secret nocturnal meetings, criminal correspondence, and attempts or plots to overthrow the royal government....

Vivier (ex-mayor of Pignans) and son: abuse of power and embezzlement... during the interregnum; moreover, denounced by public rumor.

Favier (second-lieutenant in the Sete customs house) and Fleuran (sergeant in the Angoulême regiment): seditious speech against the government....

Guruoalsac (half-pay officer): peddling seditious writings in suspicious meetings, abuse, vexation, and excesses against citizens.

Fleuri (wife of Clos): cried “Long Live the Emperor” and “To the Devil with all royalists, may the King burn in hell with them.”

Context about the arrest sheet by the author:

‘In late 1815 they rioted in Montpellier to protest the visit of the Duke d'Angoulême (1775-1844), who had led resistance to Napoleon’s return in the south of the country and had encouraged the White Terror. The rising failed, but it induced Bourbon police to arrest hundreds of people on political charges. The following document, a charge sheet drawn up on January 3, 1816, just days after the riot, gives a sense of how the Bourbon authorities construed the crime of “Bonapartism.”’

Charge sheet at Archives Départementales de I'Hérault, 1 M 875.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Into the Breach, Part 4 of 4

Here it is, the last chapter. Théodred starts to put his plans in motion but is thwarted by a developing emergency near the fords. Yes, we all know what happens to him there, but no, I don’t plan to write that. I’ve got no real desire to write his death from his perspective. Although his ultimate fate hangs over this chapter, I did try to include some elements of joy and happiness for him because ultimately that’s all I want—for him to be more than just a tragic plot device but instead someone who lived and loved and struggled and laughed and all the things.

So anyway. Tomorrow (Feb 25) is the canonical date of Théodred’s death so I’m getting this out there in advance! If you want to catch up, you can read parts one, two and three first.

Théodred folded two sheets of paper and put them carefully into his pocket. The first was a letter to Boromir, pleading for the help of his friend in the treatment of the malady that was afflicting his father’s body and impairing his mind. Whatever the cause of Théoden’s illness, what was most urgently needed was a way to arrest its progress and reverse its effects, and Théodred was hopeful that the loremasters and healers of Gondor would know how to make sense of his father’s condition in a way that had so far eluded the healers of Rohan. But it would take weeks for messages to pass back and forth from Minas Tirith and for any potential treatment that was offered to have effect, and that morning’s events had shown him clearly enough that he couldn’t just wait for a cure for Théoden. There was too much at stake, too much possibility for disaster on the immediate horizon with Isengard looming and what was left of his father’s will seemingly under Gríma’s sway. If the kingdom’s path wasn’t righted, and soon, there might not be a Rohan left by the time Théoden could be restored to his old self.

That was the purpose of the second page: a list of all those Rohirrim that Théodred thought could be counted on to support him in a direct challenge for control of the realm until his father was capable of governing with sanity and reason again. It was a drastic step, unprecedented in the history of Rohan, and so he meant to be sure that all the greatest lords of the Mark agreed that it was both necessary and unavoidable. Éomer, Elfhelm, Erkenbrand, Dúnhere, Grimbold, Déorwine, Gamling. If even one stood opposed, he would seek a different solution, some other idea that had yet to present itself. But with their support, he knew he could force his father’s hand–and Gríma’s–without need for violence. It was one thing to have a rift between the king and his heir, but it would be unsustainable for the rift to extend to every significant leader in the land. Théoden, with Gríma at his back, would have no choice but to yield unless they would fight alone against all of Rohan.

Théodred hated the thought of ruling in his father’s stead for even a single day, and it wasn’t lost on him that he was now being forced down the very same treacherous path that Gríma had falsely accused him of that morning. In the wrong hands, either one of these pages could be used as evidence against him in a charge of treason. It would matter little that his only goal was the restoration of Théoden’s own rule. Sharing unauthorized information about the king’s deterioration with outsiders or seeking the help of other Rohirrim to assume leadership, no matter how temporary, could easily earn him a death sentence. But Théodred felt increasingly certain that doing nothing would lead to the same result, either as part of whatever plot Gríma was executing or once Saruman finally invaded in earnest and swept through a land that Théoden, in his compromised state, had made no real preparation to defend. And in that case, Théodred would be far from the only one in mortal danger; every Rohirrim would be at risk. And so, faced with only bad choices, he resigned himself to the option that he judged to be better for Rohan, even if it came at the possible cost of his relationship with his father, his place in the family or even his life.

He sighed and leaned back against the clematis trellis that marked the south end of his garden, a little plot tucked away behind Meduseld that he had tended since he was a boy and still cared for whenever he was in Edoras. He often sat there when his spirits were at their lowest, thinking back on how his Aunt Théodwyn had changed his young life the day she showed him that he could bury a handful of plain little seeds in the dirt and transform them into a wondrous riot of colorful blossoms with simple water, sunshine and a little care. Ever since then, the sight of the garden had given him comfort, providing a welcome reminder that good things could be nurtured into the world and bring with them great beauty. The fact that the beauty was short-lived, only at its peak for a season, a few weeks or perhaps even a few days, made it all the more precious to him–something to be cherished in the time he was given, knowing that it couldn’t last forever.

As he sat now in the mid-winter cold, though, he struggled to find that sense of comfort and fulfillment among the dormant flowers and bare trees. No matter how he tried to redirect his thoughts, his father’s words from that morning echoed repeatedly in his ears. I do not trust my son, and I do not wish to see him again. His rational mind knew that those words couldn’t reflect how his father really felt, that they were nothing but a warped manipulation engineered somehow by Gríma. But that knowledge still couldn’t silence the insistent whispers of his emotions, the deep part of him that heard those words as a scared little boy rushing to a parent for reassurance and finding rejection instead. He felt tears well up again in his eyes, and this time he allowed them to spill out, dripping off his chin and onto the gray flagstones beneath his feet as he sat alone.

But he wasn’t alone for long. No sooner had the first few tears fallen than he saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Eadlin approaching. He looked down hurriedly and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He wouldn’t hide the day’s events from her, but neither would he alarm her any more than necessary, as the sight of his tears would certainly do. After a few deep breaths, he looked up again and watched as she entered the garden.

“Somehow I knew I would find you here,” she said, taking a seat at his side.

“Am I that predictable?”

“You’re consistent, and I love that about you.” She gave his knee an affectionate squeeze. “But if you’ve retreated here now, I have to imagine it’s because something else has gone amiss.” She studied his face with an appraising look. “It seems ridiculous to ask if everything is alright, as I can see clearly in your expression that it’s not. So perhaps I should just ask what happened before I tell you my own news.”

He sighed and gave her a shortened version of what had taken place in the hall that morning. He took care to downplay Gríma’s specific mockery of her, fearing that her feelings would be hurt, but he needn’t have worried. She had no use for Gríma’s opinion on any subject and would have worn his scorn as a badge of pride. But she felt entirely different about anything that caused pain to Théodred, no matter the source of that pain. To hurt him was an unforgivable sin in her mind, and she grew increasingly outraged as he described his confrontation with Gríma and his father. By the time he reached the end of the story, she was on her feet, face flushed and hands gripped furiously in her skirts.

“They would dare to treat you this way? You, who have almost single handedly held this kingdom together for the last few months? You, who are the most loyal and dedicated servant your father has ever had? They have no idea how lucky they are that you don’t just leave them to suffer the consequences of their own poor judgments. Nor do they know how lucky they are that I have no sword to show them how I feel about any of this.” She looked back at him, eyes flashing.

To both of their surprise, a quiet laugh escaped his lips, and after a moment of stunned silence she drew herself up to her full height and looked down at him with a frown. “What exactly did I say that you find funny?”

“I’m sorry, my love. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement. It was a laugh of…relief, I guess you could say. Or joy.” He reached out to take her hand. “I cannot tell you what it means to me to have you always unquestioningly on my side, no matter who or what I face.”

She softened immediately, her wounded pride forgotten in an instant, and she sat back down. “Théodred, who else’s side would I ever want to be on?”

He knew from the intensity of her tone that she meant the question honestly, that she couldn’t imagine a world where she was not his first and most loyal support. And, indeed, that was a role she had filled almost from the day they met, several years ago when he had been on a visit to Aldburg. Storbar had slipped his leash during a walk in the central market and, after darting in and out of the maze of stalls, he eventually crashed into a tall, amber haired woman who was selling flowers. The force of a wolfhound at top speed had sent her sprawling into a nearby puddle, and Théodred was beside himself with mortification as he raced to pull this lovely stranger to her feet while Storbar splashed around at her side and tried repeatedly to sit in her lap despite his enormous size.

To Théodred’s great relief, not only was the stranger unhurt but she had laughed. She laughed at the stricken look on his face, at his dog’s playful antics, at the mud that now covered her from nearly head to foot, and she readily accepted both his profuse apologies and his hand to lift her out of the wet muck. She wouldn’t allow him to buy the rest of that day’s stock in recompense, but she could not dissuade him from at least remaining by her side and explaining to each and every customer that her soaked, muddy appearance was his fault alone. And as they sat together at her little stall and talked between each transaction, the entire afternoon somehow slipped away before he realized any time had passed at all. She was witty and sharp and opinionated, and she seemed completely unfazed by his lofty title, his royal escort or his fine clothing despite being herself a simple merchant in a basic–and now ruined–dress. When the day drew to an end and she closed up her stall at last, he offered to escort her home, and his heart soared when she chose what he knew to be the slowest, most meandering route to her part of the city. He thrilled to each extra minute in her company, and he failed spectacularly at disguising his giddiness when she boldly planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a smudge of dried mud behind in the process.

He began spending every free minute in Aldburg, and before long he understood that everything he thought and felt and hoped for had changed forever. His life as he had known it ended when she fell into that puddle, and the moment she first took his outstretched hand a new, happier one had begun. A life where he had found what he wanted at last. They got engaged at Yule, when he offered his heart to her, trusting that she would protect and care for it better than he ever could on his own, and he promised to do the same for hers. And when their desired wedding seemed always to be delayed by one crisis or another, he convinced her to join him in the West-mark anyway, living together in contradiction of centuries of tradition and the wishes of his father in order to avoid even a single unnecessary moment apart. After so many years alone, years in which they had both wondered whether love would ever find them, they meant never to take their time together for granted now, and in the face of their undeniable happiness even Théoden had come to quietly accept their unconventional arrangements as long as they remained publicly discreet about it.

Théodred put an arm around her now, pulling her over to rest on his shoulder while he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “We should get married,” he murmured into her hair.

Now it was her turn to laugh unexpectedly. “You have already asked me that, and I have already said yes.”

“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. What I mean is, we’ve spent far too long waiting for other people to decide the time is right for us when there will never be a perfect time. There’s always going to be another enemy at our doorstep, another sick family member, another inauspicious harvest season. Maybe we’ve waited enough already. Maybe now we decide for ourselves.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were so eager to sit through a long, formal ceremony and then spend all night dancing with my mother’s third cousins and accepting rote congratulations from your father’s diplomatic allies.”

He turned to face her and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “What I am eager for is to be married to you at last.”

After all these years, a bold declaration of his feelings still had the power to make her blush, and she smiled down at her lap.

“This spring?” he persisted. “When my gardenia flowers bloom and you can wear them in your hair?”

“Bring me the flowers, and I’ll be there.” She looked up and smiled again but soon broke his gaze, fixating instead on a silver bracelet on her wrist that she twisted back and forth. “But you don’t make it easy for me to now spoil the moment with the news I came to relay.”

The smile slowly faded from his face. In the rush of other words, he had forgotten that she came here with something specific to say, and now his imagination immediately set to work thinking up the worst possible options. “It’s alright,” he said. “Please put my mind at rest and just tell me quickly.”

She sighed. “While you were with your father, a messenger came looking for you. He brought word from Grimbold that scouts in the far west have seen troops mustering at Isengard. Men from Dunland and the surrounding lands, and more of the new kind of orc. Many more. He believes they’ll move within the week and intends to cut them off at the fords. He asks for your help, and Elfhelm’s. And I don’t see how you can deny him.”

All the breath left Théodred’s lungs, and he dropped his head into his hands. Yet another crisis—one more disaster to keep him from the people and things he wanted to surround himself with—and this one at the far edges of the kingdom, no less. His hold on all of his various responsibilities and duties had already worn dangerously thin, kept together by the most delicate of threads, and now it was at risk of shredding to pieces entirely. Unable to be everywhere he was needed, he would once again have to decide where his presence could head off the greater share of pain and death. The very idea of weighing lives against one another disgusted him–to be forced to accept the loss of some in order to save a greater number of others, like some twisted mathematical equation. But if minimizing suffering was not the standard he would follow, he knew of no better alternative.

By that measure, Eadlin’s assessment of their current situation was undoubtedly correct. He could see no more urgent need than to stop an outright invasion on the western borders. In this, at least, he was lucky to be out of his father’s favor. Had he brought this question to the king, Gríma would almost certainly have found a way to deny Grimbold’s request, using a false concern for the security of Edoras as justification for keeping Elfhelm and his men in the city. Without a means to seek that counsel, though, Théodred would proceed now as he saw fit, and he settled his own mind reluctantly on an immediate departure to ride to Grimbold’s aid with Elfhelm and his men in tow. But that did not mean his plans for dealing with his father could wait.

“Eadlin, if I must leave for the fords, will you do something for me while I’m gone?”

“Of course. Anything.”

He held out his letter to Boromir and his list of potential allies for an attempt to temporarily wrest control of the kingdom from his father, explaining each to her briefly. Her eyes widened as he spoke and her hand trembled as she reached for the pages, but she accepted them and tucked them securely into her boot.

“The letter needs to get to Minas Tirath as quickly as possible and in the care of someone that we can trust absolutely.”

“My brother,” she answered immediately. “He is coming in from Aldburg today, almost at this very hour. I’ll ask him to take it himself and deliver it directly to the hands of Boromir and to no other. If he can’t get it to its intended recipient, he’ll either destroy it or return it to me. He’s a swift rider, and he’s been to Minas Tirith many times and knows the way. If Boromir is there, Holsand will ensure he gets your letter.”

He nodded. “Good. As for the list, take it back to our chambers and lock it in the desk. Some of those men I will see at the fords with Grimbold and will speak to as I can. The others, especially those in the east, I’ll ask Éomer to approach. He’ll be away for the next few days, but, if he returns before I do, tell him everything. Tell him to seek help from anywhere he can.” He looked back at Meduseld, where somewhere inside his father still sat, and when he spoke again his words were quiet and heavy with weariness. “We can no longer wait, hoping that our salvation will just appear before us out of the green grass of the downs.”

She put a hand to his cheek, running her thumb lightly back and forth across his skin. His face, once marked only at the corners of his eyes by the light crinkles that come from smiles and laughter, had lately begun to show new signs of wear. A small furrow between his brows, light lines around his mouth, the first faint hints of grey in his beard. His body now bore physical witness to the strain of these days, as clear an account of war and strife as any written history. He leaned into her palm with a sigh, and the sigh went straight to her heart.

“Some day you won’t have these cares anymore, Théodred,” she said. “It can’t stay this way forever, and it won’t. You just have to endure long enough to see this all pass.”

He nodded quietly and looked up at the sun. There was much to do before he could ride out, and the day was passing too quickly. Sensing his thought, she stood to leave and he rose with her.

“I will do all that you’ve asked of me while you’re away,” she said. “But I need you to do something for me as well.”

He gave a small smile. “A bargain? Name your price and I’ll pay it gladly.”

She put a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beating beneath her palm. “Promise me that you will come home safely.”

The painful clench that seized his heart was so strong that he was certain she felt it in her fingertips. She had never made that direct request before, and he had not expected it now. And such a promise, seemingly so simple, was one that he was nonetheless terrified to make…one that he had seen many men before him swear in an excess of confidence or even a simple desire to be comforting, only to be later proved false despite their best efforts and intentions. She deserved better than hollow promises, empty pledges that he couldn’t control. She deserved the truth, as clearly as he could summon it from his own heart.

He reached out to kiss her, a palm on either side of her face with his fingers threaded into her hair, and he pulled her forward to press against him. He had kissed her a thousand times before, in moments both fleeting and meaningful, hesitant and eager, affectionate and desirous, but he meant for this kiss to be different from all the others. He put everything he could into this one embrace–all the adoring thoughts in the depths of his mind that were yet unsaid, all the wishes and hopes for their shared future that had ever shimmered like a beautiful mirage in his dreams at night. Everything that he wanted her to know and feel but that he lacked the words to adequately express.

When he pulled back at last, she stood breathless and stunned. He met her eye and smiled. “I love you, and I always will.”

He took a step, but she caught his hand and held him in place. “Théodred, your promise?” The desperation in her voice pierced his heart.

“That was my promise.” He squeezed her hand and turned, and she reluctantly allowed his fingers to slip from hers, one by one, as he walked to the gate and let himself out of the garden for the last time.

***********

@emmanuellececchi as requested! And @sotwk I hope you enjoyed the return of Eadlin and Storbar!

[unpluggedfinancial]

A New Dawn: Transitioning to a Bitcoin Future

Money is not just a medium of exchange; it's a psychotechnology, as integral to human communication as language itself. Today, we're living in unprecedented times with the potential to peacefully transition to a new financial system growing right alongside the current one. In this post, we'll explore how Bitcoin is enabling this transformation and what it means for our future.

The Current Financial Landscape

The flaws and instability of the fiat currency system are becoming increasingly apparent. Inflation, excessive money printing, and economic uncertainty are driving individuals and institutions to seek alternatives. The traditional financial system, burdened by debt and centralization, is showing signs of strain. Over the past few years, central banks worldwide have printed unprecedented amounts of money to stimulate economies. This has led to inflation, eroding the purchasing power of savings and causing widespread financial insecurity. Governments and corporations are drowning in debt, and the centralized nature of the current financial system leaves it vulnerable to corruption and mismanagement. Global events, from pandemics to geopolitical tensions, add to the unpredictability of fiat currencies. Enter Bitcoin, a decentralized digital currency offering a new kind of financial freedom.

The Role of Bitcoin

Bitcoin is not just another financial asset; it's a revolutionary technology that grows alongside our existing financial system. Its decentralized nature, security, and limited supply make it a viable alternative to traditional currencies, promising stability and independence. Unlike traditional currencies controlled by central banks, Bitcoin operates on a decentralized network of computers, ensuring no single entity can manipulate its value. Bitcoin's blockchain technology provides unparalleled security, making it nearly impossible to counterfeit or manipulate. With a capped supply of 21 million bitcoins, Bitcoin is inherently deflationary, protecting against inflation and preserving value over time. Bitcoin offers a form of money that is transparent, secure, and resistant to the whims of central authorities.

Historical Context

Throughout history, major economic transitions have often been marked by turmoil and conflict. From the shift from barter to coinage to the adoption of paper money, each transition has reshaped society. However, for the first time, we have the opportunity to transition peacefully to a new system with Bitcoin. The move from barter systems to coinage revolutionized trade and economic interaction but was often accompanied by social upheaval. The adoption of paper money brought convenience but also led to centralization and control by governments. Now, in the digital age, Bitcoin represents the next step in the evolution of money, offering a decentralized and democratized form of value exchange. Unlike past transitions, Bitcoin's integration can be gradual and voluntary, allowing individuals and institutions to adopt it at their own pace.

The Peaceful Transition

Bitcoin offers a non-violent alternative to traditional financial upheaval. Its gradual adoption process allows people and institutions to adapt without the chaos that typically accompanies such transitions. This peaceful integration could pave the way for a more stable and equitable financial future. Bitcoin's adoption is growing organically, driven by individual choice and market forces rather than imposed by authorities. It can operate alongside existing financial systems, providing a safety net and alternative without causing immediate disruption. By giving individuals control over their own finances, Bitcoin empowers people to take charge of their economic future.

Real-World Examples

Consider the case of MicroStrategy, a company that has invested billions into Bitcoin, treating it as a core part of their strategy. Led by Michael Saylor, MicroStrategy has transformed its balance sheet by converting cash reserves into Bitcoin, demonstrating confidence in its long-term value. Government proposals, like those from Senator Cynthia Lummis, highlight the growing trust and interest in Bitcoin. Senator Lummis has proposed treating Bitcoin like gold, advocating for its inclusion in national reserves and regulatory frameworks. Influential figures such as Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Donald Trump have spoken about Bitcoin's potential to revolutionize the financial system, adding legitimacy and interest from a broader audience. These examples illustrate the growing acceptance and integration of Bitcoin into mainstream financial and political discourse.

The Psychological Shift

Understanding and adopting Bitcoin can lead to a profound change in how we perceive value and money. My journey with Bitcoin has reshaped my mindset, providing a new perspective on financial freedom and stability. This psychological shift is as important as the technological and economic changes. Bitcoin challenges traditional notions of value, prompting us to rethink what money is and how it should function. Owning Bitcoin gives individuals direct control over their wealth, reducing reliance on banks and financial intermediaries. Learning about Bitcoin often leads to a deeper understanding of economics, monetary policy, and personal finance. Sharing my personal journey, from discovering Bitcoin to embracing its potential, highlights the transformative power of this technology.

Conclusion

We stand at the brink of a new era. The peaceful transition to a Bitcoin-based financial system is not just a possibility; it's a growing reality. By embracing this change, we can look forward to a more stable, secure, and equitable financial future. Bitcoin offers a path to financial independence and stability, free from the flaws of the fiat system. As more people and institutions recognize Bitcoin's potential, we can collectively work towards a better economic system.

Call to Action

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[beardedmrbean]

Sam Bankman-Fried, once hailed as a genius in cryptocurrency, was found guilty Thursday of all fraud counts against him, a year after his exchange, FTX, imploded and practically wiped out thousands of customers.

The verdict was reached around 7:40 p.m. ET, about four hours after the federal jury in Manhattan began deliberations.

Bankman-Fried, a co-founder of the digital currency exchange FTX, was charged with seven counts of wire fraud, securities fraud and money laundering that swindled customers of FTX and lenders to its affiliated hedge fund, Alameda Research.

Bankman-Fried “perpetrated one of the biggest financial frauds in American history,” Damian Williams, the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York, said after the verdict.

“The cryptocurrency industry might be new; the players like Bankman-Fried might be new,” Williams said. “But this kind of fraud, this kind of corruption, is as old as time.”

Bankman-Fried faces up to 110 years in prison. His sentencing is scheduled for March 28.

FTX and Alameda quickly collapsed in November 2022 after some of their financial liabilities were exposed. The fact that Alameda had taken billions of dollars from FTX's customers and that much of Alameda's balance sheet comprised digital currency assets it had created, was central to the case against Bankman-Fried.

Unnerved by disclosures about the firm's financial position, many of FTX’s customers tried to get their money back. That set off the equivalent of a bank run.

The value of Alameda's investments crashed, and FTX couldn’t return much of that money because it had been given to Alameda. Some went to the fund’s lenders, and billions were spent on sponsorships, commercials and loans to top executives. That, too, was a major part of the case against Bankman-Fried.

Many of FTX and Alameda's leaders were also charged after the firms went under. Former Alameda CEO Caroline Ellison, FTX co-founder Gary Wang and FTX head of engineering Nishad Singh all pleaded guilty. They agreed to cooperate with the prosecution and testify against Bankman-Fried in exchange for lighter sentences.

While Bankman-Fried testified in his own defense, it didn’t appear to have the same weight as the insider testimony against him. The prosecution, in its closing argument, said Bankman-Fried had answered “I can’t recall” 140 times while he was being cross-examined.

Bankman-Fried’s lawyers contended that he did not intend to defraud anyone and that the government was looking for someone to blame after the failures of FTX and Alameda.

Bankman-Fried was asked to rise and face the jury as the verdicts were read Thursday, and he did so. He showed little emotion as each verdict was read.

His father slumped in his seat, hunched over as each guilty verdict came in. His mother was visibly emotional.

Mark S. Cohen, Bankman-Fried’s counsel, said in an emailed statement Thursday that Bankman-Fried’s legal team respects the jury’s decision but that they are disappointed.

“Mr. Bankman Fried maintains his innocence and will continue to vigorously fight the charges against him,” he said.

Forbes had once estimated that Bankman-Fried's stakes in Alameda and FTXwere worth $26 billion. He was 29 at the time. But after the bankruptcies, that was gone. Criminal charges followed weeks later.

He also faces another trial on charges of bribing foreign officials and other counts. That trial is scheduled to begin in March, and he has pleaded not guilty to all charges.

On Thursday, Bankman-Fried was found guilty of two counts of wire fraud conspiracy, two counts of wire fraud, one count of conspiracy to commit money laundering, one count of conspiracy to commit commodities fraud and one count of conspiracy to commit securities fraud.

Williams, the prosecutor, said Bankman-Fried’s conviction should send a message to others.

“It’s a warning, this case, to every single fraudster out there who thinks that they’re untouchable or that their crimes are too complex for us to catch or that they’re too powerful for us to prosecute or that they could try to talk their way out of it when they get caught,” he said. “Those folks should think again.”

[margosfairyeye]

paper cut

(rated T, idiots to lovers, hurt/comfort)

you can also read it on ao3

“Shit!”

Eddie looks over as Steve doubles over, clutching his hand.

“You all right, Harrington?” Eddie asks carefully.

They’re sitting side by side on Eddie’s couch (a new and improved version of the old beat to hell one they’d had in the old trailer, provided by the government along with the new trailer itself) while Eddie tries to study for finals and Steve leafs through his papers, providing such helpful commentary as “Wow, you really fucked this one up, huh?” and, “Don’t you think books should have a list of themes at the end, like a cheat sheet?”

Steve whimpers and Eddie jolts into action, grabbing the old first aid kit from the bathroom and sprinting back to the couch.

Eddie throws himself down next to Steve, not bothering to worry about how close he’s sitting during what clearly is some kind of emergency. His stomach churns, panic rising as he thinks about all the things that could possibly be wrong, batshit monsters included. “Shit, is it your bat wounds? Is there something here? Come on, man, you’ve got to at least reassure me you’re not about to keel over.”

Steve’s still curled into himself, which is a bad fucking sign. Eddie’s pretty sure that he got lucky with the murder charges getting dropped, what with the government interference and all, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to talk his way out of a second inconvenient supernatural death in his trailer with him present.

Plus, there’s the fact that Eddie is completely, depressingly, overwhelmingly in love with Steve. It would utterly devastate him if Steve decided to die on his ugly living room carpet.

Eddie has been kind of under the impression that Steve is secretly a superhero, just without the spandex (shit, he could pull off the spandex, though). How else could he explain Steve walking around with bleeding abdominal wounds and pretending to be totally fine, or (apparently) getting beaten bloody and tortured while still slinging zippy one-liners? Steve’s like, Hollywood action hero levels of badass. So if he’s fucking whimpering on Eddie’s couch, Steve must be really hurt.

But fuck if Eddie’s going to let Steve go without putting up one hell of a fight. Even if it means fighting Vecna, second edition.

Eddie puts his hand gently but insistently on Steve’s shoulder, forcing bravado into his voice. “Okay, Harrington, let’s see the damage.”

Wincing, Steve uncurls himself, offering his left hand (which had been cradled in his right) to Eddie. Eddie takes Steve’s hand in his own, dimly aware of every inch of their skin that touches as he examines it, looking for a gash, a stab wound, a broken bone—hell, even a fucking leech or something.

But there’s just a little cut on the tip of Steve’s thumb, bright red but not actively bleeding.

Without thinking about it, Eddie smooths his own thumb over the tiny cut.

Steve cringes, trying ineffectively to pull his hand from Eddie’s grasp. “Ow! Munson, what the fuck?!”

“Is this it?” Eddie asks skeptically. “A paper cut? That’s…are you also being psychically tortured or something, like, in addition to the paper cut?”

Steve looks at him, eyes narrow, pain drawn in lines across his forehead. He looks like he might be about to deck Eddie, which Eddie might kind of deserve because he feels like he’s about to start laughing. “No? Shut the fuck up, it’s deep. Cuts like this always get infected, too, and people die from that. You can’t underestimate this shit.”

It’s not funny, really. Steve is clearly in a lot of pain, but…this is the guy who Dustin said was the most fearless guy he knew? This is the guy who faced down Vecna without breaking more than a sweat, laid low by a paper cut?

Steve taps his knee against Eddie’s. “Come on, man, pour something antiseptic on it or something, before it gets worse.”

And despite it all, this is the guy Eddie is head over fucking heels for.

Steve looks at Eddie pleadingly (hopefully). And shit, there’s literally nothing Eddie wouldn’t do when Steve gives him that look, including acting like a paper cut is a lethal wound.

Eddie flips open the first aid kit with his free hand to reveal…not much. A couple of bandaids, some butterfly bandages, and some packets of barbecue sauce. Not an antiseptic wipe to be seen.

“Uh,” Eddie shows him the sparse first aid kit, holds up a bandaid. “Will this help?”

Steve looks unimpressed. “Do you have any alcohol we could just pour over it?”

Eddie knows he means like, hard liquor, but the thing is that shit isn’t cheap. Uncle Wayne probably wouldn’t give a shit if they took shots of his good whiskey, but pouring it out…

“Like, beer?” Eddie asks hopefully.

Steve shakes his head, groaning. “Too sticky.”

Which, yeah, obviously. Eddie weighs the pros and cons of trying to just convince Steve that his cut is going to be fine, or possibly getting in the van and driving to the pharmacy for new first aid supplies that he can’t afford and isn’t sure Steve can either. Maybe they could steal them, that might be a fun bonding activity, or maybe Eddie can trade the pharmacist some off-label pharmaceuticals for some hydrogen peroxide or something.

“Saliva,” Steve says suddenly, looking Eddie dead in the eye. Shit, his eyes are pretty, and this close Eddie can see the little flecks of gold and green in his eyes.

Then the word actually catches up to him. “What?”

“Spit, I think it’s supposed to help with shit not getting infected.”

Eddie blinks at him. “So do you want to spit on your thumb and then put a bandaid on it?”

Steve huffs in frustration. “I don’t think it can be your own spit, man.”

“Oh.” Eddie feels a little frustrated himself, since he’s almost entirely sure this is all bullshit— Steve doesn’t fucking need anything but soap and a bandaid and maybe a night of good sleep—and Eddie is supposed to be studying for fucks sake, and…and he’s the only other one here. Steve said it can’t be his own spit and Eddie is the only other one here. Oh.

Eddie’s still holding Steve's hand in his palm, and he runs his finger along the side of Steve’s thumb. Steve doesn’t flinch this time, just looks at him expectantly, that hopeful look that Eddie really can’t say no to.

It’s a bad idea. Eddie is going to get way more out of putting his mouth on Steve’s finger than Steve will—he's going to be on a different fucking planet than Steve, who’s just looking for a quick fix for a papercut and isn’t having trouble with his jeans suddenly feeling way too tight.

It’s a bad fucking idea but Eddie nods.

“Yeah, okay. Sure, uh, I can…yeah, I can do that.”

Eddie slowly lifts Steve’s hand towards his mouth. His mouth suddenly feels incredibly fucking dry, and he can feel himself tensing up, ready to run in case it was just a joke, in case he gives himself away somehow and this ends in disgust. He’s half expecting Steve to laugh and say it was all a setup, joke's on him. He’s half expecting Steve to flinch away, to see Eddie’s feelings clearly visible in his eyes.

Steve doesn’t do shit, though. Just watches Eddie with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted. Eddie has his thumb pressed against Steve’s pulse point, and Steve’s pulse jumps, slipping into a fast gallop that Eddie can only assume is due to stress.

His own pulse pounding in his ears, Eddie puts Steve’s thumb in his mouth. He realizes, after he’s already done it, that there were other ways of accomplishing this. He could have spit on his own hand and like, rubbed it on Steve’s thumb or something. He could have licked Steve’s cut, quick and dirty, but like…quick.

But Eddie’s brain power is slowly draining down towards his groin, and he sucks the whole damn finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue over Steve’s little paper cut like he’s fucking fellating the finger.

Steve’s mouth drops open, a little puff of air blown out into the space between them, then bites his lip. His eyes are dark, watching Eddie, but it still looks like he could be in pain. Eddie softens the pressure of his mouth, sucking gently, just like, trying to make sure he’s done a good enough job that Steve can relax.

He’s holding Steve’s hand, still, his fingers gently curled around Steve’s, and it feels, all of a sudden, incredibly intimate. Eddie should take Steve’s thumb out of his mouth—Jesus Christ, should he—but the intense eye contact and the way Steve is biting his lip red and the way his thumb feels against Eddie’s tongue, a good kind of pressure, is all adding up to this moment that Eddie wants to live in. For a second, he can pretend this isn’t some inane injury thing, can pretend that Steve’s as into him as he’s into Steve, that Steve wants Eddie and Eddie is just teasing the shit out of his thumb.

And then Steve clears his throat and his eyes slip down to Eddie’s lips. “I think, uh, I think that’s good, maybe?”

Shit, yeah, of course. Eddie parts his lips, moves Steve’s thumb away from his mouth, although he does it slowly enough that the pad of Steve’s thumb drags along his lip a bit, and fuck if that isn’t a turn on as well.

“Yeah, right. Is that—is it better?”

It’s fucking awkward, is what it is. Eddie feels hot all over, can tell he’s probably flushed, and his jeans are way too damn tight in a way that’s probably really obvious. And Steve’s thumb—shit, it’s shiny and wet and way too suggestive for Eddie’s current state, and the paper cut still looks completely fine.

Steve’s eyes slip briefly away from Eddie—from where he was staring at Eddie’s fucking mouth—and down to his thumb, his hand still cradled in Eddie’s. Steve licks his lips, considering his thumb. Eddie is waiting for the other shoe to drop still—for Steve’s expression to shift to disgust, or for him to just casually ask for a bandaid (not like it will stick now), like this is a normal thing friends do for each other for minor injuries.

He’s not expecting Steve to suddenly lunge forward, pushing Eddie back against the back of the couch, and press his own lips against Eddie’s. It takes Eddie a moment to even catch up to what’s happening, his brain stalling out at the unexpected kiss. Because that’s what’s happening, Steve fucking Harrington is kissing him, and once Eddie realizes that, he jumps into action, kissing back hard. His fingers clutch at Steve’s hand, at his spit-soaked thumb, his other hand wrapping around Steve’s back, and Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie’s startled enough by that to part his lips, and Steve immediately deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into Eddie’s mouth. He presses his free hand to Eddie’s neck, cradling his jaw. It’s sweet and hot and fucking unexpected, and Eddie feels like he must have fallen asleep, must be dreaming this entire scenario. Except Steve is basically on his lap now, and he feels warm and solid and he’s kissing Eddie better than Eddie’s ever been kissed in his entire life, and it’s all too real to be anything else.

After a long moment, Steve pulls back, leaning away but not moving off of Eddie’s lap. Which Eddie isn’t complaining about, although he’s sure Steve can feel how hard he is.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, though.

“Finally,” Steve murmurs, leaning back in for another quick kiss, more of a peck. A kiss that’s more fond than passion. Eddie’s had even fewer kisses like that in his life. Steve is good at the deep tongue kissing, and he’s good at the cute chaste kissing, apparently. He’s a goddamn force. “I thought you were never going to kiss me.”

“Technically,” Eddie says, and his voice is strained and hoarse, embarrassingly so, since Steve still sounds suave and like, in control of his tone, “you kissed me.”

“You just sucked on my thumb,” Steve grins. “That totally counts. It’s lip to skin contact.”

Eddie has to admit, that kind of sounds like it does count. Plus, he’ll totally take the personal clout that comes with making the first move on Steve Harrington. Even if he did it without thinking, just acting on the want coursing through him every time they’re together. Except, now that he’s thinking about it, Steve totally walked him to that action, and now he’s looking gleeful and happy, and not surprised in the least.

“Was that—” Eddie presses his palm against his forehead. “Was that a move? Did I just fall for a paper cut move?”

Steve grins. “Kind of? I mean I threw out the pitch but you hit it over the fence.” Eddie must look confused, because Steve rolls his eyes. "I wasn’t expecting you to fucking suck on my finger, but damn. ”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, mussing it a little, and Eddie wonders if he’s allowed to muss it now, too. Eddie tentatively reaches up, curls his fingers into the strands of Steve’s hair, just holding on for now, and Steve gives another quiet moan. Steve’s eyes are dark and he looks almost as turned on as Eddie feels, and a wave of pride washes over Eddie.

“Guess the Munson moves are almost as good as the Harrington moves, huh?”

Steve shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, they’re okay.” But he leans down and kisses Eddie again, so Eddie’s counting it as a win. Maybe not an entirely intentional win, sports metaphors aside, but still.

“So,” Eddie says when they break apart again, panting, Steve’s lips shiny and bruised red, “was all of that an act? You’re not really that upset about a paper cut?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, it hurts like a bitch, but I saw an opening and I went for it.” His smile turns devious. “In fact, I think there might be some other injuries you should check, on more uh, sensitive spots. Now that I know you’re so good at tending to my wounds.”

He gives Eddie a meaningful look, and Eddie doesn’t need to be asked twice. He jumps off the couch, pulling Steve with him, hand still clutching his barely injured finger. He pauses in the hallway, just outside of his bedroom, a place they haven’t really been together, because there wasn’t an excuse, because it felt like a Thing before.

“Put my mouth to work,” Eddie says quietly, raising his eyebrow, and laughs as Steve all but pushes him through the door.

[newgenog]

REVENGE

Notes: This is part one of chapter three. If you're just stumbling across this, and haven't already done so, please stop and start by reading part one of chapter one.

This is a #Batwoman AU based on the ABC tv series #Revenge. The character parallels are pretty neat. So I'm reimagining a world where Ryan Wilder has a more intentional pursuit of vengeance.

Spoiler alert: she is not the caped crusader in this #fanfic. 

Each Friday, I post portions of my (very long 😅) chapters on Tumblr, and post their conclusion (the final part) on A03 with the complete chapter.

Okay, enough reminders and such. Y'all ready? Here it goes!

CHAPTER THREE - BETRAYAL (Part One)

Summary: Before he can announce his intent to run for Mayor, Robyn Wilde makes it her mission to destroy the life of the District Attorney that decided to bring criminal charges against her for the events that led to her mother’s death when she was the child known as Ryan Wilder.

PRESS DAY

DA Sionis: “Thank you all for joining me here for this press conference. Some of you have been supporting me in any way you could since I became District Attorney. I’ve had to make some tough calls, and you’ve always trusted my judgment. We know government and law enforcement isn’t for the weak, and I’ve always been committed to standing strong in our shared value system, for you, my friends and constituents. I know everyone has been wondering if I’m going to announce my run for mayor. Mayor Castellanos was at times short sighted, and limited his influence. We need a mayor that values our law enforcement. We need to eliminate those responsible for making Gotham wild, run down, drug infested, and unsafe. We need to get back to the structure that came from traditional families. These progressives who have no regard for the principles Gotham was built upon, and these criminals who don’t contribute to our society and instead bleed us dry with their subsidized living, have taken over our city. We need to take it back.”

Roman Sionis pauses to allow the audience to applaud for his heavy handed approach to law enforcement. He’s been reading a script off of a tablet on the podium in front of him. The screen turns black and large, white font appears where his lines once were. 

ROMAN SIONIS! IF YOU ANNOUNCE YOUR CANDIDACY TONIGHT THE WORLD WILL SEE THIS. 

~~~~~

3 DAYS EARLIER

Ryan walks down the stairway that lands in the back of The Hold Up, near the manager’s office. The door is closed, and the lights are off. She continues towards the center of the bar, and no one is around. It’s night time, and it's odd that there isn’t an evening crowd. She continues towards the front doors, and before she can exit, lights flash through the opaque windows, and the doors burst open with armed, bullet proof vested men. Jacob Kane is at the center of them. 

Jacob: “Ryan Wilder, you’re under arrest for identity theft, fraud, and perjury. We know everything. And if you thought for one minute that you could destroy my family without me figuring you out, you were sadly mistaken.”

One of the men captures her arm, placing it behind her back, and turns her around, so that he can cuff both wrists. Sophie is behind the bar with a confused, heartbroken expression. Her eyes well, and Ryan can see her choke out the word 'Ryan' in the form of a question. 

Ryan shoots up in a cold sweat, her sheets tossed to the floor. Selina bounds onto her bed and climbs into her lap, meowing in concern. 

Ryan: “It’s okay Selly. It was just a dream. We’re okay.”

She pets the cat’s head, comforting them both, and the feline crawls up so that she can nuzzle into Ryan’s neck. 

Ryan: “I’m glad you’re here too.” 

Ryan looks over at the clock, while rubbing Selina’s back, and sees that it’s after 8 a.m. 

Ryan: “Should we go check on your mom?”

She accepts the purr as an agreement, and sets Selina down so that she can pull herself together and prepare to head downstairs, while trying to shake the feeling that her world is about to be rocked. 

~~~~~

Ryan takes the same path down the stairs that she did the night before, and then again in her dream, reminding herself that the last time was just that: a dream. When she hits the landing, the office door is open, and the lights are on. She drops Selly off, and continues towards the bar, looking for whomever is around to check-in with. 

She finds the Moore sisters sitting at a round table for four. Sophie is trying to convince Jordan that she’s not responsible for her mother’s current state. Ryan leans against the bar, waiting for them to finish their conversation, appreciating Sophie's natural caregiver tendencies. She's not the lanky teen that stayed out of trouble, yet tried to save Ryan from herself more than once anymore, but she's still doing what she can to support everyone around her. 

Jordan: “You were right. I did this. I’ve been immature and selfish.”

Sophie: “No offense, but you’ve been a teenager…”

Jordan: “If I was more like you, I would have been here to help out. Mom wouldn’t have run herself into the ground trying to do everything by herself.” 

Sophie: “You know that’s not true. I was here last night, and she was still driving everyone in the kitchen crazy. Mom’s going to do what she wants.” 

Jordan: “I don’t even understand how we got here.”

Sophie: “We’re really not great at talking about health stuff. It’s pretty common for Black moms to be strong for everyone, and only share what’s going on when it’s an emergency, or when they’re not the ones telling the story. I think Mom’s been keeping how serious things are from us to protect us.” 

Jordan: “How is this protecting us? Being completely caught off guard, feeling like I could have done more…that’s not helpful!” 

Sophie: “I know Jordan. Trust me.”

Ryan doesn’t want to interrupt, but she also doesn’t want to pry. This seems like the best moment to make her presence known.

Ryan: “Hey…”

Sophie: “Robyn! Hey!”

Sophie looks at Ryan as though seeing her is the first good thing to happen in a while. 

Ryan: “Are you ladies doing okay? How’s Ms. Moore?”

Sophie: “She’s alright, but also not great. She had a mild stroke last night. Apparently, her blood pressure has been out of whack for a while, and she was at increasing risk for something like this to happen. But she's going to be fine.”

It's clear she doesn't want to worry her sister, but Sophie's poker face wouldn't have helped her hide that the deck was stacked against her. Ryan moves closer to the table, automatically, but stops short, fighting back the urge to reach out.

Ryan: “I’m so sorry…”

Sophie: “Me too. She’s still at the hospital, but just under observation to make sure her blood pressure is stable. Thank you by the way, for your help last night, and for taking care of our little runaway cat.” 

Sophie's phone rings before Ryan can respond. She turns the phone around so the other women can see the name of the caller.

Ryan: "Guess her ears were burning."

Sophie gets up, too anxious to sit while she talks to her mom, and Ryan finally closes the distance to take her vacant seat. 

Ryan: “How are you holding up?” 

Jordan: “I’m not really.” 

Ryan places a hand on top of Jordan’s. She feels like she knows her. Sophie used to talk about her all the time.

Ryan: “I lost my mom when I was younger than you are. So, I get that this is really scary. I also know what it’s like to have a mom who is willing to die for you. It’s a blessing to be loved that much by someone. So, we can be angry at them for putting our lives ahead of theirs, or we can choose to love on them as hard as possible, because we never really know how long we have with anyone, and the time we do have is a gift.” 

This is the advice her mama would want her to give: to help Jordan choose to love instead of being angry with herself and her mom. Jordan nods, understanding, and wipes away the tears that had finally fallen. 

Jordan: “Thanks. I should probably help Sophie get us ready. Mom would hate it if she ended up in the hospital trying to keep this place running and we didn’t even open the doors because of that.”

Ryan grins at her, and then her phone vibrates. She pulls it out of her back pocket to read the notification. 

Kate's cell: Hope you don't mind that I'm bringing Mary with me to brunch. She insists on getting to know you better. See you at 10.

Ryan: "I've got to get going anyway. Tell Sophie…"

Jordan gives Ryan time to search for what she wants to say, and watches her tighten her lips like she’s trying to keep the words she comes up with from spilling out. Ryan knows she's walking a thin line, and can already hear Luke's disappointed warning. Jordan decides to offer a suggestion.

Jordan: "You'll check on us later."

Ryan cracks a grateful smile, and Jordan raises with a bigger, knowing smile. 

Ryan: "I will check on you…"

Jordan: "See you later, then."

~~~~~

MARY KATE'S, 10AM ON SUNDAY

Ryan’s seated at Mary Kate’s, listening to the voices floating around her for any useful keywords worth tuning into. She's at a table set for four, angled so that she can see every corner of the dining room, as always. Some people don't like having their backs to the door. That isn't enough for Ryan. 

When her two brunchmates arrive, there's an addition to their party. Ryan imagines tossing the table in front of her over, and bounding across the room so she can hem the woman with the bob up by her trench coat, and slam her back against the wall until she’s struggling to breathe. Instead, she grips her seat, cocks her head to the side, and smiles, inviting an explanation. 

Kate: “Robyn! You beat us! Surprise?!”

Ryan raises her eyebrows, expecting her to expound, as Kate and Mary approach the table, and Beth trails behind them.

Mary: “Our parents are supporting who they believe will be the future Mayor in his campaign. He’s over our house strategizing. My mom wanted me and Kate to stay, to show off her well-to-do kids, and something about our generation demonstrating we take an interest in politics, but we told her we had plans. So thanks for letting me crash.”

Kate: “He’s an ass. I’d just end up arguing with him anyway.”

Ryan nods, somewhat following along, and Beth fills in what they’ve omitted. 

Beth: “Catherine didn’t want me to embarrass her. Without Marcia and Cindy there to manage Jan, our bunch isn’t so Brady. But don’t worry. Your theorizing about making responsible decisions that have a positive impact on society bores me. So I’ll be at the bar.”

Kate rolls her eyes at Beth's back as she purposefully strides over and plops onto a bar stool.

Kate: “Sisters…”

Ryan: “I wouldn’t know.”

Ryan forces herself to relax her shoulders, and picks up the menu, to busy her hands.

Mary: “It’s not all bad.” 

Mary grins towards Kate, who mirrors her smile. It’s obvious it means a lot to Mary to be included. Kate seems not to mind having her younger sister around, but Ryan gets the feeling she needs reminders to bring her along. 

Kate takes her seat, but Mary freezes in front of hers when she sees who Beth is sitting next to. Ryan follows her stare to the back of a long-haired brunette covered in leather from wrist to to knee boot, in the middle of summer. She returns to Mary, curiously.

Ryan: “Friend of yours?”

Mary: “Hardly.”

Kate finally looks up and, if it’s possible, becomes paler. 

Kate: “What the hell is she doing here?”

Mary: “And Beth would run straight to her…Unless she told her to come…”

Mary looks as though she’s considering backtracking to the door. 

Ryan: “Does someone want to fill me in?”

Mary and Kate turn to communicate with their eyes, and Mary finally takes her seat. 

Mary: “That’s Natalia Knight. She and Kate have history.”

Ryan: “An ex?”

Kate: “That’s too generous a label.” 

Ryan: “Consider me on the edge of my seat.” 

Ryan puts the menu down, and leans back in her chair, excited for the unexpected tea at this brunch.

Mary: “Nat and Beth partied together in high school. Nat wanted to be with Kate, and claimed she was going to leave behind her bad girl ways to win her over. But she’s a trickster with a knack for chemistry.”

Ryan: “What does that mean?”

Kate: “Ketamine. It’s her drug of choice. She’s like a siren, praying on anyone with the means to take care of her. She lures them in, and dopes them up with drugs she’s baked into her lipstick. One kiss, and you’re doing her bidding. Once you’re at her mercy, she keeps you there by slipping more into your drinks.”

Ryan: “And she’s still roaming the streets how?”

Kate: “There’s nothing concrete enough to stick. No one remembers what’s happened. No witnesses have ever come forward. It all just sounds like rumors and judgment against an emo girl who has less than the rich girls she hangs out with.” 

Mary: “No one remembers but me.” 

Ryan: “So, something happened.” 

Mary glances at Kate, who's looking through the menu as though it's transparent and she can see past the table to her shoes.

Mary: “The kiss worked on Kate. She agreed to go out with Beth and Nat one night, and I’d always ask to come-with when Kate and Beth were going out. This time Kate said yes, which I should have realized was off.”

Kate responds without looking up, sounding guilty but also defensive. 

Kate: “Two years is a lot in high school, and those kids were always getting into shit...” 

Mary: “Right…Anyway, Beth and I were in the back, so she could drink. Kate was driving, but Nat was all over her, trying to make out at stop lights. At some point, Kate was either too out of it, or too distracted, but she veered into oncoming traffic, lost control of the car, and we flipped.” 

Ryan: “Wow.”

Kate’s voice lowers and her words run together.

Kate: “Mary, being the only sober one to see what was happening, tensed and took on the most impact.” 

Mary: “Clearly I’m fine.” 

Kate finally looks at Mary, frustrated. 

Kate: “But you weren’t…”

They've had this argument before, so Mary is unmoved and continues looking at and talking to Ryan.

Mary: “Broken bones are a right of passage for kids. And I heal fast.” 

Kate runs her fingers through her hair, anxiously, and is saved by the server.

Server: “Can I get you ladies started with any drinks.” 

Ryan: “I’m thinking yes.”

They all order, and then Mary picks back up where she left off. 

Mary: “Anyway, we’ve heard her interests have developed, and now she’s into some even weirder activities.”

Ryan: “Like…?”

Mary: “Look, I’m not one to judge. People can get down in the dark however they want, but when you’re not coherent enough to agree to those activities, that’s a whole other story.” 

Ryan thinks she knows what Mary’s getting at, but she needs someone to say it out loud, because she won’t believe it otherwise. 

Kate: “Nat’s taken S&M to the extreme. Word is she’s into what they call blood play. She’s this dom who drugs her partners so much that they beg for pain until they bleed.”

Ryan: “Oh-kaay… That’s different.”

Mary: “It’s worse than you think…supposedly she likes the taste.” 

Ryan: “OF BLOOD!”

Mary and Kate’s eyes widen in a uniformed warning, because Ryan’s volume had increased in shock. She puts her hands up in apology.

Mary: “That’s what’s going around. They call her Nocturna now.” 

Ryan: “Gotham is weirder than I thought.” 

Kate’s flipping through the menu, looking somewhat ashamed. Ryan sees this as another opportunity to build some trust, and throws her a bone.

Ryan: “Hey. We all do shit in high school. I have my fair share of horror stories, but I think we’ve gotten dark enough for this time of day. So, maybe we should shift gears, and save vampire stories for Halloween.”

Their drinks arrive right then, and Kate responds in an appreciative half-smile.

Kate: “I’ll drink to that. Besides, you wanted to run an idea by me?”

Mary: "You guys talk shop over mimosas? I thought we were here to have fun!" 

Ryan laughs, surprising herself. Mary is not a part of the plan. She was almost inconsequential when Ryan was preparing, like white noise playing in the background. And she's starting to understand how that came to be… Mary deserves better, but while she has no role in Ryan's mission, she can't become Ryan's problem either. 

Kate: "I guess we kinda do, don't we?"

Ryan: "I think it's a little more therapy than business."

Kate: "Ha. Fair."

Mary: "I've got shopping for that."

Mary's smile is warming, and Ryan feels lighter than she can remember feeling in a long time. She recalls her mom talking about the girl her age at the Kane's, and it's as if two hands rest on her shoulders, gently encouraging her to lean-in. She doesn't want Mary mixed up in this, but…

Ryan: "I might need to try out your style of therapy, and Evan's been asking me when we're meeting up, next…"

Kate: "I think I'll stick to seeing you at kickboxing."

Mary: "You're not invited anyway. You bring down the vibe."

Ryan laughs a real laugh, which should be impossible given who's sitting within reach behind her. She tries to hold onto this feeling, because she doesn't know when it'll come again. And it's a better way to transition back to what brought her here. Ryan has decided that, with all the harm the Kanes have caused, their undoing isn't enough. One way or another, she'll make them put something good back into the communities that they've neglected and exploited.

Ryan: "I did have an idea, Kate. I think I've figured out what Gotham is missing, and after our last chat about how you want to be different than your parents, I thought you might want to team up on it."

Kate: "A Jeturian-Wayne collaboration? They'll hate that!" 

Kate seems intrigued.

Mary: "Which means you love it."

Ryan: "But you're right, Mary. It's a Sunday, and I had a hell of a night. So, maybe we can meet after work this week and I can do this for real with a pitch?"

Kate: "I'm good with that. It just can't be Wednesday. My parents are hosting the D.A.'s constituents at our house, and my dad wants us there. We're choosing our battles, you know…? 

Ryan: "I get it. Tomorrow night work?" 

Kate: "Works for me. Want to come by our house around 7, or is this an in-office kind of meeting?"

Ryan knows being invited to their home is necessary and pivotal, but that happening so soon has made her appetite non-existent. She powers through.

Ryan: "Sounds like you have a full week…No need to get stuck in the office."

Kate: "Thanks for the mercy. So, want to tell us about your night?"

Ryan's eyes fall to her menu. She's not sure how to navigate this - she doesn't want to discuss Sophie more than she has to - but it seems Mary's going to take care of that for her.

Mary: "It's Diane. She ended up in the hospital last night. Robyn was there when she passed out and helped Sophie until they left in the ambulance. She even closed up the bar."

Ryan: "She told you…?"

Mary: "Sophie's my girl…it meant a lot to her."

Kate's clearly not in love with being the last to know, but she decides to try to cover, and raises her glass.

Kate: "To Robyn, then, for coming into our lives at just the right time, and being exactly what we all didn't realize we needed."

Ryan smiles wide at the compliment, which is founded in more truth than anyone realizes. She's become what Kate needs due to calculated precision. For Sophie and Mary, though…she's exactly what they don't need. 

All three glasses clink, and Ryan makes a promise to herself. The Moores and Mary will not become collateral damage. She must protect them, especially from her.

~~~~~

Ryan is the last to leave Mary Kate's. She used the excuse of needing to run to the ladies' to make sure her brunch mates and their callous tagalong were gone before she walked out. She immediately calls Luke.

Luke: "To what do I owe this afternoon cold call."

Ryan: "I need to know everything about the event the Kane's are hosting Wednesday night. They're helping with the DA's campaign for Mayor."

Ryan listens as Luke moves into position at his desk and begins keying in the characters required to fulfill Ryan's request.

Luke: "It's basically a press conference. He hasn't officially announced his intent to run, but it seems he's going to do that Wednesday night."

Ryan: "Alright. Find out when the next flight from London to Gotham is."

Luke: "Are you expecting someone?"

Ryan: "Yes. You're going to email Circe Sionis from Roman saying it's safe for her to return home and attach a full itinerary so she can be present to publicly support her father's announcement."

Luke: "And what are you going to do?"

Ryan: "What I always do. Prepare."

~~~~~

To be continued...

The Reminders:

I'll be back here next Friday with another update.

All #Batwoman things I do now are in the name of #SaveBatwoman. Go follow all the social handles and support the cause, please. Have you signed the petition? https://www.change.org/p/savebatwoman

[archesa]

have 1, 6, 13, and 15 from the gw2 asks for anwen, if you’d like! :) @kerra-and-company

Thanks for the ask 💜 I'm also working on your pens, promise! 🖊️ Time for Anwen loving-hours💙

Your character is now the leader of their species, whatever that looks like for them (Arcane Council member, Imperator, Royalty, etc). How do they govern and what sorts of changes would they make if any?

Oh would she not make a resplendent queen? 🥰

As a successor to Salma's line, she'd probably have to prove herself over and over again. Sure, she has a reputation, as a viscountess and as the Commander, but she is not exactly beloved by her fellow nobles and she's made a few enemies amongst the ministers.

So the first few months / years of her reign would be very hard on the Shining Blade's nerves, for as Queen, Anwen would endeavour to purge the corruption in her government, and install a strong parliament, with representatives of every trade, every social class, every village and settlement in Kryta, to discuss and decide on the politics within her borders.

She would personally take great joy in working on foreign affairs, especially considering that she's on first-name basis with more than half of the rulers of the world.

And she'd be very adamant about Orr keeping her independence.

They're now a heart NPC/part of a string of quests. What does that involve?

Help Anwen Evergreen tend to Caer Aval :

Defend the garden plots against Risen threats, prune the fire orchids before they invade the greenhouses, use seed pouches to grow new plants, bring aid to the stranded botanists.

What is the worst/funniest/dumbest article that could be written about them in Tyria's trashiest gossip mag?

Let's start with worst! Since Anwen's got a... reputation in Divinity's Reach... She's probably rumoured to be a brute (defenestration of a suitor, breaking and entering a minister's property with the Seraph, killing said minister in trial by combat, killing Zhaitan, leaving a trail of embers in her wake through the Heart of Maguuma, slamming the door of the Pact... etc.) and some people would tend to vilify her less than dainty appearance. She's strong, tall, bulky with robust shoulders and big thighs, and overall does not care about her appearance as much as would be expected from a Lady. So the most mean-spirited slander-sheet will gladly publish something along this line :

Centaur-face menace is back in ton!

As for the trashiest...

The Commander's stretching routine! (It works!)

What is their favorite and least favorite part of being the commander (or whatever role they play in your canon)?

Not that she'd admit it but... she enjoys being in charge. Preparing an assault and seeing it go perfectly according to the plan, working on the supply lines so the soldiers are well fed, well armed, well healed, and the civilian populations won't suffer too greatly from the tragic events at hand. Providing hope when there is not much to be found.

Her least favorite part, of course, is being the one to shoulder all the blame when things go awry, and the difficult decisions that are the burden of leaders. Announcing their loved ones that soldiers lives were lost. Sending an unit to certain death to further the advance of another so they would gain some ground and hope one day to secure complete victory. The necessary sacrifices have always felt bitter. And no longer being in charge of the Pact felt like a relief because neither her not Trahearne would have to live with the consequences of such decisions. (or so they thought)

The decisions she has to make as Aurene's Champion are... different. They feel different. But the price to pay for one mistake is higher than ever. The people who die, who sacrifice for their cause are no longer distant faces in a crowd and names on casualties report. They're friends, and siblings, and mentors, and innocents...

They're Vlast. They're Blish. They're Soo Won.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Fauxflation

On the back of my previous posts on bonds and the housing bubble and/or crisis, I'd like to describe a form of inflation happening that isn't direct inflation.

I've talked before about loan caps, and how bank debt (not to be confused with the country debt of 30trillion+ which is how we determine how much money the fed injects into the economy.) Can be used to inflate the country's debt outside of the control of the government (and thus outside the federal reserve's control).

Banks use debt as assets, they trade them like they would money, because they expect the money to be paid back. However, they are also allowed to give out loans based on the debt they control, and thus expect to be paid back. (This is part of the problem with bonds in 2008).

Banks loans money to Steve, and based on how Steve pays that loan back, the bank is then allowed to loan money to Geoff. Sometimes at the expected interest they expect to make from Steve. And if Geoff is paying back the bank regularly, the bank is able to make another loan out to a third person: Jenny.

If you're tracking; that means the bank has given out three loans based on one pool of money. Effectively tripling that original pool, until those loans are paid back. Which would both cause inflation while the loans are in circulation, and deflation should they be paid back, or even forgiven.

This should be controlled by the digital debt ceiling that the fed allows banks to loan against. *Should* being the operative word.

That's only part of the fauxflation equation.

The next part is companies, who have taken these loans, and are selling goods to end users. They borrow against interest rates and if the interest rates are high, that also compounds inflation. (More money is expected to pay back that initial loan. Thus creating an drain on the revenue of those companies.)

How do those companies make money? They charge the end user more and more. As much money as they are willing to pay. Companies have said as much: "They are willing to charge as much as the customers can afford".

The U.S. subsidizes certain products in order to keep prices down, and to account for increased demand. So that parents can feed their children. It's funny that even those products are starting to see insane price hikes. From $1.50 for a quart of milk to nearly $5 over the course of the past few years.

That's with the subsidies that they get to sell those products.

Simultaneously, corporate profits are at a record high.

Now, I'm going to take this time to explain why record profits might not *actually* be profit. Please bear with me it's stupid. I know.

Many loans have increased, or lowered fees after a certain time period of one-time payments. If companies have taken a loan out like you would on a credit card: "0% APR for 12 months, and then 30% annual after that". That means their payment of their loan is included on their revenue sheet

Some loans, like a car or house loan have a maximum interest based on the term of the loan. And your credit score is based on paying that interest back on time, not early, not late. If you have a six year loan, it's in your best interest to pay it back in six years. So that you have good credit for a better loan after that.

Any Earlier and the banks know that you won't be making them enough money to bother.

But if the company is making record profits, it might behoove them to include that in their future projections. If that APR kicks in at a higher % like on your credit card, then they have to hang onto that profit, possibly invest it (to try to keep up with the APR) because they know they'll be paying back that interest at a later date, since they won't be paying the whole thing off this year.

Basically: what happens if you only make minimum payments on your credit card?

With wage hikes, and with high interest, and with both of those causing fauxflation: you can see where the problem point in this chain is:

Whatever money is owed back to the banks

Now, why do the banks include things like APR increases in some products and not others? They believe it's an effective stick to the loan's carrot. They believe that you'll be encouraged to pay it back at that point, and they have calculations to prove it. (Remember what I said about banks creating higher loans to pay off lower loans because of housing inflation? That circle-k?)

They have a decade of data saying that their loans all got paid off.

So when it comes time that the economy can't handle their projections, because they ommitted the data where things like this happened last time. (Too long ago, who cares)

It's easy to say "we couldn't have accounted for this".

And it's plausible because who accounts for data that long ago?

[quotesfrommyreading]

The auditory version of the blank sheet is, of course, silence. Protesting wordlessly was a technique employed by Black Americans in July 1917, when an estimated 10,000 citizens, organized by religious groups and the NAACP, marched down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan to protest racial violence and discrimination. As the New York Times reported, “Those in the parade represented every negro organization and church in the city. They marched, however, not as organizations, but as a people of one race, united by ties of blood and color, and working for a common cause.”

In September 1968, tens of thousands of students staged a silent march calling for greater democracy in Mexico. Contradicting the Mexican government’s accusations that they were resorting to violence, the students protested by simply carrying flags. (Around this same time, civil rights activists in the United States wielded flags with similar goals in mind.) “You’re taking the symbols of the regime and exposing the illegitimacy of the regime at the same time,” says David Meyer, a sociologist at the University of California, Irvine.

Other protests have employed more obvious symbols of repression, including handcuffs, blindfolds and gags. The last of these became widespread as a political prop following the trial of the Chicago Seven (originally eight), antiwar protesters who were charged with inciting a riot at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. During the 1969 trial, the judge ordered defendant Bobby Seale to be gagged and chained to his chair.

Decades before football player Colin Kaepernick created a stir by kneeling during the national anthem, Black athletes silently used their status to fight oppression. At the awards ceremony for the 200-meter dash at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City, medalists Tommie Smith and John Carlos each raised a clenched gloved fist in a call for global human rights.

The operating theory behind silent protests is that when the cause is clear and righteous, there’s no reason to yell about it—a principle demonstrated by more recent examples of silent protests, too. In 2009, a peaceful rally in Iran against unfair elections ended in gunfire and explosions. To vent their fury, hundreds of thousands of Iranians met at Tehran’s symbolic central roadway, Islamic Revolution Street, and marched quietly to Freedom Square, hoping to avoid a police crackdown. In 2011, protesters in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, stood quietly in solidarity with activists detained without trial by the country’s regime. Multiple times in Hong Kong, lawyers have marched in silence to protest Beijing’s incursions into the city’s constitution and legal affairs.

  —  The History Behind China's White Paper Protests