just saw a snippet from a newspaper while sitting in the subway to uni and apparently one of germany's high ranking ministers - a member of the 'progressive' Green party that ran on a platform of anti-homophobia, anti-racism etc. - just said that he'll make sure that any immigrant that takes part in a pro-palestine demonstration can be forced to move back to the country they emigrated from, supposedly on a charge of antisemitism, simply for attending a demonstration against genocide. (note that it said 'immigrants' not even just 'refugees' but immigrants that have lived here for years or decades)

if it was really about stopping antisemitism in germany then how come they are only targetting these demonstrations and never *never* have put in the same effort condemning and prohibiting demonstrations by real actual neo nazis, which there are plenty of here and which always are protected by official police squads under the banner of 'freedom of speech'? it is so transparent that they don't actually care about antisemitism - if they did (and they should!) they would have prohibited white supremacist marches years ago, yet those guys can have weekly gatherings in the thousands and even get seats in parliament.

his statement also comes at a time when the -again, supposedly 'progressive' - government generally stated they want to make it easier to force refugees back to the countries they fled from and want to mark multiple countries with especially high refugee counts as 'safe origin countries' meaning they wouldn't have to take in refugees from there at all.

but it sure is good that the government is 'progressive' that clearly makes a positive difference for minorities rn

Should I take it as good news those Doxa guys were ‘merely’ sentenced to community service and a publishing ban, rather than being sent to prison or just mysteriously disappearing? It looked for a while like the repression inside Russia was going to start getting really bloody, but this seems tame by dictatorial standards. What are conditions like inside Russia right now? Are people living in complete fear or is it more like ‘heightened alertness’?

yes, it's very good news. their sentence was already announced some time in advance because the prosecution didn't demand anything more than what they got, but anything could have been fabricated at any point: DOXA keeps publishing a lot of anti-war material, aramyan's twitter feed looks like it's grounds for the 15 years in jail law etc. their final statements were very bold, yet nothing happened, for whatever reason. the artist sasha skochilenko, who replaced price labels with headlines about the war, though, is going to be in jail for up to 8 weeks prior to her trial. she has celiac disease and she's probably not going to get gluten-free food in jail, meaning she can develop cancer or other serious, life-threatening complications.

overall, from relatives and friends i talk to on the phone (all in the bubble of "extremely hostile to the war") the impression i have is that the fear of the early days—when new censorship laws were getting dropped left and right, when independent outlets were first shutting down, when companies were all leaving—has lowered to 'heightened alertness.' that being said, people are denouncing and reporting each other for violating the new laws more and more. students are reporting teachers, teachers are reporting students, neighbors, passerby etc. it's anybody's guess if you get a fine or a jail sentence. you probably wouldn't attend a demo anymore, or maybe speak candidly in public about the war (although many still do), but it's still far from 1937 levels of keeping quiet. after the putin speech about fifth columnists, to take one, maybe extreme example, one of my middle-aged aunts asked me to not call things by their name over the phone, afraid whatsapp might be getting tapped. she's no longer afraid of this. people continue to get arrested for the most bizarre (arguably ineffective) acts of protest: holding up blank posters, or war and peace, giving away free copies of 1984, playing piano music by a ukrainian composer. more widespread than fear or alertness, i believe, are feelings of 'crushing despair' and 'helplessness,' because of the horror of the war, because the mass protests of the first week dissipated under pressure, because so many people left the country.

i maintain that i doubt putin has the resources to really start cracking down on any and all dissent. internet censorship has been pretty half-hearted, people log on to twitter, facebook, and instagram all the time using VPNs. the much-feared russian exclusion from the internet failed to materialize. however, i could easily be proven wrong, and he could increase repression at any point. it's unpredictable how this ad-hoc fascist propaganda campaign will work out, what sentiments are being roused and to what extent. plus, as some of the people i talk to have angrily noted, the sanctions failed in their goal of causing some uprising against putin (if that was really one of the goals), instead solidifying anti-western sentiment among people who were mildly, but not fiercely anti-war, this idea "they're out to get us" pushing them to the putin or pro-state camp. the independent outlet mediazona used to have the tagline "it will get worse" on their website, which is a good heuristic to use in predicting how russia will change internally in the short to medium term. but! no one knows with any certainty. insane things could happen at any point.

russian followers could also leave their input in the notes, if they wish and feel comfortable in doing so

(...)

I was a 12 years old when I was attacked by a mob of children and called "Christ killer" — the same age Jesus was, according to the Gospel of Luke, when he lingered in the Temple of Jerusalem and impressed the elders with his intellect — so this issue is undeniably personal. That wasn't the first or last time I was bullied for being Jewish, but it was the only time I nearly died because of it: Those kids held my head underwater, chanting, "Drown the Jew!"

This incident sprang back to mind  this month as Republicans tried to figure out what to do about Greene, a particularly obnoxious Christian right-winger who has suggested that a "space laser" affiliated with Jewish banking families caused the 2018 Camp Fire in California, expressed sympathy for the anti-Semitic QAnon fantasies, promoted a video that claimed Jews are trying to destroy Europe, posed for a picture with a Ku Klux Klan leader and liked a tweet linking Israel to the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

(...)

None of this is surprising for anyone who is familiar with the history of American anti-Semitism. Greene is not an aberration, some inexplicable pimple of hatred that blemishes the American right's otherwise Jew-friendly visage. The American right has long had an anti-Semitism problem, and she's just the latest symptom.

This history of hatred "tells us much more about the anti-Semite than it tells us about Jews," Dr. Jonathan Sarna, a professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University, told Salon. After citing an Israeli historian who refers to anti-Semitism as a "cultural code," Sarna explained that beliefs that vilify Jews as malevolent plotters who secretly control the world have a long history in American political life. "These ideas, which I think many on the left frankly had thought were done and over with, we suddenly see them full blown," he said

Before the 19th century, Sarna explained Jews were stereotypically depicted as being cursed: They were "wandering Jews" for their supposed role in killing Jesus Christ. In the modern era, however, the stereotype emerged that Jews secretly controlled the world and were responsible for everything that a given anti-Semite might regard as sinister. During the Civil War, Gen. Ulysses S. Grant blamed the Jews for cotton smuggling and expelled the entire Jewish community from areas he controlled in Kentucky, Tennessee and Mississippi. When the populist movement arose to address agrarian economic concerns in the 1890s, Jewish bankers like the Rothschilds were a frequent target among ideological leaders like William Hope "Coin" Harvey.

(...)

There's a direct line between those conspiratorial fantasies ideas from previous decades and the anti-Semitic attacks of the 21st century. "Conspiratorial thinking, by its nature, argues that everything is connected," Sarna explained. "There are no coincidences and it eschews complexity. It believes there are simple explanations based on sinister individuals who are manipulating the universe. Unsurprisingly, in a Christian setting, those are Jews."

Those ideas can evolve — Sarna pointed out that the QAnon belief in a giant child abuse ring run by Jews is analogous to the "blood libel," the medieval myth that Jews used the blood of Christian children for rituals — but the underlying assumptions have been consistent. It just so happens that, in the modern right-wing incarnation, Donald Trump's cult-like following believes that "all the enemies of Mr. Trump are now child molesters."

(...)

[Jewish comedian Larry Charles] brought up community organizer and political theorist Saul Alinsky, a favorite target of the right. "He is almost like the devil in a way," Charles observed. "He's like this radical leftist Jew, he fits all the categories. He checks all the boxes."

"Shooting some of these movies, we would see reasonable people who have this blind spot," Charles said. "They have this crazy belief, and there were all different applications and manifestations of it, that the Jews control everything. That is like a mantra amongst a certain segment of the population."

(...)

With the election of Trump in 2016, those ingrained belief systems — which for many years had been kept outside the American political mainstream — became more prominent, and their adherents more emboldened. David Weissman, a military veteran and former conservative Republican who stopped being a self-described "Trump troll" after a 2018 conversation with comedian Sarah Silverman, told Salon about his encounters with anti-Semitism on the right.

Back when he still supported Trump, Weissman recalled, he got into a "little spat" with an alt-right commentator who calls himself Baked Alaska, who was recently arrested after the Jan. 6 Capitol riot. Ultimately they moved past it, Weissman said: "We both realized we were Trump supporters" who believed "Democrats were the bad guys." Once he left MAGA world, however, Weissman said "the anti-Semitism definitely escalated" in interactions with his former allies.

"When I became a Democrat, I was called 'the k-word'" and targeted by "anti-Semitic slurs and tropes," Weissman said. Trump supporters sent "memes of me being Jewish in the oven," and "put my name in parentheses," a common tactic used by the far right to target someone for being Jewish.

(...)

"Anti-Semitism certainly did not start with Marjorie Taylor Greene, nor did it start with Donald Trump, but we have seen an exponential increase in violent anti-Semitic incidents during Donald Trump's presidency," Halie Soifer, CEO of the Jewish Democratic Council of America, told Salon. "That is no doubt related to the fact that he emboldened and aligned himself with white nationalism." She mentioned Trump equating the neo-Nazis in Charlottesville with the peaceful protesters by "commenting that there were very fine people on both sides," refusing to denounce white nationalism and telling the right-wing Proud Boys during one of the campaign debates to "stand back and stand by."

"White nationalism had existed in our country prior to that, and anti-Semitism as an element of it, but white nationalists had never had an ally in the White House until Donald Trump," Soifer said.

(...)

Donald Trump's supposed pro-Israel policies were closely aligned with those of Benjamin Netanyahu, and did nothing to correct for Trump's history of anti-Semitic words and actions. He accused Jewish Democrats of "great disloyalty" toward Israel (feeding into the stereotype that Jews have dual loyalties), removed any specific reference to Jews from a 2017 State Department statement on Holocaust Remembrance Day and has frequently used anti-Semitic dogwhistle terms by opposing "globalists" and describing himself as a "nationalist." When I interviewed Charlotte Pence, the daughter of former Vice President Mike Pence, she talked about her family's love of Israel but refused to answer a question about whether she believes Jews are going to hell — or discuss the creepy messianic theories underpinning the Christian right's support for Israel.

When I asked Larry Charles whether, based on his experiences, there's an opportunity to build bridges with anti-Semites, he was skeptical. "I have not seen a lot of opportunities for bridge building in the situations that I've been in," Charles explained. "The people that I've met through Sacha [Baron Cohen] were very rigid and dogmatic in their prejudices. There was no crossing that gulf with them. There might be tolerance, temporarily. There might be patience, temporarily. But there's no changing that belief."

I hope that Charles is wrong but suspect he is right, which raises the question of how American Jews should react to the Marjorie Taylor Greenes of the world. For want of a better alternative, I think the only solution is to be intolerant toward intolerance. House Democrats were right to strip Greene of her committee assignments, but that is not nearly enough. Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter need to do more to limit hate speech, even if conservatives cry foul in bad faith (the First Amendment only protects people from government censorship, not consequences from private corporations). Right-wing politicians who attack prominent Jews in ways that can be plausibly construed as anti-Semitic, or by denouncing "globalists," need to lose their funding. People who oppose anti-Semitism must lead boycotts against right-wing media figures who cover for people like Greene, such as Fox News' Sean Hannity.

On a broader level, critics of anti-Semitism must recognize that this form of bigotry is part of America's long history of hate — a history which holds that only white, straight Christian "manly" men have a right to rule — and recognize our responsibility to be allies to African Americans and the Latinx community, Muslims and the LGBT community, women suffering under the patriarchy and the poor struggling to make ends meet. If we limit our empathy merely to other Jews, the implicit message is not that systemic oppression is wrong, but only that we happen to dislike it when our group is targeted. The Jewish tradition at its best instills a moral responsibility to see all the layers of oppression, and align ourselves with its victims.

[Read Matthew Rozsa’s full piece in Salon]

Limerence [M] ︳31

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 9200+

Notes: Greetings! I’m going to be posting a bonus chapter soon! It’s the bonus chapter I promised a bit ago; it’s didn’t fit well with the plot until now. That saying, I have another bonus chapter in the works. I reached 1k votes on Wattpad, which is crazy, and I wanted to create a bonus chapter.

Other than that, thank you for reading and leaving lovely comments. I appreciate the heart-warming support from you all. Take care~!

Masterlist ︳30 [M]  ︳ Bonus pt. 2 [M]

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

“He was her warmth / she was his peace”

(English/quo.) By Even Sanders; ‘The Better Man Project.’

 ~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

            Anger? No…maybe frustration?

            A small huff flew through my lips, eyes scanning Zuko. He sat on the other side of Appa’s saddle with Aang and Sokka, discussing something. And while I knew the responsible thing would be to listen to what Toph and Suki had to say – I couldn’t.

            Curiosity had me in its grip, studying Zuko with such care, I wish I paid this much attention to my everyday life.

            It was just that…Zuko was such a puzzle, and it was maddening.

            I was observant. Naturally learning the way people spoke, move – and in a matter of seconds, I could figure someone out. But with Zuko – I couldn’t. He was secretive, and that just made my sense of inquisitiveness grow. What’s going through Zuko’s head? What was he feeling?

            Just briefly skimming Sokka, I could tell he was focused on whatever they were conversing. The way he crossed his arms, leaning forward with his head titled down – those were all tale-tell signs that he was attentive to the conversation. I even had Aang figured out! When his hands rested on his lap, it meant he was calm, but since his fingers were tightly linked, it meant he was concerned. It was little gestures like those that made me understand everyone’s mood – except Zuko.

            His lips were pressed tight, which in theory would mean he was upset, but the way he sat, leaning back with his legs propped…Lounging meant he was at ease but…why are his arms crossed?

            “Is Princess still staring at Zuko?”                   

            “You guessed it – come on! You live with the guy, what more do you want?” Suki groused, her hand shoving me jokily. My gaze broke from Zuko, a faint blush covering my cheeks as I bashfully smiled.

            “S-sorry. I must have zoned out.” Suki rolled her eyes, giving me a look that proved she knew I was lying, before speaking, “Mhmm…well, what were we talking about again?”

            “How Princess figured out Mai was the snitch.”

            My mouth opened and closed, uneasy, since, at the mere mention of Mai, the boys rapidly shifted their focus on me. “Toph has a point, we never did ask...” Sokka budded. My arms cradled my body, trying desperately to blend in with Appa’s saddle…or his fur… How about I throw myself over? How far of a drop could it possibly be?

            “It’s a long story…” I started.

            Toph snorted, “We got time. Spill.”

            “We can talk about it when we get to the kingdom, we have much to discuss once we arrive – I prefer we don’t waste our breath.” Zuko asserted, an attempt to bring the whole topic to an end. I let out a breath, our eyes aligning momentarily. He gave me a knowing nod, obliviously sensing my uneasiness and a wave of appreciation engulfed me. He’s too good for me. With that statement, Zuko shifted his gaze towards the horizon.

            The mountains and overall landscape looked insignificant being this high, and in some ways – it was humbling. Gosh. I missed riding Appa through the snowy peaks time ago…it was such a stress reliever.

            The lack of clouds provided us with a magnificent view of the Fire Nation. The endless mounds of vegetation, small towns scattered about – some greater than others. To think that Zuko ruled over all of this…my heart started pounding just thinking about it. I could barely take care of myself, let alone a damn Nation.

            “Fine, but we do have to talk about what we’re going to do with Mai when we land. Are you going to arrest her? Talk to her?” Toph insisted, not letting the topic die off. Suki huffed, pulling on the strings that lined the leather on her gloves, “Toph has a point. She may be a friend, but she’s a threat…”

            “Mai is still a friend. We speak as if arresting our friend comes without pains.” Aang protested - the first I’ve heard him speak in a while. His voice was taut, fingers digging into his mustard robes, wrinkling the material. Sokka let a hand drop over Aang’s shoulder, lips pressed.

            “But if Mai’s the snitch than she’s as guilty as Azula. Mai could be charged with attempted murder, treason, and the list goes on, Aang.” Sokka insisted and hearing that made my stomach uneasy. Attempted murder-

            The headache that I woke up with this morning seemed to be coming back, my hand trailing up my face as I grasped my head. It was pounding, and it didn’t seem to go away completely. Just a constant, dull, stabbing pain – please don’t tell me I’m getting sick…probably just stress.

            “We can decide once we land. We don’t know if Mai is aware that we know she’s the snitch. And if that is the case, it would be to our benefit to let her wander free, track her movements. Spying on the spy.” Zuko muttered and hearing his voice once again had my closed eyes fluttering open. The way his voice trailed off towards the end, I could start piecing together the emotions and thoughts running through his head.

            “I agree with Zuko; it’s the safest plan. Babe, have you told Ty Lee about what’s going on with Mai?” Sokka asked, and Suki let out another tired sigh. She shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head meekly before meeting his gaze, “No. I need to tell her in person; I know it’ll hurt her, hearing all of this. I can’t let anything distract her, she’s my second, and I need her to be at her sharpest until I come back.”

            “So we let Mai be for the time being, and how about Azula? What do we do about her.” Toph grumbled, and this time, no one spoke.

            Everyone’s eyes shifted, looking at their hands or feet, anywhere, besides Zuko.

            That’s it, how did I not realize before? Something so painfully obvious – why Aang and Sokka didn’t attack Azula that night. Realistically, Aang could’ve handled Azula with ease, but all he did was reflect her attacks, getting himself burnt in the process…it was something that bothered me, but ignored. But now that she mentioned it…

            Toph let out a grunt, her feet tapping impatiently against Appa’s saddle, and I held my breath. “Well? What’s your grand plan involving Azula – almighty Fire Lord.” Toph pestered with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. I could see the way Zuko tightened his jaw, his hands clenching.

            “We can think about it later Toph…” I babbled without much thought, anything to get Zuko out of the corner she put him in.

            Sadness – that was what was running through his mind. It was difficult for me to pinpoint that look because it wasn’t a look Zuko wore often. He was usually exasperated, livid, even irritated, but sorrow; that was new.

            To my dismay, Toph didn’t seem all too pleased with my answer, shaking her head. “I get that she may be your future sister-in-law, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a damn criminal.” I swallowed hard because Toph was right.

            Aang and I were looking at Azula and Mai with our hearts – not viewing the situation for what it was. Toph wasn't unreasonable – she was logical.

            “What do you propose, Toph?” Zuko shot back, his tone thick.

            Toph’s lips curved downwards, tilting her head as if to hear better. The moment I saw her thin lips beginning to move, I could feel my heart thrashing, the relentless hammering in my head emphasizing my anxiety. Toph and Zuko were similar in many ways – and their assertiveness was undeniably one of their commonalities.

            It was Aang’s airy voice that cut the growing tension for a moment, and I could allow myself to breathe. “We could capture her, get her the help she needs…help her as much as we can.” A chance to get his sister back. I knew Zuko loved Kiyi with all his heart; he viewed her as a daughter at this point, but I could still feel Zuko’s hesitation revolving Azula.

            As much as he was hated Azula, wanted her out of the picture – I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. He cared, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Zuko wasn’t heartless, and while he had everyone else fooled – I wasn’t.

            Everyone faced Zuko, waiting for his approval, but he didn’t utter a word. His long digits tapped along his thighs, golden eyes staring longingly into the distance. Silence and Zuko were two words that never went together in one sentence. Toph didn’t wait any longer to hear a response, speaking with clipped speech.

            “Mark my words Zuko; I’ll try to capture her, for you, but we both know what should be done. And if given a chance, I’ll do it without hesitation.”

            Zuko let out a bitter laugh, before glancing back at Toph, “As Fire Lord, you have my permission – kill her. It’s for the best, for not only my Nation but for the other Nations as well. But as her brother…” He flicked his fingers before letting his hands comb through his hair, “As her brother…I want the best. I want her safe. I want her home.”

            No one spoke a word.

            Everyone’s eyes shifted back down to the brown saddle we sat upon, letting the words Zuko muttered become one with the brisk air. He leaned back; arms crossed as he stared at the skyline once again. My body moved without thinking – the overwhelming urge to comfort Zuko eating me from the inside out. How I hated seeing him like this – I need to see that perfect smile of his.

            Crawling on my hands and knees, it didn’t take long for me to be by Zuko’s side, feeling everyone’s eyes over me.

            “Zuko…” I muttered under my breath, jerking Zuko from his thoughts. I was a hair away from him, but he was consumed with his feelings, he didn’t even notice. He was visibly on edge, looking at me with muddled thoughts, “What’s wrong, love?”

            I let my body drop, head falling over his lap as I curved into a tiny ball. My hands reached for his, forcing them to fall over my head, “What are-”

            “My head, it hurts…can you hold me?”

            It was like night and day.

            Zuko’s body relaxed, his hands combing through my hair. His shaky hands soon steadied, his warm breath even and no longer deep exhales of frustration. My hands hugged his legs, letting my head snuggle into his waist. The throbbing that resided along my forehead slowly began to ease with his warm touches, a small moan of relief escapes me.

            Amidst my need to squeeze myself closer to Zuko, our eyes lined up for a short moment. A lovely look of freedom washed over his face. His lips moved ever so slowly, not a sound escaping him. With or without sound, I could still make out the heartwarming message he whispered to me, ‘Thank you.’

            Just as fast as he mouthed the words, a faint smile on his face, he leaned back against the saddle, his fingers combing through my hair. A soft smile painted my face, unable to control the pleasing hum that radiated from my chest. My head hurt – yes, and while getting Zuko to caress my head was amazing, that wasn’t the reason I crawled over here.

            Zuko needed comfort, whether or not he wanted to admit it.

            Getting Zuko to snuggle me wasn’t for my own selfish needs; it was because I knew better than anyone that what Zuko needed at the moment was a good hug. I may not have Zuko as figured out as I wish, but I did know him. The man I loved was a damn sucker for cuddles, had a weird fascination with my hair, but more importantly – he needed constant reassurance and attention. Things I could, and would, gladly do in a heartbeat.

            My eyes fluttered shut, melting under his touches, like a kitten. I knew it was only a matter of time we arrived at the Kingdom, I could vaguely recall seeing the crimson rooftops, but I couldn’t help but let my breathing even out.

            Home.

            We were almost there, and I found myself beaming at the thought of seeing Kiyi again. Oh, I can already hear her squeals of excitement! Ursa more than likely annoying Zuko with the idea of marriage, while Noren tried to save Zuko from his mother's dreams.

            Then Iroh…what would he not say? Probably asking us if we managed to bring any teas for his tea shop…that’s right, he should be leaving back to the Earth Nation in another week or so. I’m going to miss Iroh-

            “Hold tight; we’re landing.” Aang chirped, causing me to grumble under my breath. Just when my headache was starting to ease. Zuko’s grip shifted to my arms, staring down at me with concern, “You’re pale, love.”

            “I don’t feel good…” I muttered, letting Zuko help me sit up. The moment my back straightened, I could feel a wave of nausea wash over me for a second, shuddering under my breath. I'm totally getting sick.

            “Sokka, when did you say Katara is coming?” Suki asked, concern laced in her voice. A hand rested on my thigh; Suki’s to be exact, the leather giving it away. She was crouched down, and even with her makeup, I could see the look of worry on her face.

            “Next week, maybe?”

            “Aang, could we send Appa to fetch Katara? Yue doesn’t look too hot...”

            “I’m fine, just a little bit under the weather.” I dismissed, trying hard to force a lively smile. Zuko kissed his teeth, the grip he had on my back tight, “As soon as we land, you’re going to bed. You’re sick. You probably caught something during that beach walk.” Zuko complained under his breath, and I coloured.

            He had a point.

            I may…or may not…had convinced Zuko to go on a walk along the beach far past midnight. I couldn’t help it! What a shame would it be to say we went to the beach and hadn’t gotten to see or spend time at the beach? It’s like going to a bakery and walking out with a piece of deli – it just doesn’t make sense.

            The chilly air of that night and wet feet, because I was insistent on getting my toes into the water, most likely didn’t help in the matter. “I’ll be fine; I just need a nap-”

            “You need a nurse, love. And so be it, I’ll tie you to the bed if it means you’re getting some rest and I SWEAR SOKKA. Wipe that stupid grin off your face!” Zuko snapped, glaring harshly at the only person who could tick off Zuko and somehow not feel his wrath.

            Sokka laughed, waving his hands innocently, “I didn’t say or do anything! Trust me, buddy, the last thing I want is to imagine the nasty things you do to my little sister.”

            “You need to tell us about those fresh hickies you failed to cover up on your neck, Princess. It seems like someone got some action.” Suki giggled, and in a flash, chaos.

            Sokka choked on air, and Zuko shot a dirty look at Suki.     

            “Holy shit – you’re telling me those screams I heard that morning wasn’t a dream!” Sokka shrieked, and before anything else could be spoken, Aang pulled on Appa’s reins, causing us to nosedive to an open space in the Kingdom.

            All we could hear was the vague screams of Sokka cursing in languages yet to be discovered, while Toph and Suki laughed hysterically to themselves. Aang shot us a cheeky grin with a thumbs up, my hands gripping onto Zuko’s shirt for dear life. As much as I loved riding Appa, the feeling of weightlessness as we landed or took off had me shutting my eyes tightly. Between Sokka’s screaming and this icky feeling – my headache was in no way going away anytime soon.

            Only when I heard Appa groan loudly, signalling that we had landed did my eyes open. Appa’s feet stomped on the stone walkway, dust flying off into different directions. The guards that stood, waiting for us, had to hold their helmets in place.

            “Shit Zuko – when we sort all of this fuckery out I’m giving you and Yue a damn talk!” Sokka snarled towards us, and Zuko grinned, “I don’t think we need a talk – I think I do a pretty good job at making Yue feel good, right, love?”

            Sokka and my cheeks were a flaming red – both for different reasons.

            Toph choked in a laugh, and before Sokka could explode, the sounds of the guards approaching, and people calling our names, had Zuko and I shifting personas.

            Zuko cleared his throat, standing tall as he helped me stand. “Fire Lord Zuko, Imperial Consort Ying Yue, a beautiful vacation we assume?” a guard spoke, hand outstretched towards me. With his guidance, I found myself getting off Appa’s back, and I smiled. “It was splendid; I would love to go back sometime soon.”

            The guard smiled at my words, genuinely happy to hear that I had a great time, despite all the chaos that happened. Zuko jumped off Appa, the rest following suit.

            I turned on my heel, gazing about at the small crowd around us. We landed directly at the kingdom, meaning we avoided the unnecessary crowds we would have bumped into at the pier. But despite it all, I found my gaze wandering about, watching as everyone politely bowed, addressing me formally.

            What a change…

            I was used to the informality from the maids and workers at the house, and being back here reminded me of my position. The tall walls, the perfectly tended foliage around us – it felt weird being here, although another part of me was happy. The urge to jump into bed with Zuko, cuddling and falling asleep…

            “Excuse me – move aside, you’re in our way.” A voice grumbled through the guards. My brows pinched together hearing the persons’ tone, low and unquestionably rude. I looked over my shoulder, Zuko was busy conversing with soldiers with the others, not noting or in earshot of what I was hearing.

            The guards that surrounded us, one by one, moved aside, and the more I observed, the more I learned. Four figures weaved themselves in and out of the disorder around us, pushing the guards without care or respect. How rude of them. Who do they think they are? I found myself stepping forward, eager to see the faces of such inconsiderate people, only to notice the clothing they wore.

            Each person wore striking red garments; robes that skimmed the floor and littered with decorations and embellishments. While they were not as extravagant or lavish as the clothing Zuko and I wore on a daily – they were, undeniably, people of high status.

            My eyes studied the man leading the bunch, an older gentleman, followed by two others and a woman. The moment their eyes fell upon me, they stilled in their tracks, staring as if I was the living embodiment of garbage itself. As I opened my mouth, ready to introduce myself, I froze, spotting the sparkling emblems that decorated their arms.

            “Greetings council – pleasure seeing you here,” I spoke, forcing a smile onto my face as I politely bowed.  

“There are twelve councilmen – and out of those twelve, four voted against you. The rest approved, the majority won.” Zuko whispered into my ear. I flipped onto my side, facing him as I listened to the words he muttered into my ear.

Despite the darkness that flooded the room, I could still make out the faint frown on his face. His hand caressed my face, letting his fingers draw my features, “Why did they vote against me? Those four people…” I muttered under my breath.

Unexpectedly, Zuko pinched my nose, a playful smile dancing upon his lips, “Because they don’t realize how utterly adorable my baby is.” Zuko cooed. My heart swelled hearing those words, smushing my face against his chest with glowing cheeks.

            It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together – these four people were unarguably the people who voted against me. The scowls that painted their faces, lips pressed tight, hands balled into fists. It was like four Mai’s – just older and, somehow, grumpier.

            “Imperial Consort Ying Yue.” The man, in front, sneered while bowing.

            My eyes narrowed. While they did bow, it was by no means a respectable one. I wasn’t fussy on customs, but when someone so obliviously detested me, it was adding salt to a wound. “What may I do for you?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound as sweet as possible. The headache that I tried to ignore wasn’t helping; I think they’re making my head worse.

            “Nothing at all – we are here to see Fire Lord Zuko, we have a meeting scheduled.”

            I frowned; meeting?

            “Fire Lord Zuko never spoke of a meeting for today-” I started, but the man interrupted me, heckling under his breath, “It was unplanned, and hopefully after today, you will no longer have to worry about such matters.”

            “What?” I gasped, noticing the hostility in his tone.

            “What is going on?” A voice spoke from behind me, the deepness causing me to jump slightly. A heated hand rested on my lower back, feeling Zuko’s touch, as he studied me and the others. The way the four councilmembers bowed lowly at the mere presence of Zuko had me biting my lip. Assholes. It was clear they were trying to disrespect me, and Zuko seemed to notice because he didn’t return the formality.

            “We have a meeting planned, Fire Lord Zuko.”

            “I didn’t approve of any meeting today.”

            “It was a meeting proposed by us, the council.”

            “Everyone, or just the four of you?” Zuko interrogated.

            I could feel his fingers digging into my back, exasperation lingering with every word Zuko spoke. At this point, the rest of the gang awkwardly stood, off to the side. Suki pointed at the elders, looking at me with a look that screamed ‘what’s going on?’ I shrugged swiftly, looking at Zuko and the elders once again.

            The knots in my stomach grew in size; something wasn’t right. The way they addressed me and how they were speaking to Zuko…

            “Yes, the four of us. It has been brought to our attention that not everyone is pleased with the idea of the future Fire Nation Queen being a Waterbender.” The man spoke bitterly, and at that moment, I could feel my stomach in my throat. They couldn’t be-

            The grip on my back loosened, Zuko moving in front of me with a vengeance.

            Zuko’s shoulders squared, his back straight as he looked down at the four individuals in front of us. “Who I decide to be my consort is not up for discussion. Ying Yue Jiang is my partner and the future Fire Nation Queen. Meeting over.” Zuko snarled, stepping dangerously close to the councilmembers.

            The silence that flooded the area at which we stood was painful.

            Not even the sound of Appa’s heavy breathing could be heard. Aang and Sokka were glaring, cautiously stepping forward as the guards around us watched the scene unfold. The guard's posture changed from a defensive position to an offensive, their hands deliberately hovering in front of them, ready to protect Zuko.

            “We are politely asking for you to reconsider your decision-” The man stubbornly pushed, and the vein in Zuko’s neck bulged. This is bad, really bad.

            “My stance is firm.”

            “Well, if you follow us, we have brought suitable candidates. Individuals who come from royalty with strong bloodlines of Firebenders, and…” The man snorted, chinning to my direction with a glare, “far more pleasing to the eye.”

            “You what?” I hissed.

            Red.

            All I saw was red.

            My shoulder brushed passed Zuko, rage pumping in my veins, the headache festering in my mind growing in intensity the more I thought. “You brought other women, to our home?”

            The man’s eyes widen, stepping back as I inched forward.

            The looks in their eyes proved that they were not expecting my outburst – eyes feverishly flickering between Zuko and I. To think, that with a flick of my wrist I could- I swallowed hard, pushing the dangerous thought away before I finished it.

            “Are you not aware of my position, who I am to you?”

            While the other individuals wisely stepped back, the evident leader of the bunch didn’t. He puffed out his chest, matching his step towards mine, and in a second, I felt Zuko’s hands falling over my arms, “Yue – leave it to me-” He whispered, and I frowned.

            “No. It seems like people are abusing my niceness.” I spoke stridently. The man scoffed, crossing his arms, “There isn’t a single thing about you worth abusing. You have no name, title; you’re nothing.”

            “Is that so? How humiliating it’ll be for you to get dismissed by a person who is supposedly nothing.” I taunted, hands on my hips as I stepped forward.

            “You don’t have the power of such-”

            “But I do. You see, while I do enjoy spending time with my future husbands family, and getting to know the people who serve this kingdom; I also spend my time learning about Fire Nation politics.” I started.

            While this imprudent man may be taller than me in stature, he was the one cowering away in an instance. My finger jammed those silky red robes that covered his chest, my nail digging into his clothes.

            “Should Fire Lord Zuko fall ill, power temporarily falls onto my hands. And I can say with utmost certainty, the very first thing I’ll do is dispose of your mere existence.” I hissed, leaning carefully to his face, making sure he heard every word that I uttered.

            The colour from the man’s face left, standing there with his mouth open, wide enough to catch flies. “Are you threatening me?” The man whispered, and I snickered, “It’s not a threat. Consider it an early notice of termination.”

            I could feel Zuko’s hands fall over my shoulders gently, his fingers massaging. Goosebumps rose on my skin, no expecting such a romantic gesture, but he didn’t stop. His chest pushed against my back, his lips brushing my ear before letting out a dangerous purr.

            “Now that we have arrived, love, I do feel unwell. Maybe it would be best for me to rest – would you be a sweetheart and take over, Imperial Consort Ying Yue?”

            “My pleasure, Fire Lord Zuko.” I tutted, “And - you’re dismissed.”

            If it weren’t for the guards, the man would’ve most definitely put up a fight. They held his upper arms, pulling him away from us, and in the process, stripping him of the glistening badge that was mockingly strapped to his arm. “I’ll get rid of you - you, bitch. And I swear, you’ll regret this.” He shouted, fingers pointing at my direction.

            I could hear Zuko growl under his breath, ready to unleash his wrath, but I spun on my heel, letting my hands rest on his chest. “It’s not worth it Zuko…” I mumbled, and in a flash, Zuko’s focus shifted to me.

            For the first time since the whole ordeal, I breathed.

            My hands were shaking, body trembling with rage.

            I can’t believe it. They actually sought out other women for Zuko. Am I that bad? Am I that-

            “Love - you alright?” Zuko whispered, his hands brushing up my neck and cupping my face. Am I alright…? I nodded meekly, shooting Zuko a weak smile, “Y-yeah. I’m tired…I-I think I should go to bed.” I mumbled, biting my lower lip.

            His gaze softened, a frown painting his face, “No, you aren’t. I’m sorry, if I knew they were going to do this I would’ve intervened-”

            “D-don’t worry about it Zuko; it’s not your fault. My head is hurting, and you’re right. I need to rest…” I spoke with a muted voice, and Zuko’s grip on my face tightened, “I’ll go with you, make sure you’re tucked in-”

            “Zuko.” I huffed, cutting him off. He tensed at my tone, and I didn’t blame him one bit, as I surprised myself. I sound weak - tired. “I’m fine Zuko, you and the gang have so many things to do. I’m not in shape to help out, no matter how much I want to. We know that…”

            Zuko’s forehead pressed into mine, his eyes closing as he breathes out.

            “…I’m sorry.���

            “Don’t be. But…” I trailed off, earning a curious look from Zuko.

            I let out a small laugh under my breath, smiling light-heartedly, “Please kick those women out. It’s going to be impossible for me to sleep, knowing there is a herd of women trying to steal you from me.”

            “Don’t be; you know you’re the only one.” Zuko cooed, and I shined against his soft touches. “I know…but for their safety; I advise you move them.” And at those words, Zuko grinned, “Is someone jealous, love?”

            “I don’t get jealous; I’m territorial.” I teased, reciting the famous line Zuko muttered to me that one time. And the mischievous statement didn’t go unnoticed. He roughly pulled me forward, planting a chaste kiss on my nose as Zuko chuckled.

            “Fuck, I love you.”

            “I love you too Zuko, now go. I’ll be fine.” I hummed, pulling away from his sweet embrace. His touches weakened, letting me walk out of his grasp before I turned on my heel. The gang watched on the sidelines, unsure of what to say at this point, so I spoke first, “I’m going to rest, I’m ill, and it’ll probably be for the best…”

            Sokka glowered, walking forward as he grasped my arms, “You sure Princess? That man said some pretty rude things…”

            “I’ve dealt with worse, Sokka, the world is a cruel place after all.”

            “And that’s why you always wear the sweetest smile – because you know,” Sokka muttered under his breath. A statement that would have gone unnoticed if I wasn’t paying as much attention as I was. “Feel better Princess. Love you.” Sokka sighed, pecking my forehead quick before stepping back.

            I bid a quick goodnight to the others while walking towards a pair of guards – two individuals who I knew all too well.

            “I didn’t think you two would be here.” I laughed, staring at the two young gentlemen. Even with their helmets on, I could see the way their pink lips curved upwards. They had beautiful smiles, their pearly white teeth beaming back at me. “It’s weird seeing you anywhere besides my bedroom doors,” I mentioned, earning light laughs from them.

            “It’s nice to have you back, Imperial Consort, we missed you.” They spoke, and I blushed at their encouraging words. I love the staff.

            We walked side by side, them pulling open the doors to the Kingdom. The hues of red, the rich scent of firewood and spice, all things I’ve learned to call home – despite the rough welcoming. People who spotted me waved gleefully, bowing before dashing off to whatever task they had.

            While I smiled back, waving happily, my mind was elsewhere.

            I would never question Zuko’s love for me – it was evident. The way he gazed at me or the sweet love confessions he whispered late at night…he loved me. But- My fingers twirled around each other the further we walked, bottom lip trembling.

            I questioned my self worth at times...

            All the insecurities I’ve long thought I had in check were suddenly hitting me full force. It was frustrating, continually feeling like I’m not good enough. But maybe I’m not? He said that many people had issues with me and if that’s true…

            “Imperial Consort?”

            My eyes widen, sniffling and wiping my cherry red nose. I’m crying.

            “S-sorry, my head hurts, please, don’t worry about me.” I forced, smiling through my tears as convincingly as I could. But the two men looked at me, stopping their movements. I stilled, viewing them with confusion, “What’s wrong? I said I’m fine. I’m just tired-”

            “He’s wrong…” The guards mumbled under their breath, and I puckered. “He said that people had an issue with you being Fire Lord Zuko’s consort, but that isn’t true…” I let out a sigh, waving away their words, “Don’t worry about that, really. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

            “But it bothers us.” My voice fell silent, surprised to hear them talking as much as they did. No matter how many times I tried to speak to them, they were often quick and short discussion, as if they were afraid to talk. But now…they were speaking freely.

            “You know, you’re the first royal ever to greet us? Acknowledge our existence? You know maids and guards by their names, their family stories, and what they enjoy. You make us feel human.” I was speechless. Made them feel human? Was it strange for me to greet the staff? It was common etiquette. To think that people disregarded them.

            “You may not score high with the royals, but you do with the people. And Fire Lord Zuko knows that is far more important than a silly hierarchy system.” A quiet pause fell between us, letting their words sink in.

            The world was cruel to me.

            I lost everything and had people walk all over me. Sokka was right; I smiled as brightly as I did because I knew first-hand how wicked people could be. And if a single smile could brighten someone’s day, I’ll smile all day.

            “…you really think that?” I whispered, and they grinned.

            “The day we call you Queen will be the greatest honour bestowed upon us.”

 ~ Fire Lord Zuko ~

            Deep breaths Zuko.

            One more woman. That’s it. You can do this.

            Just politely tell her to leave and-

            Her snake-like hands slithered its way up my arm, nails scratching my skin, the abrupt gesture catching me off guard. My skin rose, a chill running up my spine at the vile touch. It felt like poison, skin burning at the unwanted contact. There wasn’t a single ounce of decency in this woman’s behaviour, forcing my arm between her chest, trying desperately to show off her cleavage.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to spend some time with me?” The lady droned, batting her eyelashes obnoxiously while licking her lips. “I bet I can change your mind if you give me a few minutes. I know how to please a man.” She whirred, trying, but failing miserably, to sound seductive.

            “Oh, do you? That’s great; you can start by getting the fuck out of my office.” I snarled, ripping my arm out of her grasp. Her face reddened at my response, stomping forward with her hands on her hips. “Do you know who I am?” She screeched, whipping her hair behind her ear for extra emphasis on her current discontentment.

            “Yes, you’re a spoiled royal who is leaving!” I shouted, temper flaring as I gripped her shoulders, shoving her towards the door. Just a few more steps-

            “How dare you! You should be honoured. I’m a gift!”

            A manic laugh escaped my lips, rolling my eyes at her response, “Sorry, I don’t accept cheap gifts.” My hand hastily ripped the door open. She turned on her heel, mouth wide, ready to hurl another insult. But before she could, I slammed the office door shut; her dreadful voice muffled by the heavy door.

            I let my body crash.

            Fuck.

            Me.

            My eyes shut closed, running my hands exasperatingly through my tangled locks. Never, in my whole life, have I ever so desperately wanted to take a bath, and scrub my body to the bone. I could still feel her lingering touch on my skin, and I shivered - I could vomit.

            I shoved myself off the door with much effort, the muscles that I so proudly worked on seemed useless at the moment. There was a reason why the gang left me, “Don’t worry Zuko, we’ll figure things out while you deal with the mess here. We got you.”

             ‘Got me’ my ass.

            They didn’t want the pleasure of kicking out desperate women who would jump at the chance of being the future Fire Nation Queen. I knew I should’ve let the guards handle it, but I didn’t. I had to go and try to be a nobleman, be gentle and sensitive, and break the news to them that I am in no need of a ‘new consort.’ Since when do I care and acknowledge such feelings?

            I swore, I already knew the answer.

            Damnit Yue, before you, I didn’t care a single bit about emotions, and suddenly I’m a damn expert about them. Without thinking twice, I strolled to the corner of my study, seeing the various bottles that lined the glass shelf.

            Whisky, where is it?

            My fingertips grazed the array of selection; blended, bourbon, rye…

            My eyes lit up, scotch.

            I snatched the bottle, letting the dark liquid pour into a glass, the strong scent of alcohol flooding my nostrils. The bitter liquid touched my lips, and a groan escaped me – smooth. A faint burn carried down my throat, as I drank, and for the first time today, I felt like I could breathe.

            The sun was setting, casting strange shadows along the walls. The room looked like a tropical haze under the setting sun, more than half the day gone in a flash – and the only productive thing that happened was me kicking out a bunch of women from my office. I stole another sip from my cup, walking towards my study.

            Stacks of paperwork piled on the wooden desk, and I let out another grunt.

            My body dropped onto my cushioned scarlet chair, finding an odd sense of comfort sitting behind this desk, with my pens and inks ready for use. And the moment the feeling of coziness hit me, I chuckled under my breath. Yue is right – I’m a workaholic.

            I slid my glass off to the far corner, after stealing one last sip, letting my tired eyes scan the documents that flooded my desk — approval of new policies, revision of Fire Nation citizenship requirements, taxes, civil dispute cases.

            “Paperwork. How I missed you.” I grumbled, before re-organizing the documents.

            I knew I had to finish some of this work tonight, but the urge to leave to check up on Yue was eating me alive. She looked sick; I could tell just by her eyes. The way she struggled to stay focused, skin pale and cold to touch. But more importantly – she looked hurt.

            The fucking rage I’m going to unleash on the council tomorrow. My fingers wrinkled the flimsy document in my hand, annoyance getting the best of me — complete idiots. The papers slipped through my hands, forming another mountain to be tackled tomorrow.

            Tossing paper after paper into pointless piles, I couldn’t help but look for that one specific document. I asked Iroh to deliver it…did he forget? I huffed, not seeing the report at all. Maybe I do not see it; it has to be-

            “Fire Lord Zuko?” A soft voice spoke, catching my attention.

            My head snapped upwards, noticing a maid politely bowing, peeping out of the study door. “Yes?”

            The maid glanced over her shoulder before facing me once again. “There are some people who wish to speak to you…” She whispered, and I frowned, “Who?”

            “I think it’ll be better if you see them for yourself, Fire Lord Zuko.” I nodded tentatively, standing straight and fixing my appearance. The door shut briefly before creaking open once again. What in the world-

            Six figures dashed inside, wearing red gowns, the badges they wore on their arms, reflecting whatever sun was left. My eyes narrowed, they have some fucking nerve-

            “And what reason do you have to be in my office, council?” I hissed.

            My arms crossed over my chest, staring at the six individuals who humbly bowed in front of me. Their hands laid over their upper body as they greeted, voices merciful. “We mean no disrespect with our presence-” An elderly woman spoke, standing at the front of the small crowd that had gathered in the study.

            “You sure? Since it appears, the basic concept of respect is not found within the council anymore. Insulting the Imperial Consort, making us appear as fools.” I shouted. They slowly rose from their deep bows, grimaces painting their faces as they listened to the lecture that was about to rain down upon them.

            “Fire Lord Zuko – we had no part in that-” She attempted to reason, and I scoffed. “No part? Then what brings you all here? I’m in no mood to deal with you all - not after that superb performance.”

            “This.”

            The elder reached into her robe, a brown file in her grasp.

            “Where did you get this?” I snarled, eyes furiously scanning the paper. Her arm outstretched towards me, letting the document fall into my hands. Iroh was supposed to drop this off to me-

            ‘Lifting of traitor status – General Axe.’

            “She’s just like him, you know…sympathetic…generous…” She spoke, voice trailing off. They knew – they knew who Yue was all this time. Mihir was right about people recognizing Yue; I should’ve taken his warning seriously.

             “Fire Lord Zuko, you need six signatures from the council to lift a traitor status, which you’ll find inside that folder. Eight, signatures, in fact.”

            I couldn’t form words, opening the file hastily.

            She’s telling the truth.

            Eight unique signatures, written with fresh black ink, dated.

            It was done, Axe’s traitor status was lifted. A process that should have taken weeks to complete was done in a single day. Should Yue’s father be alive, if we find him, I could protect him. I could bring her father back, with no consequences.

            “Why?” I whispered, shutting the document in a single motion, staring at the six individuals who stood in front of me. I had eight signatures, two people are missing- “I knew Axe, personally, just like the destruction your father unleashed.” She started, everyone sighing heavily, remembering the war.

            Fire Lord Ozai – a monster. He viewed his soldiers as disposable and people of other Nations as a waste of space. She was one of the few people who worked under his rule and continued working into my term. Who would’ve thought she knew who Axe was? Clearly, Yue’s father was popular amongst the royals.

            “I think you’re well aware of who, on this council, still reason with his philosophy.”

            She rose a brow at me, and I nodded. “We dismissed one of them today,” I muttered, and she chuckled under her breath, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming prominent. “That feistiness you saw today – that was from her mother’s side.”

            “If you knew who Ying Yue was, why didn’t you speak up earlier? You knew from the start that she was a Waterbender-”

            “That is untrue, Fire Lord Zuko. Majority of us were unaware of Ying Yue’s history. If it weren’t for two council members and your Uncle, no one wouldn’t have known.” A man spoke up from behind, his hands interlocked together in front of him.

            I’m a fucking idiot.

            I swore under my breath, turning on my heel as I let my hands slam the desk. Of course, Uncle Iroh would’ve known who Ying Yue’s father was. He served in the military, knew the ins and outs like the back of his hands. Why haven’t I thought of that before? So focused on the mess that was unfolding before my eyes, I missed the obvious.

            “Fire Lord Zuko, you may have dismissed one troubled soul, but there are others who are itching to find an excuse to get rid of Ying Yue, and potentially, you.” She spoke, her extremely calm tone carrying throughout the study.

            “By signing these papers, you’re trying to prove where your alliances stand, I can assume?” I questioned.

            They all looked at each other before nodding slowly. “We can’t go back to those dark ages. Those false followers of yours are trying every means to impeach you. The moment Iroh told us you were submitting a change of status regarding Axe, we knew it was time for us to intervene.” I nodded, tempted to steal another drink at this point. It was one less thing to worry about on my list, and I found my fingers tracing the document – Axe.

            “If there is anything more we can do for you Fire Lord Zuko; we will do so without hesitation.”

            “Thank you. It is much appreciated, and I respect your loyalty.” I hummed, turning to face the bunch. They all wore sheepish smiles, gazing at each other before stepping back. “We will show ourselves out. Have a pleasant evening, Fire Lord Zuko.” They muttered under their breath before bowing deeply.

            One by one, they left, everyone heading into a different direction the moment they stepped outside. As if the impromptu meeting had not happened. The eldest lady of them all, the one who spoke the most gave me a warm smile. Her hand rested along the door frame, looking over her shoulder, brown eyes scanning the document on the desk.

            “Are you going to retire early, Fire Lord Zuko? Deliver our Impending Queen the good news regarding her father?” I let a small smile sneak up on my face, “Not yet, I have a few things to settle first before I deliver the news.”

            “If the rumours are true, Mihir will find him.”

            My eyes widen at her comment, and she let out a sad sigh, “I couldn’t tell you if Axe is indeed alive. If I could, I would. But if there is one person who could find him, it’s Mihir.”

            “Did you know her mother too?” I questioned, leaning against my study with crossed arms. She let her wrinkled hands brush some grey hairs behind her ear, strands that escaped her tight bun.

            “I did. Kasa Jiang. You know, you would’ve thought she was the Firebender and Axe was the Waterbender.” The lady laughed. Her eyes shinnied brightly, remembering all the fond memories she must have shared with them. But, if she knew them as well as she did…

            “Axe, he was an only child, I couldn’t find any relatives besides his parents. But what about Kasa? Did she have any sisters or brothers…” I inquired. The lady nodded, letting a finger rest on her chin as she pondered.

            “She did, a younger brother. Poor thing, he was a child when Kasa left the Northern tribe,” My heart pounded hearing her words.

            Kasa had a brother.

            Yue had an Uncle.

            “Kasa loved him dearly, but with the war, and her skills in healing, she had to leave him behind. Axe told me they built another room in their house so Kasa could bring him to the Earth Nation…poor thing most likely doesn’t even know what happened to his sister.”

            Did Yue know this – that she had an Uncle, somewhere in the Northern tribe? I frowned, scratching my head. Fuck, if it were anyone else, I would’ve assumed no, but Yue was a family person. Knowing her, she would’ve asked her parents about their family – that was just how she was.

            “Fire Lord Zuko…is everything alright?”

            Her shaky voice caught me off guard, nodding my head like a madman. “Y-yes. My apologies. I think some rest would do me some good.” I muttered under my breath, and she nodded despite studying me with anxious eyes. “I agree…I’ll let myself out. Have a pleasant evening, Fire Lord Zuko, give my regards to our Impending Queen.”

            The doors shut, and I found myself locking the documents into my desk, briskly blowing the candles. The room dimmed, as I rubbed my eyes tiredly, walking out with heavy steps. The sun was almost hidden at this point, the Moon making its presence known. The door shut behind me, bidding my goodnights to the guards as I walked down the hallways.

            My mind was buzzing – and not because of the damn whisky. Although the urge to go back and finish the glass was tempting at the moment. Yue has an Uncle, and the thought made me tense. Could their relation explain Yue’s peculiar bending skills?

            The way she healed was strange, and it’s evident there was some secret regarding that aspect of her bending, especially since Aang threaten me if I tried to dig any further. Even Yue’s affinity of ice. The way she manipulated water – it was something I have yet to witness.

            Beautiful – but chilling.  

            Nothing about this seemed right. And the more I thought, the more I remembered. Azula’s words were on replay in my mind, haunting my thoughts; the mother’s side is far more interesting…Everything was too coincidental, and something I learned during my reign was that there were no such things as happy accidents.

            What are the chances that Azula comes back alongside Yakone? A man who we’ve been aimlessly searching for with a vengeance? Azula wouldn’t work with someone else; unless they had power and something to gain. Yakone had power – but what was she gaining from this? And then there’s Mai-

            I groaned to myself, realizing where I was heading to without much thought. I need to speak with Uncle Iroh, what else was that damn tea-loving senior hiding from me? But what about the gang? Another grunt escaped me. Fuck.

            My feet stopped moving, ready to turn on my heel. They said they had everything under control – that Suki and Toph will figure out Mai while Aang and Sokka talk with the military officials - fuck it.

            All sense of duty and responsibility left the fucking premise, my feet moving with one goal in mind. My eyes spotted the two guards out front, shooting me smiles and bowing, “Evening Fire Lord Zuko.”

            “Evening, is Imperial Consort Ying Yue inside?”

            “Indeed, she’s resting. The nurses looked after her; nothing more than a cold.” I nodded at their words before pushing the doors open. The addictive smell of flowers and vanilla danced in the air, a stupid smile appearing on my face.

            Home sweet home.

            There she was – blankets messily wrapped around Yue’s body, teddy bear tucked under her chin. A deep chuckle rumbled from my chest as I stepped closer, taking in the magnificent sight in front of me. “Why am I not surprised?” I mused, taking note of the fact that she stole, yet another, shirt of mine.

            My fingers ran along her silky legs, pulling the blankets and covering her. “Even in your sleep, you tempt me,” I mumbled, letting the sheets fall over her waist. She fell asleep on my side of the bed, a first I believe, but I was by no means complaining.

            I flicked my fingers, lighting the candles on our nightstands, illuminating the room. And as I lazily rolled up my sleeves, unbuttoning the front of my robe, I found myself staring.

            She’s beautiful.

            Sitting on the edge of the bed, I grasped her hand tightly with mine, thumb rubbing her palm. The feeling of her skin against mine left me breathless at times. But it was more than just that – I could spend hours relishing, admiring, every detail about her down to the last beauty mark.

            The feeling of her lips against mine, or the way her hair tangled between my fingers.

            The sweet vanilla scent that always lingered on her skin, or the soft giggles that sounded like music.

            I rose her hand against my lips, letting a content sigh escape. “I love you…” I mumbled against her skin, planting soft, delicate kisses. Her mere presence had me relaxing, ready to take a bath and sleep. I can worry about everything tomorrow. For now…I want her.

            “Zuko?”

            My eyes opened, noticing Yue pouting. Her golden eyes fluttered open as she let out a whine. Fuck she’s adorable.

            “I-I thought you’ll still be working- what time is it?” She hummed with a sweet smile on her face. Her eyes were no longer hazy, her natural glow shining through. She looks ten times better than this morning. “I let the gang handle it. I wanted to be here, love.” I muttered, letting my lips press against her hand, basking in her touch.

            She nodded, watching me intently as I relaxed, “Zuko…can I ask you a question?”

            I opened an eye, nodding slowly. Her mouth opened and closed, her cheeks flushing, and I grinned. “What’s got you so flustered, love?” I teased. There was something about seeing Yue squirming, to shy to speak, but unable to contain herself. She bit her lip bashfully, staring up at me with those big innocent eyes of her. “You’re going to laugh.” And at that statement, I did.

            “Come on; love. Tell me.” I cooed, planting another kiss on her finger. The pink on her cheeks turned to a red, and with a rushed voice, she blurted.

            “Why did you kiss my hand when we first met?”

            My eyes widen at her question – something I was most certainly not expecting. I let our hands fall onto the bed, staring at her face. “W-well? I know kissing the hand isn’t a Fire Nation custom, so…” She integrated.

            “You want the truth?” I mumbled.

            Yue nodded.

            “I don’t know, but fuck - it felt right.”

            “Did you ever regret it?” She asked, curiosity dripping from every word she spoke. I smirked, leaning forward, letting my breath tickle her lips. “The only thing I regret is kissing you on the hand when it should’ve been your lips.”

            Yue purred under her breath, lacing her hands in my hair, “You could make up for it now, by kissing me.”

            I chuckled darkly, letting a lone finger trail under her chin, “But here’s the problem, love.” I groaned, tilting her head, just enough for her lips to press against mine, “if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

            “Who said I wanted you to stop?”

            Her lips pressed against mine, and I let myself drown.

            If love is madness – fuck sanity.

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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Llyr and the Pirates - Day 18

Day 18: Forced to Hunt/Sing/Perform

For @amonthofwhump‘s Water Whump May, where I write a part of this story every day according to the prompt. I think Hugh and Gawain are constantly trying to one-up each other because whenever one bastard does a bad thing, the other one does something worse and I can’t stop them helppp.

Tag list: @spiffythespook, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insanitywishes, @whumpingonarainyday 

Content warnings: noncon kiss(ish? she’s just doing cpr so that’s why), threats of death

no editing we die like fools.

Even as he went still, as he let out a breath, as his eyes rolled into the back of his head…

The singing never stopped.

He woke to lips pressing against his own, stale breath forced down his throat, and hands repeatedly pounding down on his chest. He couldn’t breathe right under the weight and he tried to bat the hands off, choking and coughing on wet breaths.

“Stah… stop it, gotta- gotta breathe…” he slurred, pushing weakly against hands that immediately let go, to his relief. 

“Finally! I was starting to think you died for good. Captain woulda been fuckin’ pissed,” a female voice said, and he looked up to see a woman kneeling above him. She was part of Gawain’s crew, no doubt, but he didn’t know why she was there, or why he was there for that matter.

Where had he been before this? Gawain tied him to the front of the ship, he remembered that much. Then… he’d broken free, hadn’t he? He’d broken free and swam away with those other people: the ones who looked like they had tails and held him down under the water until he couldn’t stay conscious any longer. 

Who were they? Why were they there? Nobody dared go for a swim that far out in the ocean, for fear of what vicious creatures lived there below the surface. Were these people some of those vicious creatures?

He banished the thought from his head. He’d been so incoherent by that time that some of his memory had to be imagined or exaggerated. Though that still didn’t explain how in the world he survived. Ray turned back to the woman still leaning over him.

“How did y-you-” he started, but a coughing fit overtook him. Water and spit dripped from the corner of his mouth when he spoke again, weakly. “How’d you find me?”

“You were floating in the water right over here. How could I not find you?” she chuckled, grabbing at his arm. “Now get up. Captain wants you back safe and sound, and it’s not like I brought anyone else to carry you back.” True to her word, there really was nobody else around the small cove he’d ended up in. How he’d ended up there, he had no idea, but the ship was nowhere in sight. She leaned down to pull Ray more firmly, hoisting him to his unsteady feet before he could protest further. It was only then that the full extent of the situation struck him.

They were isolated. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew which direction the lady was walking. If he kept going on his own, he was bound to find the ship eventually. And Llyr was still there; what was happening to him now that Ray had run off? 

He curled his hand into a fist before he even knew what he was doing, and launched a punch at her temple from behind. She crumpled to the ground with a shout, and she was out cold. Well. That worked out, he supposed. The adrenaline was still coursing through Ray’s veins as he continued on trembling legs, walking across rocky sand with larger chunks that dug into his feet, already sore from the night before. 

The sun, rising higher in the sky, heated everything around him and forced him to sweat out water he didn’t think his body even had in its dehydrated state. But eventually, after not all too long, he made it back to the ship where there were plenty more sailors milling around. 

Most seemed to be patrolling the edges of the beach, and he pressed back up against the rocky cliff, the shade it provided just enough to hide him from plain sight. Ray continued along there, watching everyone warily, and finally made it to the point where he was aligned with the back entrance point of the ship. The ground there was littered with splintered wood, along with the rocks.

There was one more person he could see, milling around in a barely visible room, but they soon disappeared up a set of stairs and he took his chance. Ray slunk into the ship, all carefully silent footfalls and owlish wide eyes, looking around in the relative darkness to find any sign of where they’d kept Llyr. Each room he checked was devoid of other people, and he grew tense with the fear that Gawain had already woken him and hurt him even more for no reason before Ray had the chance to save him.

Then there was a cold point of metal at the small of his back, a hand on his shoulder, and he couldn’t think. 

“Don’t move,” a voice said, and he recognized it. “Hugh? Oh thank god, it’s you I-” “I said don’t move!” he hissed, pressing the blade in hard enough to draw blood. Ray went stiff and turned back around to face forward. He kept his breathing steady. He wouldn’t let his heart race, and he wouldn’t let himself panic. This was a misunderstanding, or- or something, he didn’t fucking know right now.

“...what’s up?” Ray asked, throat tightening around the words, forcing them out higher than he’d intended. 

“You ran,” Hugh stated simply.

“I was gonna help you, and we were gonna get out before anyone else woke up. No harm done. You know...”

“Do you know how much trouble you got me in?” he snapped, jerking Ray’s shoulder back and forcing his body against the blade. “You wanna know what happened after you set such a great fucking example?!”

“I’m-” he tried to speak, but Hugh was dead set on saying what he had planned. Knowing him, he’d been rehearsing the coming speech in his head since whatever incident had occurred.

“The little fucking thief ran off,” he growled, “and I’m taking the blame for his disappearance. First you, then him, and the captain’s gonna have my head soon if I don’t fix this shit. He’s got plans for you, ya know.”

Llyr had run. That was all that mattered. He’d gotten out of there, away from Gawain and Hugh, and he was safer wherever he was now.

“Good for him. Let him go, Hugh, and we’ll get out of here ourselves.”

“Get out of here? You’re making that sound like a good thing, Ray. I think we’ll be just fine here. Captain’s the first sensible guy I’ve met in years, really.”

“I’m your captain, Hugh: not that freak. We’re leaving and finding wherever the rest of the crew sailed off to, and that’s final.”

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, Raymond!” Hugh all but shouted in his ear. “I’m tired of you and your happy, peaceful little rules! If I gotta join up with some law abiding folks to have some decent fun, then goddammit that’s what I’m gonna do!”

Ray was silent for a moment, and the words hung in the air like an awful stench. Perhaps he should have seen that coming. 

“Listen up. You and I are gonna take a nice walk down the beach and find that boy, and when we do, we’re gonna bring him right back here. If you refuse to help,” he paused, trailing the blade up his back with a feather light touch, “I’ll end you right here, right now.”

“Wait, don’t, I- won’t Gawain kill you, then? If you- if you kill me?”

“He’ll kill me anyway if I don’t find Llyr, and the stupid brat would never come with me if I didn’t have help. Now are you helping, or am I gonna have to explain why I got blood all over these new, clean clothes before he spills mine as well?”

Ray breathed out a wavering sigh and closed his eyes.

“...okay. I’ll help.”

Next part

Author’s note: as an independent, anarcho-syndicalist analyst who currently doesn’t even have a Twitter account, my ability to do the work I do online hinges on word-of-mouth referrals and recommendations; if you like this article, please share a link to it someplace else on social media.

The Trump Suspensions, Big Tech and Section 230

If the truth is to be told, I've spent the better part of the past week and a half trying to put Trump and his coup attempt behind me; with a hyper-capitalist Biden administration on tap, and already trafficking in austerity mythology and neoliberal authoritarianism, my internal analyst's relevancy clock is ticking like a time bomb. Furthermore, I believe that the fallout from the actual chud insurrection on January 6th, has finally rendered Trump himself an impotent, and increasingly less relevant, figure in what I have repeatedly predicted will be an ongoing American fascist movement. Finally of course, after five years of writing “yes, this guy is literally a fascist” over and over, I've grown extremely weary of arguing about what fascism is, and isn't, with contrarian left types who don't realize they're still operating under the hypnotic spell of American exceptionalism.

Unsurprisingly however, the news itself hasn't really given a damn what I'd rather be analyzing, and the fallout from the chud riot in D.C., has utterly dominated the coverage and discourse; creating infuriating and irresponsible narratives about what is ultimately a clear cut act of politicized violence by far right, fascist extremists. Recently, I've been offering a lot of push-back on narratives popular among the more reactionary elements of the online “left,” but today I'd like to turn our attention to a popular “neoliberal” (but not necessarily Democratic Party) narrative being pushed by elite capital, and the cluster of companies we collectively know as Big Tech. Namely, the idea that in the wake of the coup attempt, billion dollar social media companies should be lauded for finally suspending the accounts of Donald Trump and thousands of his fascist cronies, on their various services.

Now, don't get me wrong here; this isn't going to be a rant about censorship, and I personally think it's an unquestionably good thing that Trump (and fascist organizers) have been driven off social media, but something smells like rotting fish in all this, and I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that greedy, crypto-reactionary Tech Bros running billion dollar social media companies, are at the heart of it. To understand my problem here however, the first thing we have to ask is “why was Trump suspended from social media?”

Obviously each of the various social media companies have released statements about their decisions, but we're not really here to waste our time dissecting what amounts to public relations and propaganda. On an extremely basic level, most people understand that Trump's accounts were suspended for using election fraud conspiracy theories to ultimately incite fascist violence, and inspire a chud insurrection that left five people dead. Reduced to its essence, this then leaves us with three major “justifications” for the Trump suspensions; spreading dangerous conspiracy theories, inciting an insurrection, and inspiring (lethal) violence – all very good reasons to suspend someone's Twitter or Facebook account, wouldn't you say?

Unfortunately for guys like Mark Zuckerberg and Jack Dorsey however, there are in fact some obvious problems with this narrative no matter which angle you choose to approach it from; let's start with the fact that Trump's social media feeds have been creating dead bodies and inspiring reactionary violence for years. It is no great secret that racialized violence and hate crimes have risen drastically in America (and the larger Pig Empire) since Trump launched his first election campaign with an explicitly fascist speech about Mexicans and migrants. What is far less often discussed however, even on ostensibly “liberal” news networks, is the ways in which Trump (and his tweets) have already directly inspired violence and murder in America and even abroad:

In addition to the surging national hate crime figures, a May 2020 investigation turned up at least “54 criminal cases where Trump was invoked in direct connection with violent acts, threats of violence or allegations of assault.” As ABC notes, “the cases are remarkable in that a link to the president is captured in court documents and police statements, under the penalty of perjury or contempt. These links are not speculative – they are documented in official records. And in the majority of cases identified by ABC News, it was perpetrators themselves who invoked the president in connection with their case, not anyone else.”

At least three different mass shooters (Pittsburgh, El Paso, Christchurch New Zealand) can convincingly be said to be have been inspired by Trump, or Trump’s rhetoric in some direct and observable way. Their total body count is eighty-four dead people who would likely still be breathing today, if Donald Trump had never logged on to social media or been given a platform to spread hatred and fascist ideology.

All of this is of course to say nothing of Trump’s peripheral involvement with and support for other groups responsible for right wing violence, like the Q-Anon conspiracy movement, or the neo-Nazi rioters who tore up Charlottesville and murdered Heather Heyer.

Naturally then, the obvious question becomes, if Trump was suspended for inciting deadly violence on January 6th in D.C., why wasn't he suspended for doing exactly the same thing before now? Hell, I'll do you one better; if Trump is suspended for inciting reactionary violence and murder, then why aren't guys like fascist provocateur Andy Ngo, and Wilks Brothers muppet Ben Shapiro (who himself has inspired an international body count) also suspended? Right, it simply doesn't track, and therefore we can conclude that Trump's social media suspensions really didn't have anything to do with inciting violence.

Alright, so be it, maybe you personally agree that “inspiring deadly violence and hate crimes” is somehow a loose reason to suspend a guy's social media accounts, whether he's president or not. Maybe, you figure that where Trump really crossed the line was purposely inciting a goddamn insurrection, and you're happy that Big Tech corporations understand the fine line between fascist murders and fascist terrorism. Unfortunately, that narrative doesn't track either because this isn't the first time Trump has tried to inspire an insurrection on Twitter; please recall the partially-AstroTurfed “Anti-Lockdown protests” in the spring, and in particular Trump's attempts to inspire an uprising in my home state of Michigan. Do you remember the “Liberate Michigan” tweet? The armed fascist militias occupying the Michigan legislature? The chud plot to kidnap and perhaps kill, the Governor of Michigan? Would it surprise you to learn that many of the same people who participated in those prior chud protests were part of the crowd that stormed Capitol Hill on January 6th? Is Jack Dorsey really arguing that Trump's insurrectionist tweets in the spring were fine, but his insurrectionist tweets in January are not because... more people saw the later on TV? Say what?

All of which of course brings us to the somewhat nebulous, “dangerous conspiracy theories” portion of the rationale for suspending Trump now, in the wake of the chud uprising. It's not much of a leg to stand on either however, because not only has Trump been pushing election fraud conspiracy theories for the past freaking year, but that isn't even the most dangerous and deadly example of his false reality narrative causing carnage in our society. You can take your pick, but I'd wager that both the Q-Anon conspiracy movement Trump has openly supported on social media, and the unhinged coronavirus conspiracies he propagated online for months and months, have much higher body counts than anything we saw on Capitol Hill. Why should anyone believe Big Tech companies care about conspiracy theories and how many people they kill, given their prior behavior up to this point? Please keep in mind that these are the same companies that decided not to suspend Trump's accounts when he was using them to threaten North Korea with annihilation; an act that could have easily lead to a catastrophic nuclear exchange if Kim Jong Un were half as un-moored from reality as our CIA-loyal media likes to imply.

Given all that then, what is the real reason behind suspending Trump's social media accounts? Again, it’s not that I'm concerned that a flatulent billionaire fascist manbaby lost some of his favorite outlets to spread fascist conspiracy theories, but why now, and not then?

To understand that, we're going to have to take a little bit of a detour here and talk about Section 230. What is Section 230? A portion of the American law that governs the internet, which ultimately indemnifies social media companies from legal liability for the crap other people post on their platforms. Without Section 230, victims of fascist violence organized on Facebook, could conceivably sue the pants off Big Tech companies for allowing that to happen. This is of course an existential crisis to gigantic tech firms that rely heavily on wildly unpredictable algorithms and automated processes to avoid having to hire moderators and actually keep an eye on what users are doing with their platforms. Furthermore, in the lead up to the 2020 election, both Joe Biden and Donald Trump talked about repealing Section 230, for (and this is key here) entirely different reasons.

Trump and his numerous allies in the Republican Party spent much of 2020 using the threat of repealing Section 230 as a cudgel against social media companies taking even mild action to combat these same dangerous conspiracy theories, and the spread of fascist ideology online. The GOP argument, disingenuously presented as a defense of free speech, was then that if Big Tech didn't let the fascists say whatever they wanted, regardless of its veracity or the potential consequences, they would open up companies like Twitter and Facebook to American libel laws. Of course, that's pretty laughable if we're talking about someone like Laura Loomer suing Twitter over her account being suspended, but Big Tech companies only have to look as far as Peter Theil's ultimately successful quest to destroy Gawker to realize it only takes one reactionary judge in a high enough chair, to sink their battleships entirely. Obviously then, you don't really need to be a genius to figure out Big Tech companies weren't excited about the idea of suspending Trump or his followers, because that would presumably result in an all-out assault on Section 230 from the sitting President of the United States and his (still quite influential) political party.

Ok, so great news for the Tech Bros right? Biden won after all, and barring a chud uprising on a scale not even I think they're capable of, he's about to become POTUS. Not so fast, because Biden and the so-called “centrist” neoliberal establishment in the Democratic Party are also threatening to repeal Section 230 for their own political advantage. The neoliberals too are disingenuously hiding their motives, this time behind a desire to combat hate speech and disinformation; truly noble goals, but obviously utterly irrelevant to rich white liberals who've spent the past five years conflating both Russian spies, and murderous fascist thugs, with leftists who want healthcare. Truthfully, this entire maneuver ultimately represents a ruling class, liberal elite attempt to arbitrate what is and isn't considered true, or newsworthy in the public discourse; a quest they've been furiously working on since the first Bernie Sanders political insurgency threatened to topple Democratic Party leadership, and naturally, throughout the bogus Russigate fever dream that dominated the first two years of Trump's presidency. Of course, even after Biden won the election, there really wasn't much reason for Big Tech companies to take this threat seriously; clearly the Republican Senate wasn't going to allow elite liberal censors to use a potential Section 230 repeal to dictate who can say what online, right?

Yeah, about that Republican Senate majority though; whoops. What if I told you then that the decision to suspend Trump's social media accounts sooner or later, was largely a forgone conclusion after the events of January 5th, not January 6th, 2021? What happened on January 5th? Joe Biden and the Democratic Party swept the Georgia special elections, effectively taking control of the American Senate, and putting folks like Zuck and Dorsey squarely in Biden's line of fire going forward.

Thus it can be said that the answer to both of our questions, “why wasn't Trump suspended before,” and “why is Trump suspended now” ultimately come down to who wields power in our society and our old nemesis, the profit motive. Companies like Twitter and Facebook don't really give a damn about disinformation, conspiracy theories or even Tweets that rack up their own body counts; what they care about is maintaining the warm embrace of legal impunity their business model depends on, and they'll do anything, to appease anyone with the power to remove that embrace, if they think it'll keep the gravy train going. Big Tech isn't fighting fascism, it's fighting oversight and the tyranny of having to pay live human moderators; there's nothing noble or praiseworthy about that, even if I'm still forced to admit that the censored neoliberal authoritarian alternative would be no better, and might be quite a damn sight worse.

Come meet the new boss; same as the old boss, indeed.

- nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

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“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

The Proud Boys want the public to believe that they’re a “drinking club” who only resort to violence to defend themselves from anti-fascist protesters during political rallies.

But in private, these extremists have discussed injuring and even killing their adversaries, plotting tactics and optics for months in order to assert a claim of self-defense should they face charges.

According to private chat logs obtained exclusively by HuffPost, the punch-happy, pro-Trump street gang was particularly excited for its “Resist Marxism” rally, scheduled for April 6 in Providence, Rhode Island. With the right plan of attack, members said, this one could put them back on the map.

This mother f**ker needs to meet a 7mm [Magnum rifle] from about 500 yards.Proud Boy Shaun Hufton in private chats.

The group had been floundering ever since 10 of its members were arrested for assaulting protesters outside a GOP event in New York City last year. Their leader, Vice Media co-founder Gavin McInnes, reportedly arranged for his followers’ surrender.

In the chats, covering a time period between February and March of this year, members claimed they needed a conclusive “win” this time around, which they defined as a bloody battle against “antifa” in Providence. If this brawl were bigger and more violent than previous iterations, they might regain some of the street cred and followers they’d lost.

“We’ll grow this group of patriots and we’ll never back down,” wrote the event’s organizer, Proud Boys member Alan Swinney, in the private chat messages. “If we win, it will make more patriots come to the next rally. We just need to go there and we’ll beat them. We’ll have enough to crush them at some point.”

A source with direct knowledge of the exchanges confirmed to HuffPost that the logs were authentic. Swinney also responded to several screenshots. When asked about discussions of violence in the chat logs, he told HuffPost, “They’re warriors. ... Choir boys don’t go up against people like that [anti-fascists]. It takes a person with a certain type of mindset.”

The logs contained a revolving door of up to 30 Proud Boys and their allies, including militia members and other “patriots,” as Swinney called them. Those named in this story either publicly identify as members of the Proud Boys or affiliated groups, or have been identified as such in national news stories or by the groups’ leaders.

Looking forward to Providence, members in the private channel were pumped for the opportunity to cause mayhem. One Proud Boy named Anthony Mastrostefano said:

“All I want to do is smash commies too. Actually I’m lying, I’m way past just hitting them. When the time comes I will stop at nothing to fully eradicate them all!”

“We’re A Drinking Club”

The Proud Boys have a yearslong history of violence, and they’ve built an entire brand off of the fights they’ve helped organize in American streets, from spars in Los Angeles and Portland, Oregon, to attacks in Providence and New York.

McInnes created a set of rules by which his gang members could gain clout in the organization, which include forgoing masturbation, getting a Proud Boy tattoo and fighting in the name of the gang.

Their leadership has always claimed that such violence is incidental, acts of self-defense necessitated by their anti-fascist opponents, who show up to each of their purported free-speech events in protest.

They’ve gone as far as to file lawsuits to maintain that facade ― on Monday, several of their members stood at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., and announced that they were suing the Southern Poverty Law Center for labeling them as a hate group. McInnes himself filed a defamation lawsuit against the civil rights organization in February.

“We’re a drinking club that stands behind Donald Trump,” said Proud Boys chairman Enrique Tarrio at the D.C. event. “That’s enough to earn hate of the left.”

But private chat logs leaked to HuffPost fly directly in the face of that sentiment, showing Proud Boys premeditating violence they hope to commit. They spent months before the April rally meticulously planning strategies for injuring protesters.

Members discuss what weapons they might use against the “commies” they’ll meet in the street, which police officers might be sympathetic to them, how they’ll raise funding to fly out their long-distance compatriots, and how they’ll “bait” protesters into throwing the first punch so that they can claim self-defense.

HuffPost has reviewed dozens of private messages shared among a small group of Proud Boys and their allies, mostly on the social app Telegram, in the months leading up to the “Resist Marxism” rally they had planned for April. The chat logs were leaked by a source who wished to remain anonymous out of fear for their safety.

The rally ultimately didn’t happen, but the logs provide an inside look into the extremist group’s strategy as well as evidence that such planning continues to this day.

The Proud Boys Premeditate Violence

“Group, meet Kindness,” wrote Proud Boy Jason Cardona on Telegram, above a selfie in which he’s holding his pet, an ax.

“Ahhh, Kindness,” crowed Proud Boy Peter Scott in response. Scott then posted a picture of himself holding a large knife. Another member, Jake Adkins, posted a short video depicting an unknown device, asking the group, “Think I can get this thru in a checked bag?”

On Telegram, the Proud Boys privately fantasized about the weapons they might like to use against anti-fascist protesters at the rally in Providence. But they were also cautious about what weapons they told others to bring, as they didn’t want to face more arrests.

Scott noted that mace is “100 percent legal for self-defense” and directed everyone else in the chat to “armor up boys!” Makeshift armor is a common sight among Proud Boys, militia groups and other far-right extremists at these rallies. Depending on where a gathering occurs, concealed guns are also a possibility.

“If you’re in a state that can show up with your guns that’s fine. Up here in New England you can’t but some of us still show up,” wrote Proud Boy member Kenny Lizardo. HuffPost reported on Lizardo last year after he showed up on the doorstep of a comedian to intimidate him over his tweets

“I carry but it seems like to [sic] much could go wrong with that,” wrote Proud Boy Jason Lewis. “Big patriot fists and boots will do just fine.”

The gun-measuring contest was interspersed with analysis of street-level warfare. They explored how to counter “black bloc” tactics used by anti-fascists, in which protesters wear all black to make it hard to distinguish individuals, and they shared stories about previous exploits, most of which included getting a solid punch in without getting caught.

In some chats, the Proud Boys claimed to have ties to local law enforcement, though it’s unclear how legitimate those relationships were. As reported by the Portland, Oregon, alt-weekly Willamette Week, the Proud Boys and Patriot Prayer ― their close allies on the West Coast ― have had some success garnering police sympathy during their fights.

“Last year we had two different cops ‘admiring’ our work,” said John Stewart. “One told us ‘they don’t want to fight you guys again they are pussies.’ The other thanked us as we walked by him.”

But they would never learn if their apparent clout with police would help them stage their April 6 rally in Providence ― it fell apart before it began. The national Proud Boys “elders” announced at the time that the gathering was postponed while they focused on the trials of those 10 Proud Boys arrested and charged over last year’s attacks in New York City.

They Know What They’re Doing

The Proud Boys repeatedly acknowledged that their plans could get them in trouble.

“I advise all of you to only speak in terms of self-defense and never speak of premeditated violence,” wrote a man who identified himself as Kyle “Based Stickman” Chapman, an extremist who has previously been convicted of violent felonies and is known for his attacks at rallies and repeated parole violations, among other crimes.

He added: “I could be liable for what happens in Providence. So please stop making it easy for these people to prosecute us by putting threats of violence in writing that can be used against us later.”

Few seemed to listen, and leaders like Swinney had to attempt damage control on a regular basis.

For example, Proud Boy Shaun Hufton at one point made a direct threat to kill an anti-fascist activist who goes by the pseudonym Antifash Gordon on Twitter:

“This mother fucker needs to meet a 7mm [Magnum rifle] from about 500 yards,” he said, to which Scott responded, “Do not post any threats on here, the feds will use it against [us] in court.”

For his part, Swinney often repeated the “defense-only” deflection, demanding that other Proud Boys characterize their “rallies against communists” as acts of preservation and their presence as a security detail for rallygoers.

In an interview, Swinney corroborated the authenticity of chat screenshots HuffPost showed him and said he personally agreed with statements about “smashing commies” like Mastrostefano’s.

“He specifically said ‘when the time comes,’” Swinney told HuffPost, adding later: “When the time comes, and the order is given, I’ll do whatever it takes to stop these people. The constitution is the greatest document of freedom ever written. I’ll give my life to defend it if nessicary [sic].”

Phroyd

PoppinKREAM: King of Sources

If you aren’t familiar with the happenings on reddit, there is a user called PoppinKREAM who spends a great deal of time creating some of the most well researched internet comments I’ve ever seen. They recently gave a detailed account of how Donald Trump encourages his base to commit violent acts. 

You can find the original comments here.

You can find all of PoppinKREAM’s work here. 

Everything below this line is the fine work of PoppinKREAM. May it help you in your personal debates. 

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

President Trump has incited violence against his political opponents innumerable times[1]

A reminder that last year the MAGA Bomber targeted half a dozen of the President's so called "enemies" and explosive devices were sent to their offices or residences.[2] Here are a few examples of how the political landscape has devolved in the United States through divisive rhetoric...

An explosive device was delivered to CNN's New York office addressed to former CIA Director[3] John Brennan.[4] President Trump has called the media "The enemy of the people"[5]

An explosive device was addressed to President Bill Clinton[6] and Hillary Clinton's residence.[7] President Trump has gone so far as to suggest deadly violence against Hillary Clinton at a rally.[8]

An explosive device was delivered to the residence of George Soros[9]

An explosive device was addressed to President Obama[10]

Former Attorney General Eric Holder received an explosive device, he has also made controversial comments[11]

Congresswoman Maxine Waters received an explosive device, she has also made controversial comments[12]

The President's attacks against political opponents, the free press and praise for dictators

The rhetoric and actions taken by the President - from continuing to berate the fourth estate by referring to the media as "fake news"[13] to calling his political opponents traitors[14] while he attacks the judicial branch of government without remorse,[15] are just a few examples of his egregious attacks on democratic institutions and norms.

President Trump has referred to the minority party as un-American for not applauding his speech.[16] President Trump joked about wanting to consolidate his power like his dictator colleague in China, President Xi.[17] President Trump has repeatedly praised dictators including Putin, Duterte, Erdogan, and el-Sisi.[18]

Indeed, his fondness for strongmen and dictators isn’t limited to Xi Jinping or any other individual in power now. He has praised Iraq’s Saddam Hussein (while also criticizing him as “a bad guy”) for killing terrorists. “He did that so good,” Trump said in July 2016. “They didn’t read them the rights. They didn’t talk. They were terrorists. Over.”

Trump also said in 2016 that Libya would be better off “if [Moammar] Gaddafi were in charge right now.” He once tweeted a quote from Benito Mussolini, the Italian fascist leader, and later defended the tweet, saying: “Mussolini was Mussolini ... It’s a very good quote. It’s a very interesting quote... what difference does it make whether it’s Mussolini or somebody else?”

“Trump even said China’s brutal crackdown on protesters in Tiananmen Square in 1989 “shows you the power of strength,” contrasting the Communist Party’s action with the United States, which he said “is right now perceived as weak.” Trump made those comments in 1990. When asked about the remarks during the presidential debate in 2016, Trump defended himself and appeared to take the Chinese Communist Party’s view of the events at Tiananmen. He dismissed the deadly military response as a “riot.””

Following Saudi Arabia's grotesque assassination of Saudi journalist and U.S. resident Jamal Khashoggi in Turkey,[19]President Trump encouraged assaulting reporters and journalists at a rally in Montana.[20]

Source List

YouTube - All the Times Trump Has Called for Violence at His Rallies

Fox News - Explosive devices mailed to Obama, Hillary Clinton, others prompt security scare

CNN - Trump blasts former CIA Director John Brennan as 'loudmouth, partisan, political hack'

NBC - Trump ties 'rigged witch hunt' to decision to revoke Brennan's security clearance

Fox News - Trump renews attacks on media, says 'crazed lunatics' skewing coverage

New York Times - Donald Trump Opens New Line of Attack on Hillary Clinton: Her Marriage

NBC - Trump accuses Hillary Clinton of colluding with Russia as crowd chants 'lock her up'

Wall Street Journal - Donald Trump Says ‘Second Amendment People’ Can Stop Hillary Clinton From Curbing Gun Rights

Washington Post - Why Trump and the Republicans keep talking about George Soros

New York Times - Trump Attacks Obama, and His Own Attorney General, Over Russia Inquiry

Axios - Trump says Eric Holder "better be careful what he's wishing for"

The Guardian - 'You better shoot straight': how Maxine Waters became Trump's public enemy No 1

Washington Post - Trump admitted he attacks press to shield himself from negative coverage, Lesley Stahl says

The Atlantic - He Dares Call It Treason

Washington Post - All the times Trump personally attacked judges — and why his tirades are ‘worse than wrong’

Fox News - Trump turns up heat on ‘un-American’ Dems silent during SOTU: ‘Can we call that treason?’

Deutsche Welle - US President Donald Trump praises China's Xi Jinping for consolidating grip on power

The Atlantic - Nine Notorious Dictators, Nine Shout-Outs From Donald Trump

PK - Saudi Arabia's assassination of a journalist and the world's response

Washington Post - President Trump greenlights assaults on reporters

PART 2

President Trump and his administration have made decisions and promoted dangerous rhetoric that is being interpreted as implicit support of egregious actions from the far right.

In 2009 and 2015 the Department of Homeland Security, as well as the FBI, warned us about the rise of far right terrorism.[1] In one of his first acts as President he cut funding to programs meant to combat far right terrorism.[2] This action was taken when there is a growing trend of anti-government terrorism.[3] The United States of America is a victim of 300 violent attacks inspired by the far right every year.[4] The threat of Islamic terrorism should never be overlooked and should be taken very seriously, however President Trump's administration completely ignores one of the largest perpetrators of terrorism in America.[5]

“The frequency of far-right attacks is particularly significant in the United States, where white supremacist, anti-government and neo-Nazi extremists have been responsible for 73 percent of deadly terrorist attacks since Sept. 11, 2001, according to the Government Accountability Office. Also notable is that in many cases, Muslims have become the target of violence.”

For example last year three men from Illinois who were charged for planning to bomb a mosque. One of the men drafted a border wall plan for Trump.[6] I'll include this small excerpt from an article by USA Today, I implore everyone to read how far right terrorism is rapidly accelerating in America. This all occurred in a single week in May of 2017 and yet President Trump is still waiting for all the facts before he does anything.[7]

May 20 – Richard Collins III, an African American and Bowie State University student, was stabbed to death by Sean Urbanski, a member of a Facebook group called the "Alt-Reich: Nation."

May 26 – Three men in Portland tried to stop white supremacist Jeremy Christian from harassing two women who appeared to be Muslim. For their bravery, the three men were viciously attacked; two were murdered and the third was seriously injured.

May 27 – Anthony Hammond was arrested in Clearlake, Calif. for allegedly stabbing a black man with a machete, after yelling racial slurs. While en route to the Lake County Jail, Hammond threatened to kill the transporting officer and his family once he was released. Hammond was charged with committing a hate crime, among other charges.

May 28 – Two Native American men in Washington State were run over by a pickup truck driven by a white man shouting racial slurs and war whoops. One of the tribal members was killed and the other hospitalized.

President Trump's rhetoric is incredibly dangerous and is reminiscent of authoritarian leaders who have committed crimes against humanity.

The President's rhetoric - his referral to undocumented immigrants as "infesting" the United States is incredibly dangerous and it is not the first time he has alluded to white nationalist talking points. First he tweeted it[8] followed by him saying this as a statement during a speech later in the day.[9] Moreover, former Trump Campaign Chairman Cory Lewandowski went on national television and dehumanized a child with Down Syndrome who had been separated from their family.[10] President Trump has peddled anti-semetic conspiracies including the conspiracy that a prominent Jew is behind the migrant caravans[11] that he claims are "invading" the country.[12] And Fox News has repeated extremely dangerous xenophobic rhetoric that these migrants are bringing diseases with them, they're not.[13] Holocaust experts have compared the President's statements to Nazi propaganda.[14]

These xenophobic conspiracy theories are incredibly dangerous. Last year a far right conspiracist murdered 11 people in a Synagogue.[15] The murderer believed in the same xenophobic, racist conspiracies that were being peddled by members of the GOP, President Trump and the American rightwing media sphere.[16]

Source List

CBS - Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic And Political Climate Fueling Resurgence In Radicalization And Recruitment.

Reuters - Exclusive: Trump to focus counter-extremism program solely on Islam - sources

New York Times - The Growing Right-Wing Terror Threat

PBS - U.S. sees 300 violent attacks inspired by far right every year

Government Accountability Office - COUNTERING VIOLENT EXTREMISM; Actions Needed to Define Strategy and Assess Progress of Federal Efforts, Pg. 28, Appendix II: Violent Extremist Attacks in the United States that Resulted in Fatalities, September 12, 2001 through December 31, 2016

Chicago Tribune - 3 Illinois men, including one who drafted a border wall plan for Trump, charged with Minnesota mosque bombing

USA Today - President Trump wants 'the facts' on right-wing extremism. Here they are.

Fox News - Republican pressure intensifies to end family separations at border

Fox St. Louis - Trump ramps up rhetoric: Dems want ‘illegal immigrants’ to ‘infest our country’

Washington Post - ‘Womp womp’: Corey Lewandowski mocks story of child with Down syndrome separated from parents

The Hill - Trump: 'I wouldn't be surprised' if Soros were paying for migrant caravan

PBS - WATCH: Trump defends calling migrant caravan an ‘invasion’ ahead of midterm elections

Vox - Fox News says the migrant caravan will bring disease outbreaks. That’s xenophobic nonsense.

Times of Israel - Critics say Trump’s talk of immigrants ‘infesting’ US recalls Nazi propaganda

NBC - Pittsburgh synagogue shooting suspect threatened Jewish groups, pushed migrant caravan conspiracies

Washington Post - How the Trumps and conservative media helped mainstream a conspiracy theory now tied to tragedy

Electing to Care (a Dean/Cas fic centered around voting) (ao3)

Dean Winchester has lived in Texas his whole life, and has seen it go red time after time, election after election. He never gave it a thought that there was something he could do to make a difference.

But then Sam drags him to a rally, where he meets someone who shows that one person can do just that. And the best way is to lead through example.

           There weren’t many things Dean Winchester would wake up early for. Work was a given, although ‘early’ is a fluid concept when you’re the owner of your own business. Some days a simple text saves him an hour or two from actually having to open his shop. Emergencies, as well, can rouse him from sleep much sooner than he’d like. His wants taking a backseat to the needs of his family and friends. However, on this morning – a morning of a rare day-off – it was neither of these two options that forced him to watch the wide, Texas sky bleed from marmalade to robin’s egg, jumping the chasm of the color wheel. The reason he’s conscious was because of a third, more sinister reason.

           Sam’s puppy-dog eyes.

           “Please, Dean,” his brother had begged him over dinner last night, “Eileen’s flight was cancelled, so she and Siobhan won’t be back until tomorrow night.” His wife and daughter were visiting with relatives over in Georgia, Sam exempt from travel because of a case. And while it wasn’t to be a long trip, their reunion has been forestalled by the reputed reliability of Delta airlines.

           Dean was nonplussed. “I don’t see why you can’t do this by yourself?”

           Sam sighed and started to explain, his fingers racing to keep up – a habit hard to break even while his wife’s eyes weren’t there. Dean couldn’t blame him, finding his own hands forming words seconds after he spoke. Although in contrast to Sam’s plea, Dean’s use of signs was centered on a key one: ‘no’.

           It was only when his brother pulled out his secret weapon that Dean finally surrendered, weakly nodding both head and fist.

           Which explains why he’s trapped in a crowd with strangers, his brother, and a half-empty tumbler of coffee barely doing its job.

           Even rubbing at his eyes under his shades doesn’t help. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean grouses, “How can you stand things like these?”

           His brother is too cheery for a man missing a wife. The night before he was like a dog waiting for its master to return home. And now, his tail is wagging as if Dean brought him to the park along with all the other pets. Sam turns to him, breaking from conversation with another group of young twenty-somethings. “It’s for a good cause,” he shrugs, “We’re all interested in the same thing.”

           Dean chuckles. “Yeah, surprisingly.” He casts another glance around at the crowd, amazed by the amount of Democrats who happen to live in Texas. When they first arrived at the park, Dean had expected twenty people at the most and five minutes before Sam sighed and freed him. What he wasn’t counting on was for people to show up. Now it’s been a half-hour since the thing was supposed to start, and Dean’s been gnawing on his arm like a trapped coyote.

           “What’s everyone waiting for anyway?”

           “This usually happens,” Sam tells him, “the guy running the rally gets caught up in talking to people he loses track of time.”

           Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some two-bit politician in a three-piece suit, making sure ‘he’s got our vote’!” Sam doesn’t appreciate the jab, shooting him a bitch-face reminiscent of the time Dean sewed the cuffs of all his pants three inches shorter than they were. “It wasn’t funny, dude,” Sam snapped at him after work, “I had a meeting with my boss and all she could stare at were my ankles!” Dean couldn’t hear him over his own laughter.

           “He’s not like that,” Sam says, “Cas is pretty cool.”

           “Cas – you know the guy well?”

           “We’ve had a few conversations.” Sam smiles, gazing up towards the makeshift stage where a few people were milling about. “He actually started this organization himself, y’know, after the election.” Sam points to his white t-shirt, where the words ‘I Got the Blues’ stand out in fierce cobalt. There was another, similar shirt crumpled in the backseat of Baby, where Dean had tossed it, preferring his own black tee. “Wanted to be a part of the ‘rising Blue Wave in Texas’ as he called it.”

           Dean scoffs. “More power to him, but he does know Austin’s an anomaly, right? There’s not enough of a differing majority to make Texas look like anything else but an ugly, red sunburn – unfortunately.” He notices a few people shoot him some ugly looks, and he ignores them.

           Sam offers another reproachful look. “We came close. And with everything happening, especially in our own state, lots of people are looking to jump ship. You remember that protest against detention camps Eileen and I went to a month and a half ago?” How could Dean forget – it’s not everyday he gets a FaceTime from his sister-in-law telling him his baby brother was in jail. “We outnumbered the counter-protesters ten to one! You couldn’t even hear them. And – get this – Cas organized the whole thing.”

           “He’s really working hard for his votes.”

           “God, Dean, do you even follow the news?”

           “No – why?”

           “Cas isn’t running for any office.”

           “Wait,” Dean says, “you’re telling me this guy has nothing to gain from… any of this? Then why’s he putting in all this work?”

           Sam smiles again, a small one usually given to babies or toddlers when asking things like ‘why is the grass green’. “Because he just cares.”

           The words struck Dean into a sort of silence. Sam leaves him for a bit, then, ambling over to a few other people he knows. Which is fine with him, as he needs the solitude to process his thoughts.

           Caring is something Dean thought was antithetical to today’s society. What with everything going on in and around the world, numbing yourself was the only way to survive. Dean treated everything outside his personal sphere with a cool indifference. He has his opinions, but he can’t work up the energy to voice them anymore. No matter what, it always felt like he was being drowned out or being proven wrong. ‘Bisexuality is a real thing, dad’ is met with ‘you’ll find a nice girl someday’. ‘Stanford is so far away, Sammy’ seemed like a good argument at the time, but now that his brother is back with a good job and loving family, is now just a bad memory. ‘We can make it work, Lisa’ never had any foothold in reality. It’s why he hasn’t voted in a long time, since his vote won’t make a difference whether Texas finally breaks with tradition or stay entrenched in their past.

           Thankfully, he’s saved from drowning in his musings by the projected tapping of a life preserver. Dean refocuses on the stage as Sam makes his way back towards him. “Is it starting?” he asks.

           “Yep.” He points, “That right there is Cas.”

           Cas is… not what he was expecting. Given that he knows enough about politics to fill a leaky barrel, his mind crafted a caricature of a man. He thought he’d see a balding, somewhat pudgy guy waddle his way up the steps in a suit or – worse – a button-down with the sleeves rolled up so he can ‘get to work’. Instead, Cas is an average guy. He has a full head of dark hair that looks as styled as his own. And his choice in clothes is a mix of stuff Dean is sure is in his own closet. Aside from the ‘I Got the Blues’ in reverse colors, Cas has on a brown-and-blue plaid shirt, some khaki shorts and…

           “What kind of hippie sandals are those?”

           Sam scoffs at him. “Those are Tevas.”

           “Te-what now?”

           “Tevas,” Sam says, “they’re more than just a sandal. You can do a lot in ‘em like hike, bike, rock climb –“

           “So what you’re saying is you own a pair, too?”

           His response to Dean’s jab is very suspicious blanching. “Just shut up and watch…”

           He does. Not because Sam told him to but because Cas still had a surprise or two up his sleeves, like his voice. It was as gravelly as the road he and Sam would bike to reach the lake near their Uncle’s property every summer when they were still kids. And just as treacherous. One time Dean was tossed on his ass because he wasn’t paying attention, and the pebbles dug enough into his skin to scrape. He’s dealing with a similarly uncomfortable sensation. Except the only scraping caused by Cas’s coarse baritone is Dean’s dick at his zipper. ‘Probably the worst thing to do at a rally,’ he thinks, ‘is popping a boner.’

           Dean wills for his dick to stop pounding at the gate, regretting his decision to forgo underwear. “It’s warm,” he remembers saying earlier, “and I’ll be back in my sweats soon enough. Why waste a pair?” ‘What a fool I was…’

           “Hey, could you stop?” Sam whispers to him, eyes whipping back and forth between him and Cas, “I know this isn’t your thing but at least try to look like you’re having a good time – for me?”

           ‘You don’t even want to know the horrible good time I’m having here, Sammy.’ Still, for his brother, he musters up enough strength to grimace as Cas wraps up his speech. He motions for someone else, a woman, to come to the stand. They shake hands and hug, and he moves off to the side so she can have everyone’s attention.

           Except his eyes stay on Cas. He should be relieved now that the man’s siren song was over, except Dean’s left still spellbound. The woman was an easy out – Dean could have focused completely on her and her platform and depressed himself thoroughly enough to wilt his crotch. But no matter how hard he tries, he finds himself looking back over towards the other man.

           Watching him, Dean sees he’s completely enraptured with what she has to say. His body is turned toward her, profile blocking out the heavy sun, making it near blinding to gaze at him for too long. Dean was never one to shy from a challenge. If he stared long enough, he looked a lot like the saint Sam and others probably thinks he is.

           Without realizing, the crowd starts clapping and Dean is dragged from his contemplation. Sam hollers and cheers with the rest of them, nudging him to do the same. He nestles his coffee between his elbow and chest and claps.

           “Thank you,” Cas takes the microphone again, “That was as inspiring and empowering as always. Now, remember folks, if we want to get her elected to office, we need to –“ the crowd responds, “Vote!” “You need to tell your friends to –“ “Vote!” “Your family?” “Vote!”

           “Because what do we got?”

           “We got the blues!” There’s another uproar, and Dean startles at the ferocity of it.

           Cas laughs at it. “Thank you. To get your strength up for the long battle to midterms, please go and grab some complimentary brunch – on us.”

           “Brunch?”

           Dean noticed the tables near the back of the event, where he was sure some volunteers would be staffed to get unknowing suckers into signing petitions. When he and Sam arrived, all he saw was a few clipboards stacked at the end of one of the tables before his brother was dragging him towards the front. But if Sam didn’t have to be early to everything in his life, he might have been able to see the food being brought in. Or get a good place in line.

           Sam nods. “They always get somewhere good to cater. Since it’s brunch they might even have mimosas?”

           “Good,” Dean claps him on the back, “Hope you can carry all of it when you get back here.”

           “What?”

           “You brought me here,” Dean tells him, dialing up his own puppy-dog eyes, “It’s the least you could do.” They’re not as well executed as Sam’s but they get the job done. He’s enjoying the sight of Sam trudging into the crowd, getting smaller and smaller, when he feels a slight presence behind him.

           Dean doesn’t know what’s worse: that Cas is standing right there or that he’s even hotter up close. Details he couldn’t make out are now in sharp detail. Like the scruff dusting his chiseled jaw, or how his shirt clings tight, teasing at strong, defined muscles that are on display with his calves. Even now he’s at a loss because of the other man’s eyes – as blue as the party his shirt is touting.

           Cas holds a hand out to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Castiel Novak, but you can call me Cas.”

           “Dean,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.” Cas’s hands are calloused and warm, a nice feeling even in this torturous heat. “And yeah, this is my first time – here, at a… my brother brought me.”

           “I take it your brother is Sam Winchester?”

           Dean raises a brow. “He’s talked about you,” Cas continues, explaining, “And I saw you two standing together in the crowd. Wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together.”

           “Yeah, he’s a hard one to miss.” He waits a beat, debating on what lie to use to exit the conversation before he ruins it. Only Cas isn’t as willing to let go as he is.

           “So, what did you think?”

           “Think of what?”

           “Of… this?”

           “Oh, um… it wasn’t that bad. Except it’s not really my thing…” Cas’s head tilts adorably, and Dean would appreciate it more if he wasn’t trying to forget the taste of his foot. Except it seems he’s not keen on taking it out of his mouth anytime soon. “Y’know, politics. I think you’re doing a nice thing but… I don’t know – I’ve never seen the point in Texas.”

           “Politics is everybody’s thing, Dean.” He winces, recognizing the tone in the other man’s voice as the one his teachers would use when he was caught ditching class. “Voting is what decides how this country is going to be run and by who. I mean, look at what happened two years ago. November is important because we need to reverse all that’s happened before it’s too late.”

           “But it’s like we’ve already been tossed in the crapper and flushed before we realized it,” Dean argues, “How can we climb out when we’re stuck in the sewers?” The analogy draws a smile to Cas’s lips.

           “I wouldn’t know,” he starts, “I’m not a plumber by trade.”

           “Really? Then what do you do besides… this?”

           “I’m a carpenter.” He gestures to the stage, “I actually built this myself with some leftover material from a few orders, as well as some recycled wood from old furniture.”

           “That’s… really cool,” Dean says, smiling, “I know a lot about tools, but not enough to do all that. But show me a car and I can strip and repair her in a day.”

           “Mechanic?”

           “Yeah, I own Singers’ Body Shop down on Enfield.”

           “I’ve heard good things about it – from your brother, actually,” Cas tells him, “He was helping me connect with some lawyers, to do some pro bono work with detained immigrants, and my truck was having a fit. My brother ended up bringing it over to a Jiffy Lube the day after, so I never got around to going.”

           “Damned chain stores,” Dean grouses, “If it’s the one I’m thinking of I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

           Cas’s eyes twinkle at the thought. “I’m lucky you’d want to see me again after such a delightful first impression.”

           “Look, sorry if I’m a little grumpy.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not because I don’t believe in what you’re doing, really. I think it’s cool. But… I don’t know if it’ll all work out, s’all. I saw how excited Sam and all our friends were when it looked like Hillary was going to win but then… he wouldn’t leave his house for a week. The world’s not gonna change enough in two years to ever fix everything so what’s the point and… I don’t know, it’s probably me being stupid or – whatever.”

           “Dean.” He looks up, Cas’s voice sighing in such a fond way his heart skipping over itself at the sound. “What you’re experiencing isn’t rare. Voter apathy is a terrible affliction, one that persists thanks to the machinations of others. The people in power who don’t deserve their positions have coasted on it for years, disenfranchising constituents so there won’t be any opposition. That’s what I fight against by hosting these rallies, registering voters, and staging protests – making it so people care again.”

           “Sounds like a hard job.”

           Cas smiles with his gums. “That’s easy. The tough part is when it comes time to vote – hoping that I’ve done enough to turn out enough people at the polls.”

           Dean looks over at the sprawling crowd, watching them mingle with each other. People of different races, young and old, smiling and laughing like there’s nothing waiting for them in the newspaper or on Twitter that’ll send them into a spiral. “From the looks of things, you might just do it.” He feels something flutter in his chest, and a warm feeling oozes its way down like butter on a warm slice of toast.

           “And you?”

           He turns back to Cas. “What about me?”

           “Will you be voting?”

           Dean wishes he wasn’t facing Cas. It’s hard to crush the dreams of the good-looking man with a kind heart when you’re swimming in his eyes. His face turns red, and he focuses more on Cas’s mouth when he says, “…I’m not sure.”

           He gets a clear view of when Cas frowns. “What I mean is,” Dean continues, “I haven’t voted in awhile… not even sure I’m registered…”

           “That’s an easy fix, Dean,” Cas says, “the deadline is months away and –“

           “Why does it matter, anyway?” he asks, voice small, “My vote won’t make a difference…”

           “All votes make a difference, Dean,” Cas tells him, Dean’s self-doubt like oil spilling into the sea of his eyes, his passionate response setting it all terrifyingly ablaze. “Yes, it is just one vote but it helps raise up all the others. Your vote is like your voice, and if enough people shout it can get people’s attention. Even if we end up losing, if we make the margin as thin as possible – people will notice. Although, I have good faith all the people who’ve been taking a back seat for so long are no longer willing to let others drive for them.”

           Sam was wrong, back then, when he said Cas ‘just cares’. Because from what he’s seen, Cas doesn’t do anything in ‘justs’. His actions are absolutes. His words are truths. And God help everyone if his dreams aren’t reality. He pours his heart into his work and into people, and makes everything shine like they’ve gotten a fresh coat of varnish. Even now, Dean feels his own storm clouds lightening, as if Cas’s bright disposition is forcing them out.

           “You sure?” Dean asks, teasingly, “Getting me to vote could be a point for the other side…”

           Cas huffs. “Really, Dean, I find that hard to believe.”

           Dean isn’t done playing with him. “Well, y’know, I haven’t really been paying attention to the news lately, I might just pick the names I like the most. I like cruising in my car, so maybe I’ll vote for –“

           “If you’d like,” Cas cuts him off, his own impish grin plastered to his face, “I could make a helpful suggestion?”

           “Oh?”

           Cas takes a step closer. The extra foot of distance was a barrier keeping all of Dean’s senses and wits about him. Now Cas has the higher ground. “I’m not doing anything later tonight. We could meet up for dinner, somewhere casual, and I could explain the current political climate,” his voice takes on a breathy quality, “just… like… this.”

           Dean nearly falls apart at the seams. The only thing keeping him together is that he has to respond. But his tongue has a stranglehold on his brain, and not much gets through. “You – you would?”

           “Of course,” Cas says, “I find it’s best to… act, rather then letting opportunities slip away. I wouldn’t be wrong in thinking that you’re interested in… voting.” Dean whines low in his throat. “And maybe after we can take it back to my place and discuss,” his hand brushes across Dean’s crotch, “polls.”

           It’s too much for Dean – and too good to be true. “You don’t,” he huffs, trying to get control of himself, “You don’t just say that to any pretty face at a rally, do you?”

           Cas doesn’t get offended, instead chuckling at Dean’s question. “I couldn’t say, I’ve never actually seen anyone with as pretty a face as yours come to one of my events.”

           “Really?”

           “It wasn’t Sam that I noticed first in the crowd.” That hits all of Dean’s spots, and nearly has him seeing stars. But as quickly as Cas’s advances started, he takes a step back, allowing Dean the lungful of air he so desperately needed. However, his smile doesn’t dim. “Here, take this.” Cas hands him a business card. “You can text me so I’ll have your number, and we can go from there. It was a real… pleasure, meeting you, Dean.”

           Dean responds with a meek, “You, too.”

           Cas moves back towards the stage, towards a group of people, as if nothing happened. He does get a noogie from a smaller, blond man, and Dean’s only sure it’s because of what happened when he winks at Dean while suggestively licking his lollipop. Dean doesn’t watch them for much longer.

           At least Sam chooses then to walk back. “So they were out of drinks,” he said, handing Dean a plate, “but I managed to get eggs and some pancakes for us. Although that’s all the bacon I could get and – Dean, are you listening?”

           “Huh?”

           “Are you all right?” Sam asks, fork held steady in the air, waiting to see if it would continue in its quest for food or be held off by something else.

           Dean shakes himself out of his daze. “What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine – thanks…”

           Sam lets it go. But halfway through his meal, Dean, who can’t leave well-enough alone, bothers him again.

           “Hey Sam, can you tell me more about this whole…” he waves with his fork, “I Got the Blues thing?”

Epilogue – November 6, 2018

           Dean steps out from the building, a sticker tacked onto his shirt, smiling. It brightens when he spies a familiar figure leaning up against Baby. “Hey,” he calls out, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be harassing people to do their ‘civic duty’?”

           Cas chuckles and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. “I was, and will be. Wanted to check up on you is all.” He places a firm kiss to Dean’s lips, nipping at them, begging for entrance. He lets him in. After a good few minutes of making out, they pull away. “So,” he asks, nose pressed to nose, “what did you think?”

           “About the kiss or voting?”

           “I already know you love my kisses.” He gives Dean another one, tacked onto the end of his sentence like a period, to prove a point. “How do you feel now that you’ve voted?”

           “It feels – well… it feels like…”

           “Like…?”

           “Like nothing’s changed.”

           Cas leans back, disbelief etched into his face. “Excuse me?” he asks, “What do you mean nothing’s –“ He cuts himself off, noticing the Cheshire grin Dean has failed to reign in. “You little shit.”

           “What?”

           “Why is it you like to get a rise out of me?”

           “I don’t like getting a rise out of you.” Even he knows it’s a lie, and doesn’t need to see the shrewd look in Cas’s eyes. But playing dumb has its rewards, and Dean loves to reap them. “And anyway, I’m not totally wrong. We won’t find out who won until later tonight so really, nothing haschanged.”

           “You’re so obstinate.”

           “Am not.”

           “This is just like the Tevas all over again.”

           “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           Cas huffs out a laugh. “You said they were ugly, stupid, and even more hippie than Birkenstocks.”

           “And?”

           “You’re wearing them right now!” Dean bites down on his lower lip, stuffing his smile down like an overflowing envelope as he peeks down at his feet. Like Cas said, Dean has his own tan pair on. The other man bought them for Dean when he tried Cas’s on. He was very vocal about not liking them, but Cas could see past the front Dean put up.

           “Well I didn’t have any other shoes to wear because somebody hid them on me,” he lies, letting his smile bloom like a spring flower at how Cas rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have to work in these, otherwise you’d really be getting an earful.” Another good thing about being your own boss – if he wanted to make sure his employees went out and voted, close the shop and make your day’s pay be dependent on whether or not they get a sticker.

           “At least one of us has the rest of their day free,” Cas sighs, “I still need to check in with everyone and do a few more sweeps to make sure people engaged in the democratic process.”

           “You love it though.”

           “Yeah.”

           “And hey, when you’re done, come to my place,” Dean tells him, “we can get in a good mood and examine some polls.” Cas’s laughter still sends a shiver down his spine.

           “I’ll do just that.” They stare at each other, saying everything they ever need to with their silence. Cas pecks Dean on the lips one last time. “I should get going.”

           “You should.”

           It’s another five minutes before he does.

Day 14: Stuck.

Ft. c!Tubbo, c!Quackity, c!JSchlatt, and c!Technoblade.

TW: literally getting blown up by fireworks, censored swearing, and yelling.

Tubbo swallows. "I would like to thank everyone for coming out to this festival—" President JSchlatt laughs. "What's wrong, Schlatt?" He stops laughing. "No, no, I was— I was just thinking about it, Tubbo. You know how we like to have fun."

Tubbo fills a shiver run down his spine. Where is he going with this? "Ye-yeah, we like to have fun..." He says, trying to play along with whatever Schlatt was thinking. "What's up?" He adds, with a forced smile.

"Got anything else in the speech, Big Guy?" Tubbo's heart pounds a million beats per second. "Uh, no! On that note, let the festival begin!"

"You're done with your speech?" Schlatt says, stepping closer to him. "Yeah, I'm done with the speech, Schlatt..." Schlatt nods. "Okay." He clears his throat.

"Hey, uh, Quackity, here. I'm just gonna— I'm gonna fix some of this.." Schlatt says, as he sets down pieces of yellow concrete onto the stage. Tubbo looks at Quackity, who seems just as confused as him.

"What are you, what are you—?" Tubbo starts, as Schlatt continues mumbling. "Schlatt, Schlatt, what are you—?" He looks around to see himself encased. Tubbo continues to call out Schlatt's name, as he and Quackity lock him into the yellow blocks.

"Tubbo, I'll cut to the f***ing chase, alright?" Tubbo frowns. "I— what?!" Quackity looks at Schlatt with an odd grin. "Tell him, Pres. Tell him!"

Tubbo presses up against the sides of the box. "Schlatt, I can't get out, Schlatt!" Schlatt ignores him.

"It really sucks having to do this right here in front of everybody. I mean, it's kinda awkward." Tubbo repeats that he can't get out, although again, he's ignored.

"Tubbo, Tubbo... I know what you've been up to." Schlatt says, staring Tubbo down. "What have I been up— what are you talking about?" Tubbo asks, the bravery he felt not moments prior was fading into nothing.

Schlatt laughs, making Tubbo's blood freeze within him. Crap. He's found me out. I'm dead. There's no way out of this box. "I'm actually, I'm actually trapped in here, Schlatt."

"You sided with the IDIOTS, with the TYRANTS, that we KICKED out of this server. That we KICKED out of this GREAT country! Months ago! Or weeks, was it weeks? I don't even remember." He says, sighing. "Time flies when you're having fun." He continues. He stares into the small hole he built in the box, too small for Tubbo to fit through.

"Tubbo, I don't know, I don't know if you know this, but treason? Isn't exactly uh, a respectable thing around here, you know that? I know what you're doing, it all adds up!" He gestures downwards.

"The tunnels, your absence from GREAT events, YOU WALKED OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS ONE! YOU WALKED OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS ONE, TUBBO. Don't try and tell me you've done nothing wrong. Because everybody knows it! I sees it with own two f***ing eyes!" He takes a breath.

"Do you, do you what happens to traitors, Tubbo?" Tubbo swallows. "No?" His voice trembling. Schlatt turns his back to him. "Nothing good." His back is still turned. "Hey, uh, Technoblade? You wanna come up here?"

Tubbo's heart sinks. Technoblade just makes a noise, as if not expecting this or maybe he just wasn't listening. Both Schlatt and Quackity insist that he comes up, so slowly he makes his way up the podium.

"Hey, uh, Mr. President." Technoblade says, as he stands besides them on the podium. "You can stand right here, Technoblade. Right in the eyes." Quackity says, guiding Technoblade to a spot directly in front of Tubbo.

"Uh, I'm actually still stuck, Schlatt!" Tubbo tries once more. "As the enemy of the state, and as uh, purpetrator to these awful, AWFUL people—"

"I don't even know what that word means!" Tubbo interrupts. Schlatt shrugs. "This is not good." Technoblade mumbles, as Schlatt turns to him. "Technoblade, please, please, if you would, you been so kind."

"What are you askin’ me, Schlatt? You want me to— to get him some breakfast? Get him a nice coat?" The glares from Quackity and Schlatt indicated something far more sinister.

"Maybe show him the fine 5 course dinner, you know?" Schlatt says, and Tubbo covers his eyes. He'd seen enough. Technoblade looks between the President and the Vice President confused.

Quackity looks at Tubbo, an evil glean in his eye. "You're not hungry, Tubbo?" Tubbo starts to shake. "No, no, I'm not hungry!" Technoblade scoffs. "Tubbo, you're very hungry, let's go to that restaurant." He says, looking down below where he deemed it safer for Tubbo.

"Technoblade, we're running on a tight schedule." Technoblade frowns. "What do you want outta me, Mr. President?" Schlatt glances back at Tubbo. "Well, I mean, I only call you in for special favors. We go way back, right?"

"I dunno what you mean." Technoblade says. "Schlatt, what are you even talking about?" Quackity cuts in, stepping forward. "This man, this man needs special care. Techno, I need you to take him out." Technoblade tilts his head. "To dinner?"

"YOU'RE NOT GONNA TAKE HIM OUT TO DINNER, BRO!" Schlatt yells. "YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM." Everyone below starts protesting as Technoblade nods. "Ah! Now I get it!" Schlatt tremors with rage. "You'll murder him, RIGHT NOW, ON THIS F***ING STAGE, AND MAKE IT DIRT!"

Fundy below scoffs. "Schlatt, it's a festival, man!" Schlatt glares at Fundy. "This is my country! YOU KIDDING ME?! My right hand man, I'd rather rule alone than with you."

"Oh, I'm in a high stress environment, I don't down well in those." Technoblade says, Quackity clears his throat. "Schlatt, are you sure? Listen, we have him trapped, he's jailed. I think that's enough!" Technoblade nods.

"You could just imprison him." He agrees, liking that much safer option. "Not enough." Schlatt says. "Schlatt, are you sure?" Quackity asks. "He's just— he's jailed!"

"Technoblade." Schlatt says, Tubbo mumbles his name too, still refusing to look. Tubbo hears the bowstring being pulled back, and a firework being loaded.

"Technoblade!" Tubbo cries, pulling his hands down to see the fully loaded crossbow. "You gonna do it?" Schlatt pressures him. "You gonna make him regret this?" Technoblade swallows, looking for any way out of this that didn't involve the death of a 16 year old.

He smacks him, thinking that maybe that'd be enough. But all it did was make Tubbo push up against the back wall. "Technoblade!" He says, in an octave higher than normal. "Tubbo?" Technoblade says, looking at him with a mourning face.

"Tubbo, I'm sorry. I'll make it as painless, and colorful as possible." He keeps apologizing as Schlatt laughs. He pulls the trigger on the crossbow, and a firework whistles as he sees nothing but red, white, and blue.

Tubbo_ went off with a bang due to a firework fired from [Subscribe to Technoblade] by Technoblade.

Author Note: Inktober has "stuck' as a prompt too, but I believe it's the 12th, not the 14th. Just thought that it was amusing.

Going through the actual scene was very interesting.

Lying In Wait: Mike Pence Prepares To Take The Presidency

There is no question, Vice President Mike Pence is the worst of the two evils.

While Donald Trump may be a chest thumping, ego maniacal womanizer who brags about his nuclear button, laments over his small hands and has become a international meme, the Man behind the curtain is much more dangerous.

As nations around the globe laugh at the antics of Trump, whether because of his outrageous twitter attacks against celebrities, lying about his inauguration attendance or rambling about covfefe, we in America have accepted that he is no more relative to national strategy or politics than a potato.

Thus far, in his 13 months as President, Trump’s only personal success has been embarrassing himself before a world audience on a daily basis. Our plight as a country has become a running joke to so many who seem bizarrely detached from this new reality in which we are trying to adapt. It has more to do with social media desensitizing us to the nightmarish consequences of tragedy than simple indifference. We’re used to seeing pictures of dead immigrant children washed up on beaches and bodies piled up on top of rubble after a horrific bombing in Aleppo. Human beings have put on an emotional armor that has conditioned them to be unaffected, mostly to protect themselves from slipping into a sense of hopelessness and defeat. “Thoughts and prayers” via a few quick keyboard strokes have substituted genuine reactions to the suffering of others we witness with alarming frequency.

This unsettling separation of ourselves from dangerous truths and inevitable consequences is partly how a man like Donald Trump became President. While many voted for him, purely motivated by an impractical rage against the establishment, others did it for the comedic value. Republicans didn’t believe it could happen until they were suddenly faced with him as their newly minted nominee. Democrats were lulled into a sense of absolute security by gallup polls, expert commentary and news coverage which declared Hillary Clinton as a guaranteed landslide winner… so millions didn’t even bother to vote.

Partisan politics have destroyed democracy. We’re no longer hearing topics debated on senate floor; Instead politics are the new Superbowl and you’re either team Democratic Donkeys or Republican Elephants. Americans are divided by Red and Blue and they are ferociously loyal to their color. Social issues are irrelevant. So are economics, foreign relations, civil rights and the most basic of all, common sense. It is more important to win than to be right, regardless of the damage done in the process or pursuit of “Winning.” A surprising number of people who voted for Trump have experienced voter regret, realizing that the delight the thought they’d take from seeing him give ‘snowflake liberals’ a sharp upper-hook, was also dealt to them. Some are smart enough to feel betrayed. Others are so blindly devoted to their own team that they don’t mind being a casualty of it, as if they view themselves as a willing- and necessary sacrificial lamb required for the political Gods to destroy the other side and favor theirs.

Unfortunately, for Republicans, it was Trump they found occupying their political God seat. They’ve watched in sheer terror as he, and the unqualified lackeys he has appointed to power positions, have disassembled America’s perception of fairness, progress and priority.

In an unusual partnership, Donald Trump’s Vice President, Mike Pence, has been unusually quiet throughout most of the their reign so far. While Trump spent time in his first year campaigning for his next Presidential bid in 2020, Pence rarely made public or media appearances, and when he did, he was tactful rather than defensive; well practiced in dodging the damning questions hurled at him regarding his boss. It’s clear that Pence maintains a far more Presidential demeanor that Trump, manicuring his responses and speeches instead of vomiting his words all over the podium.

It has been speculated that inner-circle Republicans have anticipated Trump’s impeachment from the onset. Trump and his campaign have been beleaguered by legal troubles since he took the oath of office. Allegations of collusion with Russian entities and election tampering, obstruction of justice, failing to divest from his business investments, misuse of campaign funds, accusations of sexual misconduct and even extramarital affairs with multiple adult film stars remain ongoing. Yet, while Trump takes to twitter at 4 am to ridicule celebrities, foreign leaders even those players on his own team, Pence remains quietly on the sidelines as Trump slowly self destructs.

Pence’s visible distance from Trump isn’t incidental, but an act of self preservation. Nearly 40 White House staff have resigned or been fired since Trump assumed power, falling on the sword of Special Investigator Robert Mueller who has been tasked with examining Trump and his closest allies. Four Trump advisers were arrested before the incoming administration could decorate their new offices.

Pence never comments on these circumstances, instead leaving White House Chief of Staff John Kelly and White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders to volley questions from Democratic colleagues and the media. Pence is meticulous about where he steps on a lawn full of droppings, and the suggestion has been made that his actions are fully premeditated. Having his eye planted firmly on the throne, he understands he must avoid getting dirty.

The Atlantic reported last month in an article called “God’s Plan For Mike Pence” that Pence’s wife, Second Lady Karen Pence, finds Donald Trump’s behavior “Vile.” Indeed, she would given that she and her husband are deeply convicted to their Christian religion. That alone made the Trump/Pence coupling extremely odd, especially considering Trump’s reckless attacks on women and his vulgar, brash behavior. Meanwhile, Pence is a polished politician, whose voting history and on-the-record comments as Governor of Indiana reveals someone with unwavering faith- to a disturbing degree.

Pence has voted against marriage equality. He voted to to uphold the archaic military policy of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. When asked about his stance on gay rights, Trump intercepted the inquiry to say, “Don’t ask that guy, he wants to hang them all.” He has voted against a women’s right to sovereignty over their own body. He has neglected the needs of people of color in Indiana, contributing to a political system that imprisons more black men than it provides access to school. He condemned anti-racism efforts- even walked out of an NFL game where the players knelt peacefully to protest inequality and police brutality afflicting the black community. Pence has never spoken out against the alt-right activists that have violently attacked minorities, but sat back while Trump defended the self-described white supremacists as “Some very fine people.” Pence is known to keep the company of White Nationalists.

Pence has a very specific definition of America and who it belongs to. In Pence’s vision, the only citizens deserving of opportunity, justice and equality are white, male, straight, cisgender and christian. His history of actions and remarks provide irrefutable evidence that he believes anyone who slips outside these boundaries are second class citizens.

Much of what drives Pence is his radical religious extremism. Although Pence keeps a very low profile, we do know that he has weaponized his religion to harm people who do not share his world views. As governor he signed the Freedom Of Religion Bill which began by allowing radicals like himself to discriminate against LGBT people without consequence. As a result, he received intense push-back from democrats and progressives alike and he was forced to implement amendments that included LGBT residents of the state. Unhappy with having to compromise his belief system as Governor, once he became Vice President, he counseled Trump on the founding of the new Conscience and Religious Freedom Division, which achieves what he failed to do as governor- sanction abuse and discrimination against LGBT Americans by any individual who wishes to deny them service or treatment based on religious or moral objection. The department allows medical professionals to deny care to LGBT identifying people with no consequence, even if they die as a result of their neglect.

According to new reports, Pence was also the one who drafted the new ban that disqualifies Transgender identifying individuals from enlisting in the military. Not a surprise considering ex-White House Aide, Omarosa Manigault Newman, who, like so many others before and after, was fired by John Kelly for misusing the White House car service claimed that working in Trump’s administration as a the only Black woman on staff was both isolating and disturbing. She stated that she could not reconcile the gross mishandling of racial issues by the Trump administration and stay silent. In fact, as the only Black Republican who had access to Trump and Pence, many people of color saw her as a traitor who refused to represent their interests and instead sold them out. After her dismissal, she came forward stating that she was prevented from discussing the topics that were relevant with the president because other staffers deliberately kept her away.

Soon after leaving the white house, she returned to her roots on reality television with CBS’s Big Brother where to spoke about the possibility of Pence moving into the Oval Office;

“Can I just say this? As bad as y’all think Trump is, you should be worried about Pence. We would be begging for days of Trump back if Pence became president.” — Omarosa Manigault Newman

Omarosa made claims about a sort of White hierarchy in the administration where diversity did not exist in its upper ranks. The White House could not prove her wrong. Communications director Sarah Sanders found no evidence to the contrary when, during a press conference, she was grilled about the accusation. It seems The White House is now a literal representation of the inhabitants.

Mike Pence Posted a Selfie of The House Of Representatives

The 2016 Democratic Interns vs The 2018 Republican Interns — Spot the difference

We cannot fault any man or woman for their personal faith. After all, in America, we have the freedom to choose which system of belief to follow, if any at all. It becomes problematic when a radical Christian, like Pence, from his position begins implementing laws, bans and limitations on innocent Americans because he believes he is serving his God’s purpose. Last I checked, we still had a separation of Church and State, albeit weakly enforced and slowly dying.

Omarosa continued to provide insight on life with Pence in the White House; “He’s extreme. I’m Christian. I love Jesus, but he thinks Jesus tells him to say things.” When the topic turned to immigration, things even got more terrifying;

“I’ve seen the plans- the round-up plan is getting more and more aggressive. The crackdowns are happening and they’re aggressive. They’re intentional and they’re going to get worse.” — Omarosa Manigault Newman

Pence never responds to the accusations of racism, elitism, misogyny, bigotry or his radicalism. Instead, we have to unearth the dark reality of Pence’s nature from inside sources, past comments and his voting record. He allows his actions to speak for themselves and will not risk further qualifying his tumultuous past by addressing it. It could put thorns in his path to the presidency.

And he believes, as do many others in the administration, that he will assume the Presidency. Despite Donald Trump appearing to be made of teflon, it’s starting to wear thin. As the scandals and controversies, arrests and indictments pile up around Donald Trump, Pence is patiently lying in wait, biding his time, watching as Trump digs himself a hole that he’ll never climb out of.

Today the Republicans are starting to discuss Donald Trump’s impeachment. It begs the question; Has this been the Pence plan from the beginning? While he has been responsible for ghostwriting some of the most discriminatory, hate-motivated legislation in decades that have been attributed to Trump, that seems to have been intentional. Pence and co. have been content in allowing Trump to take the flack, because he’s not intelligent enough to understand he’s being puppeteered. He’s like an obnoxious little kid begging to play a video game, so his elders unplug the remote and let him think he’s playing while they discreetly maintain control. There’s no way Trump could independently come up with all of the damaging, religious rhetoric from a golf course. In 2018, he has taken more than 15 vacations.

Pence, however, has stayed at the White House, drafting up the future of America under his Presidency.

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The lingering opposition to that cause also was on display this weekend, outside the Virginia State Capitol at a gathering of heavily armed white men – some prepping for a second Civil War, some calling for a white ethnostate. Their speeches were essentially the overtly racist version of President Trump's divisive lament at Mount Rushmore National Memorial Friday about lost heritage and fallen statues. One white nationalist screamed at the crowd to rise up in retaliation: "Removing monuments says, 'I conquered this land!' "

Armed Black protesters

Trump and right-wing commentators frequently depict Black Lives Matter protesters as armed and dangerous. Some armed leftists and Black gun groups have patrolled protest sites, but they're a tiny fraction of the largely unarmed movement.

In recent days, however, Black gun owners have become more assertive at demonstrations across the country. Scenes of dozens of rifle-carrying, Black protesters marching in formation in Georgia went viral over the weekend; the evocation of the Black Panther Party was unmistakable.

In Richmond, too, Black gun clubs have come together to safeguard the protest site. They call themselves a deterrent — a defensive, not offensive, presence. Still, they're not universally welcomed, though many in the anti-gun camp have grudgingly come to accept them after reports of attacks on protest camps by far-right extremists.

Among the small armed contingent at the Lee statue was a poet who goes by the pen name Ray Rosetta. He says he grew up in New Jersey and never considered gun ownership until moving to Richmond. Six years ago, he said, he bought his first gun and joined the NRA. Rosetta recalled his membership card arriving with "a cool gun bag" and some literature with language that made him rethink joining. He let his NRA membership lapse.

"One and done," he said with a laugh.

Instead, Rosetta teamed up with other local Black gun owners, many of whom are also now doing stints at the Lee statue site. He said he's thinking about starting a chapter of the Huey P. Newton Gun Club — a national movement named after a co-founder of the Black Panthers. Rosetta sat under the shade of a tent at the Lee statue site, his semiautomatic rifle at his feet. "That's my baby," he said.

But Rosetta is a reluctant gunman for the movement. He said he still believes the pen is mightier; he'd rather be writing his poems, meditations on life and the women he calls his muses. He's also been moved by what he's seen in the protests.

As the interview was winding down, a couple of volunteers from the protesters' bike patrol approached Rosetta with a plastic bag. Inside were two loaded magazines for a semi-automatic rifle, along with a military-style coin showing Trump and the North Korean leader, Kim Jong Un. The volunteers told Rosetta they'd found the items in trash near the protest site and worried that someone had stashed them there for an attack.

Rosetta didn't know what to make of the items. Were they part of a bigger cache? Did they fall out of someone's bag? None of the possibilities was reassuring. He said agitators have shown up to cause trouble. Others drive by and yell slurs out the window. Rosetta said he believes guns on the premises is staving off a more brazen retaliation against the protests.

Rosetta said he would add the items to an art exhibit he's creating with found objects from protests. It will be called, "Domestic Warfare." He said the ammo is a reminder of why he keeps a pen in one hand, a rifle in the other.

"A lot of people don't believe this is happening," he said. "It's scary. This is happening."

Boogaloo showdown

Early in the morning on the fourth, it looked like a heavily armed luau was about to take place in front of the State Capitol in Richmond.

The Hawaiian shirt-wearing so-called "Boogaloo boys" were starting to arrive, part of an amorphous movement of disenchanted, mostly white men who think another Civil War is inevitable, even necessary, to correct what they consider an overreaching federal government and other societal ills. There's no leader and no cohesion on ideology or goals, no blueprint for what comes after the apocalyptic fight.

In Richmond, the Boogaloo boys were loosely organized by a baby-faced 19-year-old named Mike Dunn, who wore a cherry-red Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots. A Confederate flag was visible on the back of his belt. In these circles, he's known as "Virginia Knight," part of a year-old network of militias across the state. Dunn said his activism cost him his job with the Virginia Department of Corrections.

"To me, it means we want change, and we're willing to do what we need to do to get that change," Dunn said, offering his definition of the Boogaloo movement.

"We're willing to do what it takes," he said, to safeguard Second Amendment and other constitutional rights he believes are under attack. When told that his words might sound chilling to some people, Dunn shrugged. "It is what it is."

Among the dozens of men in Hawaiian shirts and tactical gear, another kind of demonstrator started to arrive, in skull masks paired with white blazers. They were white nationalists, sporting the insignia and other markers of hate groups.

Dunn and the Boogaloo crew regarded them with suspicion, but greeted them and arranged for the white nationalists to have a turn speaking before the crowd. They all mingled politely for a while, waiting for speeches to begin at 10 a.m.

Then, from around a corner, a group of armed Black protesters showed up, many of the same who patrol the Lee site. The gun-toting Black group stood across the street from the gun-toting white group. Dunn made a beeline to introduce himself: "Thank you all for coming out, make yourselves at home." He told the Black group that they might have differences but that they would all stand together for the Second Amendment.

A military veteran who goes by "Pops" represented the Black group. He had a question.

"Who's going to regulate if anything jumps off?" he asked.

"We just hope it doesn't," Dunn said.

Dunn led the Black group across the street to merge with the bigger group. There were murmurs of disapproval among the white nationalists, but the Boogaloo boys welcomed the Black protesters, each side checking out and complimenting the others' weaponry. The police herded them all down the street, out of the shade, leaving them to swelter in their heavy flak vests.

At one point, a guy in a Hawaiian shirt and tactical gear wished everyone a happy Fourth of July and led the crowd – the white nationalists, the Boogaloo boys, the Black gun group – in a surreal rendition of "America The Beautiful." But the harmony was fleeting. The second the white nationalists took the mic to spew about white genocide, the crowd divided sharply between those who were fine with that rhetoric and those who weren't.

Dunn and most of the Hawaiian shirts rejected the separatist message. They stormed off, enraged by "Nazi wing-nuts" hijacking their rally. They joined the Black protesters in chants to drown out the white supremacists who were peddling a plan for the "peaceful Balkanization" of the country.

Dunn looked dismayed, out of his depth, a teenager who handed hate a bullhorn and came to regret it. Much of the crowd seemed to lose interest in Dunn's message of unity. For some, the time for talk was over. The melting pot had failed. Monuments, streets, patriots were under attack. It was time for Plan B.

"It's time!" a white nationalist speaker said.

"It's time!" the crowd answered.

"It's time for all good men, and good men alone, to come to the aid of their country, of their people, of their civilization!"

The speaker's words grew muffled as Dunn's Boogaloo camp began a chant: "White supremacy sucks! White supremacy sucks!"

Young Gods - Two

a/n: this chapter is a bit longer! more character in it such as getting to see finn, and there's a little more backstory on ben turning to the dark side (hint: i made it slightly similar to why anakin turned, though you know, not the exact same). either way i hope you guys enjoy it, i can't believe we still have to wait eight more months until the last jedi, i need it now!

rating: m

ao3: (x)

There was a reason behind everything Ben had done; why he left the temple, why he killed all the people he killed, why he joined the First Order. The reason was Rey.

He left the temple because he knew there was something coming for his sister that he couldn’t protect her from under Luke’s teachings, he killed the new Jedi to keep Rey safe from them trying to use her against him, he joined the First Order to learn how to truly protect her with powers Luke would never have taught him. He did everything for her, unlike their parents who cast them aside, and in the end she cast him aside as well, repulsed by what he became to keep her safe and fleeing with Luke. In a cruel twist of fate, he had become the darkness that threatened to hunt her down, along with the rest of the First Order; but despite everything, Ben would kill anyone who tried to harm her.

Supreme Leader Snoke saw this in Ben’s heart, he’d ordered him to kill Rey on more than one occasion, and every time he got close and saw her - he couldn’t do it. Despite hurting her, in more ways than one, she was still the only thing that mattered to him in this entire galaxy, she was all he had.

The sharp stinging pain caused by the med droid tending to his new wounds was enough to pull him from his thoughts and back into the reality around him. The harsh cuts and wounds on his back serving as a reminder from Snoke and his other lackeys that disobedience was not tolerated within the Order. All those punishments used to work when he was young, now he was used to the pain and they held little effect over his actions. Snoke knew there were other ways to hurt him, using pain like this was just a warning, if he ever did something severe, he knew what his master would do to keep him in line. Letting a rebel spy escape with her life because she looked like his sister was nothing compared to what he could have done.

“That’s enough.” Ben barked the order at the droid, it stopping instantly and leaving his chambers without another beep in protest.

With the droid gone, Ben walked over to a nearby mirror in his room, seeing not much of anything other than a walking collection of scars. A scar on his bottom lip from Rey daring him to climb the tallest tree they could find when they were little, scars on his arms and hands from training with Luke when he was a padawan, the rest of the scars on his chest and back were all from his time here - training, disobeying, his rage getting the better of him and hurting himself in the process of hurting something else.

“Sir,” the voice of Captain Phasma came through the communicator he left on his bedside table, “we have a lead on the Jedi.”

“Where?” Ben grabbed the communicator instantly, every muscle in his body tensing, waiting to hear the news.

“We have a confirmed sighting of them last being seen on Naboo, boarding a transport to the outer rim.” Phasma replied. “It was a Resistance U-Wing, it won’t be coming back.”

“I want records of every ship  that had clearance to leave Naboo that day and their destinations, there is record of where that U-Wing went somewhere, make them talk.” Ben stated, trying to keep his anger from getting the better of him.

“Yes sir.” Phasma replied before the line went dead, his most loyal soldier carrying out his commands.

Snoke wanted Rey found to be killed, Ben wanted her found to give her another chance to join him, to show Snoke that she could help and that they could train together, that he could keep her safe. All he had to do was find Rey first, and with any luck, someone would talk to save their own skin on where that U-Wing was headed.

The last time Rey had seen her mother was when she was eight years old, she hadn’t seen her father since she was five, so naturally she fooled herself into thinking that her mother would keep her promise where her father had failed. Ben had told her not to get her hopes up, he tried to protect her from the same heartbreak he went through - but even that wasn’t enough.

As the darkness in the galaxy grew stronger, the weeks turned to months which eventually turned into years that kept Leia away. Between being a senator and being a representative for the last of the Jedi remaining while Luke was busy raising Rey and training younglings, it was almost impossible for her to actually visit her children; Han stopped trying altogether. Naturally, after all those years apart, there was a cloud of tension and guilt hanging between the two of them while they sat together for dinner in Leia’s quarters, neither of them knowing what to say.

“So,” Leia started, “how was Naboo?”

“Fine,” Rey said, “from what I could see of it. I got to see that monument they built to grandma, it’s nice.”

Padmé Amidala, perhaps one of the more famous names to come from Naboo - only to be rivaled by the dark presence that was left behind by Darth Sidious, better known as Emperor Palpatine. It was easy to see why they’d chosen to honor their fallen former queen and senator so openly while they desperately tried to erase the stain the Emperor had left behind on their small planet. Between the Organa’s and the legacy Padmé left behind, Rey understood why Leia chose to stay in politics rather than become a Jedi Master like Uncle Luke, though she still was a Knight just like Rey. Sometimes Rey thought that if she’d chosen politics as well that her parents wouldn’t have left her like they left Ben, but she couldn’t leave Ben behind, and the call of the Force was far too great for her to ignore by sitting at a desk and making speeches day in and day out.

“Glad you got to see it.” Leia offered up a smile as she looked towards Rey, Rey couldn’t find it in her to fake a smile in return.

“Ben took me there once when I was younger, to Naboo.” Rey stated, keeping her eyes on her food and feeling the mood shift back to something strained.

Leia remained silent, Rey knew it was a low blow, but it was something she couldn’t help. But Rey had seen her mother's speeches, seen how she avoided calling Kylo Ren her son and danced around the subject of what happened to Ben Organa-Solo. Every time Rey noticed that, she felt like her mother was trying to erase her brother, and she couldn’t help but feel that if she’d joined Ben, she would have tried to erase her too.

“Your father heard you and Luke we’re coming here, he’s going to come by with Chewie.” Leia tried to change the subject.

“Well, tell Chewie I’m sorry I’ll miss him.” Rey said.

“Breha, you - “

“Rey,” She corrected her mother, Rey was the nickname Ben had given her, she wasn’t going to erase him and what he had been unlike everyone else in the galaxy, “and I can choose not to see Han if I want. He abandoned Ben and I long before you did, I’d rather just see Chewie, at least he called.”

It was silent again, Rey felt she’d crossed a line somewhere, not that she cared if she did or not, but she didn’t expect the feeling of such overwhelming guilt to wash over her either. “You’re right.” Leia sighed. “If you want to just see Chewie, I’ll just tell him where you’ll be, I won’t tell your father.”

“...Thank you.” Rey hesitated saying.

The discomfort in the room kept rising and Rey knew she needed to just be anywhere else right now other than here, she knew some meditation would help clear her mind.

“Thank you for dinner, I have to go meet Uncle Luke for meditation.” Rey excused herself from the table, rising to her feet and grabbing her lightsaber off of the nearby table.

“I’ll be here if you want to talk.” Leia called after her just before Rey managed to get out the door and have them snap shut behind her.

Anywhere was better than being with her mother for another moment. She knew Luke was somewhere meditating, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to interfere with whatever shred of peace he was able to find in all of the chaos of an active rebel base. Rey needed to calm her mind as well, and so far the only place of solace she could think of would be her room - the trouble being she didn’t remember where her room was.

“Are you alright?” A man asked her, it didn’t take long for Rey to realize that it was one of the Lieutenants from earlier, though she never caught his name.

“Yeah, just lost.” Rey admitted, there was something calming about him that took the edge off of Rey’s nerves.

“Can’t say I blame you there, when I first got here I couldn’t remember where anything was.” He grinned, trying to lighten the dark mood that was still hanging over her from her dinner with her mother. “Connix said she’s got you in the west bunks, I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, thanks.” Rey said, caught off guard by his willingness to help, the galaxy could have used more people like him.

“No problem, it’s Breha, right?” He asked.

“Rey actually. Breha’s a big name to live up to, I just go by Rey.” She clarified.

“Rey, got it, nice to meet you,” He nodded, “I’m Finn.”

“Nice to meet you Finn.” Rey said.

The rest of the walk was filled with small chatter between the two of them, Finn asking question after question about what it’s like to use a lightsaber and learning the ways of the Force, claiming that he never was told any stories about the Jedi at all until he joined the Resistance. Rey asked him for directions to nearly everywhere she could think of that she might need to go to in the next few days until she learned where everything was.

“This is it.” Rey said, remembering the dings and dents that were on the front of her door and stopping short.

“Alright, well, if you ever need anything Rey, you can come find Poe or I anytime.” Finn said.

“Poe?” Rey questioned, more than sure that she’d never heard that name before now.

“Oh, right, Commander Dameron I mean, he was with us earlier when you and your uncle showed up. He’ll help you with whatever you need to.” Finn assure her.

“Good to know, thanks Finn.” Rey nodded.

“Anytime.” Finn offered her a parting grin before taking his leave.

Rey managed to remember the codes to her door at least, getting it open and letting out a sigh of relief once it was shut. Or at least she felt that brief relief for only a moment, until a familiar voice clawed it’s way into her mind, forcing a one way connection.

‘The Resistance? After all these years you ran back to her, or maybe it’s because I left you no other choice, no other place to hide. For that, I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you from them, remember? It doesn’t matter, I tracked you to Naboo, you were there, weren’t you? Someone will talk. I don’t know why you keep running from me Rey, it’d be so much easier to convince Snoke to let you join me if you stopped running. You know I’d never hurt you, don’t you? Stop fighting me, Rey, please - ‘

Rey cut him off there, not wanting to hear anymore. Her heart still ached when she cut him off, no matter how many times she’d done it before in the past years, he was her brother and their bond was stronger than most could understand, even stronger than the bond Luke and her mother shared. He could call out to her across systems and stars and still sound as if he were in the room with her; their power was more than likely the only reason Snoke wanted the both of them alive.

‘I don’t want to be found, Ben.’

It was a risk to call out to him, to give him any form of a response or acknowledgement, it was reckless - something commonly known to be in the Skywalker bloodline.

‘It sounds like you do.’

His reply came quickly, latching onto the tail end of the connection she briefly opened in order to get his reply to her. Rey pushed all traces of their connection out of her mind and balled her hands into fists, trying to tame the low rumble now echoing through her room. She hated that he was right, that somewhere deep down in the back of her mind, she did want her brother to find her.

(Reproducing my comment here in its entirety.)

I’ve looked through lots of Nazi Tumblogs for trolling material in my day: you can easily find them if you know what to look for: they don’t tag their posts ‘Nazi’ or ‘Nazism’ or whatever, it’s always stuff like ‘NatSoc’, ‘National Socialism’, ‘1488’, or (if they’re too cowardly to openly say what they subscribe to) ‘traditional/reactionary European’. I think my observations are good story material.

First of all, I’ve found quite a few interesting trends there.

First off, they lie like crazy. They claim that Dr. Albert Schweitzer wrote about how he became disillusioned with Africans and said they had the mentality of evil toddlers in African Notebook, that Richard Dawkins wrote about how progressivism not allowing free speech about how humans are naturally classified into races is ‘alarming’ in The Extended Phenotype, and that Taylor Swift has expressed white supremacist ideas, among others: the first two are easily proven false with a simple search on Google Books, the third is obviously false considering she’s good friends with Nicki Minaj. I’ve actually found a post on a Nazi blog that included a quote by Hitler saying, ‘The victor will never be asked if he told the truth.’

Aside from lying like crazy about easily disproven bullshit, they also tend to grossly misread things, either intentionally or because they’re that fucking stupid. One example I’ve seen is an article about a trans woman openly admitting to ‘indoctrinating’ children or whatever, which was posted with a ‘gotcha!’ comment that completely ignored that the article basically said something like ‘I teach kids to be respectful of those who are different, and if you call that indoctrination so be it’. Another article said that legitimizing pædophiles was ‘the next crusade of the left’, completely misunderstanding that the point was about looking at it as an affliction to be remedied rather than a crime in and of itself (as opposed to child molestation). And this is before relying on broken statistics and whatnot, like the time I argued with a Nazi who insisted that California if not the US in general had a non-white majority. Happens all the damn time.

Third thing I noticed was that a lot of their rhetoric had to do with women’s beauty and chastity. ‘NatSoc’ blogs are notoriously rife with pictures of pretty young white women in various states of dress (in traditional European garb) and undress (often with, like, a laurel on their heads or something) in fields and natural scenes and suchlike. (One time I found a blog filled ONLY with pictures like those and jokingly suggested to the admit that he should look into this one chick named Scarlett Johannson; he said, ‘Is this the part where I tell you Ashkenazi Jews are Aryans and you run off with your tail between your legs?’ Apparently, he really took the ‘Neo’ part of ‘Neo-Nazi’ to heart!) The notorious 14 Words (specifically ‘because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the earth’) are also pretty commonly quoted, as well as horror stories of white women who were abused by Arabs and black men. You never hear about the reverse: extolling the beauty of white men and warning them against going with black women. The truth is, much like the Israeli organization Lehava (who keep talking about women as ‘daughters of kings’, warning against Arabs who seduce Jewish women into their villages and abusing them there), anti-white rhetoric about how white people ‘take [black people’s/Asians’] women’, and the Mongolian Tsagaan Khas (who talk about foreigners making lots of money and taking their women), they see women as some kind of resource they feel entitled to and are terrified of having taken away from them. (Cracked once had an article about a former Neo-Nazi named Frank Meeink who started associating with black inmates, because the Nazis kept talking about his girlfriend being unfaithful; the black inmates congratulated him when she was pregnant. I think that sums it up amazingly.)

Finally, I found out they were a lot more diverse than people give them credit for. Aside from the VERY ‘Neo’-Nazi mentioned above, they vary in terms of economic beliefs (unlike the KKK, who see Socialism as a foreign evil, they are more split on the issue), religious beliefs (i.e. badly interpreted Christianity, badly interpreted paganism, and badly interpreted purely secular ‘science’), and other issues. I’ve even come across a ‘feminist’ blog (NSFW) claiming patriarchy is a Jewish conspiracy, and I’m not entirely sure whether it’s for real or not, and another one saying Nazis and Muslims are natural allies that Jews have set against each other.

I’ve had the most interaction with two particular Nazis on Tumblr.

The first of the two was a Serbian woman. She was an admin on a general anti-SJ blog, which also featured a hardcore Christian who claimed Jews were ‘devil spawns’ or something based on (misquoted) New Testament quotes, an avid fanboy of Assad’s regime (his presence and their defence of Palestinians was justified because apparently ‘Arabs are Aryans’), and other idiots. I clashed with her a few times and talked about how her sense of superiority based on not being ‘a cumdumpster’ had nothing to do with actual respect and everything to do with succumbing to male standards. Then I accused the admins of that blog of subscribing to the ideology just as an excuse for violence; she said that she’d adopted it because of her experience with NATO’s aggression towards Serbia, their mishandling of the Trepča Mines (which she attributed to greed), and deep contempt towards George Soros for his involvement in all of it. I sympathized with her, and we began debating with far more civilized tones.

She talked about how SJ ideology has gone out of control (e.g. the dismay caused by a road named ‘Bangays Way’ named after a historian named Bangay), and how much of it was forced on her, and how she felt like she was being attacked simply because she espoused endogamy to preserve her culture. I agreed with her about the crazier bunch in the SJ crowd, talked about how she used really gross generalizations (apparently she thought Jews could agree on ANYTHING), pointed out some misinterpretations (e.g. that people protesting the road were less ‘THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE’ and more ‘this looks iffy, come on guys’), and pointed out the problems with defining what a culture is. After a short while she said she was sick and occupied so she couldn’t answer, and then she just deleted her blog. I wish she hadn’t, it was getting interesting.

The second one was the guy who posted that Hitler quote, who was also the same one claiming California had a non-white majority. I argued pretty fervently, with citations and everything, and he was apparently genuinely impressed. He sent me a personal message saying that was the first time he was not dismissed by an SJW for his ideology and was actually debated in earnest (albeit with lots of insults) and wanted to have a serious reasoned debate. I agreed, we chatted some, and he explained that he was an EMT who would treat non-white people just fine but still preferred a world where nations were divided into races and had fair fights in armed conflict over territory and wealth.

He wanted the divide to be based on race because, he claimed, races have serious genetic differences based on their evolution in different environments that made them incompatible in terms of living side by side. I asked him for citations (and also my close friend, who is working on his PhD in biochemistry), and he kept stalling on and on (at first it was because he was out celebrating his birthday, then basically just because), and then we stopped talking. (Meanwhile my friend found citations saying that it was overwhelmingly bullshit, and in fact he found an article showing Yoruba people lack a mutation found in white and Asian people that caused aggressive behaviour.)

Eventually I tagged him in a post asking him if he agreed with the harassment Jews in Whitefish, MT over rumours that they were harassing his mother. Eventually we ended up in an argument where he said it was only natural for people to lie and have double standards when it comes to theirs and an opposing view, and that he wanted me to drop dead. I strongly rejected that notion and pointed out how I’ve criticized leftist over and over for their lies; he conceded I was morally superior but he didn’t think that mattered.

In private I expressed my disappointment with him. I told him I’d thought better of him and his interest in having a serious debate; he responded, ‘The Jew cries out in pain as he strikes you.’ The nerve of a guy using ‘Kozak hanigzel’ on a Hebrew speaker from Israel… Man was that disappointing. I blocked him.

At any rate, I blocked him. A day or two later, when I wanted to see if he was swamped with anons for this and getting lots of shit for basically admitting his ideology was indefensible, but his blog was already deleted. I want to believe he realized this himself, that he needed to do some real thinking if a ‘degenerate’ like me proved his moral superior, but I can never know.

These two interactions and some others have led me to wonder if sincere Nazis, who are actually good but horribly misguided people, were mostly women. I wonder.

Ultimately, I feel really sorry for Nazis of the latter kind, and the alt-right crowd in general. From what I’ve seen, they’re really miserable people: they think of love and sex in terms of conquest and keeping what they got (hence the constant talk about ‘cucks’, who are too ineffectual to keep their ‘property’ theirs), not actual human connection. They’re so obsessed with power and maintaining and demonstrating it that they seem to have no concept of genuine compassion: they write it all off as ‘virtue signalling’, i.e. pretending to be virtuous for the sake of some kind of social capital. They’re so bitter they’ve become obsessed with spite, talking so much about ‘liberal tears’ they barely argue their own position. There’s such a deep sense of fear and loneliness and resentment there, and when they don’t scare me, I feel really sad for them.

On the other hand, I’d like to say a few words about anti-Nazis:

The attack on Richard Spencer triggered a whole lot of posts on Tumblr about how punching Nazis is not only justified but morally mandatory (because Nazis could never reform, you see, and were necessarily evil), which I strongly objected to on the grounds that Nazis were a diverse group, with many motivations and backgrounds, and responding to them with violence could be counterproductive in many cases (I cited Lamb & Lynx Gaede, the aforementioned Meeink, and all the KKK members Daryl Davis has dissuaded: all of them converted by peaceful means). I’ve seen people shamelessly call me a ‘Nazi sympathizer’ by some people on that website, and at one point I wanted to take legal action, considering the kind of harassment that accusation could lead to.

The same kind of belligerent attitude is found in the far left as well. Those ‘beat the Fascists where you find them’ anti-Nazis seem to be far more preoccupied with letting out aggression against rivals than actually dismantling their threatening ideology. They’re only marginally better, and also suffer from similar ills (e.g. incessant lying) and some others (e.g. scouting for perceived ideological rivals to unleash aggression on). This is why I’ve pretty much left Tumblr altogether.

The Silliest Take of the Week: 1/29/17

Three weeks going! I’m already beating the odds I gave myself in my description of this project. 

Let’s get right to it! We’ve got some nice, spicy takes here this week.

Silliest Twitter Meltdown, Unless It’s Ironic Performance Art, In Which Case: Best Twitter Ironic Performance Art

Tim Marchman, A Short Series of Tweets, Twitter, 1/24/2017

This probably isn’t technically a Silly Take, but given that it exists at the intersection of Silly Internet Things; Political Nonsense; and Internet Tough Guy Posturing, I think it’s well within the #STOW ambit.

Apparently Senator Ted Cruz has organized a weekly-ish basketball game with some other Senators. Ex-Gawker sportsblog Deadspin thought this was funny, and asked for photographic proof of Ted Cruz playing basketball, which is a very Deadspin thing to do. Ted Cruz (or a social media manager working for Ted Cruz, but who cares) responded to a tweet about this with a picture of Duke University basketball player Grayson Allen, who looks sort of like Cruz. Deadspin’s social media person responded in typical Deadspin style:

Ted Cruz in turn responded with an Anchorman gif (”Boy, that escalated quickly!”) and that should probably have been it. 

But for Deadspin editor Tim Marchman, this was Too Much, Too Far, and Not Acceptable. (Please note that Marchman is not the one who drafted the initial call for pictures of Senator Cruz playing basketball). Instead, Tim Marchman gave us a series of nine tweets, the most important of which are below:

Now, a part of me hopes that this is Mr. Marchman being deliberately ridiculous in order to take the heat off of a woman (Ms. Feinberg, who drafted the original call for pictures) who was undoubtedly getting a disproportionate and awful amount of hate from Dudes on the Internet, who are, let there be no mistake, The Worst. If that’s the case, then good work, Mr. Marchman, and I apologize.

But I just want to revel for a moment in the gloriousness of “Unsurprising that not one Ted Cruz-supporting cuck/Twitter user is willing to face me in the UFC octagon.” I don’t know if I could find a better way to distill the silliness that is Internet Tough Guy Posturing into <140 characters. If Marchman is being ironic, then I admire his precision. My guess is that he’s not being ironic, given that 100% of the 11 tweets on his twitter feed consist of him whining about this dustup and two contextless RTs of weird things Curt Schilling once said.

Also, as always happens with Internet Tough Guy Posturing, and as several right-wing websites were happy to point out, some people who are apparently Actual Soldiers And/Or UFC Fighters and who like Ted Cruz have offered to take Marchman up on his challenge.

Don’t engage in Internet Tough Guy Posturing, folks. You look silly, and there’s always somebody out there who is bigger than you are and willing to call your bluff.

Most Predictably Tiresome Response to Angry Protests

David French, “This Is What Post-Christian Dissent Looks Like,” National Review, 1/27/2017.

People on the Left are very mad about Donald Trump. Previously, people on the Left were comically excited about Barack Obama. This, according to David French, has something to do with the fact that we’re not very Christian any more:

“This is post-Christian politics to its core. This is the politics one gets when this world is our only home, and no one is in charge but us. There is no sense of proportion.”

Finally:

“Eight years ago, all too many on the left thought that light had come into the darkness. Now they believe the darkness has overcome the light. In reality, the false dawn preceded the false dusk. Our Republic is still built to last, and the hysterical reaction threatens to be worse than the man who triggered it.”

I’ve tried to reread this a few times to figure out the connections French wants to make between protests and whatever the hell “post-Christian dissent” is, but all I can get out of this piece is a long, wet raspberry noise. So, in conclusion: shut up, David.

See also George Will, “Trump and academia actually have a lot in common,” The Washington Post, 1/27/2017.

Most Cringe-Inducing Set of Editorial Retractions

Moira Wegel, “How Ultrasound Became Political,” The Atlantic, 1/24/2017

I’m not willing to suggest that this whole article is really a Silly Take -- its thesis is that the development of ultrasound technology was a useful tool for pro-life advocates and lawmakers, particularly in the context of those condescending laws that require doctors to show women ultrasounds of their fetuses before they have an abortion. There may well be some value in this train of thought, and I certainly learned some things reading this article. 

That is, I thought I learned some things, until I saw the amazing and ever-growing list of corrections that had to be made to this article after it was published. Now I’m not sure I learned anything from this article, because I’m not sure the author of this article can be trusted to be sure what color the sky is:

“*This article originally stated that there is "no heart to speak of" in a 6-week-old fetus. In fact, the heart has already begun to form by that point in a pregnancy. The article also originally stated that an expectant mother participating in a study decided to carry her pregnancy to term even after learning that the fetus was suffering from a genetic disorder, when in fact the fetus was only at high risk for a genetic disorder. The article originally stated, as well, that Bernard Nathanson headed the National Right-to-Life Committee and became a born-again Christian. Nathanson was active in, but did not head the committee, and was never a born-again Christian, but rather a Roman Catholic. The article originally stated that many doctors in 1985 claimed fetuses had no reflexive responses to medical instruments at 12 weeks. Finally, the article originally stated that John Kasich vetoed a bill from Indiana's legislature, instead of Ohio's legislature, after which the article was incorrectly amended to state that Mike Pence had vetoed the bill. We regret the errors.“

It’s not every day that an article for The Atlantic manages to mix up “born-again” Christians with Roman Catholics, misstate facts about fetal development, and get royally confused about who the governor of Ohio is. A little bit of fact-checking goes a long way, folks.

Biggest Grudge Against an Anodyne Celebrity

Amy Zimmerman, “Taylor Swift’s Spineless Feminism,” The Daily Beast, 1/23/2017

Taylor Swift mostly doesn’t have public political opinions, and Amy Zimmerman has gotten weirdly mad about this before for The Daily Beast. I think about Taylor Swift about as often as I think about throw pillows -- they seem nice enough, and some people seem to have surprisingly strong opinions about them, but I can’t see a lot of need for them in my life. But for Amy Zimmerman, the fact that Taylor Swift hasn’t taken a public position on Donald Trump is a Big Problem that must be Written About At Length.

Look, I have read some legit critiques about Swift’s brand of feminism before, and I’m not really looking to come out swinging for T-Swift. But it’s weird to get this worked up about a pop star’s apparent lack of opinions:

“Courtesy of the Instagram, we learned that Swift endorses democracy and cold-shoulder blouses. But in terms of candidates, it was impossible to deduce if she’d voted for Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, or Jill freaking Stein.” 

who cares who taylor swift voted for, amy

After citing the fact that T-Swift has a small group of neo-Nazi fans who like her because she looks like their ideal woman, Zimmerman says:

“If you’re not overtly on board with the resistance, then you’re tacitly chill with being proclaimed an Aryan goddess.” 

Other good moments are when she gets confused about Swift ex-boyfriend Tom Hiddleston’s acting career:

“Tom Hiddleston has played many roles, from Thor to Taylor Swift’s boyfriend.”

And look, this doesn’t matter, but Tom Hiddleston didn’t play Thor. Snark about anodyne celebrities looks even more petty if you can’t be bothered to get basic facts right.

Finally:

“In hindsight, [Hiddleston’s speech] proves that HiddleSwift may have been more compatible than we ever thought. Can’t you just picture the face of watered-down feminism and 2017’s proudest white savior, taking a break from swapping spit to congratulate one another on staying so woke?” 

Blech.

The Silliest Take of the Week: 1/29/2017

Filip Bondy, “How Vital Are Women? This Town Found Out as They Left to March,” The New York Times, 1/22/2017.

Here’s the pitch: Filip Bondy wants to show that women are important. This is a good thing: women are important. 

Here’s the problem: Filip Bondy wants to show that women are important by highlighting the plights of their poor, abandoned husbands who had to take care of the kids by themselves for --

listen, if you need to take a moment to collect yourself, that’s fine, this is pretty shocking --

these husbands had to take care of their kids for twelve full hours while the women went away to march for some weird chick thing. Can you imagine? Really goes to show how important women are.

Do you think I’m overstating things? Here is the thesis paragraph:

“In their wake, they left behind a progressive bedroom community with suddenly skewed demographics. Routines were radically altered, and many fathers tried to meet weekend demands alone for a change. By participating in the marches and highlighting the importance of women’s rights, the women also demonstrated, in towns like Montclair, their importance just by their absence.”

those poor bastards, having to meet weekend demands alone

“Usually, these chores and deliveries were shared by both parents, in a thoroughly modern way. On this day, many dads were left to juggle schedules on their own.”

the humanity

“Steve Politi, a sports columnist for The Star-Ledger of Newark, missed the Rutgers men’s basketball game on Saturday to stay home with his two children. He did the soccer-game thing, set up play dates (arguably, cheating a bit) and warmed up some leftover pizza for lunch. He also cleaned the refrigerator.”

the refrigerator, Linda, the refrigerator -- I cleaned the goddamn refrigerator while you were marching for uteruses or whatever, I deserve more respect around here

“After his dutiful Saturday, Mr. Coyle went off to play tennis on Sunday morning. It was part of the deal he had struck with his wife.”

a fair and equitable bargain. Mr. Coyle is truly a just sovereign over his household.

“The buses returned late Saturday night from Washington to a quiet, heartfelt welcome. By Sunday morning, most of the women were back to their routines in Montclair. The JaiPure Yoga Studio reported full attendance, and many fathers exhaled in relief.”

“and in that instant, all returned to normal. the seas ceased to boil, the locusts retreated over the horizon, and the wailing of children could no longer be heard. the villagers mourned their dead, but exulted in the knowledge that the women were home, and finally, all would be well again.”

Maybe, just maybe, if you’re trying to write an article about how women are cool and neat and important and Trump is bad, don’t manage to make it sound like men having to stay with their kids for a Saturday is some kind of Great, Heroic Sacrifice.

--

Thanks for reading! And thanks to Braden, Amanda, Tim, and Joel for submitting Silly Takes. As always, don’t forget to send your favorite ridiculous takes to [email protected], and have a great week!

Expert: This is going to be an exercise in redefining fascism after meeting with socialists on the hundredth anniversary of the great revolution. In the early 1900s, the Italians who invented the term Fascism also described it as estato corporativo, meaning: the corporate state. Fascism should more properly be called corporatism, since it is the merger of state and corporate power. — Benito Mussolini Then you have that great liberal, giver over of social goods from the rich, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who once described fascism as The liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerate the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than their democratic state itself. That, in its essence, is fascism — ownership of government by … a group, or any controlling private power. Or, I could use the old dictionary as a standard bearer for the concept: Webster’s — 1. Often capitalized: a political philosophy, movement, or regime (such as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition 2. a tendency toward or actual exercise of strong autocratic or dictatorial control Heading Out Into Portland, Now Known as Resistance City Numero Tres It seemed like fun, going to Portland’s International Socialist Organization’s meeting at Portland State University on a blustery Northern Oregon Saturday. You know, the 100th anniversary of the Russian Revolution, and the Trotsky lovers packed into a small space at the state university. . . . Mostly young people, about 60 in all, in a basement at the student union. The glorious PSU farmer’s market was in high swing just outside with all those ethically-raised kale stalks, free-range lamb chops, trauma-informed cared for llama chunks of feta, and pole-caught tuna ripe for the taking. Bourgeoise, professors from the halls of academia, couples young and old able to afford the high cost of apartments, condos and homes in the area, looking for local stuff for chow that night. One of my former clients – Shawn – came up to me from the burgeoning crowd and asked how I was and stated how it was great to see me. He’s homeless, again, living in alleys, but looking fine, job ready, that is. “You were right,” he said. “Those social workers did nothing for me. Put me in jobs that start at 10 pm and finished at 4 am. Two-hour one-way trips, man, and no public transportation to get to them.” Fascism is Globalization of Cultures, Crimes of Capitalism, Thought The ebb and flow of Capitalism, when a guy like Shawn – 40 – is mingling with the bourgeoisie, and his hopelessness is the very foundation of capitalism and the fascism of the financial institutions riding roughshod over all corners of the globe. Yeah, I’d say that banks and even investment companies are part of the cabal of fascists now running the world – why in hell do the neo-fascists of the world need storm-troopers at home (they have them, though, don’t they, in the form of a drone-ridden, militarized and digitized surveillance state) marching up and down main street USA looking for radicals, Communists, labor unionists, etc.? The morning at PSU was one where speakers and audience responders all tried to force the word fascist into the box of old history, of those stormtroopers and Nazis and Gestapo and smoldering gas chambers. It was sickening, really, to hear some of the rationalizations, how today’s America isn’t even close to fascism, when, in fact, it is a fascist system, tied directly to the above definition of corporations calling the shots in and out of government. Here, more sickness, which is the monopoly control and structural violence and murder these perps carry out with their $2000 jackets and $500 pairs of shoes. This is the new face of fascism, or at least the face of the corporation is much much more powerful than in old Adolph’s or Benito’s time. From the Intercept: Goldman Sachs paid Hillary Clinton $675,000 for three speeches, but an even bigger Wall Street player stands ready to mold and enact her economic and financial policy if she becomes president. BlackRock is far from a household name, but it is the largest asset management firm in the world, controlling $4.6 trillion in investor funds — about a trillion dollars more than the annual federal budget, and five times the assets of Goldman Sachs. And Larry Fink, BlackRock’s CEO, has assembled a veritable shadow government full of former Treasury Department officials at his company. Fink has made clear his desire to become treasury secretary someday. The Obama administration had him on the short list to replace Timothy Geithner. When that didn’t materialize, he pulled several members of prior Treasury Departments into high-level positions at the firm, which may improve the prospects of realizing his dream in a future Clinton administration. Fink has also promoted the privatization of Social Security, while mocking the idea of retiring at 65, which is easy for a business executive who sits at a desk all day to say, rather than working on an assembly line or as a waiter. Fink owes his initial backing at BlackRock to Pete Peterson, the former commerce secretary who has been at the forefront of the campaign to cut or privatize Social Security. He sat on the steering committee of the Campaign to Fix the Debt, a stalking horse for Peterson’s ideas. Fink also opposes efforts to reinstitute the Glass-Steagall firewall between investment and commercial banks, as does Clinton. Again, one hundred years later. Recalling the past:  Lenin and Trotsky didn’t view the Russian Revolution as the beginning of “socialism in one country” given the country’s low level of economic development. It was the opening fissure of calling for a world revolution. Western capitalism was facing collapse due to the disastrous effects of World War I. Two years later, the Bolsheviks launched the Communist International (Comintern) in 1919 to bring together millions of workers and young people rallying to support the Russian Revolution and rejecting the social democratic parties who had betrayed the working class by supporting WWI. In the United States, the Socialist Party came out in support of the Comintern and went on to create the Communist Party. more here, 1917 Revolution! 2017 marks the centenary of this world-historic event. This site is initiated by the Committee for a Workers’ International (CWI) to celebrate the October revolution and the transformation that it heralded – politically, economically, culturally, concerning questions of gender and sexual equality and in many other aspects of working class life. We defend the October revolution against the class hostility, distortions and outright lies perpetrated by the ruling class, the capitalist media, right wing politicians and parts of academia. In particular, this site aims help introduce the new generations moving into struggle and looking at left and socialist ideas to the crucial lessons of October. The 2017 Pacific Northwest socialists were in the lower depths of the old university building, readying for an all-day conference. And a few from Seattle, and plenty of “comrade this” and “comrade that.” Colonized Minds, Not a Pretty Thing, No Matter the Political Stripe I’m not here as a conduit of constant bashing or criticism, that’s for sure; however, in this exceptionalist society, where the revolution (in their minds) is won on Facebook and with a turn-out of people at the plaza protesting Trump and Hillary, I’ve got a different eye for things as a 60-year-old. I never thought forty years ago, or twenty, that I’d be pulling out the old and wizened and retirement age (I never will retire) card. In fact, I am not really old in my thinking, but the six decades and few borders crossed might put me in just a different mind space than those younger people who have gone nowhere physically and who have been colonized. Colonized and set up by the controlled opposition, many, even radicals, with good intentions, are galvanized by a very deep state, deep intelligence insurgency/apparatus, deep psychological discombobulation set around the power of transnationals and globalists to control every move, every financial transaction, every blink positioned at the screens they’ve forced many of us onto in order to be, that is, be informed (sic) and be connected (sic). It’s not even funny being in groups of people who are smart and know their “Russian Revolution History” (sort of) but still lash out on fools like me who deride Facebook or Bill and Melinda Gates or Amazon. Little things are microcosms of the state of things in my mind. Two fellows from Seattle figured prominently in the eyes of my own discontent with these people occupied by the huge cabal of transnationals globalizing control of us. While the ‘Globalizers’ may adopt a few progressive phrases to demonstrate they have good intentions, their fundamental goals are not challenged. And what this “civil society mingling” does is to reinforce the clutch of the corporate establishment while weakening and dividing the protest movement. An understanding of this process of co-optation is important, because tens of thousands of the most principled young people in Seattle, Prague and Quebec City [1999-2001] are involved in the anti-globalization protests because they reject the notion that money is everything, because they reject the impoverishment of millions and the destruction of fragile Earth so that a few may get richer. This rank and file and some of their leaders as well, are to be applauded. But we need to go further. We need to challenge the right of the ‘Globalizers’ to rule. This requires that we rethink the strategy of protest. Can we move to a higher plane, by launching mass movements in our respective countries, movements that bring the message of what globalization is doing, to ordinary people? For they are the force that must be mobilized to challenge those who plunder the Globe.”  (Michel Chossudovsky, The Quebec Wall, April 2001) Don’t get me wrong:  I’d rather have a bunch of socialists in a basement pontificating about the petite bourgeois and the ramifications of the lesser evilism of American duopoly politics than being with a bunch of hoarders of Buffalo wings in a hoppy watering hole arguing about the targeting call on the defender for the Oklahoma Sooners against the OSU Cowboys. I know the average Joe and Jane/Julio y Juanita, in this country, is so-so tied to the crass commercialization of their lives, and their every waking thought seems to be tied to some retail transaction, or fear generated by the fake media and Holly-porn. When I am around people who at least reject that, who are at least trying to strip away the political psychosis and consumer addiction, I feel a sense of ebbing calm. The alternative to this is mind warping: The stuff I hear daily on the MAX or on buses, well, it’s definitely the Fight Club all over and over again: God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables, slaves with white collars, advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of the history man, no purpose or place, we have no Great war, no Great depression, our great war is a spiritual war, our great depression is our lives, we’ve been all raised by television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars, but we won’t and we’re slowly learning that fact. and we’re very very pissed off.” — Tyler Durden, The Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk Yeah, so I am down with getting it on intellectually with young and old arguing and debating the next way to push ahead with a unified front. The idea of young and old thinking hard about an alternative to this madness of capitalism is rather compelling. In the context of this hyper-militarized society (pre-Trump) and a culture that holds tightly to its exceptionalist and white supremacist pedigrees (pre-Trump) and has been lobotomized by the culture of celebrity and the allure of money (pre-Trump). I believe, though, the biggest issue I would take away from this all-day event was the ad nauseum of speakers attempting to define fascism tied to a very narrow time in history, tied only to the likes of Hitler or Mussolini. One history professor, a socialist who writes for the various publications of the socialist order, sort of went on and on about fascism, sticking to the Hitler script, sticking to the limited genocide script, and as always failing on several accounts to talk to younger people about  just how and why this country was created, or why capitalism was created – on the labor of slaves, and on the elimination of the Native Americans. This fellow – a self-described Jew — just could not accept the reality of America, before Trump, already was setting the stage for all the right conditions for a new fascism, and this fascism, for sure, is not of the same character of that of past forms of fascism, where the brown-shirts and  storm troopers and gulags and concentration camps were front and center part of some regime run by a single charismatic character. Systems Control: The Controllers Act Anti-Fascist None of us deep thinkers believe for a moment that Trump is Hitler or Pence is Mussolini. We know that the systems in place controlling entire ecosystems, countries, the poor, those systems are the neo-fascistic elements of population control, eugenics and mind pollution. This professor just could not get past the fascism of 1930s Germany and Italy as his linchpin for defining true fascism. As a lot of revolutionaries teaching with tenure, he caved, fearing tying the Jewish and Zionist project in Israel to any form of internal and exported fascism and global control. It’s unpalatable how Zionists and Israel get a pass every single time. Or in the case of self-identified Jews, the Holocaust industry has colonized them to not give Israel and Zionists abroad (in the USA) one iota of discredit, or credit for this quickening globalist and financial-media-military control of the other – outside their own stolen lands borders. Of course, in the context of the conference, tied to the 1917 Revolution, the professor’s repetitive connotation of fascism and the conditions to meet it seemed so irrelevant. Again, a thing to behold, really, the revolution 100 years ago. I know for a fact few, if any, persons outside the activist-socialist frame even knows about the centennial of the revolution or what the revolution signified and literally encompassed. Additionally, I give it to the young people in Portland Saturday talking about revolution and next steps forward in this media and political battle around the alt-right racists and fascists is a hell of a lot better than hearing educated (sic) men and women go on and on about the sex-rape-harassment-assault stories coming out of Holly-Rape. Here, Phil Gasper from the current International Socialist Review: The Russian Revolution in October 1917, led by the Bolshevik Party of Vladimir Lenin, is the most important event in history for revolutionary socialists. For the first time, a revolution led by the working class won power in an entire country and began attempting to construct a socialist society based on the ideas of workers’ control and real democracy. For a brief period there was a glimpse of what such a society might look like, before the experiment was destroyed by civil war, foreign intervention, economic devastation, and—above all—the failure of revolutions to spread successfully to more economically advanced countries. This led by the late 1920s to the entrenchment of a bureaucratic dictatorship in the infant Soviet Union. A decade after the revolution’s initial amazing success, the dreams on which it had been based had been destroyed. ….. There are numerous eyewitness accounts of the revolution, but pride of place must go to Ten Days That Shook the World, originally published in 1919, by the radical American journalist and socialist activist John Reed. Reed was present in Petrograd during the October Revolution and gives a vivid blow-by-blow account of what took place in the days preceding and following the seizure of power. Stalin hated the book because it barely mentions him and correctly portrays Lenin and Trotsky as the revolution’s key leaders, but Lenin wrote a short introduction in which he unreservedly recommended the book “to the workers of the world” and praised it for providing “a truthful and most vivid exposition” of key events. But back to modern fascism. I talked about the conditions set forth around a neo-fascism. Naomi Wolf, who was on my radio show, also set forth the conditions in her book, The End of America: Letter of Warning to a Young Patriot. That book came out 10 years ago, and I had her on my radio show for an hour, prefacing her visit to Spokane for a literary event, Get Lit! She has been lambasted, denigrated and vilified for even positing how under Cheney-Bush, our country vis-à-vis US Patriot Act, illegal wars, presidential powers, media control, and the complete blending of private mercenaries and war profiteers into USA government. Here, her conditions for fascism’s germination: * Invoke a terrifying internal and external enemy * Create a gulag * Develop a thug caste * Set up an internal surveillance system * Harass citizens’ groups * Engage in arbitrary detention and release * Target key individuals * Control the press * Dissent equals treason * Suspend the rule of law And this is it, really, at the ISO conference, speaking to people who think fascism is only with one strong-arm moving a society into knee-jerk, xenophobic dictatorial, mass incarceration, disappearances, and one minute of hate. Amazon, The CIA, Every Retail Transaction in America, The Post I brought up Jeff Bezos, Amazon, my work in Seattle protesting his libertarian fascism, his dominating the globe in retail transactions, despicable treatment of warehouse workers, his project to run everything through an artificial intelligence and robotics lens, tax evasion. I talked about his media ownership of the Washington Post, his monopoly on book sales (and what gets read). The concept of this fellow being the richest guy in America and his company’s tax dodging. This fellow is a wizard, master fascist. If the United States derived its might primarily from its economic power, the Washington Post would enjoy the same degree of international influence as, say, the Xinhua newspaper of Beijing. The two countries have roughly comparable outputs, with China’s GDP being about 80 percent the size of the US economy when adjusted for purchasing power, according to the IMF. But a large part of what makes the United States a unique superpower is its role as the world’s military hegemon, reflected in part by its roughly 1,000 overseas bases. (China has none.) It is this added power emanating from the Pentagon that helps confer an outsize authority to the opinion pages of the capital’s major paper. The Post’s status as a weathervane for the political winds of official Washington makes its views—unlike those of any other paper serving a city of a mere 630,000—virtually required reading for much of the world. Amazon’s Jeff Bezos paid $250 million for the Washington Post—but Amazon is being paid more than twice that by the CIA. When Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos purchased the Post in August 2013 for $250 million, his acquisition provoked concerns that the paper’s reactionary posture would only harden further. The Post’s dim view of whistleblowing accorded well with Amazon’s, for example. Under Bezos’ directorship, Amazon had stopped hosting WikiLeaks on its web servers hours after receiving a request from the office of then-Senate chair of Homeland Security, Joe Lieberman, in the wake of the news outlet’s publication of State Department cables. “So at the height of public interest in what WikiLeaks was publishing, readers were unable to access the WikiLeaks website,” wrote FAIR’s Peter Hart (FAIR Blog, 8/6/13). Even more troublingly, Amazon had recently secured a contract to host secret data for the Central Intelligence Agency—a deal valued at over twice what Bezos paid for the Post (Huffington Post, 1/8/14). So one month after the editorial board urged a halt to Snowden’s leaks on US spying efforts (including, presumably, to the Post), the newspaper announced that a financial beneficiary of US spying was to become its owner. As media scholar Robert McChesney (IPA, 12/18/13) analogized: If some official enemy of the United States had a comparable situation—say the owner of the dominant newspaper in Caracas was getting $600 million in secretive contracts from the Maduro government—the Post itself would lead the howling chorus impaling that newspaper and that government for making a mockery of a free press. Billionaire Internet mogul Jeff Bezos seemed to understand this when he made his first foray into the industry by acquiring the Post, the go-to newspaper for Beltway policymakers, and not, for example, the Los Angeles Times, which boasts greater daily circulation. And therein lies one under-acknowledged key to understanding the Washington Post editorial board’s foreign-policy stances: As beneficiaries of the prestige and reach that come with worldwide US dominance, board members would just as soon advocate for policies that run counter to US power as they would trade places with their counterparts at, say, the Denver Post. And yet this bipartisan support for Washington’s supremacy, which the Post mirrors, runs counter to the public will. A Washington Postblog post titled “Team America No Longer Wants to Be the World’s Police” (9/13/13) highlighted two polls showing that by a 2-to-1 margin, the US public disapproves of its government taking “the leading role among all other countries in the world in trying to solve international conflicts,” and disagrees that the US “should be ready and willing to use military force around the world.” So naturally, the editorial board must ignore the general population (not to mention its majority-minority hometown) as it cleaves to elite opinion. The board’s unwavering allegiance to US leaders’ belligerent Middle East policies and the surveillance state’s unchecked power prompts it to deprecate the Post’s own investigative journalism and undermine its ethical standards. Bezos’ recent takeover as owner threatens to only solidify this trend. I didn’t have time to cite these passages or the article from FAIR. The idea of disrupting a meeting at a university of young and old discounting militancy, defense, and offensive maneuvers to fight the enemy, well, I have been there many times. There were the typical anti-Black Block theses and those against Antifa. This crop of revolutionaries never mentioned the Cuban Revolution, and that Revolution was about taking out the fascist armies of the Baptista Despot, a figure only in name for the mafia, both legit and underground, running Cuba. Nothing about the 50th Anniversary of Che’s murder by Murder Incorporated. What happened during this socialist meeting was one fellow stood up in his bright Seattle Plaid Fall Colors and hipster eyeglasses, and then he patronized me. By first  stating he works for Amazon in Seattle, for more than a decade. “Sure, 60 year old radical (me), Amazon has many problems of controlling way too much of the market, and the owner, Jeff Bezos, does have problems with paying his fulfillment center people fair wages, and sure he has a lot of clout in Seattle, but he is just a plain Jane capitalist, not a fascist.” Really? Then the speaker presenting the talk about “what to do next to rally against Trump and this new regime,”  Chris, also from Seattle, likened Jeff Bezos’ views and ideology to innocuous capitalist philosophy, akin to most mainstream  democrats, like Hillary, and his concepts of how a city (Seattle or wherever he takes his next campus crap) should be planned and organized are parallel to his own, Chris’ that is. This is the smoke and mirrors and the con game these very powerful and insidious folk like Bezos deploy, on a global scale. They colonize minds. Imagine, a so-called radical, 10 years working as a slave for Amazon and this other socialist defending him. This fellow, the first one, is a worker, a coder/engineers for Amazon, was defensive. And he should be – many people do not work for Amazon or use his insidious services. Some never have or never will, yet, ten years at Amazon, and he has only passing criticism of Bezos, and for what? Being just a plain old capitalist with liberal ideas, so therefore how can he be a fascist? Hell, the entire cabal of movers and shakers in Seattle wrote a letter of apology to Bezos begging him to come back.  Luckily some council members did not sign this letter:  Seattle City Council member Kshama Sawant called the letter “disingenuous and craven.” Sawant said she was stunned to see some of her colleagues suggest that “Amazon’s billionaires, including Jeff Bezos, are feeling unwelcome” in the city. Instead, Sawant said, it’s “ordinary working people, even the middle class, that is quickly getting pushed out of the city” due to skyrocketing housing costs. Fascism Wrapped Up in A Swoosh and Amazon Smile  This is what Sinclair Lewis wrote in 1935: “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag, carrying a cross.” (It Can’t Happen Here). And this is what Huey Long said, “Fascism will come to America in the name of anti-fascism.” The “cross” is the marketing swoops of Nike, Amazon, Intel, Boeing, Microsoft, Google. This “wrapped in a flag” metaphor is really the lives of millions, dead, wrapped in the paper (debts) of predatory capitalism, inside the Inside Job, the hacks, the Trojan Horses of an Obama working the midnight hours for Goldman Fucking Sachs, et al. The “anti-fascism” is the anti-Trump regime, the liberals and neocons and neoliberals fighting economic and military wars against China, Russia, Cuba, Iran and any other country coloring outside the lines of the United Fruit Company on steroids. It’s as if these socialists do not understand the concepts of US Murder Inc., Hit Man Extraordinaire, and the Death of the Liberal Class. They hearken back to Hitler and the despots, these warring and grinding monsters supported by the capitalists, Christians and Zionists. These socialists forget that blacks were not allowed to join unions, that women were treated like dirt and that this country and their own measly successes in America were stacked on the backs of slaves, of the expropriation of cultures, lands, peoples, the natural world. It’s good to see Wolf, fifty-five, still out swinging, in 2017, looking at what happened during that big sleep under Obama, how all those leftists and liberals were unconscious, happy to see the multiracial part of their cultural wars won, with Obama and his extra-articulate policies that added to Bush Junior’s setting up of a fascist country, a state of constant war. This is a new fascism, bred by the likes of the Marketing Moguls, by the CIA, by the multinationals working to destroy democracies around the world. This is a world that is humming with the trillions in money only a few have, and the power and corridors of military-science-education-media they control. No – I was mad at my own leftwing tribe. All of January, people on the left would confront me with dazed, grief-stricken expressions, as if they had just emerged from a multi-car pileup on a foggy highway. “How could this have happened? What will we do?” I couldn’t even bear to participate in those conversations. Finally I started explaining my rage to my closest friends. I had been screaming about the possibility of this very moment for eight years, since I published a piece in the Guardian titled “Fascist America in 10 Easy Steps” and wrote a book based on it, called The End of America (2007). Under George Bush Jr, the left had been very receptive to the book’s message about how democracies are undermined by the classic tactics of would-be authoritarians. But once Obama was elected – “one of ours” – I had to spend the next eight years yelling like a haunted Cassandra, to a room the left had abandoned. I had yelled myself hoarse for eight years under Obama about what it would mean for us to sit still while Obama sent drones in to take out US citizens in extrajudicial killings; what it would mean for us to sit still while he passed the 2012 National Defense Authorization Act that let any president hold citizens forever without charge or trial; what it would mean for us to sit still while he allowed NSA surveillance, allowed Guantánamo to stay open, and allowed hyped terrorism stories to hijack the constitution and turn the US into what finally even Robert F Kennedy Jr was calling a national security surveillance state. At least near the end of my participation of the event, an older guy talked about the golden era when pickets, strikes, walk-outs, slow downs, boycotts, blockades and the like were weapons to take on the bosses, like Bezos and any of them, fighting us, the worker, from collective bargaining and collective action. That era in America is gone in the security state, in a place that hobbles young and old with debts, threats of debtor’s prison, fears of bad credit and never reaching up to the mainstream media’s depiction of Keeping Up with the Joneses. When a word like fascism is reserved for outright thugs like Benito and Adolph, we know that nuance and deep critical analysis is what the new socialists want, instead the age old calling a spade a spade. Really, Gil Scott-Heron, lives on: The Revolution Will Not Be Facebooked (Televised) You will not be able to stay home, brother. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out. You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip out for beer during commercials, Because the revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox In 4 parts without commercial interruptions. The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother. There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8: 32 or report from 29 districts. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving For just the proper occasion. Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock news and no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat. The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised. The revolution will be no re-run, brothers; The revolution will be live. The Fascists Taking Over Won’t Be Televised! http://clubof.info/