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robertreich · 1 year

Video

youtube

How the Corporate Takeover of American Politics Began

The corporate takeover of American politics started with a man and a memo you've probably never heard of.

In 1971, the U.S. Chamber of Commerce asked Lewis Powell, a corporate attorney who would go on to become a Supreme Court justice, to draft a memo on the state of the country.

Powell’s memo argued that the American economic system was “under broad attack” from consumer, labor, and environmental groups.

In reality, these groups were doing nothing more than enforcing the implicit social contract that had emerged at the end of the Second World War. They wanted to ensure corporations were responsive to all their stakeholders — workers, consumers, and the environment — not just their shareholders.

But Powell and the Chamber saw it differently. In his memo, Powell urged businesses to mobilize for political combat, and stressed that the critical ingredients for success were joint organizing and funding.

The Chamber distributed the memo to leading CEOs, large businesses, and trade associations — hoping to persuade them that Big Business could dominate American politics in ways not seen since the Gilded Age.

It worked.

The Chamber’s call for a business crusade birthed a new corporate-political industry practically overnight. Tens of thousands of corporate lobbyists and political operatives descended on Washington and state capitals across the country.

I should know — I saw it happen with my own eyes.

In 1976, I worked at the Federal Trade Commission. Jimmy Carter had appointed consumer advocates to battle big corporations that for years had been deluding or injuring consumers.

Yet almost everything we initiated at the FTC was met by unexpectedly fierce political resistance from Congress. At one point, when we began examining advertising directed at children, Congress stopped funding the agency altogether, shutting it down for weeks.

I was dumbfounded. What had happened?

In three words, The Powell Memo.

Lobbyists and their allies in Congress, and eventually the Reagan administration, worked to defang agencies like the FTC — and to staff them with officials who would overlook corporate misbehavior.

Their influence led the FTC to stop seriously enforcing antitrust laws — among other things — allowing massive corporations to merge and concentrate their power even further.

Washington was transformed from a sleepy government town into a glittering center of corporate America — replete with elegant office buildings, fancy restaurants, and five-star hotels.

Meanwhile, Justice Lewis Powell used the Court to chip away at restrictions on corporate power in politics. His opinions in the 1970s and 80s laid the foundation for corporations to claim free speech rights in the form of financial contributions to political campaigns.

Put another way — without Lewis Powell, there would probably be no Citizens United — the case that threw out limits on corporate campaign spending as a violation of the “free speech” of corporations.

These actions have transformed our political system. Corporate money supports platoons of lawyers, often outgunning any state or federal attorneys who dare to stand in their way. Lobbying has become a $3.7 billion dollar industry.

Corporations regularly outspend labor unions and public interest groups during election years. And too many politicians in Washington represent the interests of corporations — not their constituents. As a result, corporate taxes have been cut, loopholes widened, and regulations gutted.

Corporate consolidation has also given companies unprecedented market power, allowing them to raise prices on everything from baby formula to gasoline. Their profits have jumped into the stratosphere — the highest in 70 years.

But despite the success of the Powell Memo, Big Business has not yet won. The people are beginning to fight back.

First, antitrust is making a comeback. Both at the Federal Trade Commission and the Justice Department we’re seeing a new willingness to take on corporate power.

Second, working people are standing up. Across the country workers are unionizing at a faster rate than we’ve seen in decades — including at some of the biggest corporations in the world — and they’re winning.

Third, campaign finance reform is within reach. Millions of Americans are intent on limiting corporate money in politics – and politicians are starting to listen.

All of these tell me that now is our best opportunity in decades to take on corporate power — at the ballot box, in the workplace, and in Washington.

Let’s get it done.

#youtube #videos #video #powell memo #corporations #wall street #finance #corruption #politics #lobbying #government

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trutrustories · 6 months

Text

STUDY IN LOKI ROMANCE

Part 5: Science/Fiction

Since we're only a few days away from the last episode, I decided to COUNT DOWN everything we´ve got so far ( that can be interpreted very easily as romantic ) and discuss what the actual fuck is going on with second season. Because even though I shipped lokius practically from S1E2, I absolutely did NOT expect this kind of development. (Not that I´m complaining)

Warning: This is gonna be LONG post, lots of screenshots, lots of SPOILERS, lot of "oh-my-god-they-so-cute" language, and little bit of meta.

I originally thought that this post would be everything at once, but since I have just too many screenshots this time around, I´ll have to split it. so every post will be one episode. Color coding means:

IIIIIIIIII = anything, that coud potentialy be just acting choice.

IIIIIIIIII = everything else (tzn.: whatever was written, and/or carefully prepared by filmmakers. )

side note: I already wrote, about how amazing it is, that Mobius is unable to fight but fights anyway and how beautifuly, and ridiculously brave he is HERE. But this is about Loki/Mobius interactions, so I´ll try my best not to talk about THAT. (Even when I´m really happy, that s2 continues with this formula and Mobius is still his completely defenseless while aggressively brave self. I love him, btw.)

EPISODE 1 HERE

EPISODE 2 HERE

EPISODE 3 HERE

EPISODE 4 HERE

38) Loki looking for Mobius in PIE ROOM Hey... this is starting to be suspicious. is this room actual Heart of the TVA, that we didn´t know about ??? Why does everyone accidentally end up here???

39) Loki Time slipping to the theater room (where he had his first long, table converstation with Mobius.)

I´m gonna cry 😭

40) Mobius/Don casually informing Loki, he´s a SINGLE dad and telling him his entire work schedule (not that it´s important for anything, but Mobius is sooo damn handsome in that blue west!!! ) Also Loki staring at him through the window ?! And then being so distracted by him, that it took him interestigly long time, before he realized / accepted that Mobius doesn´t remember him (AGAIN). And he should have know this right away, because he already talked to Casey/Frank.

41) Loki time slipping to Mobius again (right when he started to be hopefull and Happy, that O. B. will be able to help him.

42) Loki glow up - or Loki fixing himself up, to look sexy not threatening fo Mobius/Don. I mean... this is just straight out of romantic movie, I´m sorry. Interesting acting choice there🤣

43) Loki being very nervous while talking to Mobius/Don.

Mobius: "You live around here, or did you follow me home? 😉" Loki: "Oh... no... hahahaha 😅 ... No no. I was... 😳I was actually on my way to the 👉👆👇☝️uh. And... 😨 And I happend to see you, so I... I... I 🫣 just thought I´d just come and say that I´m sorry that I... I... 🥵couldn´t... stick around back there. I was... um... 🤯 I was in a bit of a time crunch. 😅😅😅"

Said God of Mischief.

I´m sorry, but he´s acting here like stuttering schoolgirl with a crush. What exactly are you trying to accomplish, Tom ??? Anyway... I love it xD

44) Mobius dropping everything and forgeting about his two mischievous sons so he can give Loki full attention

45) Wanna buy my wife´s jetski? - oh by the way, she´s long gone, and worst thing about it is the fact, that one of these beauties doesn´t have a rider.

would you wanna ride it with me? let´s jump up on these bad boys

46) "A beautiful union of form and function"

The fact, that Loki remembers that line from S01E02 and that he echoes it back at Mobius, who doesn´t remember him... Like... WHAT? This thing is romantic as fuck. also finaly someone, who will gladly listen to Mobius braindumping about jetskis!!!! YES PLEASE. He deserves it! 💚 they litteraly made for each other!

47) Loki gently helping Mobius/Don through the time door. - while O. B. is struggling with heavy prototype of tempad...

48) "You saved my life, when I first arrived. You saw something in me, that I hadn´t seen in myself."

Can you believe he said that??? Because I don´t. I´m still processing 😭 Also, see? He IS his friend... but O. B. is not. He WILL be (eccept O. B. knows Mobius much longer xDD ) I´m ok 49) "I want my friends back. I don´t want to be alone."

This scene is honestly so tragic. Sylvie helps him realize his true motivations and he looks so desprete. TVA: place, that he should hate is home now. Where he belong. And that´s why he cared so much and tried so hard to save that place. And thing he wants the most are his friends. Their company. (And if it wasn´t obvious, it means primarily Mobius. The man, he called friend several times this season) It´s him, who Loki doesn´t want to lose in the first place.

Loki looks so fucking sad here! I can´t! 50) "It was more about what I wanted."

Not only he says it while we are watching Mobius, but let´s take in the fact, that he says it at all! Like... come on!!! Can´t he be just happy? As soon as he starts thinking that his actions are selfish, Loki will actualy choose what he thinks is better for Mobius and tries to let him go...

The character development in this show is just unbelievable

And finaly: 51) "It´s not about where, when or why. It´s about WHO."

... said Loki, after very, very, VERY long look at Mobius. --------------- Anyway. That´s the check-list. In total, I counted 51 Lokius moment, but if anyone caught something I didn´t, feel free to correct me! the more, the better! 😁 It´s a hella lot of Lokius content. especially since I didn´t expected, like... not even third of it. So yeah. Last part will be kind of a conclusion. I will try to look at possibilities, what could all this mean. What could be the actual intent of writers and filmakers etc. And, simply put it, asking: WHAT THE FUCK 😳

#lokius #loki #loki spoiler #loki s2 spoilers #loki season 2 #mobius #mobius m mobius

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2012aura · 1 year

Text

progression !

summary : cont of free treats, this is part 3!

wanring : marijuan use, cursing & idk what else

pairing : college!ellie williams x black!reader

the thing that you heard when you woke up was giggling, which wasn't unusual, dina and jessie were always laughing at some silly stuff. but when you moved around and realized that one, you were practically still cuddled against ellie and two your phone wasn't where you left it.

you touched everywhere, your boob, behind your back, even under the pillow, dina then came near you and saw you freaking out. "looking for something?" she said holding your phone with two fingers. these sneaky girls, jesus christ what kind of trouble did they get you into today? "real funny dina, can i have it back now?" you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. she threw it to the empty space on the couch, and you swiftly grabbed it. you instantly went to instagram to see the post and you laughed.

you honestly thought it was gonna be a thousand times worse than them posting some pics of you and ellie cuddling. you laughed along with them, once they realized you weren't upset, rather you found it amusing. as long as ellie didn't see anything wrong with it, you would just leave it up. there wasn't anything bad about it, it just looks like friends cuddling, right? you yawned as you started to get up from the couch, letting the pads of your feet hit the cold floor. "damn what time did you guys come in?" you asked as you finally got up and made your way to the small makeshift kitchen, "around five i think, i honestly can't remember, me and dina were wasted." jessie said sitting on one of the chairs. "shall i make us my famous dish, es scrambled eggs and thee finest turkey bacon?" you said in a fake french accent, using your hands to pronounciate the words. "YES WE ARE STARVING!" jessie and dina yelled in union, and that woke ellie up.

"shit whatever it is, me too." ellie laughed, quickly adjusting to the setting in the room. you got started, using the last four eggs they had and the seven pieces of bacon they had, you made enough for everyone to eat once and have a leftover baked good from last night. well, the ones that were still left over, and once you were done chefing it up you served everyone. you all sat on the floor and joyed the silence between each other, speaking ever so often to mention something irrelevant. once everyone was done you did the dishes, the shorts you had on yesterday were rolled up because it became hot in the room quickly but you couldn't tell if it was because of ellie or the heat from the sun outside.

ellie was definitely checking you out the whole time and the other girls took notice, telling jokes within themselves about the obvious pinning. it was around eleven am, meaning you had to clock in to work in about an hour, and you decided to say goodbye to everyone. "guys i gotta go, duty calls! how about you guys come around and maybe we can hang out on my break, or even better after my shift and we can do something!" you said excitedly. they all gave you some form of agreement except for ellie, "sorry i can't make it, i have practice." that made you upset, you were looking forward to seeing ellie today but that was okay! you knew things came before you because you both were barely friends and not even CLOSE to dating so why should it affect you? "that's alright ellie, maybe next time!" you said cheerfully, knowing somewhere deep down it kind of hurt.

you left out the door with your pants from yesterday placed onto of your shorts and simply just left after the final goodbyes. you felt like you were missing something but you brushed it off, not remembering the bag that you had brought with you. but ellie definitely remembered, it smelt like pure weed and vodka and she just had to return it to you. it took you only around thirty minutes to get ready and you were off to your job. the walk wasn't too far, just around ten minutes so you took the short stroll and admired the outside life. it wasn't long before you arrived at one of your favorite places, this place felt like home to you. you opened the door and the little bell rang letting them know someone entered.

"we don't open for another ten- oh hey good morning [name], what good?" cameron said. his ginger fro sticking up, and glowing from the sunlight outside. "ah i see you listened about oiling your scalp, how does it feel?" you asked while you grabbed your apron from the hanger. "bitch it feels the same bye." he said jokingly before returning to preparing the baked goodies presentations, you laughed with him as you tried to stifle it. the owner of the shop came out from the back, flour all over his black apron. he was an elderly man, and it was his families bakery for years, and he loved what he did. he smiled at you both as she took a seat at one of the tables closest to you both, "good morning team, how are you both?" his low voice echoing because of the silence. "I'm good sir, spent the night at a friend-" cameron cut you off, "she means GIRL friend, sir," you hit cameron over the counter dividing you two.

that started a small and childish hitting battle between you both that your boss found amusing, "enough you two, but a girlfriend? I'm happy for you sunshine, if she hurts you in any way you know where to find me." he said laughing to himself, causing you to laugh along. "yes sir i know, thank you." you said walking your way behind the counter to finally start your shift, today was gonna be good, you could feel it in your bones. the shop started to fill immediately and you were on your feet at a fast pace, taking orders, making drinks, and serving them right up. one of your favorite artists came on, mac miller, the way featuring ariana grande. it was an absolute hit in your opinion, and you loved the song, it got you in such a happy mood. you were so wrapped up in work that you didn't notice ellie waiting to the side patiently. you told cameron to take over the register for a second so you could walk over to her, and he did. you walked over to her and looked at her for a brief moment before asking, "hey ellie, what did you need?"

she pointed to her back and you saw your bookbag, your sunflower-themed bookbag on her back, and that's what you had forgotten. "oh my lord, thank you ellie! i must've forgotten it on my way out," she handed you her bag, and you held it for a second. "well i should go now, i've got soccer practice, see you later!" she said as she walked out the shop. you were honestly left starstruck, and it took a second to get back to your sense. when you did you went back behind the register and threw your bag through the open kitchen doors and left it in the corner somewhere. you saw cameron and mr. anderson speaking secretly and you just knew cameron was spilling everything and anything he knew. the day went on and the customers were coming in nonstop which didn't bother you, and near the end of your shift, you saw jessie, dina, and ellie sitting down at a table. why was ellie here, didn't she have practice you thought to yourself as you finished your last drink of the day? you said goodbye to cameron and mr. anderson. taking off your apron and hanging it back up where it was first put this morning, you fixed your hair slightly and grabbed your bag from the back.

you walked up to their table and spoke, "seems like i have some stalkers today, hm?" you jokingly said as they got up from the table. ellie smiled at you as dina and jessie said hello to you by attacking you with bear hugs, you were still confused as to why ellie was here. "hi guys, i missed yall," you said into the tight hug. once they let go you asked ellie, "i thought you had practice today?" you said softly as you all were leaving out the door. "yeah i did but the coach's daughter got hurt pretty badly and she goes to a different university so he had to go to her, which means no practice till he comes back." ellie said joyfully. that was good news, you really wanted to see her pretty face again today. "alright folks lets go smoke in a park, first, we have to stop by my dorm to grab the goods," you said as yall started walking that way. it didn't take long for you all to arrive and you instantly unlocked the door with your keycard and let them all in. you all went up to your room and grabbed the weed and some snacks for the travels. the park wasn't too far and the whole time was spent talking and joking around so the walk was way shorter than it seemed.

ellie made sure to let you stand on the safe side of the street while she stood near the traffic. she came close to holding your hand a couple times as the other girls were wrapped in their own conversation. you guys arrived and went to your usual spot in the park which was a little beyond it in the near woods. well it was rather a walkway for couples but it had a lot of wooded area, and you all settled down on top of the "wood blanket" and opened the book bag. in it sat a bong, some weed, and snacks and that's all you guys needed, ellie started to pack a bowl for herself as you scrolled on your phone. as she started to hit it you took out your phone to take photos of her for instagram, once she was done she passed it to you. she has hit the whole thing so you had to refill it and hit it yourself, feeling the plant hit your lungs, you breathed it out. you started to subtly feel the effects as you all were talking.

it was no joke with this stuff, a little really does go a long way with these. you laid back onto the blanket and ellie lay beside you, you both were very starry-eyed and zoned out. ellie then pulled out a small joint from her pocket and lit it up, taking a hit and then passing it to you. you took a hit and then another and passed it back to her. until you got up and handed dina your phone and told her to take a picture of you with it in your mouth. she did and you laid back down once again, seeing your body drifting off like the wind blowing against you guys. you reached your hand to the side and you felt ellie's and you grabbed it. it was really warm so you kept holding it, and in ellie's dazed state she didn't mind, she found it comforting. the rest of the night was spent with you all goofing around and taking so many pictures to post later.

at one point you and ellie took a little walk down the path, holding hands and just enjoying the outside. the trees were beautiful and so was the moonlight. it hit you both so beautifully, and you both were now staring at each other with nothing but adoration and affection in your eyes. one thing led to another and now you both were very handsy making out behind a tree, but dina and jessie still had a very clear view of this. your lips hit ellie's with a powerful force, making her stumble back into the tree, your teeth slightly biting down on her lips as she moaned into it. she flipped you guys over so now your back was against the tree and she started to attack your neck with these bites. they weren't so painful but they made something inside you crave more, maybe it was the high or maybe you were genuinely enjoying it. but it all came to a halt when jessie and dina snuck up on you both and gasped loudly.

making ellie take her teeth off your skin and you cover your face in embarrassment, not that you were kissing ellie but that you were caught. after that, you all decided the responsible young adult thing to was head back to your dorm and sleep the high away, and that's exactly what you did. you and ellie shared and bed while dina and jessie shared the empty one in your room, but before you went to bed you had to post about your night.

blackmacmiller

liked by elliewilliams, dinawina and 13 others

blackmacmiller the key to happiness is good weed, good company and late night adventures. i love you guys, @dinawina @ elliewilliams @jjessiemessy! my hearts in human form!

view all 34 comments

dinawina i love you, way more ⭐️

> blackmacmiller lying again? wowza

jjessiemessy i hate you all

> blackmacmiller we love you too baby

> dinawina facts

elliewilliams thanks for the super awesome night, hopefully we have more of these

> blackmacmiller anytime you want, els

> dinawina FLIRTING I SEEE

cameronwalker & you say she not yo gf … bye GIRL!

> blackmacmiller gtfo cam, i’ll see you tmr

and with that, you were out like a light, hoping that your morning tomorrow could outshine the amazing day you had today. but you knew deep inside, nothing could ever top this bonding experience with your favorite people.

how we feeling … how we FEELING!

#2012aura♡#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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zoeykallus · 7 months

Text

Echo – There For You 28 - Wreckage

Echo X Female!Reader

_________

Warnings: ANGST/Hurt/Implied Trauma/Probably Much Ouch

_________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_________

AC: Because it's been asked for in my messages as well as in my asks repeatedly, I finally got back to work on this one. Unfortunately, I was in a mood to ripping things apart. But I might put them back together at some point.

_________

The Marauder has taken a beating. Apart from the annoying alarm noise in the cockpit, there are clearly too many red lights flashing on the control console for Hunter's taste. Practically limping along on only one and a half thrusters left, the shuttle has jumped out of hyperspace. "I'm really missing Tech right now," he growls under his breath. Wrecker, sitting with the prisoner behind him, looks concerned. "We can still land, right?" Hunter laughs humorlessly and says, "Yes, we can land, but it won't be pretty." Hastily, he opens the com link to the planet's surface and reports, "On our way back, we have the package with us. However, we will have to make an emergency landing." Only a few seconds later, the men hear Tech's voice over the com. "What have you done to my ship!!!" "Can we please argue about this later? Have fire extinguishers and emergency equipment ready!" snaps Hunter back. After a sigh, Tech finally says, "Will do."

You're anxious, you heard the com transmission, and you're helping Crosshair get everything ready for the emergency landing. Tech needs to stay with Echo for safety should his condition change. "Concentrate, Kitten," you hear Crosshair say, giving you a gentle push, "We have to hurry." You nod hastily and help him get the firefighting equipment ready, the medkits and the hydraulic shears to cut open the Marauder to free the occupants in case of emergency. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. There is a lot at stake here, apart from Hunter and Wrecker who are very important to you, Echo's last hope could also fade with this crash landing. Your eyes go skyward as you hear the shuttle, and it sounds anything but usual. The Marauder's thrusters rattle, and the shuttle trails a dark, black cloud of smoke behind it. Crosshair reaches for the extinguisher, already getting into position. "Doesn't look too hot," he grumbles. You can only nod silently, at a loss for words, your mouth dry with fear. "They're too fast," Crosshair finally hisses, "Way too fast." Nodding again, you say, "It seems the thrusters aren't all working."

Your heart hammers up into your throat. The Marauder arrives so quickly that you see little chance of anyone surviving the crash landing. You hear Crosshair breathlessly say, "Reverse thrusters Hunter, reverse thrusters, now! As if on cue, the thrusters flip and Hunter gets the very last out of the engines to slow the Marauder down at the last moment. A few feet above the ground, it seems to stop briefly in midair, then the jets fail and the Marauder plops to the ground like an overripe fruit falling from a tree, with a loud rumble. It's not exactly a hard crash landing, but the Marauder looks bad, clearly having just escaped a hard battle. Blaster marks all over the hull. Crosshair, and you immediately spray the smoking thrusters until the smoke dies down. With a rumbling crash, Wrecker kicks open the bent ramp that won't open automatically, and drags a person who doesn't really look like a person out into the open. You think you recognize that this person used to be a Duros, but 80 percent of his body has been replaced by cyborg parts, including a large part of his face, so you can only guess.

" May I introduce," Wrecker rumbles, "This is Uned Van, a member of the Techno Union and a doctor, a surgeon to be exact." Hunter pops up behind the two and grumbles, "And probably our only hope for Echo." It's hard to read any emotion in Uned Van's mostly metallic face, so you don't know how he sees the whole thing. But you guess, from the looks of the Marauder, he certainly didn't come along willingly.

Arriving at your small infirmary, you do see a small reaction in Uned Van's face. The remaining Duro's eye widens. "I know this one," he says, intrigued, "I wasn't involved in his transformation, but I've read the reports, seen holorecordings." His voice is so metallic and hollow that you feel like you're listening to a droid. As Uned Van continues, he seems so fascinated, almost excited by what he's saying that you feel sick, "An ingenious project, converting a clone to pass on their strategies to our droids. According to the report, there wasn't much left of him after the explosion. Both legs gone, one arm gone, brain damage. Your kind would have let him die, basically you did leave him to die, or the other clones did, but we saw the potential in those clone remains." You can see the guys jaws grinding, every single one of them disgusted, but Echo needs Uned Van to survive, so no one dares lay a hand on him. Hunter and Crosshair retreat, Tech stays to check on Uned Van and possibly help. Wrecker sits in the corner, his eyes full of worry, but his arms crossed angrily. If Uned Van gets any stupid ideas, Wrecker will put him in his place.

You assume that Crosshair and Hunter have some catching up to do, but you don't have any thoughts or energy left for that. "Maybe you shouldn't be here," Tech says quietly to you, looking at you gently. "But-" "Tech is right, ad'ika," Wrecker says just as gently. You must have barely slept, try to get some rest. I promise I'll come get you as soon as something changes with Echo." You want to protest again, you want to stay here, but you feel the two are right, you are tired, you are overwrought and maybe only in the way. You don't want to leave Echo's side, but maybe that's better for you and him right now.

As you leave the room, Crosshair and Wrecker are talking in the lounge, quiet, a little tense, but composed. The two are also in a bit of shock, all the current circumstances are anything but uplifting. A useless Marauder for the time being, a disgruntled Techno Union who will surely be looking for their surgeon and most importantly, Echo, a brother whose life hangs by a thread. For a moment you think about joining them, but then walk past them to the outside. You hear them pause in conversation, feel both sets of eyes following you, but ignore it. You go outside, not really knowing why. A deep breath, fresh air, but the smell of hot metal mixes with it, the Marauder. It looks terrible, battered, it's not going to take off anytime soon. All of a sudden, you become sad at the sight of the battered shuttle. It's like a reflection of the overall situation, also of how you feel, broken. "It's all a fucking wreckage, all of it," you mutter quietly to yourself, wrapping your arms around your own body. Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you spin around, startled. Crosshair is standing behind you. "Are you okay, Kitten?"

You shake your head and say, "No," then turn back to look at the Marauder, "I'm kind of like the Marauder, I guess." "Hmm" he mumbles quietly, "I know things are looking grim right now, but if there's one thing you can count on, it's Echo's stubbornness" You frown and ask without looking at him, "What do you mean?" Crosshair laughs softly and says, "He's way too stubborn to die. Echo always wants to take care of everyone and keep everything in order, he won't let this incident, stop him from continuing to do that, especially now that you've become part of his life." You blink away a few tears and say softly in a hushed voice, "I don't think you've ever said so many words in a row to me, except in your letter." Crosshair sighs softly and says, "It was never necessary before" "You guys okay?" you hear Hunter ask standing in the doorway to the cabin. "Sure," you say without turning around, "Everything's okay."

Several hours pass, almost a whole day, until Wrecker finally comes out of the infirmary. You've fallen asleep on the sofa in the lounge, under the watchful eyes of Hunter and Crosshair, who both don't quite know how to deal with you at the moment. Wrecker gently shakes your shoulder, when you open your eyes you immediately grab his collar and ask him urgently, "How is Echo?" "He's alive, he survived the procedure," Wrecker says softly, releasing your fingers from his collar and helping you to your feet. Euphoria spreads through you, everything tingles, everything glows. But you don't dare jump for joy yet. There's a feeling inside you like you often have, but this time you can't really grasp it. Even though you just heard that Echo is alive, there is a strange feeling of emptiness inside you, as if something is missing, something essential. The feeling clouds the tingling with a dull, ominous throb that lingers in your chest as you enter the hospital room together. Tech seems slain, very tired, relieved but also strangely concerned. Your feeling begins to be confirmed, something is wrong. Uned Van turns his remaining eye on you, scrutinizing, waiting. He knows you will ask questions. You look at Echo, his head partially bandaged, a small monitor showing his vital signs.

Uned Van's tinny voice addresses you, "He'll be back on his artificial legs soon." "But?" you ask automatically, though no one has implied a 'but' yet. The cyber-Duros wants to answer, but Tech wearily raises a hand and says, "Let me handle this" "Ad'ika," Tech begins quietly, "Echo's brain has been largely replaced, by circuit boards, chips, artificial components. Most of them were fried beyond repair and had to be replaced" You blink, feeling your heart trying to burrow deeper inside you, you suspect something, but remain silent. Tech continues, "When brain tissue is damaged it may be able to recover and restore old memories with time, in this case that is not possible. We don't know how much of his memories Echo lost, how much and what of it was stored in the artificial components." Quietly, barely more than a whisper, you ask, "It could be that he has forgotten me, our time together?"

Tech sighs softly and nods, "In fact, it could be that he has forgotten all of us, it could be that his last memories are the ones just before the explosion." Your chest gets so tight that you can't breathe for a moment. There are a lot of things going through your mind, but contrary to your expectation, it's not that he won't know you anymore that worries you the most. "He's going to have to go through it all again? The realization that his body has been changed? That he lost his brothers, Fives, Kix, Hardcase, Jessy..." You interrupt yourself, trying to take a deep breath. "Maybe," Tech says, "It's not certain, but unfortunately, it's quite likely." Everything inside you tightens, wants to knot up, to crawl away. Echo stirs on the exam table. You rush to his side, as he opens his eyes and looks at you, you see the confusion in it, a tiny bit of panic. You feel miserable, but you smile gently at him. "Hi, Echo," you say softly. He frowns and looks around. "What's going on here? Where am I? Who are you?"

The last question cuts like a razor blade, but you're still smiling as you answer him quietly, "I'm a friend, you're safe, among friends." "Friends?" He tries to look around more, but can barely move yet. Confusion slowly turns into more panic, you see it clearly in his eyes. "I should be dead, the explosion, I'm sure I should be dead.... I, I can't feel my legs"

.....

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@moon-wrecked

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usafphantom2 · 6 months

Text

WHAT? No Ice Cream cone?

Before the U2 and the SR 71, the United States used the RB 47E and H. These brave men need to be appreciated for what they did. They risked their life over and over again.

Following its first flight on July 3, 1953, the RB-47E performed some of the most sensitive reconnaissance missions of the Cold War. During its service, at least two of these planes were lost flying missions over the Soviet Union. One incident involving an RB-47E occurred during a photographic mission over the Soviet Union. The plane was intercepted and fired upon by Soviet MiGs and sustained wing damage.

General Curtis LeMay, Chief of Staff of the Air Force, responded to the men telling him that the Soviets had attacked their airplane. ‘What do you do you expect them to do? Give you an ice cream cone🍦”

Fortunately, it could outrun them at altitude and return to base.

My father, Butch Sheffield, graduated from Cadets in 1955. He was selected to go to B-47 navigation bombardier school at Mather Air Force Base , CA. After graduating, he was assigned to Little Rock Air Force Base. Soon after, in January 1957, his squadron went to England to practice bomb runs. The next paragraph is from my father, Col. Richard “Butch” Sheffield's unpublish Book.

“My targets were in Russia and mostly air bases near large cities. I had to know the target so well that I could bomb it in my sleep. Every six months or so, we would change targets. I believe this was because more bombers and missiles were coming into the fleet, and the targets were reassigned to add them.

“We were briefed that if we had to bail out in Russia, we should dig a hole three feet deep, get in it, and wait till the war was over, then go to a safe area where we would be picked up U. S. Forces. This was hard for us to stomach, but we kept our mouths shut. My B-47 Aircraft Commander, Merle JeuDevine, was a real maverick. Our crew was selected by the SAC Inspector General (IG) to brief him on our war plan, and he asked us about how we would evade the enemy on the ground in Russia. He asked what we would do as soon as we arrived in Russia.

Merle told him that the first thing he would do was throw the cal. Thirty-eight handguns we carried as far as he could. The IG looked shocked. He said why? Merle said they would be looking for us with automatic weapons; we don’t stand a chance with that handgun. To my surprise, the General agreed.

Arming Mark 6-mode-6

The bomb we carried in the early part of the B-47 Program was the Mark-6, Mod. -6. It was a six hundred-kiloton weapon. It was like the weapons used on Japan in as much as it needed to be armed in flight by putting the critical mass, U-238 plutonium, into the bomb.

My job was to arm it while we refueled in-flight at fifteen thousand feet in the aircraft's bomb bay. This was hard to do because the aircraft was bouncing around as we refueled behind the KC-97. The critical mass was very heavy, and the threads on the mass were very fine. We were told to do it while wearing our parachute and to wear heavy gloves, neither of which we could do and accomplish the mission. When we landed, the IG would look into the bomb bay before we could taxi back to the park. It had to be done and had to be done right, or we flunked, so we did it.

--Special film of my target

In the late 1950’s, I was told to go to the Wing Plans Division. They took me into a vault, and I was told that I could not tell anyone what I was about to see, even my own crew.

They then showed me a radar film of my target in Leningrad, Russia. It looked like the same type of radar I had in my B-47. I believe it was from an RB-47.”

I asked my friend, Robert Hopkins. He said, “Your Dad was watching films of a bomb run over the USSR. They were movies of the radar track collected in 1956 when SAC flew 156 overflights of the USSR as part of operations HOME RUN crews use the movies taken by RB-47Es for target study.

Written by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

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sundaymorningdew · 2 years

Text

[23:10pm]

pairing: jeonghan x reader

genre: wedding crasher! jeonghan, angsty angst, fluff.

wc: 2103

an: i have brainworms but be kind about them

masterlist

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace”

Such a simple question, such a loaded question.

It should bring a sense of silence to the crowd of a wedding, as everyone looks in awe at the happy couple standing at the altar; their faces flushed with love and adoration for each other. The tensing of a hand or the readjustment of a coat should send everyone in the room into a frenzy at the thought of an objection, but Jeonghan didn’t do anything half-assed, not even ruining someone’s big day.

No Jeonghan did things his way, his insufferable and stupidly dramatic way; it wasn’t the simple standing up from the back of the room either, it was the crashing of the church doors opening, it was the matching to the middle of the aisle that you had just shakily walked down, it was the soft but strong sound of his voice dropping like a pin in the silence.

“I object,” His jaw was tense, but his hands were loose by his sides, “I object to this union.” He reiterated.

Today was supposed to be about you, you were supposed to be the star of the show; white gown trailing behind you, a soft veil covering your face, the intricate strands of hair pulled to perfection. But somehow, just standing there in a simple suit, his burgundy hair framing his face and down to his chin, he looked even better than you as he ruined your day.

You expected this, however, him being here wasn’t out of the blue, nor was it something you hadn’t morally prepared for, but he still managed to catch you off-guard. Chest tightening as you remembered just a few days prior.

“Don’t marry him,” His voice has bubbled with something so deep it changed the way it sounded now, buried in your hair and breathing you in like you were a candle about to disappear, “If you’re even having a semblance of a second thought, don’t do it.” He had begged.

“What do I have left if I don’t?” You chipped back, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt in a dangerous embrace, “What if this is my only shot…” You knew your words had hurt him.

“If he was your only shot…” He pulled back to look at your, hands on your arms like he wanted to shake sense into you, “Then, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Jeonghan…” You had bubbled to him, knuckles white as the dress hanging just a few feet from the two of you.

“Don’t marry him.”

“Pardon?” The man who might as well have been faceless to you now spat, hands gripping your own so tight you were rooted to the spot with more than fear, “What are you doing here.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Jeonghan spoke calmly back, eyes focused only on yours, “I’m talking to her.”

“Jeonghan please…” You begged softly, the words falling on deaf ears.

“And for what reason, young man, should these two not be joined in a union?” The officiate spoke clearly, the rest of the room eager to hear just why he’d crashed the place.

“Lots of reasons if I’m honest,” He said without missing a beat, “But mostly the fact that I’m in love with the bride and have been since we were kids.” Your jaw opened softly as the breath in your lungs gave out.

“This is ridiculous,” Your fiancé snapped, voice booming off the walls as you could only flinch at the volume, “Get him out of here.” He snapped looking at his groomsman, the men only able to stand there in a state of conflict.

“That isn’t up to you,” Jeonghan tensed, teeth practically cracking in anger, “It’s up to her.”

You wondered at that moment if something vile could slip between the cracks in the old floor and wrap itself around your legs, dragging you to some far-off hellish land that was comfortable than this situation; more comfortable than your heart beating so fast out of your chest that you were sure it was going to give out.

He was right there, your Jeonghan.

The kid who picked you up when you were 5 years old and had tripped on a stray toy; soothing your juvenile cries with gentle words and smiles while he pressed a tissue to your bloody knee. The teenager who drove 2 hours to pick you up in the rain when the guy you were seeing at the time ditched you for his friends, arms open and jacket warm, ready to make the pain go away. The man who had begged you not to seal your life away to someone who only treated you like a commodity, voice terse and words sharp as he reminded you that love shouldn’t have to be begged for, you should know when it’s there.

The man who had crashed your wedding day to tell you all the words he could never tell you before, at risk of losing everyone in his life had burst down the doors one last time to jeopardise it all for you. The only person who was worth fighting for.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it,” He spoke to you, taking a step forward to let you know it’s okay, “You know that…”

“Honey,” Your fiancé tugged your hand to him, forcing you to look at him as tears flooded your vision, “Look at me.” He demanded.

Look at him. The ration part of your brain begged, the part of your brain that reminded you of stability and of obligation, the part of your brain you begged to stop talking at every turn.

And so, you did.

“I’m sorry.” You trembled out, eyes glassy and chest hurting, “I’m so sorry.” You eased your hand from him, his chasing yours as you stepped back.

“Honey,” The voice you had once loved begged you one last time.

You could only shake your head.

“I can’t marry you,” You bubbled, “I can’t do it.”

Time had stopped at that moment like there was no one else in the church but the sound of your breathing and heartbeat; rattling in your skull like a power trying to get out and protect you, but it wasn’t going to happen. You could feel a million eyes on you, their various looks of shock and displeasure sinking into your pores like vicious leeches wondering why you were doing this.

It wasn’t until you felt the gentlest of touches on your arm that it melted away, the soft feeling of a thumb soothing away all the pain as it turned you back towards the aisle; your eye was looking down the 4 steps to the man who had caused all of this.

“Come with me,” He had spoken barely louder than someone would at a wake, but it had felt so loud on your ears, “Baby, it’s okay…”

His hand traveled down your arm, brushing past the silk that covered them; warmth seeping through the fabric, to grasp your hand this time. It felt like you were walking away from everything you knew as you got to the bottom of those steps, knees weak and completely ready to give out as you looked at him.

When you imagined walking back down the aisle it wasn’t under these terms; hand firmly clasped with a man that wasn’t your husband while everyone you had invited to your special day looked at you walk away from the other name on the invite. It wasn’t filled with a sense of anxiety as the ominous stares and judgment seeped into your core, and it certainly wasn’t walking away with your best friend who just exclaimed to a crowd of 150+ people that he was in love with you.

But as the religious imagery bled into the greenery of the outside, you felt like you could breathe a bit easier; the warm spring air licking at your skin and the sharp smell of flowers tickling your nose as you stopped again, tugging your hand away from Jeonghan.

“What was that.” You asked like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I believe that was me crashing your wedding,” He hummed looking you up and down in your dress, you looked beautiful, but it wasn’t right for you now, “Or do you mean the other thing?”

“The other thing…” You swallowed deeply, “What was it.”

“That I’m in love with you?” He smiled faintly, “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“Jeonghan,” You sighed, “Don’t do this now, you’ve just crashed my wedding and embarrassed me in front of possibly everyone I know, say what you mean or I’m going to walk away from you too.” You snapped softly.

Jeonghan was never good with emotions, he wore them on his sleeve, but his eyes and lips would never tell you that; he’d hurt in silence and then crack some quip, like his heart could never bleed. He wasn’t used to outwardly stating what he wanted like he’d just done, it caused his chest to clench in a way he wasn’t used to, and his stomach to knot itself so tight his words vomited out his mouth.

But he’d watch you walk away too many times; slide into someone’s arms that weren’t his, press kisses to the mouths of people that didn’t even deserve to be even looked at. Look at everyone that wasn’t him, but he was here now, and his actions spoke louder than his mouth ever could.

So, this time he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, press his forehead against yours and breathe you in like you were the oxygen he needed to keep going.

“I know I’m insanely late,” He whispered, it was only for you to hear, “And I know I’ve backed you into a corner, but I’m trying to tell you everything I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

“I’m so stupidly and pathetically in love with you that I drove 3 hours away from home to tell you,” He swallowed thickly, “I’d drive days if it meant I had to do it again; cross every ocean and hill to tell you.”

“You’re everything I wanted and needed,” His hand reached up to your cheek, ghosting his thumb over the wet trail your tear had left there, “I would have fought until my last breath to tell you how much you mean to me in there.”

“So, I know I’m stupidly late, and honestly just plain stupid,” He breathed out, nose brushing yours gently, “But I’m also so ridiculously in love with you that it hurts.”

“Jeonghan…” You wept softly, tears bleeding down your face and into his hands as he shushed you softly.

When you imagined kissing your best friend before this day, you imagined the gentle clench of a heart and a whirlpool of feelings inside; you imagined it being during a dare or a drunken accident that the two of you would later brush off.

You didn’t imagine his lips would press to yours in a way that made you so dizzy, it was like you drank every bottle of wine in your cooler. You didn’t imagine the sheer intensity of emotion slinking from his mouth to yours as he drank you up like you were the last drop of water on earth; the gentle pressure of his mouth sliding against yours, tickling your top lip with peaks of his tongue as he imprinted himself into your being. Hands grasping at shirts, and his holding your face like you could slip away at any moment; if this was love you never wanted to be without it.

If this was his love, you’d surely die if you never got to feel this way again.

“I love you.” He spoke softly as he pulled away from you, eyes still closed and lips pouted, “I love you so much I’d ruin another wedding just to tell you again.” You laughed at that, watery and full of love.

“I love you too,” You sobbed softly, “But please never do that to me again, don’t make me wait forever.”

“You’ll never have to wait again.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You promise?” You leaned your head into his lips.

“With everything I have,” He smiled.

This was love, and it was so tactlessly Jeonghan’s it ached.

“Plus,” He smirked softly, “I think Josh would have a heart attack if I stole his car again and drove a whole other city over.”

He never did anything half-assed after all.

#jeonghan x reader #seventeen fic #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fic #jeonghan x you #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #svt fic #svt x you #svt x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines

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skelavender · 3 months

Text

Mulder is, miraculously, asleep on his couch. He’s been sleeping even worse than she has, he always does, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t be awake when she arrived. As quietly as possible, Scully settles onto the floor next to him, leaning her shoulder against the couch and crunching her knees into the coffee table. Mulder lays on his side, facing the room, and when she shuffles in closer, he rouses. His eyes blink open slowly and take her in. “Scully? Wa’s wrong?” “Nothing,” she smiles at him, “Go back to sleep, Mulder.”

read chapter one of shelter on ao3, or below the cut!

Dear friend,

I felt it shelter to speak to you.

— Emily Dickinson, Letter 533

***

November 1995

He’s in a forest, alone. Wandering. He has been for a while. It’s getting boring.

A branch creaks above him, and when he looks up, he sees her. Scully, in a long, flowing, white dress. She’s glowing, ethereal.

“Hey, Mulder,” she says as she floats down from her tree branch.

“Hi, Scully. Where are we?”

Scully waves her hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter.”

“What’s with the getup?”

Scully cocks her head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“The whole fantasy princess-slash-warrior look. Did you pick up a LARPing hobby you neglected to tell me about? I’m offended, I would’ve sent you to my costume guy.”

“Mulder you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“Wildly confusing sometimes.”

They fall into step, continuing along the path Mulder had been following.

“Will you at least tell me what’s in the pouch?”

“Hm?” She pays the leather drawstring pouch dangling from the belt at her waist, “Oh those are just The Cards, you know that.”

“The Cards?”

“Mhmm. Do you want a reading?”

Instead of thinking too hard, Mulder just nods and accepts the offer. They sit across from each other on a log, with enough space between them to lay the cards out.

Scully shuffles the well-loved tarot deck with practiced hands. Two cards pop out onto the log between them. One depicts two people stood across from each other, holding cups with a weird bird thing in the sky between them. The other has a rainbow with goblets on it, and people below celebrating the occurrence.

“Interesting.” Scully all but purrs.

“What?”

“Two of cups. It signifies a union. A deep bond or partnership.” Her fingers brush along the rainbow on the other card. “And the ten of cups, representing happiness. Bliss.”

Scully runs her hand along the deck and carefully selects another. She flips it to reveal a card depicting two people approaching a building in the distance.

Scully smiles. “Four of wands. Homecoming, and joy. Something… blooming.”

“Blooming?” He asks, “What does that mean?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

She selects the last card.

The world is slipping away.

Mulder?

It’s fading. He wants to see the card.

Mulder, wake up.

She places it on the log between them. He catches a glance of the image of two figures, both nude, with another figure in the sky between them before —

Mulder shoots up straight. “Wassit mean, Scully?”

“What?”

Mulder blinks sleepily, and Scully comes into focus. He’s at his desk in the office, with Scully standing over him, one hand on his shoulder where she’s been shaking him to rouse him from his slumber.

“I was— you were— I had a dream.”

“You had a dream about me?”

“You had magic powers. And you read tarot cards for me.”

“Oh yeah? And did I predict a good future for you, Mulder?” Her lips are cocked in a teasing manner.

“Something about… blooming? You wouldn’t tell me what it meant.”

“How horribly vague of me.” She finally leans out of his space and takes her seat at the chair across from him. “Did you stay here last night?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well. Got here around 3, thought I might as well review my report.”

“Worse than usual?” Scully tries to avoid concern from flooding her voice, but Mulder can hear it.

“Yeah. I think I’ve gotten… six hours this week? maybe closer to seven now.”

“God, Mulder, how are you even upright?”

“We should open an X-file on that. Maybe it’s aliens.”

She rolls her eyes. Mulder taps a file on the desk, which he had fallen asleep on top of. “No, seriously. Aliens. Thoughts? I don’t have a slide show yet, but I’m sure I can whip one up.”

As the beginnings of their days go, this one is relatively normal.

***

Weekend movies are not a usual occurrence for them, but when Scully calls him around noon on a Sunday asking if he’s busy, he can’t say no to her. Not when he has the opportunity to see her relaxing on his couch and soak up her attention like a sponge.

When Mulder swings the open door at her knock, she wiggles the VHS in her hand, a film they had discussed a mutual interest in at the office earlier in the week, and slithers past him into the apartment without a word.

“Do I have to worry about whatever I’m about to take out of the tape player, Mulder?” is the first thing she says, while she’s crouching in front of his TV.

“Don’t worry, Scully, all the truly horrifying stuff is hidden away.” He offers a lopsided smile and she rolls her eyes fondly before pressing the tape she brought into the player and joining him on the couch, scant inches between their thighs.

Over the course of the film, those inches shrink, and by the second act Scully finds herself laid out on the couch with her knees on Mulder’s lap. His fingers trace the skin above her knee where her skirt has ridden up. The light graze of his fingers across her bare skin is electrifying, so much so that she’s losing track of the plot of the movie.

Shapes, she realizes, he’s drawing some kind of shapes. In a pattern. She can’t place it, but the action repeats on a loop over and over, soothing her further into slumber.

She’s asleep before the movie finishes, red hair splayed across the arm of the couch.

***

December 1995

Scully slips her key into the lock, and swings the door open tentatively. It squeaks if it goes too far too fast, and she doesn’t need to wake anyone up at this time of night.

She avoids the squeak, and steps inside on light feet before locking the door behind her. Avoids the spot on the floor by the table that also squeaks, and sets her jacket over the back of a chair before approaching the living room.

Mulder is, miraculously, asleep on his couch. He’s been sleeping even worse than she has, he always does, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t be awake when she arrived.

As quietly as possible, Scully settles onto the floor next to him, leaning her shoulder against the couch and crunching her knees into the coffee table. Mulder lays on his side, facing the room, and when she shuffles in closer, he rouses.

His eyes blink open slowly and take her in. “Scully? Wa’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she smiles at him, “Go back to sleep, Mulder.” She rests her head on the couch, face less than a foot from his, and closes her eyes. When she feels Mulder’s hand tangle itself in her hair to scratch at her scalp, she sighs. They both drift off within minutes.

***

Scully’s asleep in the office, her head resting on her arms where they’re folding next to her microscope. She has been for about an hour, since Mulder heard a thunk from Scully’s corner and his head snapped up to make sure nothing had happened. When he noticed she had just fallen asleep, he decided to just let her rest. It’s not like they were in the middle of anything important anyway. The lull between cases had been much needed.

He’d noticed Scully’s tiredness before she had shown up at his apartment a couple weeks ago, but since then the signs had appeared far more frequently. Heavy makeup under her eyes can only cover the dark circles so much.

A knock sounds at the door, and it swings open to reveal Skinner before Mulder can respond. He steps inside the office.

“Mulder, I have questions about–”

“ Shhh !” Mulder gestures towards Scully’s, thankfully still sleeping, form. He rises from his desk chair and ushers Skinner into the hallway, closing the door gently behind them.

“Is Agent Scully okay?” Skinner asks.

“I think she’s been, uh, having trouble sleeping. I decided it would be best to let her nap.”

“Do you know why?”

“She hasn’t mentioned anything.” And when she fell asleep on my floor at 3AM, she left before I woke up, so I didn’t exactly get a chance to ask her then , he doesn’t add.

Mulder answers Skinner’s questions about his recent report and returns to his desk and sleeping partner.

***

January 1996

Scully is held upright mostly by the cart in front of her. She’s not even entirely sure what on her list has actually made it into said cart, but she’s hoping it’s enough to feed her, and Mulder on the days he shows up, for the week.

She hasn’t slept well since they returned from a case in New England a couple days previously. Really, that just meant she hadn’t slept well since Mulder was sleeping under the same roof as her.

That’s the pattern. She’s known since she had snuck into his apartment on a particularly draining sleepless night and fallen asleep in a blink when he was touching her. She’s tried teas and sleep aids, but Mulder’s presence has been the most effective.

“I like your sweatshirt.”

An unfamiliar voice brings Scully back to the present, where she’s been staring at the back of a box of Triscuits for too long, not processing any of the numbers in front of her. She blinks the person’s face into focus. It’s no one she recognizes.

“Did you go to Oxford?” He asks, nodding down to her chest. She looks at what she’s wearing, and whaddya know, it says Oxford right there on her front. It’s Mulder’s sweatshirt, one that he usually sleeps in but had somehow made it into Scully’s luggage a couple of cases ago. It’s well loved and comfortable, which is why she had thrown it on after getting home from work and before running to the store.

“No,” Scully finally replies, “It’s my husband’s. He went.”

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. The truth – or this truth, at least – is instinctual.

She throws the box in her hand into her cart and shuffles out of the aisle, not having the energy to reflect on the interaction.

***

Scully is shoulder deep in her closet, plucking through dresses and suits she hasn’t had the opportunity to wear in months to years. She’s dead set on wearing her maroon suit today but can’t find it. It’s not at the cleaners, it hasn’t fallen to the bottom of the closet, and it’s not in the pressed stack on the chair in the corner that is waiting to go to the cleaners. And, clearly, it’s not on a hanger.

She tries thinking back to the last time she wore it. A couple weeks ago, in the office, she hadn’t had an autopsy so she wouldn’t have any reason to take it off, but she was ready for a nap and hadn’t wanted to stop at home to change before going to–

Oh. Mulder’s.

She’s surprised she hasn’t run into this problem yet. Half her clothes are at Mudler’s at this point, waiting for a morning where she’s getting ready there. In exchange, half of his are at her place, tucked into the drawer she’s cleared for him and hung neatly by her hand, pushing the dresses she doesn’t get to wear further into the back of her closet.

“Damn,” she tells the wardrobe, pushing her wedding dress back into place next to one she wore on a first date four years ago and never since. Mudler pops his head out of the bathroom across the hall.

“Whaf wong?” He asks through a mouth full of toothpaste.

“The suit I want to wear is at your apartment, and we won’t have time to stop by on the way to the office.”

“Which wom?” He leans back into the bathroom to spit.

“The red one.”

Mulder saunters into the bedroom and leans past Scully to point to one of the hangers. “What about this one?”

“That’s brown, Mulder.”

“Well yeah, but the shirt you usually wear it with is a similar color, right?” Scully looks up at him, a little in awe. “What, is it actually green? I was so sure of that one, damn.”

“No, it’s the same color. I’m just surprised you pay that close attention to what I wear.”

Mulder taps his temple, “Photographic memory, remember?”

Uh huh.

It’s true. She knows he pays attention, he always has. Their dynamic has shifted in the last few months, a phony marriage will do that to people, but it had been true before then as well. For the past three years, they’ve been growing to fill the other’s gaps. Recently, these changes have been to make room for the other in their life. To allow for their flaws, and love one another including them.

They have little habits that their partner would never have noticed before they started — in the most literal use of the term — sleeping together. For example, Mulder drools in his sleep. Scully endures this, and buys another set of pillowcases to rotate out as needed. Scully takes up an absurd amount of space in the bathroom. By the second night she stayed over, Mulder had jewelry and soaps and creams he didn't even know the purpose of sprawling across his bathroom. He installed another shelf next to the sink, and moved his own stuff to the higher one so she can actually reach it. He even put a small dish on the counter meant for her earrings and necklaces, though she rarely takes the latter off, even to sleep. Often, when they’re home and in only each other’s company, she’ll even wear the ring proudly, atop her shirt for the walls of the apartment to see. In private is the only place it’s safe for her to do so.

So yes, Scully knows that they’ve changed each other. But she hadn’t known that he had paid such close attention to her.

She puts on the brown suit with the red shirt, and they pile into the car.

next chapter ->

#the x files #LTWrites #LTW: shelter #fall into place series #.txt #fics

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weepylucifer · 5 months

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steban and uli. prompt 17

17. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

They're squeezed inside a broom closet, uncomfortably close to each other, where Cindy pushed them in, locked the door and ran away, vowing not to open said door until they "deal with their feelings", whatever that means. Naturally, Ulixes isn't going to take that lying down, and is searching the door for anything - structural weaknesses, a way to force the lock open.

"The cleaning lady has a second key," Steban supplies. "And she comes here every day when her shift starts and ends."

Ulixes pauses running his fingers down the edge of the door and says, "This is good news."

"Yes, well, the bad news is that she probably already turned in for the night." Steban scrunches up his face in silent apology, as if this situation is his fault. "Maybe we should just... do what Cindy says and discuss 'our feelings', whatever that means?"

Panicking, drowning on dry land, Ulixes says, "I have no idea what she might have been referring to."

"Then we best get comfortable... looks like we'll be trapped for a while..."

---

They're hunkered down with their backs to a barricade that's not even really meant to be A Barricade writ large, just a few apartment buildings' worth of people - it's becoming increasingly en vogue to think of them in terms of 'civilians' - who have banded together to block off their street by haphazardly piling up furniture in a desperate bid to defend their doorsteps from the roving mobs of all political persuasions, the burnings, the break-ins, the random violence. But to Coalition ground response, a barricade is a barricade: a sign of resistance. They are under orders to dismantle barricades as they find them. Slowly but surely, the defenders are being hemmed in. What at first looked like a refuge to the people here is turning into a kettle.

Uli knows that Steban knew that this would happen. They're here anyway. The alternative would have been abandoning these people to their fates.

"How's that radio coming along, Ulixes?" Steban asks as he peers out beyond the barricade through the scope of a rifle. (His fingers have grown disturbingly steady on the gun and Uli doesn't like it at all.)

He sighs. "I don't exactly know how this thing works, Steban." If he sounds a little snippy, surely the circumstances will excuse it. "I just saw a comrade handle one at the aid station."

"There we go, you're practically an expert." Steban pats his shoulder. "Look, if you can't get this thing to transmit, there'll be no way to call on the unions for help."

"I..." Ulixes begins, but is interrupted by the sound of a gunshot tearing through the air. It comes from outside.

Steban scrambles to his feet, hissing what is undoubtedly a curse in Mesque. "Shit, they're starting to breach." He turns to his squadron, grabbing their weapons, and the locals cowering in fear. In that beauteous and disturbing new command voice he acquired when they were separated, Steban shouts, "Alright, everyone who has a gun to the front here, please! Children and the elderly in the back! Ulixes, you can grab your medical stuff and set up a field hospital behind the bombed-out car over there and keep at readiness. Vamonos!"

Ulixes grabs his crutch and rises, groping for his bag of scavenged medical supplies. Who knew it would turn out like this? He doesn't even have a weapon on him apart from the knife he uses, mostly, to cut bandages. "What about the radio?" he asks.

"Work on it whenever you find the time, but prioritise the wounded." Steban is already trying to affix his bayonet. He seems to be anticipating close combat.

"But if we can't signal for reinforcements..."

"Yeah. Looks like we'll be trapped for a while."

---

They're sitting at the kitchen table of an apartment that's still cramped by most standards, but leagues larger than what they used to have - they have a kitchen now, and enough space to put a table in it. There's even a bathroom, and a tiny balcony. Accomplished men, they are.

"If I manage to get elected, apparently there will be a small salary," Steban is saying.

It has astonished Ulixes somewhat that, after finishing their degrees together, Steban hasn't wanted to stick around and lecture like Ulixes is doing. That he'd get this embroiled in political work that is, quite obviously, not going to be leading much of anywhere. Sure, a part of Steban is very fond of quibbling over ideological minutiae, but to make a career out of that...?

"I know what you're thinking of our new parliament... I wholeheartedly concur," Steban says now. "But this'll be a decent enough recruiting ground for the next coup attempt."

"Do you think there will be one?" Ulixes asks.

"If no new attempt at revolution is forthcoming, we shall manufacture one," Steban replies like it's self-evident, like the war didn't suck any desire for violence out of him (Ulixes fears it didn't, but rather added desire where there used to be none). Steban looks good now, with his sleek hair and crisp shirt and neatly trimmed beard, but Ulixes perceives his eyes and knows he can become what he became in the Return again.

"This new so-called independence is nominal only, and people will realize that," Steban continues. "We exchanged a foreign occupant for a domestic one, that's all. Sure, we can form political parties, even communist ones, but there's no real power to them. People will see. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually."

"So we go back to hiding." Ulixes sighs. How disappointing.

"For now. Best if people think we've settled down. I'll take a small, meaningless post in parliament, and let our friends in the RCM believe I've given up on real revolution. It happens all the time, people grow older, they start to compromise, they start to let reaction take hold and abandon their radical ideas. It'll look convincing. Once they believe us to be harmless, we'll make new plans."

It's probably good to tread carefully for now - there had been voices in the new security oversight council, staffed with ranking RCM members and their friends, calling for putting them both in prison. Still, a part of Ulixes, the one that was louder before his injury, clamors in frustration. "And there's nothing else to do right now."

"Not right now, not anytime soon," Steban says glumly. "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while..."

---

"It looks like," Steban begins, "we'll be..."

"Don't say it," Uli interrupts him. "There is absolutely no need to say it."

"We are on the Western Plain, Ulixes, and life as we know it has ended. Grant me this one affectation."

"I need grant you nothing," Ulixes says. As he nests in middle age, makes himself comfortable in it, he finds curmudgeonliness suits him. Their conversations have, after two decades of quasi-married life, a levity to them that they didn't have at the start. Back then, Ulixes would have never imagined they'd bicker one day. They're fonder of each other than ever.

In less harmonious news: everything else.

A patch of... well, of what? Of matter, of being, of reality extends outwards from them. To their knowledge, this is the last speck of real world that is left. The pale is diffuse, but Ulixes could swear he can physically feel it, pressing against their little sanctuary, threatening to squash it into nothing, into itself. The perimeter holds, for now, but there is no guarantee - no guarantee at all - that it will continue to. Will he be feeling that pressure forever from now on, every passing moment, until he dies or the perimeter collapses, or the world, through some miracle, changes again? For a moment, fear almost chokes him.

How can they possibly presume to be strong enough to keep this up? Who are they to entertain such hubris? They're just some guys. How can they possibly be able to beat back entropy?

Steban squeezes his hand. "It's okay," he murmurs. "It'll be okay. As long as we stick together."

He turns to the small group of people huddling behind them, frightened, grieving, untethered. Friends, comrades, followers and whoever they managed to grab and pull along.

The remnants of the world.

And the last people in it.

Steban doesn't give a speech, not really. He just says, in his soft voice that always manages to sound like he's talking to everyone here confidentially, "Alright, we knew this day would come. We practiced for this. We cultivated our plasm. I know you're scared, I know you're asking yourselves where we can go from here, if we have what it takes to keep this up, if we can make the communal effort. And I know that we can try, and we have to try."

"What now?" someone pipes up from the back.

"Now we will build a tower." Suddenly, quickly, Steban leans in and whispers in Uli's ear, "Because it looks like we'll be trapped for a while."

He smirks and dodges as Ulixes bats at him with his cane and an inarticulate shout of indignance and, Ulixes thinks, maybe with Steban, even the pale will be bearable.

They roll up their sleeves, and get to work once more.

#answer'd #i had several ideas for this and couldn't decide on which one to do #so 'small vignettes for each one' was the solution!#speculations on how steban and uli's lives may go #writings by me #steban the student communist #ulixes #disco elysium

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

Text

The Boscombe Valley Mystery pt 2

Not part 3... yet. I didn't check my email until after both parts had been sent, so I managed to do these in the right order. Woo!

A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.

Another flattering description. Although I must say, 'leather leggings'?? We were robbed. I have never seen a version of Lestrade wearing leather leggings and a duster. He sounds more like he's LARPing than investigating a crime. It's so steampunk of him. Like... this is the kind of thing people wear as a steampunk outfit and other people say it's not Victorian.

If leggings were a different thing back then Do Not Tell Me! I want to live with this image forever.

"It is entirely a question of barometric pressure." Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said. "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a case-full of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night." Lestrade laughed indulgently.

Is this Holmes' long-winded way of saying that he doesn't need the carriage because it's not going to rain? But then he's also saying he's not going out because the sofa is so comfortable. (Coming up: S Holmes' monograph on the relative comfort of differing couches and their proxximity to the countryside).

Also, Lestrade is just... 'I tried to be helpful' and is soundly rejected, but just laughs it off.

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.

Well, Watson thinks she's hot. 😂 Little bit of a different description from some of the other characters he's met. This is practically indecent. Lol.

"Mr McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet."

That is... not the way round I was expecting. So he wanted them to marry and the kids didn't. It's unclear here whether they didn't want to marry because they consider each other as siblings or if he specifically didn't want to be tied down so young. Fair, either way, but a bit of a surprise. I was expecting parental disapproval.

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?" "No, he was averse to it also.

Ah, there's the parental disapproval. But only on one side. So it seems a bit like McCarthy is trying to marry his son to his 'friend's' daughter in order to get something from the exchange, but his 'friend' doesn't like that idea.

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important." "Yes, at the mines." "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr Turner made his money."

Ah, there's a gold mine involved. That seems like it might be a motive.

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill..."

Really jarring to see 'dad' in use here. I never think of that having been used in the 19th century. It made me do a double take. I know that 'dada' is hugely wide in usage by children, going back probably millennia, but to see an adult in a Victorian story refer to their 'dad' is just... huh.

Also, Mr Turner being sick and bedridden feels like it might fit into this jigsaw somewhere? Is it a ruse to give himself an alibi?

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I love the throughline in this that both Mary and Holmes seem convinced that Watson is incapable of entertaining himself. Mary sends him off to stay with Sherlock when she's away and Sherlock here is worried that Watson won't have enough enrichment if he leaves him alone for a couple of hours.

He's a fully grown man, not a puppy. Lmao.

But then again...

I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room...

Holmes is apparently right. I mean, I completely understand the mood. I just find it amusing that it only takes less than a couple of hours without Holmes for Watson to deteriorate from aimlessly wandering the streets to throwing books across the room.

Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head.

SCIENCE!

This is... kind of adorable. I mean, if it wasnt a description of deadly wounds on a corpse.

"He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."

(I believe this is James Purefoy playing the part of James MCCarthy in the granada series, but this being the internet, I cannot be sure.)

Seriously, though. Confirmed Himbo Young McCarthy. Pretty and well-meaning but not very smart.

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?"

LOL I shouldn't laugh, but... but yeah. Lolololol. Oh Young Mr McCarthy, this makes so much more sense. And it reads like the plot of an Austen novel. It practically is the plot of Sense and Sensibility. Except at least in that one they're only engaged, not full on married.

It does kind of suck, though. Where is his wife? Did she seduce him? Or were they both just swept away in it all?

Does Mr Turner know about the secret wife and is that why he's against the marriage? But you'd assume if he knew he'd tell Mr McCarthy (the dead one, not the himbo). So I've got to assume that Mr Turner doesn't know.

"Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them."

...

Bahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Oh this is hilarious. I just... I can't remember this from the Granada series. This is just a comedy. I mean on the one hand he's accused of murder at a time the death penalty is still in use in the UK. On the other hand, at least he's no longer trapped in a marriage he doesn't want to be in! Always look on the bright side.

I feel like I should be trying to take this seriously. A man is dead. But I just can't.

"One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned."

And as our research last time informed us 'cooee' originated in Australia and therefore leads to the conclusion that he was meeting someone from Australia. Either Mr Turner or someone else who has come from Australia unbeknownst to us.

"And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."

Do we know who George Meredith is? Has he come up before. I do not remember the name.

"He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

There is a distinct whiff of blackmail upon the air.

SO theory - someone else found the gold that Mr Turner made his fortune on, but he claim jumped them and left them for dead and now years later, that person has turned up for REVENGE.

But then why is the dead person no the person who ended up with the gold mine?

... Be-cause... Oh, because Mr McCarthy was the person who did Mr Turner's dirty work. So he 'murdered' the person who originally found the gold on behalf of Mr Turner, and since then Mr Turner has been keeping him quiet and paying him for his service. But it turned out the original gold finder wasn't really dead - or he had a relative? - and now they are back.

But that would require there to be another character we...

THE OLD WOMAN, I knew I was suspicious of her. Random unnamed old woman just happens to be walking around and witnessing things? Pah. She's the dead man's widow who has hunted Turner and McCarthy across the world on her quest for VENGEANCE!

Yes, I am now only doing this as an excuse to post Percy gifs. I regret nothing.

"Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

Yes, a distinct stench of blackmail does abound. McCarthy definitely had something on Mr Turner.

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies." "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts."

Burn. Wow, that was cutting.

However, the whole repartee here. Lestrade winking at Watson and echoing back words that are similar to ones we've heard Holmes say himself. Then the fact that Lestrade replies to that insult at the end there 'with some warmth', it all takes it from being an exchange of insults to old friends teasing each other. I love the flow of all of this.

We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points...

Are we in a time before police officers thought to examine footprints? What a revolutionary idea!

Although surely the police have been tramping all over the crime scene by now, you'd think. I get that Holmes has been very specific about it not raining, but crime scenes get all sorts of people walking over them. If the police really didn't think to examine them, then any murder prints must be buried underneath, or entirely indistinguishable from the prints of everyone else who has walked over it.

Then we get a lengthy description of Holmes. So lengthy in fact I'm not going to copy it here in its entirety. Here are some highlights:

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase...

Very animalistic descriptions there for a character usually described as reserved. And very vivid, too, but we know Watson likes his vivid descriptions.

Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous

This doesn't really vibe with what we've been seeing of Lestrade up to this point. He hasn't been contemptuous, I wouldn't say. More indulgent and amused by the whole situation.

He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

And another animal description a bit later on.

"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it."

Yeah, I mean. What did you think it was going to be like, Holmes? Did you think that the policemen hovered like the Gentlemen from Buffy? Gliding along as they search for murder weapons and pick up bodies?

"Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots!"

Very impressive tracking abilities. You know who this made me think of?

"And the murderer?" "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search."

So... not the old woman then? Unless she was secretly a man in disguise?

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."

I mean, I agree Holmes hasn't given you any evidence to indicate the existence of such a person, just told you that they exist. But you did agree to have him work with you and you have worked with him before. So maybe listen to him? You were doing so well, Lestrade.

And I guess we already have part 3... so that will be coming shortly.

Is the old man with the limp disguised as an old woman who is secretly a gold miner from Australia?

Probably not. But it's a fun theory.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #the boscombe valley mystery #long post #VENGEANCE #Note to self: do not use ctrl+z on tumblr posts; it deletes half of the post

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destroying-iof-prostates-4-hamas · 2 months

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The "Free" and "Democratic" West.

I have been asked by an Italian friend of mine to read this message to you all. It's intended towards Canadian pro-Palestine protestors, but anyone with a human soul (Read: Not a zionazi) can read. He, much like me and everyone else in this protest, is horrified at not only what is going on in Gaza, but at the fascist bent that the west has taken to defend it. Have you heard of what happened in an Italian town called Pisa? Teenagers who were protesting against the massacre in Gaza have been charged and beaten by the police, something that happens only seldomly and isn't reserved even for hardcore neofascists assaulting labor unions headquarters. He wants all of us to know that we are not alone in crying our outrage out loud. Almost eighty years have passed since the end of the second world war; almost eighty years that haven't clearly been enough since the world at large does not seem to have learned its lessons. Almost 80 years to continue telling us history based on political ideology, by oversimplifying and propagandizing history in such a small way that it is almost demented. What we are told is also, similarly, demented. For example the word "democracy"! Everything becomes more beautiful when you put the word democracy into it!

Everything is more beautiful if it is Democratic! Including the imprisonment of dissenters, the beating up of protesters, and yes, even the bombs that are nonchalantly dropped on civilian targets. And what about the word "Western"? Everything is more beautiful if it is Western, even wars. And then the values! The "democratic" values to defend! Good thing we can rely on a few, elected, staunch heralds, defenders against masses of goblins and orcs who want to attack the values of the "Free and Democratic" West. EVERYTHING is more beautiful if it's done by the West. Even giving standing ovations to actual nazis in our parliament becomes beautiful, if it is the "democratic Canada" that does it. Dear Justin, please don't hold it against us, everybody makes mistakes, I'm well aware of that fact. You should be well aware too, considering that your father back in the days refused to extradite all this SS scum that we took in at the end of the second world war. Maybe all the suits and neckties you wear are restricting the flow of blood into your head, mr. Justin. Maybe that's why you're always shaking and sweating even when it's -20 degrees outside. You could try changing style! Between your father's and mrs. Freeland's history with nazis, what you did during the truckers' protests, a war criminal like Hunka, and now mourning the death of a neonazi like Navalny...just think about it, mr. Justin! Maybe a nice leather trenchcoat made by Hugo Boss would suit you best! And why stopping there? "Parliament Hill" is sooooooo outdated..."Wehrmacht Hill" and "Goebbels Road" have a far nicer ring to them!

It's alright, as long as it's the "free and democratic west" doing it. How many times do we hear this formula regardless of the "free and democratic country" we live in? Continuously flowing by the "free media" like a torrent, we hear it practically every night on TV, we see it every single day that we flip through a newspaper, or open X or Facebook. But these are abused words, abused words that are now tacked on everywhere without any kind of meaning. The only purpose for which they are used is to point at anyone who raises his little finger as an enemy of the values of the "Democratic West" that has no problem with beating up protesters. In short, to be a valid defender of democracy, we have to take the whole package; just shut up, and kneel down. And if we dare to raise our little finger, we're the enemy. If we don't share political and social choices made by our "free and democratic leaders" without our consent, we are the enemy. And this pattern is replayed on every debate on everything, by everyone.

these words are so empty that, in fact, all parts and all counterparts in the "Free Democratic West" use them like a broken record. I personally could give you billions of examples that you have surely come up against as well, but I will just make one that happened in Italy just these days and that my friend from the other side of the ocean told me. During a pro-Palestinian protest organized a few weeks ago, the protesters were called "fascists" by members of the current Italian government. Y-yes, I know, the heirs of the old Partito Nazionale Fascista and their coalition partners calling protesters "fascists"...let's continue...not to be outdone, the other left-wing "big newspapers," on the other hand, also called the protesters fascists, while the right-wing newspapers labeled them communists...is it too much to ask you uniparty propagandists and stenographers to at least get your act together?!

When everyone uses the exact same tactics and calls dissenters a threat to democracy regardless of the professed political leaning, don't you see how quickly the terms are emptied? At this point nobody can even really understand what this "democracy" is anymore. Everyone using the same insufferable rhetoric born out of the thinking of Eduard Bernays, the father of modern propaganda who, like the clever weasel that he was, understood all too well that all you needed to do was to attach a courtly world to even the most sinister of concepts to make them look radiant.

Following in Bernays' footsteps, it is now enough to attach the word "freedom" and "democratic" to what's going on in Gaza to shut down all discussion, and to label anybody protesting against what's going on a fascist or a terrorist. Do you all remember the truckers' protests, and all the times that our dear leader Mr. Justin has been contested? Our institutions have festered so much that over the last four years alone we've been called fascists, nazis, "paid in rubles", "undemocratic", and a slew of other terms, while we had our bank accounts frozen if we did not comply, or our heads cracked if we protested.

Aren't you all tired of seeing this pattern repeating over and over again? All it takes for our "free and democratic" society is just one small incident that allows the politicians and stenographers to build an entire castle in the sky upon it, and everything magically disappears. On February 24th 2022 the west magically forgot what had been going on in Donbass for the past 8 years. With Navalny's death the west magically forgot when he referred to muslims and minorities as "cockroaches" and gave a nazi salute to the crowds. And on October 7th, the entire west magically forgot what had been going on in Israel until then. Much like a magical ground zero, everything that happened before is forgotten.

The attacks of October 7th however can't erase the dangerous drift that Bibi Netanyahu's government had taken, with squares upon squares of israelis protesting against Bibi's reforms that defacto transform the israeli supreme court into a slave of the executive branch, and accentrate almost all power on the prime minister, allowing him to remove all parties that he doesn't like from elections...like the ones representing arabs.

A reform that would, defacto, empty the word "democracy" of every meaning.

Since October 7th, nothing of this exists any more in the public debate. And if anybody talks about it, he's an enemy of the free and democratic west. But what had been going on in Israel before October 7th, however, can't be just erased with a stroke of a sponge, no matter how much the stenographers and politicians try, and no matter how much the stenographers and politicians try to de-nationalize nationalisms, like they've done countless times in the past. The past stays, and remains. On the 7th of October Bibi Nethanyahu didn't stop having been declared guilty of corruption, fraud, and abuse of office. On the 7th of October Bibi didn't stop having Itamar Ben-Gvir, an ultra far-right minister of the interior who considers himself a "proud fascist", is a staunch pro-colonization and a staunch nationalist. And by "nationalism" - another abused term - I don't mean being romantically loyal to your country and proudly waving its flag in the squares, but ascribing to an actual ideology of racial supremacy, and of your people's right to colonize other people's land. On the 7th of October Itamar Ben-Gvir didn't magically cease being the man who proudly complimented an IDF soldier for killing a Palestinian kid from the west bank in cold blood, calling it "exemplary".

The 7th of October didn't stop the most cancerous ideas of zionism from being implemented as standard policy by israel, and zionism can be rightly called the last, still flourishing ethno-nationalism from the 19th century - a century that saw a lot of ethno-nationalisms rising. It did not matter if they arose in Germany, France, the United Kingdom, Poland, Italy, Ukraine, or anywhere else, they all had one thing in common: considering your own ethnicity to be superior to anybody else's, considering yourself entitled to other people's land, and a genocidal persecution of anybody else catalogued as "different"...and in this, all these nationalisms are exactly identical to one another.

On the 7th of October Bibi didn't stop having Bezalel Smotrich in his government; another "controversial" figure from the religious zionist party, who considers himself "proudly homophobic", wants sexual minorities to be chemically castrated, and for palestinians to be segregated from israelis in hospitals and public buildings. On the 7th of October Bibi doesn't stop being the son of Benzion Netanyahu, cornerstone of revisionist zionism that swept away the message of reconciliation that followed the end of the second world war in favour of a message of struggle and supremacy; a message that has always been dangerously cancerous to Israel, that hasn't been swept away by the 7th of October.

The 7th of October didn't stop Bibi from being the one who was about to bring the supreme court under heel and make himself immune from prosecution. These things remain, seventh of october nothwithstanding, as do the articles written by stenographers antecedent the 7th of October, that were warning us of what was going up in Israel. First he was being humbled by the "free and democratic" west, and now he's being exalted, and we're being told that if we point fingers at Bibi and his followers for what they are - a threat to democracy and peace - it's because we're all antisemites. We should remember to all these fine gentlemen that the palestinians who are getting slaughtered by our "free and democratic bombs" and are having their land unlawfully parcelled out and stolen are semites themselves, as much as we should remind them all that many hebrews outside of Israel are protesting against the genocide that is going on. Are they antisemites too?

And please...have the decency not to mention the holocaust to justify what is going on. Don't you feel a shred of shame to use the greatest tragedy of the 20th century as an excuse to justify what may easily be the greatest tragedy of the 21st century? Don't you feel a shred of shame to use it as a get out of jail free card to automatically absolve yourselves of all sin? The memory of what happened to those six million innocents in the concentration camps should be held up not only as an eternal testament to that tragedy, but also as a cautionary tale for all future generations about what can happen if hatred is allowed to run free, and this memory is so valued by the israeli government and its supporters that is now being used as a checkmate to justify their atrocities. Protection of ethnic and religious minorities IS a cornerstone of "western democracies", and it is the respect of that cornerstone that truly differentiates them from dictatorships. Before finishing, I'd like to say one last thing. The talmud that is routinely read in synagogues like this one has a phrase written in it..."he who saves a life, saves the whole world". What, then, should be said about those who extinguish thousands of lives, and profit from their extinction? Thank you for reading.

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meowcatsposts · 2 years

Text

Stopper Knot [Falken]

Overview

Mans likes you

Been eyeing you the whole time you’re in his vicinity

Like he’s birdwatching

You know, that tender, empty look he has when he’s watching birds

Now it’s on you

So lucky

Now, you see, Arcana’s aware

He’s like, Imma play matchmaker

So somehow he gets you two together on a mission

*cue him third wheeling*

Arcana tries to help you, but “can't"

So he gets Falken to help you

Lmao it’s so uncomfortable bc your heart is beating so fast

From anxiety or feelings you don’t know lol

But poor mans has it worse

Arcana’s like, good job you two ;)

Until he discovered a little phoenix fluttering through the Union halls, Falken enjoyed his simple pastime of birdwatching. Flocking between branches, chitting for food, feathers ruffling through the wind, their soft lullabies carried his thoughts into a daydream as he voided his thoughts about Union work.

However, these days, Falken would be daydreaming about you–the little phoenix he found, lost in the hallways, chirping softly to itself for directions. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at the thought of assisting such a sweet thing like you, again. Recalling how your eyes brightened as he calmly pointed you in the right direction, or how you thanked him the next day, it brought a smile to Falken’s otherwise hard lips. And whenever he’d catch a glimpse of your familiar figure, his keen gaze always followed you unconsciously, as if you were the birds outside his window.

“Hey, Falken,” Arcana whispered, well aware of his friend’s liking toward you. “How’re you feeling about tomorrow’s mission?”

“It should go according to plan,” Falken replied, still gazing at the birds outside. “Though, it may take a long time to organize and clean up the supplies this time. The Miramon…” He sighed softly, looking at the hanging clock. “My five minutes is up. Is there anything else you need?”

Falken didn’t miss the wolfish smirk Arcana wore.

“So…I hear it’s the two of us, with (Y/N)?” Arcana teased, observing his friend’s electrified expression amusedly.

“Yes,” Falken replied, matter-of-factly. “What are you implying?”

Arcana’s smirk grew wider. “Well, you seem so invested in (Y/N)-watching instead of bird-watching these days, so-”

“Sorry to interrupt you,” Falken intervened, gaze piercing through the neatly-stacked files on his desk, “but it seems I need to get back to work.”

So I was right, Arcana thought giddily to himself, not minding the fact that he nearly gave his stoic friend a heart attack.

The arrival of mission day was no different than any other, yet, it churned a rather flavorful palette on your tongue. Although you never knew Falken, the ever-so-stoic and unapproachable commander personally, there was never a bad aftertaste through your small interactions. He seemed aloof and amiable, contrary to how your colleagues viewed him, sprinkled with a mysterious aura that drew you in like a magnet.

“So this is your first time working with Falken?” Arcana asked, continuing to produce cards from thin air as you spoke.

You looked up in thought, recalling the few occasions you’d bump into the commander at the cafeteria or Union hallways. Falken always gave you a silent greeting, to which you returned with a small smile; it soon spread its kindly roots into the soil and became a little thing between the two of you. “I guess so,” you started. “But we’ve exchanged a few greetings.”

Arcana’s brows lifted as his cards burst into tiny flames. “Huh…he must like you.”

“I’m sure he does that to others as well,” you replied. “He seems like a polite guy.”

“Well, you see…” There was a slow-forming grin that never left the ops chief’s lips. “Many of our friends practically run away when they see him, so he never gets the chance to really interact with others.” Arcana chuckled as he guided you to the large mission vehicle, imagining his colleagues' tight faces and furtive eyes.

“Here we are.”

You caught a glimpse of a familiar purple suit as Arcana waved to Falken. The commander’s milky eyes locked with yours, and the both of you exchanged a silent greeting to which your cheeks rosied; oddly, it always made you feel special.

“As your best friend,” Arcana said playfully, “I’d like to formally introduce the both of you. (Y/N), this is Falken, one of the commanders of the Union. Falken, this is (Y/N), who’ll be joining us today.”

“Hi, (Y/N),” Falken greeted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

After branching out to different tasks, you were left to organize what seemed like a gargantuan pile of scattered, messily salvaged materials. Drearily, you stared at the aftermath of the Miramon, and thought to yourself, Why can’t they destroy things more considerately? as if they’d actually listen.

“Might as well get this over with…” you muttered to yourself, deliberately categorizing the resources from the heaping pile. However, there was one problem: you didn’t really know what to do with the large supplies.

As you were contemplating whether to shove them in a box, tie them up, or just leave it, Arcana popped up behind you, seemingly on cue.

“What do we have here?” he mused.

“Oh, hi,” you greeted rather tiredly, mind and body aching from the neverending task at hand. “What do you think I should do with this?”

Arcana glanced at you, the pile, then his snakes, to whom he performed a silent exchange with. “I would tie the boxes so they’re easy to transport,” he started, “but I suck at tying knots, so...I can’t help you with this one, sorry.” The ops chief gave you an apologetic smile, which soon morphed into one of illumination, as he said, “I’ll get Falken–”

“What’s the matter?” the commander queried inquisitively. His stoic gaze fell atop you, who looked desperately in need of release, and the piles of organized supplies on the ground.

Then, like the good friend he is, Arcana vanished, leaving the both of you alone.

Frankly, the air was buttery thick as you attempted to cool your warming face, mustering a, “I, um, needed help with this…”

“I see,” Falken replied. He found your flustered self quite endearing, and suppressed a kindling smile. “Do you have rope?”

You quickly handed him a thick piece of cord, to which he began to expertly wrap around a supply crate. Falken silently motioned for you to do the same, and you brought your own box, crouching down next to the commander, ready to learn. Such a cute chickling you were, determined to follow the falcon’s lead. He was a bird of prey, after all.

“To tie a stopper knot…”

“That was cute,” Arcana teased his friend afterward. “(Y/N) can be your little chickling…that might be a cute nickname-”

Falken’s so done lmao

#dislyte #dislyte falken #dislyte falken x reader #dislyte x reader

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ashleywool · 2 months

Note

no comment on calling poor people who can't afford dues "bottom feeders"? tells me everything i need to know

Since you did yourself the courtesy of staying anonymous, that gives me cause to think maybe you're starting to have a glimmer of self-awareness about how foolish you sound, so I'll bite.

But if you ask for a bite, I'mma bite.

I don't judge people for being poor. I don't judge people for being desperate. I don't judge people for taking jobs because they have no other choice. I don't judge people for putting up with labor exploitation because they need to eat.

I judge people who go out of their way to COSPLAY desperation.

I judge people who virtue-signal all over social media about dismantling systems of oppression, and then get up at 4am to do their hair and makeup and wait in line outside a rehearsal studio for five hours waiting to perform a 16-bar cut that they spent $200 having someone coach them on...all for the chance at directly participating in oppressive systems and not even getting paid that much for it. And then loudly PRETENDING that they have no other choice.

People who are ACTUALLY desperate for work don't do that. People who are ACTUALLY poor, and don't have generational wealth to fall back on, can hardly even take the first steps at pursuing this career. People who ACTUALLY need the money apply for jobs that...actually pay them the money. People who put up with labor exploitation because they ACTUALLY have no choice are not screaming at people on social media aggressively defending their RIGHT to be exploited.

Those people ain't you. And I'm not going to apologize for saying so.

It's not that I don't care about your feelings. It's just that the feelings of people who willfully contribute to systemic oppression are not as high of a priority for me as dismantling those systems. Feelings can be worked through. Internalized biases can be worked through. Disinformation can be worked through. But I can't do the work for you, and I can't take responsibility for your feelings about being told that there's work to be done.

The people who told you unions are the enemy are the people who profit from you believing the unions are the enemy.

The people who told you unions are too expensive are the people who profit from your refusal to join.

The people who told you "it's not up to the actors whether or not a tour goes out union" are the people who profit from actors living and working and posturing as if they have no choice.

But I'm the one who originated a role on Broadway and became a leading voice in arts accessibility initiatives, not them.

If you want to be on Broadway...if you want a sustainable career...if you want to be a voice for positive change in this industry...if you want to uplift marginalized communities in PRACTICE (not just in your Insta stories)...

Then don't you think you should start listening to the people who are doing those things, instead of the people whose paychecks depend on you continuing to do what you're doing?

If so...we can talk.

If not...you do you.

But either way, don't let me catch you playing the victim in my DMs again getting mad over something you made up yourself. My advocacy energy is better spent on people who actually want to learn.

ETA: I have now turned off anonymous messaging because it's not conducive to good-faith conversations and arguing with imaginary people is not one of the ways my neurodivergence manifests itself (at least not yet). OP, should you wish to continue, or provide more context to your experiences, my DMs are open and I'm not gonna blast you.

#pro union #union busting is disgusting #advocacy #organizing

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jedi-lothwolf · 5 months

Text

Winter Whumperland Day 1: Santa Claus (Claustrophobe/Panic Attack)

Fandom: Star Wars The Bad Batch

Summary: Echo falls into a hole in a cave while on a mission. Memories of Skako Minor flood his mind.

Echo had liked small spaces before being captured by the Techno Union. Fives thought he was crazy for it. There was something comforting about small, dark places. Echo never could explain it.

One wrong step sent him into a panic. 'Watch your step' Tech had said. 'Caves are unpredictable' he said. The cave was dark and cold. Echo would have loved it. He should have.

Instead he looked around at the small space he found himself in. "Echo!" he heard Wrecker tell out. "You okay!?"

The clone couldn't find his voice. It caught in the back of his throat and became a sharp breath instead. He looked at the walls of the hole but couldn't find them. He started to slam his hand and scomp into rock. His breathing speed and he wanted to cry.

It was just a cave. It was just a dark hole in a cave. It was just a memory. It was just cold. It was just him, in a hole, in a cave, his family above him, ready to get him out of there.

Or was it a pod? Was it just a memory? Was it just a pod he had been trapped in for over a year? Was it just the cold? Was it just him, in a pod, captured by the enemy, his family below him, waiting for him, ready to welcome him home?

"Echo!" Omega yelled out. But he didn't answer. He just stood there, hyperventilating, terrified of the past. He felt so small and the rock wall felt like it was closing in. He didn't even notice when a set of hands pulled him up from his place in the cave.

"Echo, breath." Hunter spoke. He looked at Tech for answers.

"Claustrophobe, likely attributed to his time on Skako Minor. Move." Tech practically kicked Hunter out of the way before kneeling down in front of Echo. "He is having a panic attack. I will deal with it."

Tech looked at the man in front of him. He felt uneasy but felt the others would be incapable of helping Echo breath calmly. Still, he wondered if he was the best person to take care of him.

The clone stood in front of his brother. "What you are feeling is scary, but not dangerous. Focus on your breathing not the memory." Echo looked up at him. "You need to breathe slowly." Tech started to slowly to encourage him to do the same.

Slowly Echo started to breathe earlier. "Can you tell me five things you can see?" Tech asked patiently. Echo looked around.

"Tech I don't think that's going to he-"

"Hush" Tech cut off Hunter. "Now tell me five things you see."

Echo looked around. "There's some, Stalactites, some standing water, bats, yo-you, and the others."

"Good job. How about four things you hear? Can you do that."

"Well I hear you" Echo slightly chuckled. He was still so tense. His breathing was slower but still irregular. "There's water dripping into that puddle, the bats, and the humming of the, the light."

"Good. You are doing good. Now can you tell me three things you can smell?"

Hunter and Wrecker watched the two. They didn't know that Tech could be so, gentle? Omega stayed near Hunter.

"It's musky, the cave water, and the cologne Phee gave you." He sort of smiled, "it sort of smells like Kamino."

Tech smiled softly. "Two things you can feel."

"The rocks are kind of smooth." Echo reached out to Tech, "and you."

"One thing you can taste?"

"The smell of the cave." Echo sighed. He felt safe again. He was just a man, in a cave, with his family.

"Can I do anything for you?" Tech asked calmly.

"You already have." Tech helped Echo up. "Thank you Tech."

"It is no problem. We need to finish the mission now. Do you think you will be alright?"

"Yeah, I think I will."

#winter whumperland #star wars #whump #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #Echo #echo the bad batch #tbb whump #the bad batch whump #tech bad batch #clone trooper echo #echo whump #tech being a good brother #tech the bad batch #winter whumperland 2023

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moontheoretist · 1 year

Quote

"Wait a moment." Stephen uncurled from his pose and reached out to Pepper's stack of contracts. "You have a basic prenup drafted up, right?" "After a certain incident in 2003, yes." Tony frowned then his face cleared. "Oh, yeah! Man, she was quite the...oh, uh, no one. She meant nothing to me." Stephen rolled his eyes and picked up the contract. It was standard—in the event of a divorce they retained the assets they brought into the marriage and split what was earned while in union. Considering Tony's net worth it was pretty generous to the other party, who would definitely be earning far less. He scanned the pages and held up a hand. "Pen, please." He signed on the dotted line with a flourish. "There. Problem solved." Tony beamed. "God, I wanna spend more money on you now." Stephen winked in return. "You two deserve each other," Rhodey sighed. "We do!" "So, when are we heading out? Knowing you you're doing this today. Is Fi staying behind?" Asked Rhodey. "Oh, everyone's already gathered—I just had to get you two. Ready, babe?" Tony said. Stephen stood and summoned a portal with a quick gesture. Pepper screamed while Rhodey jumped out of his chair and reached for a gun he did not have. Stephen stared at them in shock before his eyes narrowed and he glared at Tony. "You didn't tell them." "…Ooh, shit. I knew I forgot something." They stared at him. "Uh, magic's real!" Pepper trembled as she stepped through the portal. She looked bad enough that Christine moved forward to check on her. "What happened? Is everything okay?" She asked. "My soon-to-be-husband is an asshole." Stephen sent him another glare. Tony did feel bad—it had honestly slipped his mind! "So nothing out of the ordinary?" "Perfectly normal." "Hurtful." Tony turned to the assembled group. "Thanks for coming—whoa, hey, Blade! Didn't expect you!" The dhampir shrugged and said, "I was bored. And finishing up a thing in Salem." "Good enough for me. You sure you're okay to be here, though? I thought vampires couldn't enter places like this." "… …This is a city hall, Stark." "Oh, yeah. Just making sure." "You and Strange deserve each other." "I know!" "Is there anything else we should know about?" Rhodey asked, voice faint. "I am so glad you asked, honey bear. It's important you meet the in-laws. This is Eric Brooks, a.k.a Blade—he's a half-vampire who hunts vampires." "…Okay-" "You know Christine (she's still single you should go for it—you, too, Pep). This is Jacqueline Falsworth. She's our new au pair and also a vampire…mostly. Sinéad O'Connor and Wong over there are Steph's magic mentor and second BFF, respectively-" "Just Wong? Like Rihanna?" "No, no, more like Beyoncé." "Right." "You know Fi." She waved and hopped up and down. "But some extra news! She's an alien, apparently? Stephen's daughter by blood ritual? I don't get it—I've learned to mind my business." "What the fu-" "And you know Zoe, her tutor. She says she's normal, but look at us!—we don't believe her." "I-I'm so happy you invited me, Mr. Tony! You and Dr. Stephen won't even know I'm here, I swear!" Zoe practically vibrated on the spot. "Breathe, ZZ Top. Well, I guess that's it-" Stephen's scarf then reared up and slapped the back of his head. "Oh, right. This is the Cloak of Levitation. Stephen's other, other BFF." "D-Did that piece of fabric just move?" Pepper whispered. Stephen looked apologetic. "Yes. Cloak is an ancient relic. It can change forms so it chooses how it wants to look in public." Both Pepper and Rhodey were at a loss in what to say.

Have Time — Will Travel by flower-of-el (NibelungVelocity)

Supreme Family? More like Supernatural Family XD

#mcu fanfiction #ironstrange #blade #eric brooks #ancient one #wong #james rhodes #pepper potts #stephen strange #tony stark #christine palmer #jacqueline falsworth #sofia strange #sofia a.k.a symbiot child of stephen's blood

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