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pi-cat000 · 3 years

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (5)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

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Ms Iroi always tries to engage him in conversation whenever she comes in, asking questions and chatting to herself in a fruitless attempt at helping him recover his 'lost' memories. Most of the time, Kakashi is indifferent to her presence and always has a magazine handy as an excuse not to talk.

Today, Iroi is in a particularly good mood, humming to herself, greeting him with an energetic, “How are you doing today!”

Kakashi grunts a noncommittal response which doesn’t do much to discourage the woman’s good mood as she runs through a check-up routine.

“You should try watching U.A’s sports festival tomorrow. I hear it’s going to be particularly spectacular this year,” she says as she pulls the blinds on Kakashi's window, blocking out the distant city lights.

U.A? he recognises the name. Kakashi glances up over the pages of HERO!! MONTHLY BREAKDOWN. It is the third time he has read this issue.

“You know, since you like reading those hero magazines, I figured you would be interested in watching the ‘next generation of heroes’ debut,” she continues, noting his attention, “U.A always puts on a good show.”

Kakashi frowns. The problem with his amnesia cover story is that he is still trying to figure out what he can get away with not remembering. So far the doctor’s seem content to chalk up the disappearance of his long term memories to a ‘quirk’ accident but were always more concerned when he failed to recall basic factual information. Something to do with different parts of the brain being responsible for different types of information.

“Watch how?” He settles on asking. U.A. was supposed to be a hero-training academy so whatever this ‘sports festival’ was was worth checking out.

“Oh,” Iori pauses to think, “I, ah, think channel 2 with be covering it?” she hesitates, “You know what. I’ll look it up and let you know later. Sorry, I can’t carry my phone around with me while on shift.”

“Thank you.” He smiles and makes a show of returning to his magazine to dissuade further conversation.

Later the same evening, just before the end of the evening shift, Iori pokes her head into his room again. She is out of uniform, long hair untired, waving to catch his attention.

“The coverage is on channel 2 and starts at 11am,” She holds up her portable communication devise like it means something. It probably did mean something. The frequency by which people checked them suggested it had a function beyond basic communication. He has held off attempting to steal one because, unlike pens, people would notice and care if one went missing.

“Have fun watching! Oh… also, I forgot to ask…”

Kakashi raises a brow.

“I have a bunch of old gossip magazines. Mum used to read them all the time and there are a few hero-themed ones in the mix. I can bring them in if you want more stuff to read.”

“If you want.” Iori must have noticed him re-reading the magazines.

"I'll bring them on Friday!"

Iori had been unsubtly hinting that Kakashi might have had a history in heroics. It definitely wasn’t because reading information on a page just made sense when compared to the barrage of conflicting reports the television gave him. A few weeks with only the television as his information source has him writing off most of its information as useless or propaganda.

…

...

“HEELLLOOOOO, LISTENERS!”

Kakashi stares dully as the video footage, which had been giving him a bird’s eye view of a positively massive stadium, changes to a sweeping shot of what must be thousands of people crammed into seats. It almost makes him claustrophobic just watching it.

“WELLCOME TO OUR ANNUAL U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL! THE HIGH SCHOOL ADOLESCENT RODEO YOU ALL LOVE TO WATCH. CAN A GET A ‘OH YEAH!’”

As if of one mind, thousands of people leap to their feet screaming. The camera angle changes again to show a grinning blond-haired man, seated at a desk and pointing enthusiastically at the camera. All these shot changes are going to give him a headache. Kakashi is already having reservations watching this and its only10 minutes.

“Thank you! You’re an AMAZING audience!”

It almost reminds him of the final Chunin Exam stages -if the Chunin exams had had three times the audience - which always involved some sort of combat display. There hadn’t been any public Chunin Exams recently for reasons such as a large portion of Konoha being flattened by Pein.

“FIRST UP ARE OUR FIRST-YEAR EVENTS! And what an exciting round of events they are, perfect for debuting our newest students! Give us a shout so they can feel your support!”

Another loud shot as thousands of people yelled in unison.

“Come on! Louder than that! These are your future Heroes I’m talking about! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!”

More yelling. Kakashi turns down the volume.

“But! Wait just a minute!! We're not only here for our Hero students! As I'm sure you all know, behind every great hero is a hardworking support team! GIVE IT UP FOR our Support, Management and General departments who are also competing for a chance to face off in the finals!”

Kakashi sighs. He is getting the sense that this might be more for entertainment than utility purposes, conforming to the general trend of Hero-related stuff being flashy. Different from the Chunin exam which had deadly consequences if not taken seriously.

“Hey. Hey! HERE THEY COME NOW! OUR STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE FIRST YEAR STAGE!”

What follows is an overly dramatized race where the only thing of interest to him are the obstacle types, including robots, - mobile mechanical weapons of some sort that produced a lot of environmental damage but were taken down fairly easily- and explosive devices that acted a lot like explosive tags. Then there was a team elimination round and one-on-one tournament fights after which the coverage shifts to the second year and third year stages.

He uncovers the sharingun only to discover that, while its memorisation function worked fine, the part that translated the movements into muscle memory felt off. Perhaps, the replication and copying component of the eye didn’t work when viewing a technique through a screen rather than in person. Interesting. As there wasn't anything particularly impressive technique-wise during the events he counts the new information as a net gain.

The student-heroes – he is not sure if there is an official term for a hero in training – barely match Konoha’s academy standard in their taijutsu and physical conditioning though there was marked improvement between first, second and third-year groups. These students were what...between 14-18 years old...and yet most had the skill level of an academy students and fresh genuin with only a few notable exceptions?

Sure, there were - honestly ridiculous- versatile and powerful bloodline abilities being thrown around like nothing, but ninjutsu techniques only took a shinobi so far without a strong base to work from. He shakes his head, reminding himself that these kids - because what else did you call combatants who hadn’t graduated yet- weren’t shinobi in training and would be policing civilians and engaging ‘Villains’ of similar skill levels. It was obvious that the students favoured non-lethal takedown methods and put little to no thought into stealth and misdirection during fights.

Different words…different priorities.

As Kakashi has yet to see any evidence that the country, Japan, was at war with another he thinks the skill level displayed might be serviceable. There were also no major conflicts between the country’s large cities over farmland, water sources and the like. Obviously, this place had sorted out the resource and distribution issues usually encountered when supporting such large populations. Or, who knows, maybe everything on the television was a carefully constructed lie to lull people into complacency.

Now he has seen an example of hero-students, he better understands the low combat ability demonstrated by the police. It also gives incite into the blurry recordings of Hero/Villain confrontations which played on repeat across the various ‘news’ reports. They all tended to hover around Chunin or maybe Special Jounin in terms of skill. He knows generalisations are dangerous so, until he saw the combat in person, he would exercise his usual level of caution. There were bound to be outliers after all-the impressive brute strength of the number one hero comes to mind- and there was no telling what advantages a bloodline ability might provide. Absently, he makes testing the susceptibly of people without chakra to genjustu as something to figure out sooner rather than later.

He sighs. This is why he hated the television. Whenever he watched it, he came away increasingly confused, with more questions than he had answers. Not to mention anything useful being constantly interrupted with information detailing one of the many products that he could apparently buy here. It irritated him to no end.

...

The chakra collecting seal is ready before the week is out. Mostly ready...it was ready enough.

Kakashi returns to the roof. Sitting cross-legged, back against the stairway entrance, he works his way through the 100 or so pens, cracking them open and tapping out ink into a large bowl, stolen -like the pens -from hospital staff.

The mix of black, blue and red ink is gluggy, forcing him to add water to thin the solution out. Once satisfied he pulls out an appropriated scalpel – one of a growing collection hidden alongside his pens because having a stash of weapons is never a bad thing- pricking his middle finger, watching the blood drip and curdle with the mixture. The blood would be absorbed into the ink, allowing it to conduct chakra. He mixes everything with pair of disposable chopsticks, taking care not to spill it on the ground or stain his hands.

The whole process reminds him of other insistences where he had improvised fuinjutsu ink in the field. The last time being during his final Anbu missions where he had created a body storage scroll from scratch after unexpectedly losing a squad mate on what should have been a simple intel retrieval mission. Not a particularly fond memory but a memory he was stuck with.

Since his demotion to Jonin-sensei there had been fewer of those sorts of missions. Not that being a Jonin-sensei had been easy – considering all his students had gone off to find other teachers he didn't even think he had been particularly good at it - bringing with it its own special brand of stress, culminating in a stint as Hokage, a fourth war and him stuck here. He is pretty sure his experiences aren't universal. Team 7 was just cursed to fail in increasingly spectacular ways.

He lets out a heavy sigh, leaving his airways open to a sudden gust of cold wind which carries the scent of cleaning chemicals from the hospital and oil from the road straight up his nose. He exhales forcefully and mentally bumps finding a face mask up his list of priorities. It would be good for hiding his features and dulling the artificial smells of a city housing over a million people.

The sound of wind whistling around the building almost blocks out the echo of feet in the stairway, approaching his location. In one smooth motion, Kakashi stands pushing the remaining broken pen back into the vent, nudging the cover back in place with his foot. Carefully he holds the bowl of ink in his injured arm and a scalpel in the other. Kakashi steps back against the entrance so the outward opening door would hide him from whoever came out.

A crying kid comes barrelling through the door.

Well, not completely crying, more like sniffing loudly, eyes all shiny. He even recognises the kid from the U.A combat demonstration, as improbable as that was. It is the first year hero student with the speed-enhancing ability which, seeing him up close, probably had something to do with the strange growths coming out of his caff muscles. High speed movement put enormous strain on the body so he could reasonably conclude that the kid was physically resilient to acceleration stress and similar forces. Not resilient to stabbing though....

Kakashi forces himself to relax, his scalpel lowering ever so slightly. Lucky he had heard the kid coming or he might have accidentally hurt him. A few weeks of reduced sleep coupled with a lot of time to ruminate on past missions and failures has put him on edge. This was exactly why he disliked taking extended breaks.

Maybe, Kakashi should start relocking the stairway if he was planning to make regular trips up here because the young male probably hadn’t had the roof in mind as a destination. Kakashi knows from experience that, unless you were injured or a member of staff, there were few good reasons to wander around a hospital at odd hours.

With the hero-student distracted sniffling into his arm, Kakashi slips around the door and back down the stairs. He hadn’t planned on applying the seal on the roof anyway. Too exposed to the elements and the concrete was too rough for the delicate line work.

He continues mixing while he walks, having mentally mapped the hospital well enough to know which hallways to use and which to avoid. There is a surgeon with some sort of heat-sensing vision who works late most nights that he must be careful around and a nurse with a weak proximity based empathic ability working in paediatrics. Both obstacles force him to take a meandering detour on his way to the ground floor and the larger shower blocks which housed cubicles the size of small rooms. Enough smooth floorspace for the expanded seal design and easy to clean afterwards. He supposes he is lucky, some complicated fuinjutsu required several meters worth of floor space. The containment on Saskue’s cursed seal comes to mind and he is glad that this seal is infinity smaller.

Not one to waste time knowing that nurses and patients regularly used the space even this late in the evening, he immediately slips into a cubicle upon arrival. Flopping onto the floor he pulls out the paintbrush he had had scour the hospital for and eventually to steal from the children’s ward. Carefully, he begins the slow process of application.

…

The final seal design is circular, about the size of his splayed hand, positioned on his uninjured shoulder just above where his Anbu seal had previously sat. The sleepwear provided by the hospital had sleeves that extend just past his bicep. It hid the design, for the most part. The final visible seal is a bit bigger than he had predicted or planned for. If this were a proper infiltration mission, where blowing his cover came at the price of death, he would be in big trouble. If this were a proper mission, he would have waited before applying this. An unnecessary risk. He itches the back of his head, turning from where he is craning his neck to see the seal, gathering up his supplies to be thrown in one of the hospital’s many rubbish bins. Kakashi lets out a breath. Maybe, this whole ‘trapped in a different world’ thing is affecting him more than he was willing to admit and making him sloppy.

He pulls down the sleeve so it mostly hides the design. Not like the doctors here would recognise the significance of fuinjutsu, he reminds himself, even if their questions would be annoying to deflect.

He pumps chakra into the seal and a jolt akin to lightning runs down his limb. It activates without issue and Kakashi grimaces as his chakra is slowly drained and collected. The rate of the drain is pathetically slow. Three years too slow. But, between this and his sharingan - which was always active and draining chakra- he can’t risk making it quicker. Despite the relatively low-level threats around him, Kakashi is, first and foremost, a Jonin in an unknown territory who is already taking risks simply making and applying the seal. He can’t afford to impair himself with poor chakra management on top of everything else.

Kakashi pops his head out of the cubical, scanning the shower block. Nothing of note has changed and he darts out, intent on returning to his room. He is tired and it would be a long, tiresome week as his body adjusted to the strain as well.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #naruto #CrossOver #dimension travel AU #hatake kakashi #kakashi headcanons #cultural shock #Iida makes a breif cameo #fanfiction #my hero academia #plot continues to move at a glacial pace

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seiin-translations · 3 years

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2.43 S1 Chapter 5.6-Stand By Me

6. LANDING, AND...

The last chapter part of Chapter 5! How would everything be resolved...?

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When Kuroba turned on his phone, which he had turned off that morning, he found that he had received dozens of notifications of incoming calls and texts. There was one call from home, a few from his cousin who had been calling him in the morning, and the rest were from their seniors on the volleyball team (most of them were from Oda and Okuma, who seemed to have called during every break period between classes. During lunch period, they called every three minutes. It was spam calling by that point). By the way, Haijima’s phone, which was put on vibrate and thrown into the bottom of his bag, had run out of battery and was silent. The battery was low because he often forgot to recharge it, and it seemed to have completely drained while receiving so many unwanted calls.

Kuroba had received the most texts from his cousin, but the beginnings of each one was so aggressive that he was frightened and put off reading them, checking the one from Oda first.

“It’s true. The suspension has been lifted, and practice will resume tomorrow.”

“Why today all of a sudden?”

“Don’t know. He didn’t write any more than that. Oda-senpai’s texts are always short. They’re as short as my grandpa’s who just learned how to text.”

They parted ways with Minami-sensei at the Shinkansen ticket gate at Shinagawa Station. When they saw her trying to buy a train ticket as a matter of course, they hurriedly blocked the coin slot with his hand. It was embarrassing to have two tall boys to be walked all the way to the platform, and he didn’t want to be treated like a child, so they firmly turned her down.

Once on the platform, there were a few minutes to spare before the train arrived, so Kuroba finally called Oda. Haijima put his bag by his feet and leaned against the railing, casually looking around. It was a weekday evening, so the passengers for the downbound train were all adults in suits. The indoor platform, illuminated by pale white lights, was quiet, and the echoes of voices caught one’s ear.

Right after he dialed the number and put the phone to his ear, Kuroba let out an “Ugh” and his cheeks tensed. It seemed that he had answered immediately. That was fast…Haijima was slightly put off.

Haijima could only hear Kuroba’s side of the conversation, so he couldn’t get the complete picture. As he listened, Kuroba’s responses became more and more mumbled, and the huge boy began to fidget like a girl.

After a few moments of waiting, he took the phone away from his ear, looking relieved.

“Take over. It’s better that the rest is explained to you.”

He said and passed the phone to him.

He was a little, or rather, very uncomfortable, but he said, “…This is Haijima,” into the phone. He hadn’t spoken to Oda since the morning meeting on the third day of the Fall Tournament, when their withdrawal was announced. He passed him on the school day at the end of summer (Kuroba had skipped), but the situation hadn’t changed at all, and he couldn’t bear to see the pain and disappointment seeping out of his body.

“Really, all you two do is cause trouble together… I’ve been pushed around by you guys a lot this year. You picked a fight with Meisei High? It looks like you two have been having a lot of fun while the team couldn’t play games, huh?”

He suddenly said sarcastically in a tense voice. Haijima could understand why Kuroba groaned, “Ugh.”

“If you were unlucky, you could have picked a fight with the entire team. You guys are Seiin team members. I’m responsible for your actions. This time, Meisei was kind enough to not make an issue of it, but in some cases, I might have had to go there to apologize.”

“…I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t refute a single thing, so he could only apologize.

Oda cleared his throat on the other end of the phone. The voice he heard next no longer sounded accusing. It was a compassionate voice that sounded a little embarrassed.

“And by the same token, if the Meisei people had done anything to hurt you, I would’ve gone over there and beat them up.”

He thought he had given up on him, but now he was reaching out to him again—he was no longer the Oda who he had once looked down on. He was the smallest on the team and always tried to protect his team members with all his might. He was still the same Oda from when he first approached him.

“You’re a real problem child, but it can’t be helped. Our ace duo is you two, Haijima and Kuroba. I’m counting on you. We can qualify for the Spring Tournament.”

His heart thumped.

“I’ll explain it to you, since Kuroba himself already knows it and there’s no point in explaining to him. Cutting straight to the point, a witness came forward.”

When he looked at Kuroba while listening to Oda’s voice, Kuroba looked away and scratched his cheek as though to evade him. The fact that the punishment was lifted meant that the truth about the second day of the Fall Tournament, which Kuroba had been stubbornly keeping quiet about, was revealed and the suspicions of his involvement in the fight had been cleared.

The witness was Kuroba’s cousin, Kuroba Itoko.

The injury that Kuroba sustained on the third day of the Fall Tournament was caused by Kuroba Itoko. On the way home from the game the day before, he had been pushed down the stairs with a fist punch on the karaoke floor of the amusement building. The bowling alley that had been the site brawl that even involved the police was on the first floor. It was true that Kuroba had been in the same building during the time of the commotion, but the floors were completely different.

Today, Itoko visited Seiin, accompanied by Kuroba’s mother, and spoke about what had happened on that day, thus establishing Kuroba’s alibi. It seemed that she hadn’t known about the withdrawal or suspension until she asked Kuroba’s mother. When she found out about the situation, she hurried to the school to ask for the punishment to be lifted.

“A punch? You…”

Apparently, he had rolled down a whole floor of stairs. It was probably because of Kuroba’s flexible body that he escaped with only a little pain in his back and no aftereffects. When he turned to him with amazement in his eyes, Kuroba reluctantly mumbled, “No, there’s circumstances around that.”

“The girls at Itoko’s school were making a big deal, saying that she brought her boyfriend, so I said something like, Who’d be the boyfriend of this ugly tanned unpeeled onion, I’d at least think about it if it’s a peeled onion…I said something along those lines…and then I got beaten down.”

You can’t even call those circumstances. He’s just an idiot.

Why has he been so stubborn about keeping quiet about something so meaningless until now…

“…I didn’t want Itoko to apologize,” Kuroba said with a sour look on his face. “I was told that I have low awareness, and that’s right, so I don’t care how much you get angry at me, but Itoko was the one who was hurt…”

“That’s all? That’s the reason why you kept silent?”

If she had invited him to karaoke during the tournament and injured him, then Itoko would have been thoughtless by all means. Even if it was a misunderstanding, the police had contacted the school, so their withdrawal from the Fall Tournament might have been inevitable no matter what. However, if he had told them right away, things wouldn’t have gotten so complicated. Even if he didn’t want to put the responsibility on his cousin, that wasn’t it…he thought.

That’s all, Kuroba stated definitively.

It was strangely stubborn thing to do for Kuroba. While it didn’t quite make sense, he did somewhat understand that that was the line Kuroba wouldn’t budge on.

He was always irritated by Kuroba’s lack of competitive spirit and lack of greed when it came to important things. But in the end, those might also be his good points. The reason why Kuroba flared up at Meisei today was because they had insulted Haijima. There were probably some people who were able to show their strength not for their own desires, but by being stubborn for someone else’s sake.

“Haijima, your condition?”

His eyebrows knitted together at Oda’s voice, and he answered clearly.

“I can play.”

“The Spring Tournament qualifiers start at the end of September. It’s less than a month away, but I’m not giving up yet. So, you think we can make it in time?”

They couldn’t ignore the loss they suffered due to the suspension of club activities for a month in the summer. They had to rebuild their scattered team in one month. They were at a great disadvantage compared to other schools.

But Haijima didn’t hesitate to reply.

“I’ll get us there in time.”

He could see Oda nodding in satisfaction on the other end of the phone.

“Go ahead and do what you want to do. We’ll go all out throwing ourselves into it. If we don’t do that at least, then it’ll be embarrassing to say that we’re aiming for Nationals. I’m sure what you’re looking at is much higher, but…we won’t let you be alone.”

His heart raced at the powerful words, and he could feel his blood flowing faster all at once. His hot blood was flowing through his entire body.

I can believe it…I can believe that here, I can start over.

“…Yes.”

His voice trembled slightly as he answered, gripping the phone tightly.

There was a light at the end of the dimly lit tracks, and the train they were planning to board appeared in front of them. The announcements in the station hastened the passengers’ legs. The train slid into the other side of the railing he was leaning his back against, and the lukewarm breeze brushed the hair on the back of his head.

He handed the phone back to Kuroba, who put it to his ear again.

“Oda-senpai. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you this time with my reckless actions.”

He said loudly and bowed vigorously on the spot. A businessman pulling a small suitcase on wheels started in surprise as he walked past them.

The stop time of the train was short, so they had to get on immediately. As he reached for the bag at his feet, he called out, “Kuroba,” but Kuroba was almost bowing at a right angle, and still talking into the phone, he said, “Senpai.”

“Senpai, I want to go to the Spring Tournament. With everyone at Seiin. I want to spike the ball from the center court at the Spring Tournament. I saw the same scenery that Haijima…that that guy could clearly see inside his mind for sure. I know you know this, Senpai, but that guy is insanely greedy. He’s called the genius setter and he’s got a lot of things, but he’s not satisfied with that at all. He’s always trying to get more and more… Something that he wants the most, something that can make his eyes sparkle, that thing must be a great treasure, isn’t it?”

Haijima, who was stooping to grab the strap of his bag, looked up in shock.

Kuroba also looked up from his bow. The overly serious expression on his face when he was talking to Oda melted away, and a soft smile appeared on his face.

“You’ve conveyed it to me properly…I understand what you wanted to say, and what you’re thinking.”

Speechless for a moment, Haijima stared at Kuroba’s face. He bit his lower lip and searched his body for something to say, but in the end all he could do was nod.

“So Senpai, we’ll see you at practice tomorrow!”

Kuroba said with great enthusiasm and hung up the phone this time. “We have to hurry!” They both ran along the railing as the departure bell rang. It was a station where there were only passengers riding the down-bound train. The other passengers had already disappeared into the train cars, and people were already starting to come and go to catch the next train.

“Let me tell you one thing, though.”

Kuroba looked over his shoulder and shouted over the surrounding noise. As he ran behind him, Haijima, who was struggling to slung his bag over his shoulder, looked up in puzzlement.

“You think I’m not that greedy? I’m even greedier than you are. I’m the one who wants to be your ace by taking on you, who’s an incredible setter, and everything you want, so really, I’m the greediest.”

Kuroba went first and rushed through the doors from the opening in the railing. However, Haijima stopped without thinking and stood still on the edge of the platform.

As though in a panic, Kuroba turned around and extended his hand from inside the car.

“Oi? Don’t get emotional, get in.”

He avoided Kuroba’s hand, clenched his fists at the sides of his body, and looked down.

“Haa? Emotional? I’m not,” He answered in a slightly hoarse yell.

The bell stopped, and the platform fell into a strange silence for a moment. With his toes on the edge of the platform, he looked up and stared directly at Kuroba’s face.

“My talent and everything I want are all a considerable amount of stuff. If you really want it, then be prepared. You can’t get them with a lukewarm resolve. I’m going to go even higher than I am now.”

He lowered his voice and stated that like a challenge. Kuroba’s eyes widened for a moment, then muttered with a look of amazement on his face, “You really said that yourself.”

And then, the corners of his mouth lifted, giving a peek of his canines. “Bring it on.” When he smiled like that, his usual spoiled-child impression faded, and an expression reminiscent of Kuroba Yorimichi, tough and somewhat outlaw-ish, flashed across his face.

Haijima also narrowed his eyes and smiled. He kicked off the platform with all his might and jumped to where Kuroba was without any more hesitation. It was just about the doors were about to close.

The air outside was cut off, and a feeling of entrapment, like a thin membrane had come down around his ears, descended upon him. The scenery of the platform, which had been static, began to move outside the small window. Neither of them said anything right after getting into the train, but leaned against the walls on both sides of the deck and looked out the windows.

They soon passed through the station building and the night view of the city opened up before them. Through the door glass, where the two’s faces were faintly reflected on both ends, the black shadows of the skyscrapers in the distance slowly drifted by, while the neon signs on the buildings in the near distance streamed by so quickly that his eyes couldn’t keep up.

It’s been a long day… He had been recalling the events of the day. He felt like he had a lot of adventures, but when he thought about it, it was just a day trip. They were heading west and would be out of Tokyo in no time. In less than ten minutes, they crossed the prefectural border into Shin-Yokohama.

“I guess our escape is over.”

Kuroba muttered dully.

Escape. Haijima repeated silently. This was indeed an escape. It seemed that both Kuroba and himself were running from uncomfortable situations they were in.

But let’s go home now. We’ve made a place where we can return to, and everyone’s waiting for us.

And there is definitely an opportunity to come again in the not-too-distant future. Next time, the whole team will definitely come here together to fly the flag of Seiin High School, the representative of Fukui Prefecture, and present a challenge to the “whole nation.”

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#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43 book 1

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innuendostudios · 5 years

Video

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Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie, a video essay on how the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers recruit. Clocking in at 41 minutes, 6756 words, 633 individual drawings, and 27 sources (including three full books), it is by far the longest and most heavily-researched video in The Alt-Right Playbook. I am very tired.

It took so long to put this behemoth together that my Patreon started to dip. So, maybe a little more than usual, if you want to keep seeing videos like these, please consider backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, your friend Gabe is starting to worry you.

Gabe’s always been just, you know, a regular guy. Not very political. He likes video games, sci-fi, comics, Star Wars, and anime. White guy shit. The only offbeat thing about him is you suspect there’s like a 20% chance he’s a furry. For all intents and purposes, Gabe is a normie.

But recently Gabe’s been spending a lot of time on some radically conservative forums, and listening to radically conservative podcasts, and picking some radically conservative arguments with you and your friends. You never would have expected this, not from Gabe, and, given the speed it’s happened, it’s worrying to think where it might be headed.

How have the Alt-Right gotten their hooks into your friend?

If you’ve ever known a Gabe, this video is for you. Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie.

Step 1: Identify the Audience

What you need to know before we begin is: around 2013, the Nazis went online.

Hate groups in the US, as tracked by the Southern Poverty Law Center, had been growing in number since the noughts, but, between 2012 and 2014, they dropped by almost a quarter. Patriot groups dropped by over a third. However, hate crimes stayed about the same. Radical conservatism was not shrinking, but decentralizing. Still radical, still often violent, but now full of white nationalist nomads unlikely to join a formal organization.

This didn’t make them harmless. What it did was protect their asses from the typical hate group cycle: getting the public’s attention, making allies in conservative media, swelling their numbers, and then eventually disgracing themselves with failures, infighting, and, often enough, members committing horrific acts of violence, which come with social and sometimes legal consequences for all the other members.

So the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers these days don’t so much have members. They have hashtags, followers, viewers, and subscribers. This insulates them from their own audience. If Gabe, as a member of that audience, were to go out and commit a crime on their behalf, there’d be little doubt they had a hand in radicalizing him, but it’d be very hard to claim they told him to do it. On some of these sites, where Gabe spends hours and hours of his day, he’s never created an account or left a comment; the people radicalizing him don’t even know he’s there.

This distributed nature is what makes the Alt-Right, and the movements connected to it, unique. (You may remember a notable proof-of-concept for this strategy.) Doing almost everything online has, as compared with traditional hate movements, dramatically increased their reach and inoculated them from consequence. The trade-off, as we will see, is a lack of control.

And so we come to Gabe.

Gabe exists at the intersection of the kinds of people the Alt-Right is looking for - straight white cis men who feel emasculated by modern society, primarily, though they do make exceptions - and the kinds of people who are vulnerable to recruitment. Gabe fits the first profile in that he got bullied in high school, and often feels he has to hide his nerdy side for fear of getting ridiculed. The Alt-Right also has success with men who can’t get laid or recently got divorced or feel anxious about an influx of non-white people in their community. These things can make one feel like less than the confident white man they’re “supposed” to be. And it’s the closest they will ever come to being minoritized.

Regarding the second profile, it’s important to know that Gabe is not categorically different from you or me. He’s a cishet white dude - his problems are not unique. There isn’t a ton of research into the demography of the Alt-Right, but there may be a higher-than-average chance Gabe has a history of being abused or comes from a broken home. You don’t know if it’s true of Gabe, he’s never said. But most abuse survivors don’t become Nazis. The things that make people like Gabe recruitable tend to be situational: it happens often during periods of transition, as dramatic as the death of a loved or as benign as moving to a new city. Things that make people ask big life questions. Gabe has concerns like economic precarity, not knowing his place in a changing world, stressful working conditions. In other words, Gabe is suffering under late capitalism, same as everyone, and it’s entirely plausible he could have gone down the path to becoming a Leftist.

This is not to make an “economic anxiety” argument: the animating force of the Far Right is and always has been bigotry. But the Alt-Right targets Gabe by treating his “economic anxiety” as one of many things bigotry can be sold as a solution to. It is their aim that, when dissatisfied white men go looking for answers, they find the Alt-Right before they find us.

Step Two: Establish a Community

Were Gabe pledging an old-school hate movement, there would probably be a recruiter to usher him into an existing community. But that’s the kind of formalized interaction modern extremists try to avoid. Online extremism has many points of entry, and everybody’s journey is unique, so rather than be comprehensive we will focus on what are, in my estimation, the two most common pathways: the Far Right creates a community Gabe is likely to stumble into, or infiltrates a community Gabe is already in.

The stumble-upon method has two main branches, one of which is just “Gabe ends up on a chan board,” which we’ve already done a video about. The other is kind of the polar opposite of 4chan’s cult of anonymity: Gabe ends up in the fandom of a Far Right thought leader.

These folks are charismatic media personalities (that’s charismatic according to Gabe’s tastes, not ours; I don’t understand it, either). These personalities may gain traction on any number of platforms, from podcasts to reportage to blogging, though the most effective platform for redpilling is, and yes I am biting the hand that feeds me, YouTube. They may get Gabe’s attention through fairly standard means, like talking about or even generating controversy to get themselves trending, while some of the more committed will employ dubious SEO tactics like clickbait, google bombing, and data voids (just pause for definitions, we don’t have time).

What they tend to have in common, especially the most accessible ones, is that they don’t present themselves as entry points to the radical Right. In fact, many did not set out to be Far Right thought leaders, and may not think of themselves as such (though they are often selling products, of which the Alt-Right are among their biggest purchasers, and it’s not like they’re turning the money away). How they present is the same way anyone presents who wants to be successful on social media: accessible, approachable, authentic. The face-to-face relationship a budding extremist forms with their recruiter or the leader of their hate group’s local chapter are here folded into one parasocial relationship with a complete stranger.

Why this person appeals to Gabe is they’re not selling politics as politics, but conservatism as a kind of lifestyle brand. They rely heavily on criticizing or ridiculing the Left: feminists are oversensitive, Black people unintelligent, queer folks doomed to loneliness, and trans people insane; I dunno if it’s a coincidence that these are all things Gabe thinks about himself in his low moments. By contrast, they don’t sell conservatism as having sounder policies or a more coherent moral framework, but that abandoning progressive principles and embracing conservative ones will make Gabe happier. Remember, Gabe isn’t looking for white nationalism or misogyny, what he wants is the cure to soul-sickness, and these friendly micro-celebs are here to offer a shot of life advice with politics as the chaser. It is extremely important that politics be presented as a set of affects, not a set of beliefs.

The second pathway is infiltration, which is its own beast. Media personalities sometimes become gateways to the Right almost by accident: they do something edgy, a part of their audience reacts positively, and, facing no real consequence, they do it more; this leads to further positive reinforcement from conservative fans, the rest of the audience acclimates, and the cycle repeats, the personality pushing the envelope further and further based on what flies with their increasingly conservative audience. In this way, they become a right-wing figure by both radicalizing and being radicalized by their audience.

Infiltration is deliberate.

The Far Right will reliably target any community that has 1) a large, white, male population, 2) whose niche interests allow them to feel vaguely marginalized, and 3) who are not used to progressive critique of said interests. This isn’t to say progressive critique doesn’t exist, or hasn’t been baked into the property from the beginning, but that it has been, so far, easy for white guys to ignore. As such, progressives within that community probably don’t talk politics much, and women and minorities are perfectly welcome to post, same as anyone, but just, you know, don’t, don’t make identity politics, you know, like, a thing.

Given Gabe’s proclivities, he’s probably already in a number of fan communities where he can geek out and not get teased. And this is where the Far Right will go looking for him

Communities are at their most vulnerable to infiltration at times of political discord. This can happen naturally - say, a new property in the fandom has a Black protagonist - or it can be provoked - say, a bunch of channers join the forum and say provocative things about race to get people arguing - or both. Left to its own devices, the community might sort out its differences and maybe even come out more progressive than they started. But, with the right pressure applied in the right moment, these communities can devolve into arguments about the need to remove a nebulously-defined “politics” from the conversation.

The adage about bros on the internet is “‘political’ means anything I disagree with,” but it’d be more accurate to say, here, “‘political’ means anything on which the community disagrees.” For instance, “Nazis are bad” is an apolitical statement because everyone in the community agrees. It’s common sense, and therefore neutral. But, paradoxically, “Nazis are good” is also apolitical; because “Nazis are bad” is the consensus, “Nazis are good” must be just an edgy joke, and, even if not, the community already believes the opposite, so the statement is harmless. Tolerable. However, “feminism is good” is a political statement, because the community hasn’t reached consensus. It is debatable, and therefore political, and you should stop talking about it. And making political arguments, no matter how rational, is having an agenda, and having an agenda is ruining the community.

(Now, it is curious how the things that provoke the most disagreement tend to be whichever ones make white dudes uncomfortable. One of life’s great, unanswerable mysteries.)

You can gather where this is going: a community that doesn’t tolerate progressivism but does tolerate Nazism is going to start collecting Nazis, Nazis whose goal is to drive a wedge between the community and the Left. Once the Left acknowledges, “Hey, your community’s developing a Nazi problem,” the Nazis - who are, remember, trusted, apolitical members of the community who might just be kidding about all the Nazi shit - say, “Did you hear that, guys?! Those cultural Marxists just called all of us Nazis!” Wedge. Similarly, any community members who say, “but Nazis though” are framed as infiltrators pushing an agenda, even if they’ve been there longer than the Nazis have. They get the wedge, too.

This is how fandoms radicalize. They are built as - yeah, I’ll say it - safe spaces for nerds, weebs, and furries, and are told that the Left is a threat to their safety. Given a choice between leaving a community that has mattered to him for years and simply adjusting to the community’s shifting politics, the assumption is that Gabe will stay. This assumption is right often enough that a lot of fandoms have been colonized.

What is true of both of these methods - Gabe finding the Right or the Right finding him - is that Gabe does not come nor stay for the ideology. He’s here for the community, the sense of belonging, of being with his people, of having his fears validated and his enjoyment shared. The ideology is simply the price of admission.

Step Three: Isolate

There is a vast, interconnected network of Far Right communities out there, and Gabe is, at this point, only on the periphery. In order to keep him in, they need to disrupt his relationships to other communities, and become, more and more, his primary online social space. Having made this space hostile to the Left, they now seek to break his connections to progressives elsewhere in his life.

This is hard to do online. The whole appeal of moving radicalism to the internet is that your away-from-keyboard life doesn’t have to change. You are crypto the moment you log off. Some thought leaders will encourage their audience to cut ties with Family of Origin, or “deFOO,” but, even then, they can’t monitor whether the audience has actually done it the way an in-person movement could. And so alienating Gabe from the Left is less controlled, and, consequently, may be less total. How much Gabe isolates is up to him.

But the vast majority of Far Right media presumes an alienation from the Left. Part of conservative bloggers and YouTubers making the Left look pathetic is doing a lot take-downs and responses. This is a constant repetition of the Left’s arguments for the purpose of mockery, and, for Gabe, it starts to replace any engagement with progressive media directly. He soon knows the Left only through caricature. It also trains him, if he does directly engage, to approach the Left with the same combative stance as his role models. (For reference, see my comment section.) And this is only if he doesn’t partake in one of the many active boycotts of “SJW media.”

In addition to mocking the Left’s arguments, they also, curiously, appropriate them. This is one part sanitization: liberal centrism is more socially acceptable; indeed, many figures on the outer layers think of themselves as moderates, even as they serve as gateways to radicalism. But, also, many of Gabe’s problems could be addressed by progressive leftism, so they sell him racist, sexist versions of it. Yes, there is a problem with workers being underpaid and overextended, but the solution isn’t unions, it’s deporting immigrants; yes, there is a chronic loneliness and anger to being a man in the modern age, but it’s not because of the toxic masculine expectations placed on you by the patriarchy, it’s women being slutty; yes, wealth disparity does mean a tiny percentage of elites have more influence over culture and politics than the rest of us combined, but the problem isn’t capitalism, it’s the Jews. And it’s hard for Gabe to reject these ideas without, in the process, rejecting the progressive ideas they’re copied from; the Right’s “take the red pill” is, to the untrained eye, similar to the Left’s “get woke.” (Or, at least, the bowdlerized version of “get woke” that is no longer specifically about race which came to fashion when white people started saying it, grumble grumble.)

Take the red pill or reject them both; either is a step to the right.

As this rhetoric slips into his day-to-day conversation, even as seemingly harmless “irreverence,” it may strain relationships with people who are not entertained by this shit. Off-color comments about race and gender can certainly be wearying for female and non-white friends, which can lead to a passive distance or an eventual confrontation [“why is everyone but me so sensitive?!”], which only seem to confirm what his reactionary community says about liberal snowflakes. If he says these things on social media, he may get his account suspended, and, if he comes back under an alt, you can bet his new reactionary friends will be the first to reconnect, applaud the behavior that got him banned, and repeat should he get banned again. A few cycles of this and he’s lost touch with everyone else.

Also, his adoption of the insular, meme-laden terminology of this community makes him less and less comprehensible to outsiders.

Over time, sources of information get replaced with community-approved ones: conservative news, conservative YouTube, conservative Wikipedia if he’s really committed. The Algorithm soon takes note and stops recommending media from the Left. He stops watching shows with a “liberal agenda,” which usually means shows starring women and people of color. Now, there is evidence that the human mind responds to fictional characters similarly to real people, and that consuming diverse media can decrease bigotry in ways roughly analogous to having a diverse group of friends, which is one of many reasons we say representation matters. By consuming a homogenous media diet, Gabe stymies his ability to have even parasocial relationships with anyone who isn’t a cishet conservative white dude or one of their approved exceptions.

To the extent that any of this happens, it happens at Gabe’s discretion and at his own chosen pace. It has not been forced on him, only encouraged and rewarded. But the fact that it hasn’t been forced can make him all the more willing to accept it, because it seems safe to consider; even though his life and social circle are changing to accommodate, he does not feel committed. But many Gabes have walked these halls, and, if they close the door behind them, there’s nowhere left to go but down.

Step Four: Raise their Power Level

(...and they say we ruined anime.)

Consider the ecosystem of the Alt-Right as layers of an onion, with Gabe sitting at the edge and ready to traverse towards the center. (No, I’m not just going to reiterate the PewDiePipeline, though, if you haven’t seen it, go do that.)

The outer layer of the onion is extremism at its most plausibly deniable. Without careful scrutiny, the public-facing figureheads could pass as dispassionate, and the websites as merely problematic rather than softly fascist. It is valuable if Gabe believes this as well; that, at this stage, he believe the bigotry is simply trolling, the extremists an insignificant minority, and any report of harassment faked. That he believe where he is is as deep as the rabbit hole goes. And that he continue to believe this at each successive layer.

People in the deepest crevices of the Alt-Right self-report getting redpilled on multiple issues at different times in their journey to the center of the onion. If Gabe’s first red pill is about the SJWs coming for his free speech, he’ll think that’s all anyone in his community believes; there’s no racism here, people are just making a point about their right to use slurs. Then, when he gets redpilled on the white genocide, he’ll laugh at those Alt-Lite cucks who tried to sweep the race realists under the rug, and at himself for having once been one, but acknowledge that those channels and websites are still useful for onboarding people, so he won’t denounce them. At the same time, nobody takes those manosphere betas seriously.

And this process is reiterated with every pill swallowed: gender essentialism, autogynephilia, birtherism, Sandy Hook truth, pizzagate, QAnon if he’s really out there. The heart of the onion is typically the Jewish Question, but these can happen in any order, and in any number. But each layer sells itself as being, finally, the ultimate truth. Each denies the validity of the others; the layers ahead don’t exist, they’re made up my liberals, while the people behind are asleep where you are now awake. That’s why they chose “the red pill” as their metaphor: take it, and everything will be revealed. That’s why it cozies up with conspiracism. But what’s supposed to follow is that this knowledge help Gabe in some way, and it doesn’t. Blaming immigrants doesn’t actually fix the economy, and hating women doesn’t make men less lonely. But, having been alienated from everything outside the onion, once that sinks in, the only recourse on offer is to seek out the next pill.

And pills are easy to find. Those within the network have laissez-faire relationships, even as they, on paper, disavow one another. When they need a source or a guest host, they aren’t going to go to the Left; they’re going to feature each other. The Left is the enemy; their ideas are beneath consideration, and the only reason to engage them is for public humiliation. [Shapiro’s book.] But you can interview “western chauvinists” and that doesn’t mean you’re endorsing them, just, you know, it’s fine to hear ‘em out, nothing should be off-limits in the marketplace of ideas. Besides, Nazis are apolitical.

And because these folks keep showing up in each others’ metadata, regardless of what they say, Google thinks there is definitely a relationship between the guy “just asking questions” and the guy denying the Holocaust. Gabe is softly exposed to many flavors of conservatism just slightly more radical than he is now, and is expected, at the very least, to not question their presence. This is an environment where deradicalizing - listening to the Left - would be sleeping with the enemy, but radicalizing further? You do you, buddy.

Gabe’s emotional journey, however, is somewhat more complex. If you’ve spent any time reading or watching reactionary media you’ve probably noticed it’s really. fucking. repetitive. It’s a few thousand phrasings of the same handful of arguments. Like, there’s only so many jokes about attack helicopters! But these people just crank out content, and most of it’s derivative; the reason to pick one personality over another isn’t because they say something different, but because they say it differently. Gabe just picks the affect it’s delivered in.

Repetition dulls the shock of the most egregious statements, making them appear normal and prepping him for more extreme ideas. Meanwhile, the arguments themselves? They’re not good. (BreadTube will never run out of shit to debunk.) They are repetitive because they’re not good. They’re mantric. A good argument you only need to hear one time; if you can follow it, internalize it, and explain it to someone else, you know you’ve understood it. But a bad argument can’t convince you on its own merits, so it will often rely on affect. This can be the snappy, thought-terminating cliche, or the long, winding diatribe that sounds really sensible while you’re hearing it but when someone asks you for the gist you can only say “go watch these 17 videos and it’ll all make sense.” Both these approaches are largely devoid of content, but, gosh, if they don’t sound sure of themselves.

And that mode can be very persuasive, but it doesn’t stick the way a coherent argument does. It needs to be repeated, the affect replenished, because the words matter less than the delivery. There needs to be a steady stream of confident voices saying “we’ve got this figured out and everyone else is stupid” or Gabe’s gonna notice the flaws. They are not well-hidden.

And the catch-22 of returning to that stream over and over is that these communities are stressful even as they are calming. People afraid they will die virgins go to forums with people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, you will die a virgin.” People afraid Syrians are coming to kill us all watch videos by people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, Syrians are coming to kill us all.” Others have already pointed out that rubbing your face in your worst anxieties is a form of digital self-harm, but I need to you understand the toxic recursion of it: Gabe is going to these communities to get upset. Every emotion is converted into anger, because sadness, fear, and despair are paralyzing but anger is motivating; Gabe feels less helpless when he’s pissed off. And so, while he’s topping up on reassuring nonsense, he’s also topping up on stress. And, being cut off from everything outside the network, the only place he knows to go to release that stress is back to the place that gives it to him. It’s a feedback loop, pulling him deeper and deeper on the promise that, at some point, relief will come.

It is a similar dynamic that keeps people in abusive relationships.

When someone in Gabe’s community makes a racist joke, they are presenting Gabe with a choice between the human interaction of laughing with his friends and his societal responsibility not to be a fuckin’ racist. And not laughing seems ridiculous; everybody’s friends here; no one’s getting hurt; this is harmless. And so the irreverent race joke draws a line between the personal and the political, and suggests that one can be safely prioritized over the other. One way to look at radicalization is being asked to stick with that seemingly innocuous decision as the stakes are raised incrementally: first with edgier humor, and then comments that are funny because they’re shocking but you couldn’t really call them jokes, and then “funny” comments that are also sincerely angry, but, in each instance, since he laughed with his bros last time, it stands to reason he should keep favoring the personal over some abstracted notion of “politics.”

This is why the progressive adage “the personal is political” is among the most threatening things you can say in these spaces.

I’m not trying to make a slippery slope argument. Most of us who laughed at edgy jokes when we were teenagers didn’t grow up to be Nazis. It is a slippery slope in the specific context of being in community with people trying to radicalize you. Gabe is a lonely white boy in need of friends, and laughing at a racist joke is personal, while not laughing is political. Staying in a community that has Nazis in it is personal, and leaving is political. The personal is what brings people together and the political drives them apart. (The “only if some of them are bigots” part of that sentence is usually lopped off). There’s this joke on the internet that nerds perceive only two races: white and political. Following that logic, what could be more apolitical than an ethnostate?

They are banking on his willingness to adapt his beliefs to suit an environment that meets a need. That same need can be satisfied by white nationalism. There are few things more seductive to people who doubt their own worth than being told you are valuable simply for being white. And you can sub in male, cis, straight, allosexual, or able-bodied. It just takes priming: by the time Gabe officially embraces bigotry, he’s already been acting like a bigot for months. The red pill is simply the moment he says it out loud.

Change Gabe’s surroundings, and you change Gabe.

Step Five: ???

The final step in a traditional extremist group would be getting a mission. But that is one thing the Alt-Right can’t do. Once you start giving clear directives, you can’t play yourselves off as a bunch of unaffiliated hashtags and think tanks; you are now a formalized movement accountable to its followers, and can be judged and policed as such.

To my mind, Charlottesville was an attempt to become such a movement, taking things offline and getting all the different groups working collectively. And, as so often happens when these people get in the same space - especially with no official leaders or means of control over their members - it backfired. Their true colors came out before they were ready and a counter-protester lost her life.

This would be the point where, historically, an extremist group starts to disintegrate. Their veneer of respectability gone, they’re now hated by the public, the media wants nothing more to do with them, and everyone not in jail turns on each other or goes underground. This is also the point where the liberal establishment says, “My job here is done,” and utterly fails to retake control of the narrative, allowing the next batch of radicals to pick up more or less where the last one left off.

But to an already-decentralized group like the Alt-Right, Charlottesville was bad but eminently survivable. People retreated back to the internet, with its code words and anonymous forums, but that’s where much of the work was already done anyway. The platforms where they organized kept tolerating them, the authorities still didn’t classify them as terrorists, and any disgraced figureheads were replaced with up-and-comers.

The major change in strategy is that it doesn’t seem anyone has tried to formalize the Alt-Right since.

So where does that leave Gabe? He’s gone through this whole process of largely hands-off indoctrination - and I should stress his journey may look like what we’ve outlined or it may look different in places, this video is not comprehensive - but now he’s swallowed every pill he cares to, he blames half a dozen minorities for everything he sees as wrong with the world, and no one will give him anything to do. You’ve got this ad hoc movement frothing young men into a militant fervor and then just leaving them to stew in their own hate. Should we really be surprised at how many commit mass shootings?

This is a machine for producing lone wolves.

Leaving men to take up arms of their own volition is a way of enacting terror while being just outside the popular conception of a terror cell. There are also, of course, more classic militias that will offer Gabe clear directives - they’re recruiting from the same pool. And Gabe may stop short of this step, settling in a middle layer that suits him or finding the inner layers too extreme. But violence is the logical conclusion of an ideology of hate, and, should Gabe take this step, he can approach violence in the same incremental fashion he approached conservatism.

He can start with yelling at people on Twitter, and then maybe collective brigading, DDoS attacks, sharing dox, leaking nudes, calling their phone numbers, texting them pictures of their houses from the sidewalk. These acts of cruelty become games of oneupmanship within his community. All this can start as far back as Step 2, and get more intense the deeper he goes. Some people join explicitly partake in harassment and violence the way Gabe joined to talk about anime.

But this behavior can serve as a kind of buy-in. The Left and the feminists and the LGBTQs and the Muslims and the immigrants are all, within his community, subhuman. You’ve maybe heard the conservative catchphrase “feminism is cancer”; well don’t treat cancer by having a respectful exchange of ideas with it, but by eradicating it down to the last cell. Cruelty against the Left is framed as righteous.

From any other perspective, posting someone’s bank information is something you might feel ashamed of. Which creates a psychological imperative not to consider other perspectives. A thing that keeps people in is staving off the guilt they will reckon with the moment they step out. Gabe is also aware that anything he’s done to the Left could be done to him if he leaves; some communities even keep dox on their members as insurance. And the things he’s been encouraged to do to the Left will likely make him feel that the Left would never take him now; the radical Right is the only home he’s got. Harassment becomes another tool of isolation.

Steadily, options for Gabe are whittled down to being a vigilante or a nihilist. There are periods of elation: moments the Alt-Right feels it’s winning - or, more accurately, the people they hate are losing - are like cocaine. They are authoritarians, after all. But the times in between are mean and angry. They are antisocial, starved of emotional connection, consuming incompatible conspiracies that may at any point run them afoul of one another, devoted to figureheads who cater to but cannot risk leading them, and living under constant threat of being outed to the Left or turned on by the Right for stepping out of line. Gabe took this journey for the sense of community and purpose, and, but for the rare moments everything goes their way, the Alt-Right can’t maintain either. They can only keep promising his day will come, a story he could get from a $5 palm reading.

The feeling there’s nothing left but to kill yourself or someone else is so common it’s a meme.

But there is always a third option: Gabe can leave.

Pre-Conclusion: For Fuck’s Sake Do Not Make Gabe Your Whole-Ass Praxis

Before we continue, I want to state plainly that Gabe went off the deep end because he found a community willing to tell him that, because he is a cishet white man, the world revolves around him. Do not treat him like this is true.

If a fraction of the energy spent having debates with America’s Gabes were spent instead on voter re-enfranchisement, prisoner’s rights, protections for immigrants, statehood for DC and Puerto Rico, and redistricting, Gabe’s opinions, in the societal sense, wouldn’t matter. Reactionary conservatism is a small and largely unpopular ideology that is only so represented in our culture and politics because they’ve learned how to game the system.

And I get it. Those are huge problems that are going to take years to address, where, if you know a Gabe, that’s a conversation you could have today. And, if you think you can get through to him, it is worthwhile to try. This is a fight on many fronts and deradicalization is one of them. But it is only one, so please keep it in perspective. It sends an awful message when we spend more time trying to get bigots back on our side than we do the people they are bigoted against.

Your value as a lefty does not hinge on whether you can change Gabe’s mind.

Conclusion: How Gabe Gets Out

He may just grow out of it. These communities skew young, and some folks hit a point where hanging with edgy teens doesn’t feel cool anymore.

He may become disillusioned after the movement fails to deliver on its promises.

He may become disillusioned if something goes wrong in his life and his community isn’t there for him, if he feels they like his race and his gender but don’t actually care about him.

He may be shocked if he sees the Alt-Right at its worst before being appropriately conditioned. Charlottesville was a step too far for a lot of people.

His community may turn on him for any perceived unorthodoxy, and he may leave out of necessity.

He may be separated by circumstance from the community - a trip with no internet, hospitalization, arrest - and not be able to top up on the rhetoric. This may lead him to question his beliefs.

His community may disappear, either tearing itself apart or getting shut down by authorities.

He may have incidental contact with populations he’s supposed to hate, and have trouble reconciling who they are in person with what he’s been told about them. In his community, people bond over shared intolerance, but, suddenly, being tolerant helps him make friends. (This is one reason the Alt-Right has made a battleground of the college campus.)

He may form or revisit relationships outside the network, people who can offer him the connection he’s been looking for. This may reintroduce outside perspectives. More importantly, it rekindles his ability to have healthy relationships at all, something the Alt-Right has estranged him from.

As with recruiters, it seems these “escape hatch” relationships can sometimes be parasocial; coming to respect a public figure who is on the Left, or is critical of the Alt-Right.

Someone he is close to may compel him to choose, “me or the movement.” A lot of young men leave to save a romantic relationship.

Hearing stories from people who’ve already jumped may help; there aren’t a lot of public formers, and some raise suspicions as to their sincerity, but it is getting more common, and may be the closest we get to exit counseling for the Alt-Right.

He may become aware of the ways he’s being manipulated, or have them revealed to him, maybe because he stumbled into BreadTube, I dunno. Knowledge that you are being indoctrinated is no guarantee it won’t work - you are not immune to propaganda - but it can help one resist.

And he may revisit a core belief system that used to guide him, be it religion or social justice or a really wholesome fandom, and be reminded of the identity he used to have.

Moments like these, in isolation or in aggregate, can inspire Gabe to jump. They are also good times for friends to intervene. The reach and the impunity that comes with the internet means it has never been easier to fall into reactionary extremism. It has also never been easier to get out. People who exit skinhead gangs often fear for their lives; for Gabe, there’s a chance getting out is as simple as going to a different website. Much of his community does not know his name or his face and he may not important enough to dox.

What doesn’t get Gabe out - not reliably, not that I have seen - is an argument with a stranger who proves all his facts wrong and his ideology bunk. Facts don’t always work because facts don’t care about his feelings. This was about staying in a community, and holding onto an identity, that mattered to him. It was about belonging, and that is something a rando from the other side of the culture war can’t give him and probably shouldn’t be responsible for.

The theme here is human connection. Before he can do the work of disentangling himself, and facing the guilt of what he’s believed and maybe done, he has to know there’s somewhere for him on the other end of it. That the Right hasn’t ruined him. They’ve told him all of history is groups fighting each other over status, and, without his clan, he’ll be an exile. He needs a better story.

I don’t know that lefty spaces are ideal for this, in no small part because bringing someone who’s a bit of a Nazi but working on it into diverse communities is… questionable. And it probably wouldn’t be good for him, either; having just gotten out of a toxic belief system, he’s going to be deeply skeptical of all ideologies. In a perfect world, people who care about Gabe could build for him - to use a therapy term - a holding space. Someplace private - physical or digital - where Gabe can work out his feelings, where he is both encouraged and expected to be better but is not, in the moment, judged. That comes later. It is delicate and time-consuming work that should not be done in public, but we find these beliefs, built up over the course of months or years, tend to fall away very quickly with a shift of environment. Change Gabe’s surroundings and you change Gabe.

But, instead, a lot of people who jump are functionally deprogramming themselves, which is working for a lot of them, but it’s haphazard, and there are recidivists.

If you don’t personally know a Gabe, or have training as a counselor, you may not be in a position to help him. Possibly there are things you can do to disrupt the recruitment process or prevent infiltration of spaces you’re in - I’m looking into it, but talk to your mods - but, elephant in the room: meaningful change will require reform on the part of platform holders. Tools to disrupt this process already exist and are being used on groups like ISIS, but they’re not being used on the Alt-Right because they try oh so very hard not to get classified as terrorists (and also any functioning anti-radicalization policy would require banning a lot of conservative politicians, so there’s that...).

But what makes our story better than theirs is that the fight for social and economic justice, though it is long, and difficult, and frustrating, when it works, it fulfills the promise the Right can’t keep: it materially make people’s lives better. I am not prone to sentimentality, or to giving these videos happy endings. But one thing we have that the Alt-Right doesn’t is hope.

#video essay

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betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years

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Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (240-231)

#240: Joci Pápai - Az én apám (Hungary 2019)

"Hallom őt, az ő szívét a húrokon Látom őt, múló idővel az arcomon Az ő hitét büszkeség vallanom Ezeregy dalból ezt az egyet dúdolom, dúdolom"

"I can hear him, his heart on the strings I can see him, bearing the passing time on my face I’m proud to confess his faith Of a thousand and one songs this is the one that I hum"

If there's anything I love at Eurovision, is when someone sings a song from their soul. And in both of Joci's entries, he does just that.

Az en apam is a bit more sedate than his first entry (which will come soon enough), but it's calming and serene with substance. The lyrics, talking about his relationship with his father, is a touching and poetic tribute, one that people should really speak to their loved ones that care about them.

It's just a shame this song was the one to break Hungary's impressive qualifying streak; I thought they were on a path to win soon (though not with this one...). And they left the contest too; hopefully they will steer the ship back to more open waters and come back.

Personal ranking: 5th/41 Actual ranking: DNQ (did not qualify)--12th in the first semi-final in Tel Aviv

#239: Anna Vissi -- Mono i Agapi (Cyprus 1982)

"Η ζωή μας περνά, κι ότι φεύγει πονά Πίσω δε γυρνά, κι όμως κάτι μας κρατά"

"Our life passes by, and whatever leaves, we’re in pain It doesn’t come back, but something holds us together"

In most cases, the first entry somebody has sent in the contest is their best, with a number of exceptions here and there. Anna is one of them; I never liked her first entry, but her other two are fantastic.

Mono i agapi is quite lyrically simplistic--it talks about how love remains between two people, as the world changes around them. But the melody has a very loungy sound--I've heard it being compared to a James Bond theme. While I don't hear why it would be the case (other than the alluring mystery of this piece), it does give a calming vibe, and stands out in the rather mediocre field in 1982.

Personal ranking: 3rd/18 Actual ranking: 5th/18 in Harrogate

#238: Yardena Arazi -- Ben Adam (Israel 1988)

בן אדם הוא רק בשר ודם,” אבק פורח במדבר, בן אדם, בדרך העולם, כצל עובר, כחרס הנשבר "

“A human being is only flesh and blood, Dust flying in the desert A human being, in the way of the world Like a passing shadow, like broken pottery"

Yardena's time at Eurovision 1988 is best known for the anecdote where she goes to a fortune teller who said that song #9 would win that contest. When the draw occurred, Israel was slotted into that place, but was shafted up to #8 when Cyprus withdrew from having an already-released song. #9 would go to Ne Partez Pas Sans moi, which would end up winning and make history thanks to its singer.

This ends up taking away from the song itself; Ben Adam is reminiscent of older folk songs, but it takes off with its own character and flair. I also love the lyrics, which recognizes humans as flawed, without berating them as such. (We need a little bit more of that in the internet world, haha)

The flurry towards the end of the song was well-executed too, and the instrumentation is just fantastic. It feels like one was in a festival!

Personal ranking: 2nd/21 Actual ranking: 7th/21 in Dublin

#237: Amandine Bourgeois -- L'enfer et moi (France 2013)

“Tu m’as fait pleurer à vif Mon cou porte encore ta griffe J’aimais échanger de peau”

“You made me cry a lot You can still see your mark on my neck I used to like exchanging skin”

I love the dark sensuality of this song—with its blues influences, it tells a story of a relationship gone awry, but does so with sophistication. It starts out with a slick guitar line, which later devolves into a full on outrage against the lover at question.

The harshness of this song probably clashed with its opening spot, which is why it’s so underrated. Or it was because of Amandine’s styling...

Either way, it has grown on me since I watched the 2013 contest, and it gets the right vibes going...except with the lyrical story...

Personal ranking: 5th/39 Actual ranking: 23rd/26 GF in Malmo

#236: Ambasadori -- Ne mogu skriti svoju bol (Yugoslavia 1976)

"Ne molim da se vratiš Al’ molim te da pamtiš Voljela tebe samo sam ja”

“I’m not begging you to come back But please remember I only loved you”

Ambasadori was one of Yugoslavia's biggest groups, and they have a long list of who's who in the Bosnia music scene. I'm not familiar with their other music, but Ne mogu skriti svoju bol definitely highlights their artistry, along with the dark-pop take Yugoslavia had in 1970s Eurovision.

This song was initally my fifth place of 1976, but it has steadily grown until it became my fourth (knocking out Portugal in the process) The instrumentation conveys a dark mood, despite the upbeat strings and the poppy sound. There’s a grooviness in it to contrast the sullen lyrics, mourning for a lost love. It definitely stands out in the crowd; along with Ismeta's lack of makeup.

It got rewarded with a second-to-last place, which is way too low for this. And Yugoslavia withdrew for five years, and came back with a new sound...

Personal ranking: 4th/18 Actual ranking: 17th/18 in Den Haag

#235: Zibbz -- Stones (Switzerland 2018)

"Sins of the father make us fall And I can’t do anything about it"

2018 had a number of staging errors which cost several countries qualification. In Stones' cases, this wasn't the case.

Corrine has incredible stage presence, with a sense of strength and attiude as she struts on the stage. She definitely adds substance to this powerful pop-rock song, fighting against bullying in all corners of society.

To further that, she lights a flare at the bridge, which definitely hits the tone of the song home. Plus, it was an awesome moment to behold.

Basically, Zibbz did everything right--great song, thoughtful message, simple but impactful staging, and it still didn't qualify...While it has outgrown me a bit, it's still a total jam.

Personal ranking: 9th/43 Actual ranking: DNQ -- 13th in the first semi-final in Lisbon

#234: Kalomira -- Secret Combination (Greece 2008)

“An open book An open book, well, I'm sorry, I am not Sometimes I'm acting like a lady Sometimes woman, sometimes baby.”

"You maybe an open book Spongebob, but I'm a bit more complicated than that"

One third of the female-bop grouping in the 2008 contest, Secret Combination takes Greek instrumentation and American production to produce quite the gem. I could imagine Britney Spears singing this, but I also thought of the Cheetah Girls when I was listening to it. With a bit of sweetness and a touch of sexiness, Kalomira plays the different roles well--and has a cute moment when the book actually opens, revealing her in a really nice silvery dress!

Personal ranking: 7th/43 Actual ranking: 3rd/25 GF in Belgrade

#233: Avi Toledano -- Hora (Israel 1982)

"וגם ההורה, ההיא עם הה”א קולה עוד עולה, קולה לא נדם"

"And also the Hora, the one with the Hey Its voice still rises, its voice has not been silenced"

Israel had a particular style with songs from the 1980s--they are usually really energetic, with fun choreography in which everyone joins along. It makes for good results and good energy, especially when it's done well!

Hora seems to embody it in many ways, from the celebratory lyrics to the fun dancing across the really tiny stage in Harrogate. It combines Israeli folk music with a sense of joie-de-vivre, celebrating the nation (which as you will see later, may not work today...)

Avi earns himself a strong second place, but he would write something even better the following year (again, will come later)!

Personal and actual ranking: 2nd/18 at Harrogate

#232: Raphael Gualazzi -- Madness of Love (Italy 2011)

"Ma vedrai un altro me in un sogno fragile Riderai come se non ti avessi amato mai Cercherai un altro me oltre all’ombra di un caffè"

"But you’ll see another me in a fragile dream You’ll laugh as if I had never loved you You’ll look for another me beyond the shadow of a coffee"

Between 1994 and 2010, Italy withdrew from Eurovision, with only one participation in 1997. Nobody knows why, with reasons ranging from the rise of a televote to Italian disinterest in the contest, but they were certainly missed. Thanks to the late Rafaella Carra and a bunch of other circumstances, Italy came back in 2011, and they did so in style.

"Madness of Love" is frequently overlooked amongst Italy's post-comeback entries, as some of us aren't into jazz. I don't listen to the genre often, but I like this song particularly. It's flirty and sweet, under a very sophisticated soundscape which reminds me of a 1920s speakeasy. And while people are put off by Raphael's vocals, the way he lets himself go at the end of the chorus is definitely a highlight.

Basically, it's one of those runners-up that should've won against the winner of its year. But it was nicely made up for ten years later.

Personal ranking: 2nd/43 Actual ranking: 2nd/25 GF in Dusseldorf

#231: Anneli Saaristo -- La dolce vita (Finland 1989)

“Minä sammutin elämän janoa vaan Minä osasin onnea anoa vaan Jälkeen kaiken nyt saatan sen sanoa vaan La dolce vita”

“I was just quenching life’s thirst I knew how to plead for happiness After everything all I can say is: The good life”

La Dolce Vita sounds more stereotypically ”Spanish” than “Finnish”, because of its flamenco influences versus the dark pop or metal we expect from the country. Apparently, a lot of Finns travel south for vacations, which makes a bit more sense here.

Either way, it springs a bit of life and joy into a dark heart. It embraces life in its tropical vibe and Anneli’s deep vocals, and conveys a comfortable mood. Apparently, it was also known for Anneli's slight choreography, but I only noticed her standing during the instrumental.

It would be Finland’s last top ten result for many years, but the 7th place it got in Lausanne was deserved (and they should've done better, actually!). A fitting send-off for their long-time conductor Ossi Runne (RIP).

Personal ranking: 3rd/22 Actual ranking: 7th/22 in Lausanne

#esc 250 #eurovision song contest #esc top 250 #esc hungary #esc cyprus #esc israel #esc france #esc yugoslavia #esc switzerland #esc greece #esc italy #esc finland #three minutes to eternity #vintage eurovision

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winters-blue-children · 4 years

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Games and Theory (A 10k Evan Buckley disaster fic featuring jealous Eddie, phone sex, a fake relationship, and Albert being a genius)

Eddie's not looking for serious. He just wants casual, easy, and uncomplicated.

Buck has been in love with his best friend for two years. Does he take his sister's advice and confess his feelings? Nah, Evan Buckley always has to do things the hard way.

At some point, Buck and Albert became pretty good friends. Maybe it’s the shared older siblings mackin’ on each other, or the having horrible parents thing, but it turns out they get along really well. A little too well, as Chimney often likes to complain about. He calls it a Buckley-Han recipe for disaster.

Wanna meet up for pool later tonight?

Can’t. It’s movie night with Eddie and Chris.

The blinking ellipses begin immediately after his last text is sent. Buck rolls his eyes in anticipation. He knows exactly what Albert is going to say.

Have fun with your looover.

Fuck off. He’s not my lover.

But you want him to be ;-)

Buck scowls at his phone before turning the screen off. His loud, frustrated groan echoes throughout his empty apartment. Damn high ceilings. While it’s nice to have someone to complain about being completely head over heels for his best friend, it also sucks to be reminded constantly that his love life is hopeless and helpless and, in Chim’s words… embarrassingly tragic.

“Movie night,” Buck mutters to himself, mentally preparing for an evening of kid-friendly movies, lots of popcorn, and being in painfully close proximity to the man he’s desperately in love with. “Completely platonic movie night.”

…

In between their last film and Chris’s bedtime, which the kid managed to convince his dad to push back—“But it’s not a school night, Dad!” And like most people who have met Christopher Diaz, Eddie has trouble saying no to his kid too—Buck finds himself seated on the living room floor, a jumbo Lego set spilled all around him. He spends the next thirty minutes sticking pieces together with his best friend’s son.

“What is that?” Chris asks, tilting his head in confusion at the multi-colored lump in Buck’s hands. It’s all sharp angles and weird shapes.

“I’m not sure, bud. I made it to match yours.”

Chris laughs loudly, head thrown back as he giggles. And Buck laughs too, open and free and so genuinely happy.

Several feet away from them, Eddie watches quietly, a soft smile on his face.

…

Eddie’s not much of a talkative guy, at least not compared to Buck. When they’re together though, Buck brings him out of his shell, and Eddie makes sure to keep Buck grounded. Chim and Hen joke that they ‘complete’ each other. Whatever that means.

The point is that Eddie has a shy side. And considering he’s about twelve years out of the dating game, he needs his best friend to help him out.

“I thought you said you needed a wingman?”

Eddie stubbornly looks up and glares at Buck. He’s nursing his third beer, which he’d been staring at with what Buck had described as ‘crazy eyes’. And he’s adamantly refused to look anywhere around the bar that they’re currently in.

Buck leans closer over their small table. “We’ve been here for an hour and you haven’t even made eye contact with anyone. What are you doing?”

“Look, I haven’t done this in a very long time, okay?!” Eddie hissed. “I was with Shannon for two years before I enlisted. Two tours later, and add a kid to the picture, I’m a little out of practice!”

Buck’s face softens and he seems to take pity on him.

“Well, if you would get out of your own head and take a look around, you’d notice that more than a few lovely ladies have been eying you up all night.” Buck pauses and adds, “A few guys, too. If you’re into that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls a face like Buck just told a joke. He misses the way Buck looks slightly dejected, just for a second, before his grin slides back into place.

“So what are you looking for then? Blonde? Brunette? Are you into any weird stuff ‘cause the chick with the sleeve tats over there looks like she likes to play with toys.”

Eddie sighs and shakes his head, finally looking around the room for the first time. “I want something… uncomplicated.”

“Uncomplicated like a quickie in the bathroom? I’ve been there, and would not recommend. Your back will be killing you the next day.”

“Just… something easy, no strings attached, never have to call them again…”

“A one-night stand?” Buck frowns and tilts his head curiously. “Sounds like my old kind of thing. I didn’t think it was yours.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s too hard to try for anything serious. I have Christopher to think about, and he needs one hundred percent of my attention. And I definitely can’t be bringing home random girls, hoping one of them is going to be Chris’s new mom.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Most would run away once they find out I’m a widowed veteran-father anyway. Talk about a flight risk.”

“Don’t be so negative about yourself,” Buck says, his voice low. “You’re a great guy, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Eddie pauses at the sincerity in Buck’s voice. It’s sweet. And nice. But he shakes his head and the moment ends. “Alright, help me out here. I really don’t want to go home tonight to just my left hand for company. Who do you think I’ve got a chance with?”

Buck grins, a little mirthless. “The girl in the red top, drinking a Long Island at the bar.” He raises an eyebrow and nods in her direction. “She’s with a group of friends, but she’s not been chatty. She keeps looking around the room like she’s looking for someone.”

Eddie turns and to his surprise, he makes eye contact. She’s attractive, probably mid to late twenties, with brown hair and blue eyes. Three solid seconds pass before she grins flirtatiously, bats her eyes, and looks away.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Buck murmurs.

Eddie finishes off his beer. The bitter taste lingers and settles in his mouth, giving him an odd sense of confidence as he stands. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Buck says softly.

Eddie slides against the bar next to the girl in the red top. He grins, friendly but not over the top. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she answers with a bright smile.

Eddie waves over the bartender. “Hi, can I get an IPA and another of what she’s having? Oh, and one more beer for my friend—” He turns his head, about to point to Buck when his eyes land on their empty table. Buck’s jacket is gone too.

He must have left.

“Um, nevermind about that last one. Thanks.”

…

Evan Buckley has been in love with his best friend for over two years. It’s painful, that they can be so close and yet he sometimes feels a million miles away. “I can’t get him out of my head, Mads. I think about him all the time and it’s so fucking distracting.”

“Dude, I work with you guys,” Chimney says slowly. “In a very dangerous line of work.”

Buck scowls as Maddie slaps her boyfriend’s arm. “I came over here to talk to my sister. Do you really have to be a part of the conversation?”

“I was here first!”

“Hm, yeah sorry,” Buck frowns and shakes his head. “I think I’ve got about twenty-six years on you in that department.”

“Stop fighting, children, please!”

Buck continues to mope on the couch while Chim shakes his head and helps himself to snacks on the coffee table. The crunch of chips between his teeth clashes harshly with the constant thump of Buck’s knee bouncing against the underside of the table.

“Look, Evan,” Maddie says carefully. “I think you really need to tell Eddie how you feel.”

“Why? What’s the point?” Buck demands. “So that he can reject me nicely? Let me down easy, maybe? Best case scenario, he says that nothing’s ever going to change between us and then he acts all weird and awkward because he knows that his best friend—who is a guy—is fucking in love with him!”

Maddie reaches over and grabs her brother’s hand to hold. Even Chim’s eyes are downcast, looking like he feels a bit bad for him.

“You have to tell him, so that you can start to get over him,” Maddie says softly. “So that you can move on.”

“Maddie’s right,” Chim chimes in. “Rejection is the first step. If Tatiana hadn’t rejected me, I’d probably still be in that awful facade of a relationship. I never would have found the most wonderful and amazing person that I was meant to be with.”

Maddie grins softly at him. She leans over and they share a sweet kiss.

“Ugh,” Buck pulls a face and looks away. “Gross. That’s it, I can’t take any more of this. I’m out of here.”

“Evan, you don’t have to go!” Maddie says.

At the same time that Chim says, “See ya tomorrow, Buck.” He shrugs when they both give him a look. “What? I spend all day with the guy, I gotta see him at home, too?”

“Love you too, Chim,” Buck says sarcastically.

“He’s family,” Maddie says sternly.

“Hey, speaking of, where’s Albert?” Buck asks.

“Probably hooking up with rando hot girl number thirty.”

“Huh.” Buck pulls out his phone and hums. He says his goodbyes and leaves his sister and Chimney to do… whatever old, happy couples do on a Wednesday night.

Where you at?

A minute later, Albert responds. Some bar on West 23rd St. Wanna join?

Not feeling up to it. Wanna come over and hang instead?

Sure. Albert says. And then another text. I’ll be over in an hour.

…

It’s the middle of their shift and things are slow, which is never something to complain about. Eddie regales a tale about the latest girl he hooked up with. There have been a few girls since that night at the bar, and Eddie never shies away from telling Buck. Nothing too lewd. Just the highlights.

Buck nods and hums in response. His attention, however, is glued to his phone, where his thumbs rapidly fly across the screen as he texts. He plasters a lopsided grin on his face for show.

“I’m sorry, is my story about my foray back into the dating scene for the first time in over a decade too boring for you?”

Buck’s eyes snap up and he grins apologetically. He quickly slips his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry! I was listening, I swear!”

Eddie doesn’t buy it for one second.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Buck says quickly. See, he was listening. “You sealed the deal, right?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah. It was alright. Not exactly a night of passion.”

“Better luck next time. Plenty more one-night fish in the sea, am I right?”

Eddie frowns, figuring Buck is right. He puts his mediocre night out of his mind. Buck looks like he’s itching to check his phone again. And then Eddie suddenly wonders what’s got his friend so distracted lately. “Hey, what was that just now? You’ve been glued to your phone the whole day. What is going on with you?”

Buck blushes and actually looks embarrassed, a rare sight. “I uh—I met someone,” he says bashfully.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Wow, um, congrats, dude. You haven’t mentioned getting back out there or anything.”

“Yeah, well. I figured it was time. It’s been a year since Ali…”

Eddie frowns and tries to be happy for him. But the only thing he can think is, “Is it serious?”

Buck grins softly. “It might be. Too early to tell, you know? But I think I want it to be.”

Eddie nods. An uncomfortable feeling rolls around in the pit of his stomach. He must have eaten something at lunch that doesn’t agree with him. He brushes it aside. “What’s her name?”

Buck hesitates. “His name is… Tom.”

Whatever Eddie ate for lunch might be threatening to come back up again.

…

“How could he not tell me? I mean, how could he not tell me?! We’re best friends, this is the type of thing that you tell your best friend!” Eddie gestures wildly with his arms as he speaks.

“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Hen takes a drink of her cocktail and narrowly avoids being hit accidentally by Eddie’s flailing hands. “It’s not like he outright lied to you.”

“Not telling me that he’s into guys isn’t lying to me?”

“He’s dated one girl in the two plus years that you’ve known him. So he omitted one small fact about himself, so what? There are people who like both, you know.”

Eddie scoffs, incredulous. “Yeah, but Buck?!”

Hen gives him a pointed look and Eddie sighs. “I just… I don’t get why didn’t he tell me sooner.” He says softly.

“Please. You are not about to ask a lesbian why Buck didn’t out himself to you sooner. And you are definitely not having an issue with the fact itself, right?”

“Of course not,” Eddie says firmly. He might have grown up in a homophobic town in Texas, but that was never him. He stood up for the kids who got bullied growing up. He would never hate Buck for being gay, bi, pan, or whatever he labels himself. He would never hate anyone for that.

He just can’t seem to wrap his head around it. Why didn’t Buck tell him sooner? Why does it feel like such a painful and devastating betrayal, knowing that Buck met someone and they ‘might’ be getting serious?

“Wait,” Eddie freezes. “Hang on. Why aren’t you more surprised by this?”

Hen chuckles. “We have… a type of radar. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” She finishes her drink and laughs to herself. “From the second I laid eyes on that boy, I could tell he was a womanizer and a playboy. But let me tell you, that bitch also looks like he is two clicks away from calling the first man to pull his hair Daddy.” She cackles loudly, unaware that Eddie is struggling not to choke on the air in his lungs.

…

Albert is really good at chess.

Apparently, he won some sort of big deal tournament in South Korea. He brushes it off like no big deal whenever Chimney brings it up.

“It’s about being able to predict your opponent's move before they’ve even thought of it. You need to be three steps ahead, always. And flexible enough to adjust your strategy to the evolving game.”

Buck frowns. “That sounds really complicated. And hard.”

“I can teach you. Have you ever heard of game theory?”

“Dude, I told you I wasn’t the best in school,” Buck groans.

“Game theory is recognized as an important tool in many fields. It’s won Nobel prizes,” Albert says seriously.

Buck’s head spins from the nerd talk. “The only thing I care about, is will this even work?”

“Trust me,” Albert smiles, young and soft and genuine. “With my help, it will work.”

…

“Hi, Buck!”

Buck grins at Christopher’s excitement and quickly shoves two bags of take-out into Eddie’s hands so that he can kneel down and give Chris a hug. “Hi, buddy, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Buck!”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been over in a while. I’ve been busy.” His brow furrows, regretful, and he sneaks a quick glance at Eddie, who wears an unreadable expression while he tries to balance the bags Buck had pushed into his arms.

“That’s okay, you’re here now.” And with that, Chris takes Buck by the hand and leads him over to the couch.

Clearly, it’s now Eddie’s responsibility to handle the food.

After dinner, Buck helps Eddie with the dishes, while Chris is engrossed by a movie in the living room.

“So I was thinking maybe you could spend the night?” Eddie says, as he rinses a dirty dish under the tap. “We can do breakfast tomorrow morning at the diner on Stratton, the one that Chris likes. And I was going to take him to the park afterwards, you know he loves having you there.”

Buck is silent for a moment, just long enough that Eddie stops and looks up from what he’s doing.

“I um… I actually have plans later tonight.”

“Oh,” Eddie says dumbly. Out the corner of his eye, the clock on the oven blinks 8:11 PM. “What kind of plans?” He asks casually.

Buck blushes and drops his gaze. “Tom’s coming over.” A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I don’t think you want any details beyond that.”

Eddie purses his lips and returns his attention to the dishes. He doesn’t want to think about Buck and Tom, the latter is just a faceless shadow in his mind. But one with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw.

Nope, he does not need any more details.

“Maybe I could still join you guys at the park though?”

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters, as he scrubs a plate with far more force than necessary. “I’m sure Chris would love that.”

…

Eddie isn’t as great at hiding his emotions as he would like to believe. Maybe once upon a time he got away with it, but over the past two years, the 118 has become family to him. And families pry. They get into each other’s business, with good intentions, of course.

“Rough night?”

Eddie looks up and sees his Captain’s concerned face watching him. “Uh, sort of, Cap. I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits. “Kind of have a lot on my mind right now. But I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s not affecting my work.”

Bobby takes a seat in the chair next to him. “You’ve been pretty quiet lately. Is everything alright at home?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Eddie says carefully. “Christopher is doing well and he’s loving his classes at school. Everything’s great, Cap.”

The words taste like ash and sound fake to his own ears.

“Listen, it’s my job to know when something is wrong with my team,” Bobby says seriously. “And you’ve been off for weeks now. Is there… is there something going on between you and Buck that I should know about?”

“No! No, of course not!” Eddie says, a little too quickly. “I mean… Okay, honestly, Buck hasn’t been around much lately—” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Since he’s been seeing someone and… Chris has been asking why he hasn’t been around as much, and I know that he misses him.” He sighs and runs his hands through his short hair. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

Bobby gives him a strange look, like maybe he’s being a bit slow. “Have you tried… talking to Buck about this? I’m sure Buck is more than happy to make time for you guys. You’re family to him.”

Eddie blinks, oblivious. “No. Why would I?”

“Because it might solve all your problems.”

Eddie snorts. That doesn’t quite compute.

Bobby pats him on the shoulder and gives him a sad, knowing glance. He wonders how long it’s going to take for Eddie to admit to himself that it’s not just Chris who misses Buck.

…

“Eddie, h-hey, what’s up?”

Eddie grins. Buck’s voice is breathy like he’s just gone on a run, or been going hard at the gym. It’s a sound that Eddie associates with a bad call that ends well because they saved the day. Out of breath and gasping, but still with a grin plastered across his face so bright it could light up a room.

“What’s going on?” Comes Buck’s concerned voice over the line when Eddie doesn’t answer. “Is everything okay? Is Christopher alright?”

Eddie closes his eyes and tries to get himself out of his own head. He’s been having trouble thinking straight lately. “Yeah. Yeah man, everything’s fine. Just wondering what you’re up to tonight? Chris is having some friends over and I could use another pair of eyes on them. You know I hate being outnumbered,” he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry I can’t,” Buck says, and then there’s a rush of air into the phone before he continues, “I uh… I think I’m staying in tonight.”

Eddie frowns. Something doesn’t sound quite right. He narrows his eyes and presses the phone closer to his ear. There’s rustling in the background, like something is going on over Buck’s end. “Come on, dude,” he presses. “We haven’t hung out outside of work in like two weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” Buck drawls. “You’re hopeless without me.”

Eddie is about to say something snarky in return when he hears a muffled sound in the background, right before Buck grunts softly into his ear.

His hand tightens on his phone. “Buck?”

“W-what?” Buck sounds distracted, and then the clear sound of a backboard squeaking rhythmically tells Eddie all he needs to know. “Eddie, I gotta go,” he says breathlessly. His voice is cut off by commotion on his end of the line.

Eddie winces when he hears the clear clatter of Buck’s phone dropping to the ground.

“Shit, I dropped my phone!”

Muffled noises and heavy moans drift over the line. Warmth floods his body and Eddie feels his face flush red. It’s suddenly very hard to breathe. He should hang up. He should pretend this call never happened. He really, really should not stay on the line listening to his best friend having sex with another man.

“Oh, fuck, harder—”

Eddie closes his eyes. Buck’s face in high definition lights up in his mind, lips parted, cheeks rosy and flushed, and maybe he bites down on his bottom lip as he gets fucked—

What the hell is he doing? Thinking about Buck’s red lips and how it’s so adorable that his birthmark is the same shade as that luscious mouth—

Eddie considers hanging up yet again.

But the grunts and moans and sounds of pleasure are getting louder. And he’s suddenly so fucking hard.

“Fuck! Come on, give me more, right there—”

His hand is reaching down his pants and wrapping around his hard cock before Eddie even realizes it. He jerks himself roughly as he listens to the sound of Buck’s voice.

He’s never come so fast in his life.

…

“Hey Chim, how’s it going with Albert?” Eddie asks. “You guys getting along any better?”

Chimney frowns and glances over at the bar where Albert, Buck, and Hen are sharing a laugh over drinks.

“They are getting along wonderfully,” Maddie answers for him.

“Well, he’s family,” Chim manages, shaking his head.

Eddie chuckles and his eyes can’t help but land on Buck and stay there.

Of course, they never mentioned the call, instead both chose to act like the whole thing never happened. Maybe Buck didn’t realize that it was blatantly obvious what he was doing when Eddie called, and maybe he didn’t realize that Eddie stayed on the line, blowing a load over him, like a goddamn creep.

The next day, he just smiled and clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder like nothing was wrong. Nevermind that Eddie’s whole world was crashing around him because he got himself off to his best friend being fucked by another guy. And the orgasm he had over Buck’s voice was more intense than any he’d had with the random women he’d slept with over the past month.

He can’t even remember their names.

So lost in thought, he doesn’t realize that Maddie and Chim are giving each other smirks and looks while he’s distracted.

“What’s going on with you, Mr. Mopey?” Chimney asks.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, confused.

“Come on, you’ve been acting off for weeks,” Chim says while Maddie tries to hide a laugh. “Everyone’s noticed. Just admit it.”

“Admit what?” Eddie genuinely has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You can’t possibly be that thick,” Chim says slowly.

Maddie pats him on the shoulder. “Babe, don’t push it.”

“Oh, come on! Even Albert won’t stop talking about it—”

Eddie never finds out what it is because they’re interrupted by the presence of none other than the man who is the star of his wet dreams.

“What’s up, guys?” Buck’s grin is a mile wide and he’s just loose enough from a few drinks that he’s extra handsy. And he’s pretty handsy with Eddie on a regular day.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat as his skin hyper focuses on Buck’s arm around his shoulders. He quickly takes another drink of his beer so that he doesn’t have to answer.

And then he spends the rest of the night hoping and praying that his jeans are tight enough to hide the obvious erection in his pants.

…

Eddie thinks it can’t possibly get any worse. He’s wrong.

Weeks of blue balls and pining leave him in a near constant bad mood. Even Chris has noticed that he’s been snappier than usual—which of course, makes him feel like an asshole.

Buck hasn’t mentioned anything, though everyone else seems to be avoiding him like the plague.

And then during one of their shifts, twenty minutes after Eddie texts Buck to confirm his pizza topping of choice for lunch, he receives a photo to their text message chain. He thinks he’s hallucinating when the little icon image pops up on his screen.

But then he opens the image and his eyes bulge wide out of their sockets.

Buck is shirtless. It’s not like Eddie hasn’t seen the guy naked before. After all, they’ve spent plenty of time together in the showers and locker room at the firehouse. It’s the look on his face that gets him. The angle is taken from above. It’s meant to be sexual. Buck is biting his lip, head tilted back, a look of absolute sin gracing his handsome features. Eddie has never thought of his friend as pretty before, but god damn, Buck is pretty.

And as Eddie’s eyes trail down Buck’s chest, down his chiseled abs, they travel over the gorgeous V of his hip bones, to just past the base of his shaft, the rest cut off by his boxer briefs pulled down by the hook of his thumb.

The picture was clearly meant for something else.

Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’s torn between confronting Buck about this egregious error that he made and running into the bathroom to jerk off.

In hindsight, the latter would have been better. After all, with post-nut clarity, he never would have done what he actually did, which is yell at Buck, in front of the whole firehouse.

“What the actual fuck?!”

Buck gapes at the lewd image on his phone, when shoved in his face. “I—I am so sorry, Eddie!” He stutters, red with embarrassment. “I did not mean to send that to you! I—I didn’t check the chain, and I had forgotten that you texted me your order—”

“You think I want to be getting shit like this on my phone?” Eddie rages. “Be more fucking careful next time you send shit like this to your boyfriend, or whoever the hell he is!”

Buck looks hurt. “Sorry, man,” he says softly. “It won’t happen again.”

Head bowed, Buck walks away with his tail tucked between his legs, leaving Eddie feeling like the biggest asshole on the face of this earth.

It doesn’t help that their little squabble had gained an audience.

Eddies groans and clenches his fists by his sides. He fights the urge to smash his phone to pieces.

He never does delete that photo.

…

Eddie’s not sure how they got to this point. Their friends pity them and Bobby has personally demanded that they resolve their differences. Fast. Or they won’t be covering the same shifts anymore. And now Buck is mad and wanting answers.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you, Buck.”

“You haven’t looked at me in days. If this is still about the pic that I accidentally sent you—”

“No!” Eddie says loudly. “No, it’s not about that. I am definitely way past that.”

Buck pauses and stares at him in disbelief. “Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie swallows thickly. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

“You’ve been acting like a real dick lately,” Buck says blatantly. “If you have a problem with me, you should just say it.”

Eddie bites his tongue. “Nope. No problem at all.”

Buck grits his teeth and storms away. And that’s that.

…

Not too long later, Eddie reaches his breaking point.

“Alright, fine! Maybe I am pissed at you!” Eddie gives in to the weeks of loneliness and sexual frustration and yells at his friend. “I’m pissed that you haven’t been around! And when you are, you’re distracted and distant and all you talk about is this Tom fella—”

“My boyfriend?”

“Whatever!” Eddie says. “Fuck!”

He knows he’s being a Grade A asshole, but he can’t help himself. Buck drives him crazy and he has no idea how to stop it.

A long moment passes before Buck speaks, “Well, not to get your hopes up or anything,” he says softly. “But this Tom thing might not last much longer.”

Eddie’s curiosity is piqued. Despite knowing better, he asks, “What’s going on?”

Buck shrugs uncomfortably. “I think we just want different things. Probably not going to work out in the long run.”

“And… what do you want?”

Buck looks at him and for a second Eddie gets lost in the blue of his eyes. “I want something real, you know? And I thought that’s what he wanted too, but… he wants to keep it open. Keep seeing other people.” He sighs heavily, sounding sad and defeated. “Which I was fine with for a while, but… I kind of thought he’d change his mind eventually.”

Buck shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You don’t want to hear about this—”

“Tom’s a fucking asshole,” Eddie spits.

Buck blinks in surprise. “W-what?” He chuckles softly.

“You heard me. He’s a fucking asshole. I’ll kick his ass if I ever meet him.”

Buck stares at him for a long moment. And then his face breaks into a grin. “Thanks, Eddie. You’re a good friend.”

Eddie nods. For the first time in a long time, he does feel like a good friend. Because he would absolutely kick anyone’s ass who hurt Buck.

…

Things between them get better after that.

And one evening, after the end of a long shift, Eddie and Buck get good and truly hammered.

It’s been a long time since Eddie had drank that much. But they don’t have to work the next day, Chris is sleeping over at Abuela’s, and him and Buck are friends again. So he lets loose and just goes along with whatever Buck wants. And Buck leans very much into his personal space in his drunk and disorderly state.

Eddie doesn’t mind one bit. Like an idiot, he doesn’t push him away.

He misses the laughs and doesn’t catch the mild looks of judgment and concern from Hen and Chim, because he’s too drunk to care. And when Albert keeps pushing tequila shots their way, he giggles and throws them back with Buck because it finally feels like they’re them again. And he’s really missed this.

…

The pillow that smacks him in the face wakes him up fast. With a startled gasp, Eddie blinks the sleep and haze out of his eyes. The first thing he registers is his throbbing headache. “What the hell—” The second is the pillow that hits him again before he can do anything more than blink dumbly in surprise. And then he’s pissed. “What the fuck, Buck?!”

“Stop that!” Eddie grabs the pillow before the other man can hit him again. “This is not exactly the morning after I was hoping for!”

“What exactly were you hoping for?! What the hell, Eddie?! We had sex last night! TOGETHER!” Buck’s voice gets higher until he’s nearly screeching, which is not great for either of their hangovers. He seems to suddenly realize he’s naked because he pulls the covers up tighter around himself as if it might preserve his chastity. A bit late for that, Eddie thinks.

“You… asshole! What the hell?!”

Eddie rubs the residual fog out of his eyes and stares at him. “You told Chim last night that you would give your left nut to suck my dick, so what the hell are you complaining about?” He smirks and nods at the shocked expression on Buck’s face. “Yeah, apparently, you get reeeal chatty when you’ve had tequila.”

“Chim said what?” Buck whispers softly, looking mildly shell-shocked and like he really wants to bury himself in the earth and never come out again.

“Oh, and by the way, I am way hotter than that guy you were flirting with at the bar,” Eddie growls, indignant and affronted. “If you want to know regret, know that you could have woken up next to that!”

“He—he was perfectly fine looking,” Buck stutters.

At the same time that Eddie hisses, “Man-bun.”

“And more importantly,” Buck continues harshly. “Since when do you sleep with guys?”

“Since last night, apparently,” Eddie says steely, not nearly as mortified and shocked as he should be. He adds, “And it was really great. Morning after could use some work though.”

Buck swallows. “I never thought… I never thought you were interested.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie lies. He takes a breath, counts to three in his head, and on a whim and a prayer, he reaches for Buck and crashes their lips together with such force that they nearly topple over.

They’re all awkward limbs and gross tequila morning breath—and yet, they seem to fit together perfectly in each other’s arms. They fall back onto Buck’s sheets. A mess of gangly limbs, dried bodily fluids, and lips desperate to feel more.

Perfect.

…

If anyone were to ask what this thing is between him and Buck, Eddie would say that it’s casual. That’s the word he likes to use when he thinks of them. They’re sleeping together and it’s good and hot and mindblowing sex. But it’s also easy. Because Buck is uncomplicated, and he’s there again when Chris wants him. He loves Christopher, Eddie has no doubt about that. And most importantly, Eddie can get laid whenever he wants.

“Hey, so I was thinking about asking Carla to stay late this Friday to watch Chris,” Buck brings up to him one night. “Maybe you and I can go out to dinner after our shift. We could go some place nice. That new restaurant on Main St. maybe.”

Eddie follows his first instinct which is to laugh, because it sounds like Buck just suggested that they go out on a date. The look on Buck’s face says that he made a mistake.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Eddie asks after seeing the dejected look on Buck’s face.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Buck’s voice is low and strange.

“Because that… that sounds like a date,” Eddie says incredulously. “That’s not what you and I do. We don’t go to nice restaurants, we’re not—”

“A couple?” Buck cuts him off roughly. His expression has grown hard. “So what exactly are we?”

It’s a rare moment when Eddie is at a loss for words, but right now they seem to be stuck in his throat and he has no idea what to say.

“What exactly is this to you, Eddie?” Buck asks slowly.

“We’re just… good friends helping each other out,” he manages.

“Friends?” Buck demands, eyes narrowed and furious. “I’ve sucked your cock, I think we’re a little beyond friends, Eddie.”

“Jesus, Buck! Keep your voice down!” Eddie hisses, even though Chris’s room is on the other end of the house and he’s probably fast asleep at this hour.

But now Buck just looks defeated and hurt, and it’s the last thing that Eddie wanted.

“I thought this meant more to you,” Buck says quietly. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Look, Buck,” Eddie starts. “You know I love you, man. Just… just not like that. I can’t do that.”

Buck scoffs and looks away, which makes Eddie feel worse.

“I told you, a long time ago, that I’m not looking for anything serious, with anyone. It’s… it’s not you, Buck. It’s just that, I have a son to think about.” It makes sense in his head. It’s not like he’s sleeping with anyone else. He just needs to make Buck see.

“Okay.”

Eddie blinks. Okay? “Yeah?”

Buck nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. He slowly turns away, looking lost for a moment, before turning back, eyes glazed and hurt and unseeing. “I’m gonna go.” He says, pointing a thumb behind him. He starts gathering his things to leave and Eddie’s heart sinks into his gut. It hurts like there’s a knife buried there, twisting.

“Wait, no,” Eddie says desperately. “Buck, don’t leave—” He reaches for him but Buck snatches his arm away before Eddie can make contact. Somehow that stings more than when Shannon asked for a divorse.

Buck is adamant about avoiding eye contact, or any type of contact at all.

He’s hurt. And Eddie hates that this time, he was the one to do it.

“I’ll see you later, man,” Buck mutters, and then he’s gone.

Eddie stands, alone in his kitchen, feeling more lost than ever before.

…

Hen, bless her soul, is the first to pull him aside and demand to know how he managed to fuck up such a sure, good thing.

“What kind of moron are you?” She asks after she listens to his side of the story.

“W-what?” Eddie sputters helplessly. “This isn’t my fault.”

“You are both miserable,” she says bluntly. “Why?!”

Eddie sighs heavily and agrees. “Buck looked like he was about to dry heave when I stepped into the station today,” he says sadly.

“You are dumber than a bag of rocks. Eddie Diaz, I’m going to say this once and only once. You. Love. Him.” She says, enunciating each word.

“Of course, I love him,” Eddie responds. “He’s my closest friend. He’s Buck. I trust him with everything—”

“No, you dumbass. I mean, you love him. He’s not just some rando hookup you picked up for a night. He’s not just a friend, he’s Buck, the guy who would rather die than see anything bad happen to you or your son. He’s the guy who loves your kid like his own. And, speaking as a mother, that is not something to be said lightly.”

“I know Buck loves Chris,” Eddie says softly. “And I never asked him to, he just…” His voice trails off, as the realization slowly dawns on him.

Hen raises a brow. “Let me ask you a question,” she says slowly. “Why did you stop looking for girls to sleep with? You stopped long before you and Buck started this thing between you two. So why? Why did you stop?”

“I…” Fuck. Eddie remembers the longing that he felt when Buck was with someone else. He remembers how much it hurt. Like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. “Anyone else just… wasn’t what I wanted,” he realizes.

“So what are you waiting for now, dummy?”

“I’m scared,” Eddie admits. “I thought that it would be too difficult or too complicated, or whatever dumb shit I was thinking at the time. I thought it wasn’t worth the risk. To me and to my son.”

“And is it?” Hen asks softly.

Eddie bites his lip. “If this goes sideways, I don’t know what it’ll do to Christopher. That kid has lost so much already. And he loves Buck to death, if this doesn’t work out—”

“Kids are a lot tougher than we like to give them credit for. I’m saying this from one parent to another. You can’t let that hold you back. You can’t let it stop you from going after what you really want. Trust me, Chris will understand. He probably already knows you’re head over heads for his Buck.”

Eddie laughs and bows his head. “Yeah, probably. I never did hide it very well, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Hen agrees.

“I think I was wrong,” Eddie finally whispers.

Hen’s fingers flex around his forearm, offering what comfort she can. “Are you done being an idiot yet?”

Eddie considers it. “Yeah, I think so. I just gotta clear it with one more person,” he says softly.

…

His son is the most important person in his life. Eddie has so much to make up for. He was away for so long and he missed so much. And he vowed that he would never let Christopher down again.

But he has. Of course he has, he’s only human. But he keeps trying and he never gives up. And he figures that’s got to count for something.

For over two years, Eddie watched the relationship blossom between Buck and Chris. He watched as Buck doted on his kid, took him under his wing, and not long after, he started loving him.

Eddie now includes Buck’s name on his list of emergency contacts.

It took a little while longer, but eventually Eddie realizes that Chris looks up to Buck like another parent.

The moment really came when he peeks into Chris’s bedroom and sees Buck reading his son a bedtime story, one of Christopher’s favorites. Chris insists every night that Buck is there. Buck does the voices better than Eddie.

There they are, side by side. Chris’s eyes are drooping, no longer focused on the page. Buck’s voice is still animated and excited, though getting softer by the minute. And the look on his face, Eddies loves that look. Eddie loves him.

It’s a terrifying thought.

It catches him off guard. It scares him. Chris already lost one parent. Eddie couldn’t bear his son losing another. So he kept Buck at a distance. Tried to draw a line between what he had with Buck and what they had as a family.

Hen was right, he was a goddamn moron.

Buck was family long before he and Eddie got wasted and fell into bed with each other.

“Hey, kiddo,” Eddie kneels down by his son where he’s playing with his toys in the living room.

“Hi, Dad.”

Chris’s grin warms his heart and Eddie can’t help but smile as well. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

Eddie smiles at his kid, the shining epitome love of his life. “I want to talk to you about Buck.”

Chris’s grin grows wider. “I like Buck. Is he coming over tonight?”

“I like Buck, too.” Eddie says carefully. “So you… you like it when Buck is here?”

“Yeah, Buck is fun. And he loves me.”

“He sure does. Who wouldn’t love you, kiddo?” Eddie jokes.

“No,” Chris shakes his head. “Buck is special.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And why is that?”

“Because you love him, Dad.”

Eddie freezes. He closes his jaw and swallows the lump in his throat. “Chris, how… how did you know that?” He whispers.

“The way you look at him,” Chris says easily. “And the way you act around him.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie presses.

“When Buck was hurt, you were really worried,” Chris explains. “You were sad and you were upset, and you would do everything you could to make him feel better. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Eddie says softly. When Buck got crushed by a ladder truck, there were moments when Eddie thought he was going to lose him forever. He was scared—terrified. Not just for Buck’s health and safety, but he was scared that his life could forever be changed because some asshole kid decided to play bomber.

And when Buck almost died from the pulmonary embolism, because he pushed himself too hard—that made Eddie angry. Angry that Buck risked his life and his health and did this to himself. And maybe if Eddie had tried harder to be there for him, Buck wouldn’t have felt the need to get back to where he was so quickly.

Apparently, Eddie didn’t hide this very well.

“When Buck’s not here, you’re sad,” Chris says softly. “When he’s here, you’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. Kids make it sound so simple. He has a hard time remembering why he’s been acting like an idiot for so long. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So you love him,” Chris says simply.

“I do,” Eddie says quietly, tears growing in his eyes. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course I am, Dad. Buck is amazing,” Chris says with a grin.

Eddie has never been so grateful that he has such an amazing kid. He still can’t believe he lucked out, that he has such a wonderful son. “Yeah,” he agrees, pulling him into a hug. Tears trail down his cheeks, but they’re happy tears. “Buck really is amazing.”

Chris smiles and lets out a soft laugh against him. “I love Buck, too, Dad.”

So, now Eddie has some groveling to do.

…

Buck isn’t surprised when he opens his door to see Eddie on the other side. He does huff in annoyance though. “What are you doing here?” He asks. They haven’t spoken since Buck walked out. Buck has avoided his calls and the texts go unanswered.

Eddie doesn’t answer at first. But he motions awkward with his arm and Buck eventually steps back to let him in.

“Look, I really don’t want to do this with you, Eddie—”

“Of course, you don’t,” Eddie says quickly. “We were always awful when we’re mad at each other. Over such dumb shit too.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Buck gives him an odd look. “Am I just supposed to get over it? I mean, I’ve had your dick up my ass, are we just supposed to pretend that never happened?”

Eddie blushes. “Yeah, that’s not really a memory I want to erase from existence, so…”

Buck stares at him, stubborn and calm. “So, what exactly are you saying?”

“What I’m trying to say, is that I’ve been acting like a royal idiot lately,” Eddie says. “I did pretty much everything wrong. I didn’t think that I wanted you until you were with someone else. And then when I did have you, I didn’t realize that what we had was so much more than I ever gave us credit for.”

Buck stays stubbornly silent. But he’s not kicking him out, which is enough to make Eddie continue. “I need you to know that I love you, and not just as a friend. I love you like a partner, like Chris’s second dad, like a missing piece of myself, and when you’re not there… it literally feels like my life is falling apart.”

His breath shudders and he sighs, trying to get a hold of himself. “I am so lost without you, Buck. And I was such an idiot that I didn’t realize it sooner. So, please… I am asking from the bottom of my heart… will you give me another chance?”

“I always knew you were an idiot,” Buck eventually says. “I don’t know where Chris gets his smarts from, because it definitely isn’t you.”

Eddie grins and takes a hesitant step forward. “Yeah, I deserve that,” he says softly, and then he takes another step. “You’re right, I was an idiot.”

“I’m gonna make you take me out, you know,” Buck whispers. “You’re gonna have to wine and dine me, and I mean, the good, expensive stuff.”

“Whatever you want, babe. I swear.” Eddie takes another final step and then he’s crowding into Buck’s space, pressing tight against his chest. He leans up to press their lips together and Buck’s got that look in his eyes that Eddie knows all too well. The look that says he’s in too deep, he loves too much, and if Eddie hurts him again, that’ll be the end of him.

But Eddie swears to high heaven, he’ll do his best to never ever hurt this man again.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been such an idiot,” Eddie murmurs against his lips.

“You swear you’ll stay with me this time?” Buck asks. “You’ll try this for real with me?”

Eddie nods. He presses their lips together, again and again, like he can’t get enough. His fingers are wrapped tight around the other man’s shirt, and he can tell Buck is holding himself back. He presses his weight against him, pushing him through the small apartment until they both fall against the couch—the stairs being too much to traverse in their state. The intense heat of their bodies together opens all the floodgates.

“I promise you, Buck. For real. You and me,” Eddie nods his head, his fingers fumble with Buck’s zipper, and then his own. “Like we should have been this whole goddamn time.”

When the clothes are off and skin is pressed to bare skin, they moan like starved men gasping for air. There’s lube somewhere in Buck’s coffee table drawer, and a box of condoms. Eddie presses his fingers into the hard flesh along Buck’s hips and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He sucks bruises into Buck’s skin, tastes him on his tongue and smells him in his nostrils. He can feel the other man’s pulse; strong, fast, and steady. He feels it rise and flutter as he moves inside him.

Their bodies grind together and the feeling is intoxicating; hot, sickly, and sweet. They’re reckless and dangerous and so in love that they’re sure nothing they’ve ever experienced even comes close to this.

They groan and pant and freefall toward climax together, limbs wrapped around each other, messy and uncoordinated. And when it’s over, Eddie presses his sweaty temple gently against Buck’s cheek. He’s gasping, struggling to catch his breath.

Buck chuckles softly, his hand comes up to wrap around Eddie’s arm. Their sounds echo through the apartment, a familiar comfort to them both.

“I’m hungry,” Buck says softly, before Eddie has even pulled out of him. “You wanna grab some food?”

Eddie grins and nods his head.

This feels good, he thinks to himself, better than anything he’s had before. And this time, he’s going to remember that.

…

Some time later:

“Chim, your brother is still here?” Eddie nods to Albert who’s engrossed in conversation with Buck by the bar. Eddie narrows his eyes at the serious look on Buck’s face. He wonders what they’re talking about.

Chimney gives him a strange look, perhaps surprised that he asked, and then he shrugs. “Yeah, thought he was staying a few weeks. Guess that’s turned into a few months now.”

“Couch-surfing for months, that’s got to be rough,” Eddie comments.

“My couch, random strange hook ups’ couches, Buck’s couch. That guy really knows how to get around.”

Eddie frowns. “Buck’s couch?” He knew Albert had stayed at Buck’s place once, after Chimney blew up at him. Not that it had happened again though.

Chim raises his eyebrows. “You don’t know? They hang out like… all the time. It’s fucking weird, man. If I didn’t know you and Buck got a serious thing going on, I’d be a little worried about Buckaroo over there taking my little brother’s innocence.”

Eddie gapes. “Are you serious?” His eyes fly around the bar again, not knowing what he thought he’d see. Buck and Albert look the same as they did twenty seconds ago, still talking by the bar.

“I’m kidding!” Chim says, laughing as he slaps Eddie on the arm. “Of course, I’m kidding!”

Eddie breathes in relief.

Until Chim continues, “My little brother doesn’t have an ounce of innocence inside him.”

Eddies doesn’t know how to approach this. He wants to know why he didn’t know—why Buck didn’t tell him that he was apparently close to Chimney’s estranged half-brother. He wants to go over there and find out what they’re talking about. How does he do that without coming across like some jealous asshole? His mind flips back and forth between playing it cool and storming over there.

Thankfully, Buck saves him the trouble.

He pulls him aside and looks hesitant when he speaks, which Eddie takes note of right away.

“Hey, can we talk about something real quick?” Buck asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says carefully. “What’s going on?

“Um,” Buck shifts uncomfortably. “You know how I kind of made you grovel when you came back? And I kind of emphasized how you were a total dick, who needed to beg and plead before getting back into my pants?”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah.” He remembers it vividly.

“Okay,” Buck admits. “So, I’m kind of an asshole.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Eddie chuckles.

“No,” Buck insists. “I actually am kind of a dick.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He clicks and swipes while Eddie watches confused until Buck holds the screen up in front of his face.

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s looking at. It’s his contact info, with call data, and all their incoming and outgoing calls.

“Eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds.”

Eddie stares, blank and confused, until it dawns on him. He sees the call log. He sees the date and the numbers and there’s only one possibility. Eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds that he stayed on the line. Listening. Like a perv.

“Um… I—I wasn’t—” He stutters. “I don’t know what—”

“Don’t be embarrassed, I knew you were listening,” Buck says quickly as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Um, I don’t really know how to tell you this, but… Tom wasn’t real.”

“What?” Eddie blinks and struggles to process. “Tom, your… ex-boyfriend?”

Buck looks genuinely shameful. “Yeah, he was… kind of, made up?” He says lightly.

Eddie’s mind sort of short-circuits then. Because what the hell does that mean? “W-what?!” He sputters.

“I’m sorry!” Buck says quickly. And then he rolls into a tangent that Eddie can only hope to follow as best his can. “It was Albert’s idea, ‘cause I was complaining about how much I was in love with you. And apparently, I talk about you a lot, like non-stop and he was getting sick of it. And I think I was moping and pissing him off because he just wanted a drinking buddy. And then he kept going on and on about behavior theory and logical decision making and all this other shit that I don’t really understand!”

Eddie blinks and Buck continues, “He told me what to do to get you and I just went along with it! He told me to invent some guy and it would make you realize what you wanted all along… And that if I threatened to pull away, you would realize that you love me and that this thing between us—” He gestures quickly with his hands. “—is real. And it worked!”

Buck shrugs, a small, hopeful expression on his face. “Except now I kind of feel like a dick because I made you feel bad, and he said that I should come clean about everything and that you wouldn’t mind because you love me too—”

“Wait, wait, wait… hold up,” Eddie’s mind hasn’t quite caught up yet. “You lied to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispers.

“Tom was… was a lie?” Eddie tries to think of the evidence. He never met the guy, never even saw a photo. Buck just kept talking about him… “But the call…”

“Yeah, I kind of had a bit of fun with that one,” Buck grins bashfully. “Our first phone sex!” He tries to joke, but it falls flat when he sees the look on Eddie’s face.

“You tricked me? You’ve been lying this whole time?”

“Well, I… I prefer to think of it as, I used dishonest tactics to persuade you…”

“The—the fucking… naked picture of you…” Eddie’s jaw drops as the pieces finally come together in his head. “You sent that to me on purpose!”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says softly.

“I cannot believe this! You—you inserted yourself into my life, lied to me for months, pull yourself away, and of course, I’m over here tweaking like an addict without dope! And feeling like the biggest jerk in the world!”

“Well, that’s a bit dramatic, I think.”

“Where is that asshole?”

Buck’s eyes widen comically when he sees the other man prepare for a rampage. “Eddie, wait!”

But Eddie’s already making his way back to the group. He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he knows that he’s furious, embarrassed that he was played so easily, and completely blind-sided by the truth. He can’t even put his thoughts in order to make a coherent—

“Hey, asshole!”

All eyes turn to him, shocked by his outburst. Hen and Chim are clearly confused, unsure of what’s going on. A second later, he registers that Buck has caught up to him. The expression on his face is oddly reminiscent of Scrat from the Ice Age movies that Chris loves watching. Stunned, sheepish, and a little bit of ‘did I do that?’

“What the hell is wrong with you?! You think you can just mess with people’s heads like this?! You think you can just treat this shit like a game, like… like some fucking chess game?!”

“Eddie, stop!” Buck pleads.

“Whoa, wait, what the hell is going on?” Chim asks.

“You fucking piece of shit, I ought to—”

Albert stands slowly, his hands held up innocently in front of him. Eddie breathes slowly through his nose. He can feel Buck’s presence behind him, ready to hold him back in case he decides to do something royally stupid.

“I’m sorry if you feel fooled,” Albert says carefully. “We had no intention to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Behind him, the others stare, mouths gaping. “What is happening right now?” Maddie whispers.

“Eddie, please think about this,” Buck says softly. “Please—”

Eddie cuts him off by taking a step forward. They all hold their breaths. And then, to their surprise and his own, Eddie wraps his arms around Albert in a tight hug. “You are such an asshole.” His voice is tight and strangled. “But thank you.”

“Okay, can someone please explain what is going on?” Chim asks. “We’re kind of losing our minds over here.”

“I think we might need some more drinks for this,” Hen says, right before she and Maddie share a look.

“Amen, sister.”

Later, after everyone is caught up and thoroughly impressed—

“I studied game theory in college,” Albert explains.

“Glad to see you’re doing something good with that fancy education of yours,” Chim says sarcastically.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this,” Maddie says, incredulous. “Who knew you were such a good actor?” She smacks her little brother on the arm and chuckles at Buck’s yelp.

—and Buck and Eddie finally have a moment to themselves, Buck asks him, “So I can relax and trust that you’re not going to kick his ass?”

Eddie sighs and shakes his head. “I wanted to.”

“You had me worried there for a second.”

“Albert’s genius is what got me to stop being an idiot,” Eddie says softly. “He got us together, and you are the love of my life. I could never hate him for that.”

Buck makes a face, about to coo and aww at the ‘love of his life’ comment until Eddie continues. “You, on the other hand, you lied to me. For months. You manipulated me, made me feel like an asshole for hurting you. And this whole time, you were playing me. I think I’m owed some groveling now.”

Buck pouts and says, “My feelings were never a lie. I’ve been in love with you for years and I was getting desperate. You know, desperate measures and all.” His lips turn up a little and he wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist, tugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. Please don’t be mad at me. After all, I am the love of your life.”

Eddie grins and leans close, pressing their lips together for a gentle kiss.

“Yeah, you really are.”

Fin.

#911 #911 Fox #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Buddie #Buddie fic #my fics #I loved writing this so much

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leftenant-sinani · 3 years

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Unreal x X-COM x My Sci-fi Universe Crossover

So, I was listening to Unreal Tournament music, and I got an idea... what if Unreal universe was mixed with the X-COM one? It would kinda fit because they both are kinda neo-futuristic, Unreal certainly a bit more. Also it will not only be mix of these two, but there will be a lot of things from my own Sci-Fi universe. Since I want to write whole bloody list of my shit about this, this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post, if you have the patience and interest, please click ‘Keep reading’.

Also warning, there will be a lot of repeating of words, because I am small-brainer who cannot think of other words. (And there will be surely some mistakes, although I am trying my best to avoid them)

Games Introduction :

For those who don’t know what these games are about, I’ll give you quick insight of what is what. (Not really quick, because I tend to write long-ass paragraphs)

Unreal :

Unreal (also often known as Unreal Tournament) is a First Person Shooter game made originally in 1998. The story wasn’t really what this series was about, it was all about quickly paced shooting and often about skill flex. Unreal is divided into two types : Unreal and Unreal Tournament. Unreal was the start of it all which included very long single player campaign (+ it’s expansion ‘Return to Na Pali’) which was set on planet known as Na Pali. The Na Pali was full of strange alien species which you had to fight in order to get through levels. While I adore it, I never really finished it. There were two Unreals, Unreal and Unreal II : The Awakening. However, Unreal Tournament was far more known when it comes to Unreal or basically whole FPS community back then. Unreal Tournament was less campaign and far more arena shooting. For me, it was one of my first games I’ve ever played and I still play to this very day. It had also very unique environments. From urban areas and buildings, through medieval-style maps to space stations or bases on asteroid, and that is only Unreal Tournament 99 (Which will be main source of Unreal universe in my crossover), Unreal Tournament 2004 had even far more interesting diversity of environment. There were 5 UTs in total, UT99, UT2003, UT2004, UT3 and UT (often refered to as UT4). There were also two console-exclusive games known as Unreal Championship and Unreal Championship 2, but I don’t know much about them.

X-COM :

X-COM (or just XCOM) is mostly squad-based Strategy (but not only, there were some exceptions which we will get to later) game that has been here since 1994. While the original games aren’t much known today, the modern ones were the reason why is it so popular (at least in my opinion). The plot is mostly very simple, the Earth is under attack of the aliens and you, as the Commander of X-COM AKA eXtra-terrestrial COMbat unit, are meant to repel the invasion and save the humanity (and that is not always the case either). First game was a bit of an oddity, because it is only known as X-COM : UFO Defense in America, all over the world however, it was known as UFO : Enemy Unknown, but then it kept the name X-COM for the rest of series. The gameplay was made of two phases. First phase was strategical type where you had to take care of your base, research, engineering, in some games you even had to take care of aircraft to intercept air attacks (mostly it was UFO) and most importantly, that’s where you were getting the missions. The second phase is made of the already mentioned squad-based strategy gameplay, and that’s where the main fun of the series was. There was a lot of games actually, I’ll try to explain in few words each game + include when they were released. UFO : Enemy Unknown / X-COM : UFO Defense (1994, alien invasion from space) - X-COM : Terror from the Deep (1995, alien invasion but from ocean this time) - X-COM : Apocalypse (1997, alien invasion which was created biologically on Earth or something) - X-COM : Interceptor (1998, alien invasion from space, but you only fight with aircraft instead of infantry) - X-COM : First Alien Invasion (1999, some kind of email game or something (like wtf is that)) - X-COM : Enforcer (2001, Third Person Shooter this time) - X-COM : Genesis and X-COM : Alliance (Both were unreleased, Alliance was some sort of Squad-Based First Person Shooter and Genesis was the your standard X-COM game) - XCOM : Enemy Unknown (2012, standard X-COM game, first modern one) - XCOM : Enemy Within (2013, expansion for Enemy Unknown, according to the wiki, EW isn’t canon, don’t where the truth lies though) - The Bureau : XCOM Declassified (2013, Third Person Shooter, didn’t play, but from what I’ve heard, it’s pretty mediocre besides the story) - XCOM 2 (2016, standard X-COM game, most known game from the series, also a direct sequel to the Enemy Unknown) - XCOM 2 : War of the Chosen (2017, expansion for the XCOM 2, my personal favorite and also the primary source of X-COM story elements in my crossover) - and last but not least, XCOM : Chimera Squad (2020, standard X-COM game, but you only fight for one big city as Peacekeeping Force againsts three criminal factions).

Whew, that’s for the introduction. Let’s head for the meat of this thing.

Background & Story :

I want to put a little note here before I’ll continue. Unreal has it’s own story, and while I will mix it with X-COM elements, there will be a lot of my own headcanon things, so basically, Unreal x X-COM in my sci-fi universe. Here’s a timeline if you want to know a bit about Unreal story https://unreal.fandom.com/wiki/Timeline (Although we won’t be really going alongside it, so :P). So let’s get started, eh?

Background :

It is year 2293, Milky Way galaxy is under the control of humanity which is divided into two great factions; Sol Alliance (SA) and Milky Way Union (MWU). Sol Alliance is the root of the whole civilization that is scattered across the whole galaxy. They are most advanced when it comes to economy and military when it comes to both Ground Force and Navy, however, they are quite power-hungry and xenophobic which makes them hated by alien minorities, even though it is common knowledge that a lot of alien civilizations destroyed themselves in countless wars and humans had no feat in this, and if not for Sol Alliance in the first place, there would be almost no alien civilization at all (except two, but we’ll get to that later), despite this fact, Sol Alliance treats aliens like low layer of society, and that’s why they are hated so much by aliens and also by a fair amount of humans. It’s also the reason why Mliky Way Union was created in the first place... to get rid of Sol Alliance oppression againsts not only aliens but also their national socialist ideologies.

The Milky Way Union has its own sector in the galaxy, and while they and Sol Alliance are not currently in war (not at least openly), they still hunger for conquering those “Alliance swines”. They are made mostly of humans of course, but there is also a fair number of alien species confirmed among them. MWU isn’t doing really as great as Sol Alliance when it comes to economy and their armies are mostly made out of mercenaries, however, they are the peak of industrial effectivity and mineral-processing industry in the whole galaxy. Their ideology is mostly communistic and they can be quite fanatic about it. (Yes, it’s kind of based on Soviet Union).

The galaxy has been divided into four sectors :

Sector Minotaur, South-Eastern part of Milky Way. It is primary sector of Sol Alliance, that means that’s where our beloved (to some) Earth is, it has been centre of Alliance commmunity for dozens if not hundred of years by now. Roughly 45% of planets are habitable, which is the most when compared to the other sectors.

Sector Hydra, North-Eastern part of Milky Way. This sector belongs to no government nor either of the two great factions, it is mostly a place for the scum of the society. Rogue soldiers, prisoners, mercenaries, pirates, slavers, even some bits of aliens here and there. There are planets in this sector which are also serving as colonies for immigrants from either MWU or SA, however, this sector is not really the choice for ideal life, as there is extremely minimal amount of planets which can be lived on without any major difficulties (the ones that are, are mostly habitats for Rogue Militaries) + pirates and slavers are sometimes raiding colonies. There are also signs of dog fights between certain criminal factions in some places of this sector.

Sector Medusa, North-Western part of Milky Way. Primary sector of Milky Way Union. A good amount of planets in this sector are mineral-rich and are optimal for life. There is a lot of history about this sector, since it used to be a place of many alien civilizations many centuries ago before they devastated each other. There are planets that have a lot of antique sites which are a big enticement for people from both MWU and SA that are interested in alien history or archaeology. Years ago, there people who claimed that there are even ancient alien technologies on few planets which could be used as weapons, power generators or there could be perhaps other uses of it, local alien citizens are rejecting such claims though, as they are sure that their predecessors destroyed everything that could be of use to make sure that their enemies wouldn’t have the upper hand. Most of the found items were either only trinkets or salvaged parts of something that might’ve been weapon or something similar, but wasn’t really usable anymore.

Sector Phoenix, South-Western part of Milky Way. Our centre of the whole story and also a place of our known planet Na Pali. The main planet of this sector is called ‘New Earth’, and ironically, was a point of many wars between the locals just like our home planet. Sector Phoenix is infamous to be place of our two already mentioned alien races and not only that. The two alien races are in fact only the tip of the iceberg, as it goes much, much deeper than that. First off, it is occupied by humans too, but there’s only about 40% compared to the aliens and they are divided into civilians and fighters as the sector is known to be one big warzone. Although there are places here and there that are peaceful, not even urbanized areas like cities or certain buildings are safe from fighting between locals. Sector Phoenix is ruled by New Earth Government (NEG) and local giant corporation known as Liandri AKA Liandri Mining Corporation. The sector also used to be the centre of mining for the galaxy, that didn’t last for a very long time however, as Sector Medusa was far more profitable. Despite the fact the local resource called ‘Tarydium’ was exclusive mineral and it’s use is universal, the great factions found their own exclusive minerals which they found to outmatch this so-called Tarydium. The reason why Sector Phoenix is being often refered to as warzone is the fact that not only the wars between humans and aliens or aliens and second aliens, but also because Liandri Mining Corporation implemented the idea of creating a blood sport only known as ‘Tournament’. The Tournament was a deathmatch between local teams; Almost all of the teams were only humans, and there were even two alien ones and one made purely out of robots. Many teams failed and were massacred, and those which survived eventually fell apart after the end of first Tournament. The combatants which were in the Tournament were everything but common people, there were ex-soldiers, commandos, specialists, genetically enhanced warriors, mercenaries, even robots and aliens.

Story :

After the end of first Tournament, the Liandri Corporation made a big load of money which was shared with New Earth Government to keep the flow of human cilivization. Now, after four months since the end of first Tournament, a civil war started between local factions (which will be introduced later). The conflict included humans, human-made robots and both alien races. All the zones that were used for fighting before and in Tournament were once again used as areas for this massive firefight. The reason for the civil war was following; “Due to the Na Pali being invaded by humans, which is planet that rightfully belongs to the Skaarj race (we’ll get to the races too, do not worry), they broke the peace treaty that was signed at the end of Skaarj-Human war.” Things were worse than they looked though, and it was found out that the second alien race known as ADVENT attacked Skaarj base close to their world. It’s an all out war...

Races & Factions :

This will be a long one. Note that few things won’t be corresponding with the lore of both games.

Races :

In this part, I will only talk about alien races. There are two big ones, and one minor. The big ones are races which are made out of more species, just so you know. I will use some texts from wiki, because I am lazy xP.

Skaarj :

Skaarj of the Skaarj Empire from planet Skrath. They are tall, powerful imperial reptilian race. They are born from eggs of the queen as ‘Pupae’ (the little disgusting thing in the middle), which will eventually mutate into 7-9′ tall monster you see in the picture. There are two types of Skaarj fighters. First is Warrior (the one on the green and blue ones), they are extremely agile and have strength of at least three men. Some of them have cybernetic implants, and many have blades, called Raziks, strapped or surgically affixed to their wrists; these weapons may also fire energy charges from between the blades. Then there is second variant of Skaarj fighter; Skaarj Trooper (You can see him behind the blue Skaarj Warrior). They are artificially made and are meant to be the support line as they use firearms made either by Skaarj or Humans, it doesn’t matter to them. There is a lot of variants of both types, all of them and more info about Skaarj can be found here https://unreal.fandom.com/wiki/Skaarj. Besides that Skaarj are also highly tribal race and divided into clans. Each clan of Skaarj is headed by a Queen (which has a central role in their society) and a Warlord (who leads the Skaarj in combat situations (Can be also seen on the picture, it is the tall one in the middle)). While Skaarj hate humans and tried fighting them three times, they were always defeated despite their efforts, so they eventually signed a peace treaty with them, the peace lasted for 90 years until now. When it comes to the ADVENT, their relationship with them is rather neutral, but there were signs of aggression between both.

As Skaarj are imperialistic race who enslave other races for either labor or fighting, there a few races which are under them.

1. Krall

They are a brown, lizard-like species with large spikes that are more primitive and feral than humans. Their home planet is unknown. Species originally It is a testament to their fighting skills that the Skaarj use them as warriors rather than slaves. The Krall social structure is too fragmented for them to become a major force on a large scale, but as individual fighters, they are truly formidable.

2. Brutes

Large but slow creatures who are part of Skaarj defense line just like Krall. Besides that, not much is known about them. Their origin, home planet nor how their race is truly called is known. They could be possibly artificially created creatures by Skaarj, but who knows really.

3. Nali

The Nali are a primitive race native to the planet Na Pali, as well as its former rulers. The Nali are deeply religious and spiritual and can often be found in heavy prayer. Sometimes their prayers are answered with the ability to teleport (however their ability is limited) or to open solid walls. They also are extremely timid, afraid of anyone who might attempt to harm their benevolent race. Many Nali have been enslaved by the Skaarj to work in the Rrajigar Mine to mine for Tarydium. As their religion forbids the use of violence the Nali could not resist being under Skaarj rule and were left to pray for their freedom. The Skaarj forbids the Nali to leave Rrajigar Mines, so the Nali were also placed under constant guard to prevent them from merely teleporting away to a safe haven.

ADVENT :

While ADVENT is coalition rather than race on it’s own, it’s made out of a fair amount of alien species and many humans and even Skaarj call ADVENT a race (despite the fact it’s not really true). They are being lead by psionically gifted creatures known as ‘Ethereals’ and are often being refered to as ‘Elders’.

Unlike Skaarj, ADVENT has no hatred towards humans and is looking rather for relationship and trading with them and since NEG is having enough problems with Skaarj already, they couldn’t say no to trading with each other. ADVENT even allowed human colonies in their territory, which was suspiciously great generosity from them, but it was better than open war with them.

And unlike Skaarj, they have been here only for few dozens of years and not much is known about them. Their true goals in Sector Phoenix are also unknown. There are sources of knowledge about them like databases, public studies and scientists’ logs... but also rumors and claims.

As mentioned before, ADVENT is made out of fair amount of aliens which were either created or enslaved just like the ones under Skaarj.

1. Genetically Engineered Humans

They are often refered to as ADVENT Troopers. According to the official statements, they are volunteers who willingly chose to serve the ADVENT, if it’s true or not is not known however. They make the backbone of ADVENT army. There are also different variants of Troopers, there is Officer, Shieldbearer, Priest, Stun Lancer, Purifier and General.

2. Sectoids

These originally used to be smaller typical ‘gray aliens’, in recent years however, they somehow grew and resemble humans far more. Physically, they are probably on the same measure as humans when it comes to height and strength, the only advantage they have over ordinary humans is the fact that they have the psionic gift which allows them to mind control lesser-willed beings including humans.

3. Vipers

Vipers are another species enthralled by the Elders. Despite their resemblance to terrestrial snakes, the Viper is actually a wholly extraterrestrial species unmodified by human DNA. Spitting poison and binding their victims make this alien dangerous just as any other alien on this list.

4. Mutons

A frontline unit of the ADVENT army. Standing over 6′6″, this humanoid creature is physically powerful and aggressive, but mentally weak. They appear to be the least intelligent, however, studies showed that their memory is imprinted with high amount of knowledge in combat tactics and weaponry.

5. Archon

According to the knowledge shared by scientists that are working in the ADVENT territory, this particular specimen is both mechanical and organic. They have received extensive mechanical implants, including ones that replace the internal organs. Due to its modifications, there is no distinguishing line between mechanical and biological to describe this creature. The visual design of the Archon is based on the Egyptian gods, featuring ornate gold armor, a wreath-like design for its levitation jets and a muscular physique.

6. Chryssalid

Not much is known about these nasty creatures. The only knowledge we have is that they use to walk in packs, tend to burrow into the ground and their poison on the claws of theirs can affect any organic being as it is their only way of reproduction. Organics that are killed by a Chryssalid attack or die by the poison will become a cocoon; If the cocoon is not destroyed during the gestation period, up to three new Chryssalids will emerge from the cocoon. One of the scientist that studied them claims that their previous version’s way of reproduction used to be far scarier and nastier than now.

7. Berserker

The Berserker appears to be a larger, more heavily armored Muton. As a melee-only attacker, the Berserker relies on its superior health, defense and higher movement rate in order to close the distance between itself and its enemies; the Berserker also benefits from higher will than a basic Muton.

8. Chosen

Last but not least, we have three aliens of their own kind. People call them ‘The Chosen’. Since they all have humanish look, there are claims that these could be either created or remade humans. According to the knowledge gathered from the databases, they could be around 8′ tall if not more and are considered Elders’ ‘children’, which leads to a fact they are also considered siblings. The one with the hood is Hunter, an unmatched sniper according to the claims, it’s being said that he has a bit of jester-y behavior. The elder-looking one is Warlock, the most psionically gifted out of those three. He is, according to the rumors, ‘a bit crazy’, in what sense though, is not known. And last one is Assassin, one of the best swordsmen ever alive in ADVENT lines. She is told to be the most ‘normal’ when it comes to behavior unlike her siblings. According to logs, they also should have names, but they are not publicly known unfortunately.

There could be more alien species on both sides, but if there are, they are not known yet.

Necris :

Alien race which looks awfully close to humans, the only difference is the gray pale skin and completely white eyes without pupils (although there was a case with pupils spotted once in the Tournament), whether they human look is their true form or not is unknown. Their society is known as Phayder which declared guerrilla war againsts New Earth before. According to the claims, Necris are an alien race that was, "until now, rarely seen." Their thirst for fighting is given by very odd belief, The Necris, and thereby the Phayder, believe that they are bringing "salvation" to the universe, by giving others "purpose" through death. They consider life to be a weakness and are grateful to the Nanoblack and the Necris Process for their present state of being.

Factions :

The civil war divided the sector into four factions :

Order of the Thunder

Commonly refered to as Order is the faction made purely out of humans fighting for the humanity and of course NEG. Their common enemy are Skaarj, but if provoked, they will fight ADVENT or even their own if there is need for it. They are well-armed, disciplined and will be protagonists of main story (Yes, I am thinking of making stories from this shit and yes, Chosen will be part of them, just so you Chosen lovers will be happy). There is also a fair amount of Tournament survivors confirmed to be among them.

Coalition

ADVENT’s faction. Same as Order, they want to fight the Skaarj as they believe that they could surely get something out of it too. However, they might get into conflict with Order too if they will not be careful enough as Order is zealous in their cause. They hope that such thing won’t happen, as they still see humans as good trade partners.

Raziks

Skaarj faction. They are willing to fight humanity once again and believe that this time, they will finally win and claim humanity as their slaves as they did it with already mentioned races under them. Since ADVENT attacked their base, they will be divided into two fronts, more Warriors will be deployed againsts Coalition and more Troopers againsts Order.

Mercs

“Sure we’ll fight... as long as the payment’s good.” Motto of every member of Mercs. Mercs are neutral faction and will fight for whoever will pay them high enough to do so. The faction is made out of humans, robots and aliens. Some of them are fighting only for money. Some for money and fun. Some for money and glory. There will be money in every case though, as it is with every mercenary. Most of the time, they were working for Liandri Corporation, there is even an evidence that some fought in the Tournament. They have their own armies, bases and even infrastructure which makes them rather a Private Military Company rather than just Mercenaries, it is obvious that Liandri pays them rather well.

That’s it for today, I originally wanted to add something more, but I can always add that later. I was working on this whole day, so I hope you’ll enjoy this ‘small’ piece from me after a long time. I have also in plan to add Arsenal eventually, which is the content I wanted to originally add, however... I am tired now. I’ll take another half-year long pause from writing. :P (just kidding lol)

#CrossOver #xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #chosen #aliens #unreal #unreal tournament #sci-fi #lore #skaarj

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thatlastdanceofchances · 4 years

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Torchwood monthly range survey - series 3

Time for the current results for series 3 of the Big Finish Torchwood monthly range. The survey is still open on the Torchwood EU website (torchwood-eu.xyz).

There are 27 participants for series 3.

Once again, the Ianto-centric story, The Office of Never Was, is the one leading the audience question.

(Cascade’s true title is taking half the graph :-D)

As expected, the ones not linked to the Torchwood Three characters we know and love (Torchwood during World War II in The Dying Hours and Torchwood LA in the 1970s in The Dollhouse) get the least listeners.

I’m a bit surprised that Visiting Hours is not higher but it is in line with most audios of series 2. I guess that means it’s Tosh (in Cascade) and Owen (in his first Big Finish story in Corpse Day) getting lots of love more than people not being interested in Rhys.

This time, no story gets a 100% approval score though Cascade is close (17 out of 18 people would recommend the story and none disliked it).

The Favourite label is for votes in “Which stories would you recommend to others?”.

The Dislike label is for votes in “Which ones disappointed you or did you dislike for whatever reason?”.

The Indifferent label is the number of listeners minus the number of Favourite and Dislike votes.

Corpse Day and The Office of Never Was have the same high ratio of Favourite (78%) though The Office of Never Was has more Dislike votes in proportion. From comments I’ve seen, I think it’s the ending that might turn some people off. It is a pretty low number though (15%).

The Dying Room has a pretty good approval score for an audio not focused on the usual characters. I personally loved it so I definitely get why. Still, a third of the listeners disliked it or were disappointed in it.

Visiting Hours mostly left people indifferent or disappointed (45% each) with only 9% of recommendations. Yeah, I can see that. Maybe it’s why it has a lower number of listeners. No glowing reviews means less listeners if my theory that word-of-mouth plays a big role in the fandom holds.

But that’s nothing compared to The Dollhouse that has a 78% disapproval score, the highest in all series so far! In series 1 to 3, the second largest disapproval score is 45%: Visiting Hours, which is also in series 3. Ouch!

Let’s hope the stories of series 4 fare better! (Obvious) spoiler: The Last Beacon is in series 4 and it is doing very well. ;-)

#torchwood #torchwood eu project #data visualisation is my passion #torchwood monthly range series 3

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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Tony Stark-Whatever it takes

This was kind of requested by @hulksmashin-bannerpackin, since I hadn’t thought about writting a second part and she proposed! This is a second part of this fic, although it can be read as its own. There is a time gap. I hope you enjoy it!

Plot: something in Tony’s gut tells him that this recording is neccesary. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does it anyways.

Tony struggled to sit down, the constant pain on his back that he had gotten over the past five years weighting him down. Slowly, he slid against the cream paper wall you had chosen for the living room of the cabin in the woods. In his opinion, it had been ugly, unfashion and quite boring. But one look from you had been enough for him to nod excitedly about the colour of the wall.

He smiled at the memory. Lately, he had been gifted with tons of happy memories. Your weeding, in that beach where Rodhey had fallen in the sand. The birth of your daughter, Morgan, and her constant joy. She made his heart beat a little bit faster, the same way you had kept him alive for so many years. The family meetings, his fixed relationship with Steve, the new will of waking up every morning. Tony Stark had built a lot of new memories over the past five years, where he had decided step aside from being Ironman and enjoy life the way it was presented to him.

The first months had been difficult. After the blip, the snap, everything had changed. Tony’s brain felt like someone had pressed the fast forward button on a remote, while it was on pause. The world around him seemed to zip by, while he was slowly pulled through a murky haze.

I don’t wanna go. I don’t want to go. Mr Stark, pleas, please. I don’t want to go, sir, please…

His heart had broken at the kid’s words. Then, it had been broken again when the realisation of being in a spaceship with you, pregnant with his kid, hit him. The fear and the anxiety had been stuck on his brain since then, and had made him wake up with night terrors every few months. Luckily, you had been there to hold him; but they didn’t go away. And that was the main reason why he was sitting against the wall of his living room, only a dim light filling the place, pyjamas pants on.

Tony had put Morgan to sleep an hour ago. The little girl had been up while he worked on time travel, and had heard him say shit when he had discovered how to bring everyone back. On the other side of the house, you were sound asleep on your side of the bed, his sweater covering your torso. He had kissed your forehead before closing the door and walking downstairs.

If he was really going to do that, he needed to be alone. He wanted to cry and he hadn’t even started.

“Fri?” he asked, voice low. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir. Whenever you’re ready”

Was he? Tony Stark knew the answer. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye; he never wanted to say goodbye to you, the woman that had given him everything. Or to his daughter, the girl who had made him believe in happiness. But he had to do it.

The decision had come to him seconds after he had figured time travel. If he was really going to go back in time, he had to do it well. They were traveling to the past, then coming back, and finally, if they were lucky, fight Thanos or whatever the destiny had for them. He was scared shitless; but if any of those things helped to create a safer world for you, his daughter, and his lost kid, he would do it.

So he had decided to make a kind of video diary, in case something happened. In case things went south, and you had to put Morgan to bed without his bedtime stories. He didn’t want to think about it; everything was going to be just fine, he was going to come back and take care of his family. Maybe, even propose you to have a second kid. Yeah, that sounded really cool.

Tony smiled one last time, breathing deeply, before signalling to FRIDAY she could start recording.

A faint blue light came out of the small device in front of him. It shinned brightly for a second, so bright that he had to close his eyes. When he could finally open them, the light had gone softer and there was a soft humming noise in the living room

“Delete that later, Fri” he whispered, listening to the mechanical answer of the AI. He wished you would be there, holding his hand and telling him that it wasn’t necessary. But that wasn’t possible; if you knew, you would come too, and he couldn’t think about that. “Hey Y/N. I really hope you don’t have to see this. It’s just-It’s a stupid feeling, might not be right”

A stupid feeling that had to be with the inevitable truth that Doctor Strange had given up willing the stone to Thanos. He had said it was the only way, and he had lost the kid. So, if what they were going to do was the right path, Tony could only imagine what would cost him.

Whatever it takes, right?

“Don’t feel bad about this, it was my decision. You know I have quite the hero-complex, you knew what you were marrying” Tony tried to chuckle, but came out as a sad laugh. He wanted to seem happy, if that was going to be the last thing you were going to see of him. So he picked himself up and smiled at the camera. “You know, part of the journey is the end. And I couldn’t be more glad of what I got to live in that journey.”

Somehow, Tony wished he was back in the spaceship. He had recorded himself a few times there, for Rodhey, Steve and Happy. But you had been there, and it had been easier. Also, the galaxy calmed him down. It amazed him that the only thing separating him from the unknown had been a thin piece of glass. Its beauty could only be compared with yours.

“If… if you’re seeing this it means something has happened to me” he sighed, fidgeting with a small tool on his hand. “Just for the record, it’s highly improbable. I have something to come back to, I have my happiness and heart here, and I won’t do anything dangerous. Unless your safety or future is on the line. If it’s, please, don’t blame yourself.”

Tony’s heart hurt. It was not the type of hurt of Afghanistan, or of when Pepper had left him because of being too intense. Neither it was like the pain he felt when the kid was turned into ash, or when he had to wait for the results of your baby health once you were back in Earth. It felt deeper, as if someone was stabbing him with thousands of needles.

“You’ve given me everything I’m today, Y/N” he had to stop himself from looking away; you didn’t deserve that. “I… I’m a better man now. An it’s all thanks to you, thanks to your love and Morgan. I can’t picture my future, my life, if it isn’t with you. I love you. And I love Morgan”

The first tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to stop the video and start again. He had learned that it wasn’t worthy to hide his feelings from you. You understood him, you loved him enough for him to not feel ashamed about it. So Tony let the tear fall down his chin, until it landed on his t-shirt.

“I hope that, in my loving memory, you keep respecting your bedtime and keep your room tidy. I officially give permission to mom to sell all of your toys away. I already left her the number of the charity organization, so you better behave, Morg. I love you baby. Don’t ever forget that”

He pictured your smile. The way your lips curved slightly when he made a bad science pun, or when he ended up with a mess in the lab. Rosy cheeks when he complimented you, or when he put the weeding ring on your finger just after you gave birth. That was without any doubt his favourite smile; the one you gave him before fainting in the hospital bed in exhaustion.

“And to Rodhey. Man, I’m so grateful for the things you have put up with. Not everyone can stand me the way you’ve done” Tony smiled. “You’re worth more than what Ironman will ever do. Thanks for being always there for me. And I love you too, even if I don’t say it that much”

He thought about your laugh. The light airy chuckle you made when you were embarrassed about something he did in public, as climbing on a desk just to admire how beautiful you were that night. Or the incontrollable fit of laugher that hit you every now and then and that you tried to hide on his shoulder. A lively and vivacious laugh that seemed to echo around him, and light his darkest days.

“I really hope Peter can see this” Tony said, jaw tightening. “I’ve… made some mistakes over the years. All of them because I was too blind to see how pure and good you are. You’re more than welcome to be a part of this family. Morgan is dying to meet you, and Y/N has a room prepared for you. I’m… proud of you kid. I’ll be always proud of who you are.”

He envisioned the way you held him when the nights became rough. The way you wrapped both arms around his back and pull your bodies close together, whispering sweet words of encouragement on his ear. The way you locked your arms around him in the tightest hug, that in the last five years had added a third person, a baby who managed to grab both of your attention and love. The way your fingers and hands ran up and down his scalp, massaging his head until he fell asleep on the coach.

“And to Y/N… I don’t have enough time to tell you all the things you deserve” Tony let a second tear run down his cheek. “You deserved much more than me, yet decided that a broken mechanic with nightmares, anxiety and an alcohol problem was your type. Thank you for showing me to love and to be loved. If… if anything happens, I’ll think about you. Because you’re the light in my life, it would be only logic if you were the light at the end of the tunnel”

Tony remembered the way your lips would attach to his own. The first time he had kissed you, was in a celebration. Full of important people, famous actors and singers and a bunch of avengers. It had been the faintest peck on your lips, in front of all of them; and you had shouted at him until he had to cover his ears. Tony thought of the way your tongues would fight against each other, in the mores passionate embrace. All the goodbye kisses before the missions, the good morning ones and the just because I wanted.

“It’s… It’s has always been you, Y/N. I love you” he smiled one last time, and there was a pregnant pause.

Everything was silent in the house, and, for Tony, the video had a full meaning then. But he wasn’t going to let you know that he suspected how it was going to end, so he clapped his hands and got up.

“But this is just a feeling. Something stupid the brain does when it’s anxious about a situation. Tomorrow is going to go well and we’ll be happy forever, with two kids making our hairs go grey” Tony laughed, and walked towards the recorder. “Maybe a third, if everything goes right? I mean, Peter is not ours but it’s nothing a few papers can’t fix”

His hand shook when he reached for the camera, and he showed the unshed tears on it. Stopping for a second, he found nothing but happiness and calm on his mind. He wasn’t sad, wasn’t mad at the destiny for not letting him enjoy his family or afraid of what was yet to come.

He felt glad that he had gotten to share his journey with you.

“Love you 3000”

Tony smiled one last time to the camera, showing no fear; only happiness and a faint glint of love. He turned carefully off the record button and shut off the device.

That night, Tony Stark laid down on bed and wrapped himself around you tighter, shushing you when you asked if something was wrong. He got up a few hours before the sun just to make love to you for three times. That morning, Tony Stark prepared an amazing breakfast and invited everyone over. They had a wonderful time and he spent a few hours just playing around with you and Morgan.

When the time came, he kissed you for a little longer; until Morgan made a disgusting noise and demanded the attention of his father. Then, he hug her until she was moaning about being too tight.

When Tony looked at you for the last time, he smiled. He winked at his daughter, and later he would hug Rodhey and Peter, muttering how proud he was of the both of them.

And in his last breath, he saw you with opening arms, and he smiled. Because you were safe, his family was safe and he couldn’t have been more happy.

Whatever it takes.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tony Tags:

@snoopy3000

@hannie-c

#tony stark #tony stark imagine #tony stark one shot #tony stark x reader #rdj #rdj imagine #rdj x reader #rdj one shot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers one shot #avengers x reader #imaginemai #ironman #iron man #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man one shot

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yourmandevine · 3 years

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Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so.

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

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She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

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“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

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Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months.

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.

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betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years

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Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#130-121)

#130: Franco Battiato and Alice -- I Treni di Tozeur (Italy 1984)

“In una vecchia miniera, distese di sale E un ricordo di me, come un incantesimo”

“In an old empty mine, the salt extends And I seem to remember it, like a dream”

Franco Battiato was one of Italy's greatest songwriters, known for his complex songs in a mix of genres. Unfortunately, I haven't listened to most of his discography, but I do know of "Per Elisa", the song he wrote for Alice which won Sanremo 1981 (coincidentially, the first year Italy withdrew from Eurovision, welp). It's thoughtful and its incorporation of Fur Elise is well-done with its synthesizers.

In comparison, I treni di Tozeur is not a song readily caught by first listening, and that’s why it’s not my favorite of its year. This doesn’t mean it’s not a good song, though—it's sounds eerily futuristic even for the synth-based 1980s, and actually timeless. The lyrics seem ambivalent, but I think there’s some philosophical bent towards them. One of the commentaries talk about the train to Tozeur being built in the early twentieth century to satisfy the whims of the King of Tunisia, at a huge cost. Maybe there's some social commentary sneaking in there.

The performance was good, but it seems like Alice had a bit more control of her voice. She did so with style, and I actually liked her outfit.

In addition, the opera singers at the end were the cherry of the cake. A mix of classical and modern, indeed, which earned itself classic status.

Personal ranking: 2nd/19 Actual ranking: =5th/19 (with Belgium) in Luxembourg

#129: Linda Martin -- Terminal 3 (Ireland 1984)

“Staring into a space, searching through every face He's been away too long now, he must have changed”

I feel like there are two types of people in terms of 1984--those who have Alice and Batiatto (#130) as their favorite, and those who have Linda Martin as theirs. As shown by how close they are on my list, I love both, but Linda Martin just eeks it out.

The storytelling aspect of the song is very strong, as Linda waits for her lover to come from an international flight. Ironically, it can't be from Dublin, as no Irish airport has a third terminal. Maybe it's from London's she's waiting for her love? Or the flight is coming to the United States, rather than from it? Mysteries indeed.

(Now my life goal is to be at Terminal 3 at 10:30; one of David Tao's most famous songs is 飞机场的10:30--Airport at 10:30, which deals with the same topic)

The New Wave instrumentation and orchestration add up to the drama too--the brass grabs me from the first beats, and the strings and rock influences remain as the song goes on. It's kind of hard to believe Johnny Logan was behind this, especially considering he's better known for his ballads. If she had to win one Eurovision, Terminal 3 had to be the one.

Personal ranking: 1st/19 Actual ranking: 2nd/19 in Luxembourg

#128: Halla Margrét - Hægt og hljótt (Iceland 1987)

"Kvöldið hefur flogið alltof fljótt Fyrir utan gluggann komin nótt Kertin er’ að brenna upp Glösin orðin miklu meir’en tóm"

"The evening has fled all too fast Outside the window night has come The candles are burning low The glasses have become much more than empty"

As their debut entry was fun and "in-your"face", Iceland’s second entry has an afterparty feeling, but I've heard some comparisons to being a Christmas song. It doesn't sound like it to me, but it's still really serene and beautiful, as if the snow was falling outside (not unlike #213 on this list).

The lyrics are quite gentle and pretty, painting a dainty picture. However, they also contain enough melancholy to add a tinge of darkness to the scene, which is why I don't think it would work as a Christmas song. Halla’s vocals are very pure, and adds enough delicacy to the composition. The piano and orchestration also helps.

What stands out more is the funny notes related to Hægt og hljótt--one refers to the last line of their chorus, which is bufflaxed to "anus in the air" in English, another mentions how Halla's dress is see-through against the white piano, almost as if she was a ghost. Very strange, especially the latter as the lyrics focuses on the upcoming dawn. Or it would make a good fan-fiction, come to think of it.

Personal ranking: 3rd/22 Actual ranking: 16th/22 in Brussels

#127: Raphael -- Yo soy aquél (Spain 1966)

“Yo soy aquél, Que por tenerte da la vida, Yo soy aquél, Que estando lejos, no te olvida,

“I'm that one, Who gives his life to have you I'm that one Who's far away and doesn't forget you”

When I first did this sorter, Yo soy aquel ended up close to being in my top 50. It was a surprise, because despite being one of my favorite songs from Spain, I didn't think about as much in terms of great songs, even though it's a beautiful song.

The opening bars to this song are filled with drama, which gives way to Raphael’s crooning for the one he loves. The lyrics are a bit repetitive, sure, but they still work in how Raphael wants his love to know he will be there. I particularly love the way the song builds, which, combined with his singing, creates a brooding atmosphere. The explosion in the chorus is really effective, which the orchestra compliments and actually amplifies. You could actually feel his passion thanks to those strings.

1966 was an incredible year (especially for a black-and-white contest), and if I could switch one of Spain's wins, I would drop La La La for this in one second (even though there's another song from this year on my top 250). Massiel doesn't hold a candle to Raphael.

Personal ranking: 2nd/18 Actual ranking: =7th/18 (with Yugoslavia) in Luxembourg

#126: Liam Reilly -- Somewhere in Europe (Ireland 1990)

“We should be together, and maybe we just might If you could only meet me somewhere in Europe tonight”

For my European friends, I wish for this lyric to come true! I am sadly ill-traveled, haha.

When I started to consider this top 250, I thought "Somewhere in Europe" would be song #250, because it was pleasant and pretty, but wouldn't trouble the rest of the list. When I was re-arranging the list, this was one of the songs which got a great boost, and now it sits just outside of the top half of this list!

As for this song, I like it a lot. It not only a pretty little ditty, but it also takes the theme of unity and takes one on an adventure. Because of the piano-based instrumental, I keep thinking that it's like a Billy Joel song, as it's quite homebrewed. While I don’t think this would’ve made a better winner than Insieme (or White and Black Blues, for that matter--France winning would bring some new energy to the contest), Liam Reilly proved he was a talented songwriter, and it shines with the orchestration too.

As a result, I keep thinking that it would be a good New Year's Eve song--it's nostalgic yet calming, and seeks out a better future. Unfortunately, Liam Reilly died on New Year's Day this year, which makes it a bit sadder. RIP.

Personal ranking: 8th/22 Actual ranking: =2nd/22 (with France) in Zagreb

#125: Rita -- Shara Bachravot (Israel 1990)

לבוקר הזה יש טעם של חופש זר כמו של מוות או ברכה כי הלכתי ממך”

“This morning, Has the taste of strange freedom Like of death or a blessing Because I went away from you”

(I actually heard of Rita before stumbling on her Eurovision entry--one song I really like is Idan Raichel's Mechake (Waiting), and I searched the web. One of the results was Rita's version of his composition, which compared to Raichel's, is a bit more produced. Still great!)

1990 focuses on freedom in many ways, especially because of the Berlin Wall falling and the end of communism. Shara Barkhovot also talks about freedom, but does so in another way.

It’s basically a tale of a relationship ending, with a woman leaving her partner in the morning. It’s frequently interpreted as running away from abuse, and the imagery involved does a good job in conveying that feeling.

It’s dramatic and passionate, with Rita “emoting” the song rather than merely performing it. Unfortunately, it does go off the rails later on, with her vocals losing out at points. I still like how she played with the microphone stand, though!

Personal ranking: 7th/22 Actual ranking: 18th/22 in Zagreb

#124: Helena Paparizou -- My Number One (Greece 2005)

“You're my lover Undercover You're my sacred passion and I have no other.”

Helena Paparizou was one of those artists that I knew that participated in Eurovision, but didn’t listen to her song until much later. I found out about her with the song “Heroes”, which I played a lot when I was younger (about 11-13 years old), and didn’t think about her in the contest, other than she won and she received a wide ovation when she returned to Greece.

My Number One is all kinds of fun, from the ethnic instrumental to the sometimes silly lyrics. I also love the performance featuring Helena playing a human lyre, which is a definite highlight! A fun and energetic bop (the last of a holy trinity of ethno-influenced dance winners during this time), now I’m a happy fan of hers (I really listened to Kati Skoteino a lot since 2018, for example. Plus her Mambo interval the following year is fantastic.)

On whether this or "Die For You" was the better song, it's hard to tell, especially on how close they are on this list. Whereas 2001 was the weaker year and Die for You had to win it, My Number One was in a stronger year and held its own. And yet it's not my favorite...

Personal ranking: 2nd/39 Actual ranking: 1st/24 GF in Kyiv

#123: Vanilla Ninja -- Cool Vibes (Switzerland 2005)

“Don't want you to come so close to me Don't need you to blow my fantasy But I know that you are livin' far beyond those lies I can see the danger rise in your eyes...”

From my last place in 2004 to my favorite in 2005, what a glow up from Switzerland! Though to be honest, I have a hard time determining why this song in particular is my favorite of its year. I did come in knowing that Switzerland was the only one of the original seven to not win in my timeline, so that may have impacted my thinking.

Cool Vibes a dark rock song, with occasionally dramatic lyrics (though then again, emo rock was getting popular during that time), but an intriguing musical atmosphere. Despite 2005 being known as the "ethno-bop year", there were a number of interesting rock songs (e.g. In My Dreams), and this holds up by its sheer seriousness, versus the occasionally silly vibe of those others.

And with that string motif, it does sound like a song that needs an orchestra to realize its full potential. There's a lot of hidden angst throughout the song, and the multiple key changes actually helps here.

Personal ranking: 1st/39 Actual ranking: 8th/24 GF in Kyiv

Final Impressions on Switzerland: Not one of my favorite countries in the contest, unfortunately. I find most of their entries to be quite non-descript, with some of them being very bad. That said, they do have a number of gems on here, and some great ones that just missed out (Moi, tout simplement; Io senza te; She Got Me especially). And with the track they are now, they could actually win in the next few years. Hopefully with a French-language song. :)

#122: Tanja Ribič - Zbudi se (Slovenia 1997)

“Zbudi se, dobri princ Rada bi ti dala vse Svoje sanje in mladost Da ne bom iz pravljice”

“Wake up, good prince I would like to give you all My dreams and my youth Break the spell of the fairy tale”

Sometimes I forget I love this song. As 1997 is one of the strongest years (if not the strongest year song-wise), there are so many good ones one can't remember all of them. Zbudi se a bit dark and fits in very well with the rest of the 1990s with its mythical character (and might be the first Balkan ballad proper), but Tanja does it so well. And she would later be more known for her acting!

When I do listen to it, it just takes me away. It’s a dark fairytale, with beautiful lyrics and an intriguing atmosphere. The narrator longs for her loved one, filled with magical imagery and dreaminess. I also appreciate the transition between the lyrics and the chorus, which can be very hard to do! And of course, the orchestration, including the harp parts in particular, create a fantastic soundscape.

Personal ranking: 8th/25 Actual ranking: 10th/25 in Dublin

#121: Lúcia Moniz - O meu coração não tem cor (Portugal 1996)

“Dança-se o samba, a marrabenta também, Chora-se o fado, rola-se a coladeira.”

“We dance the samba, the marrabenta too, We weep the fado, and roll the coladeira”

Curiously, for a song which was one twelve away from a top-three finish, O meu coração não tem cor seems a bit less known within Portugal. It even didn't get a studio release, and Lucia is better known for being the love interest in Love Actually. And yet it's still a fan-favorite within Eurovision.

The lyrics call out to everyone in the Portuguese diaspora (or the Lusosphere in general), and welcomes them to engage in their cultural traditions. We have fruit and dance and crying and laughter all at once. All kinds of fun, except when the clips grayscale and I keep thinking of those "in memoriam" scenes.

And it managed impress in another way; it came in 18th in the audio-only pre-qualifer which only appeared in 1996. Thanks to the brazen and fun orchestration, along with Lucia's very sweet voice, it was lifted up in the final to a solid sixth place! Very well-deserved.

Personal ranking: 5th/23 Actual ranking: 6th/23 in Oslo

#eurovision song contest #eurovision #esc top 250 #esc 250 #esc italy #esc ireland #esc iceland #esc israel #esc greece #esc switzerland #esc slovenia #esc portugal #vintage eurovision #three minutes to eternity

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

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Four Things Felix Rosier Remembered.

Fall 1980

"And this is Felix Rosier," the Slytherin prefect says, introducing the first year to the teenagers seated around the fire. "Yes, yes. Of those Rosiers."

Eyes turn to inspect the eleven year old Felix. He's acutely conscious of how short he is compared to the older students.

"Well, don't just stand there," says the prefect with an encouraging smile, motioning Felix to join them. "Come. Sit."

Felix takes stiff steps toward the sofa. When he reaches it, the prefect pats the space next to him and Felix perches straight-backed on the edge of the seat.

The prefect's badge gleams in the firelight. So do his perfect, even teeth as he flashes his dazzling smile again. Felix wonders which of those is the main supplier of the older boy's supreme confidence, and how he, Felix, might go about obtaining it.

"So, you’re Evan's...brother?" asks the girl across from him. Her skin and hair are dark, but her eyes are such a light grey they're almost white and painful to look at. They flash as cold and cutting as diamonds.

"Cousin," Felix answers. "But I see him all the time. He stays at our manor most summers."

"Really?" the girl drawls, smiling in a way that makes Felix uncomfortable and tapping her cheek with a long black fingernail. "I'd love to hear more about him."

The boy next to her glances up from his book at this. He eyes the girl disdainfully before warning Felix, "I wouldn't go throwing that bit of information around, if I were you. Unless you want to get yourself hexed."

"What does that mean?" asks Felix confused.

"It means he's a coward," sneers the girl with diamond-like eyes and she flicks the boy with the book hard on the temple. The boy turns on her, snarling. They draw wands so fast Felix barely sees it and he flinches involuntarily.

The prefect intervenes. "Enough," he commands. "We don't eat our own."

The girl and the boy glare at each other, but lower their wands. Felix gazes at the prefect in awe.

The prefect crosses one leg over the other comfortably and addresses Felix. "What he means, Rosier, is that a lot of the students and staff here are related to people your cousin has killed. All in the name of the cause, of course, but still...you're not likely to make friends with anyone outside of the house by dropping his name."

Felix furrows his brow. "I don't understand. Aren't most people on our side now? My father says it's only ‘the dregs’ left."

The diamond-eyed girl chuckles at this. It makes Felix shiver.

"He isn't wrong. But the dregs make up a sizeable proportion of this place," she says scornfully.

When Felix continues to look puzzled, the prefect again interprets. "While the real war may be going in our favour, the school has not yet been cleansed. There are three other houses, each full of mudbloods and traitors who will hex you as soon as look at you just because you wear green. If they find out who your family is-"

"Let's just say, they'll attribute it a less pleasant sort of honour," the girl finishes. She mimes throwing a curse at Felix using her finger as a wand. He flinches again, visibly, and she laughs at him.

"Don't worry, Rosier," the prefect reassures him. "You're in Slytherin now. We're our own family here. We watch out for each other, have each other's backs. Never forget that." He puts an arm around Felix's shoulder and squeezes lightly. "It's why we're the top house."

A tingling warmth spreads through Felix's chest at the physical contact, burning away the nervous tension. The older students continue to chatter, but Felix only half-listens, focused on enjoying the feeling of belonging that he's craved for so long.

Winter 1980

"So, you're Felix Rosier," the older boy chuckles, straightening his green and silver tie. "Nearly had it there, didn't you?"

Felix scrambles to his feet, shame burning in his cheeks. He kicks aside the legs of the Gryffindor third year lying partly on top of him, immobilised by the older boy's timely jinx.

"Thank you," Felix pants, retrieving his wand from the floor.

"Bit old for you to go picking a fight with, isn't he?"

Felix scowls. "He's a mud-blood. He made a crack about my cousin."

The older boy makes a derisive chuffing sound and Felix looks at him more closely. Obviously in Slytherin, by his tie, but Felix hasn't seen him before. He's tall and well-built, exuding that casually confident air that Felix wishes for so desperately. He twirls his wand absently between his fingers, and Felix makes a mental note to practice that later.

"Mud-blood," repeats the older boy with something like amusement. "Listen kid, all that stuff about blood? It's a myth. Blood doesn't have anything to do with your magic."

Felix gapes at him. "But...my father says-"

" 'Rosier', right?" the older boy interrupts. "Yeah, you've got those old-fashioned sort of parents. Lots of people in our house do." The older boy motions for Felix to follow him and they set off down the deserted corridor. "Do yourself a favor," the boy continues, "Don't buy into all that rubbish. It'll hold you back from allying yourself with people who could be useful to you."

They come to a door at the end of the hallway, and the older boy opens it with a tap of his wand. Felix notices he doesn't have to voice his spell.

"Some of the most powerful wizards I know are muggle-borns. And the power of your magic is what matters." They step out into a hallway Felix has never seen before, and the older boy leads him toward a tapestry concealing a flight of stairs.

Felix isn't sure what to say. He's never heard anyone talk like this before. He realizes with a jolt that the boy must not be a Death Eater, the way he naturally assumes everyone in his house is.

"You don't work with the Dark Lord, then?"

"Nope. I only work for myself. Jump that step, it's a trick," the older boy warns, and Felix hops over the step in question hurrying to catch up.

"Choosing a side is just backing yourself into a corner," explains the older boy. He glances left and right before stepping off the staircase into a passageway Felix finally recognizes as leading to the dungeons. "Good guys and bad guys, right and wrong, that shit changes all the time. But you know what lasts forever?" The boy turns and winks at the open-mouthed Felix: "Treasure."

"What, like gold?" asks Felix, awe-struck.

The boy raises an eyebrow mysteriously. "There's all kinds of treasure, kid."

They've reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The older boy gives the password and the wall begins to open. He motions with his hand for Felix to go through.

"Aren't you coming?" Felix asks hopefully. He isn't sure he understands any of what the older boy is saying, but it's fascinating, and he doesn't want the conversation to end just yet.

The older boy shakes his head. "Nope. Things to do. Just wanted to make sure you didn't get yourself cursed on the way back. The halls are dangerous right now."

Felix hesitates. "Do you think...you could show me that jinx sometime?"

"Wish I could, kid, but between you and me? I don't think I'll be around here much longer." The older boy winks again, and sidesteps Felix before he can ask anything else. "But there's a book on dueling hidden in the artefact room. Look through it sometime. And remember what I said."

"I will," Felix assures him, wondering which of the many strange things the boy has said in their short conversation he's talking about specifically. Felix walks dazedly through the entrance wall, then remembers something and whips around.

"What's your name?" he asks as the bricks begin to close between them.

The older boy gives him a lop-sided grin. "Jacob Windsong."

Winter 1981

"You are Felix Rosier!" His father pronounces, giving the last name an emphasis bordering on reverence. "Rosiers do not give in the demands of peasants."

The first rule of the house is not to contradict his father. Felix knows this better than anyone.

"But my name doesn't mean anything anymore! Not to anyone at school! They-"

The sight of his father's drawn wand makes Felix's throat constrict and his voice fade away to nothing. His father lifts the wand to point at Felix's torso and he flinches involuntarily.

"Doesn't mean anything?" His father repeats the offensive words, his voice low and deadly. "It is a pureblood name of the most noble history. A leader even among the Sacred Twenty-Eight." His dark eyes flash with fury as he intones, "It means everything."

Felix's insides writhe in silent despair. He can't decide which he fears more: his father's wrath or finishing his second year at Hogwarts.

The two months since the fall of the Dark Lord have been chaos. It's open season on anyone with even the most distant death eater affiliation. Felix has lost count of the number of times he's been hexed in the halls, even by students in his own house, desperate to prove to the rest of the school they're not one of those Slytherins. We don't eat our own, his prefect had said. But that's all gone to hell now, and his prefect with it. Like most of the house, he disappeared before the holiday break.

"Beauxbatons is just as prestigious as Hogwarts," his mother ventures timidly from her chair near the fire. "And the estate in France needs caring for. Why not go where the name will be appreciated?"

His father turns his glare at his mother, who lowers her eyes like a dog.

"Because we've lost a battle, not a war." His father begins to pace. "The Dark Lord will return. And if he doesn't, someone else will rise eventually. I will not abandon the cause, nor let Evan's death be in vain."

He shoots a dark look at his son. His father had never made his preference for Evan a secret. He often remarked in Felix's presence how much more satisfactory Evan was in every way.

Jealously sparks inside Felix, rekindling his nerve. "Father, I don't want to go back. I want to go to Beauxbatons. I-"

His father stops pacing and revolves on the spot to face him.

Felix's voice falters. "Please."

His father does not speak until he's towering over Felix. His voice is so low it's almost a whisper, but Felix cringes at the fury behind each word.

"There are more important things than always doing what you want." For such a slight man, his father takes up an enormous amount of space. He's all Felix can see. "Want is for children. For lesser wizards. Those who do not have the weight of a sacred name to uphold. Do you understand?"

Felix nods.

"Answer me." His father's hand twitches toward his pocket where his wand is hidden. Felix gulps.

"Yes, sir."

His father grips Felix's chin and jerks his head up to look him directly in the eye.

"Evan is dead and I am in disgrace.” He says this without the least emotion. "As much as it pains me, you are the face of the Rosiers now." He relinquishes his grip on Felix, who keeps his eyes forward all the same.

"So, you will return to Hogwarts. You will excel. If they push you, you will push back. Harder. You will make the name Rosier great again. And you will not disappoint me. Do you understand?"

Felix's dread has not abated. It still sits in his stomach like a leaden weight. But there's something else growing in him now too. This is what he's always wanted. A chance to prove himself. To prove he's just as powerful as Evan was. That he can be what his father wants. That he is worthy of his name.

Felix lifts his chin a little higher, trying to mimic his father's perfect, imperious expression.

"Yes, sir."

Fall 1984

"You're Felix Rosier?" the Gryffindor girl called Angelica glares at him, arms crossed. "Cousin of Evan? Son of that bastard who bought his way out of Azkaban?"

Felix is on his feet, wand drawn in less than a second, but all three of the train compartment's other occupants are right behind him. The four new prefects size each other up, wands raised. The tall, lanky Ravenclaw prefect called Chester speaks first.

"Let's just all take a breath, okay? It we start dueling each other before we even reach school, they'll take our badges away." Chester sets his face grimly. "And I don't know about you, but I worked hard to be here."

Angelica and Felix regard each other warily, each lowering their wand at exactly the same time. The short Hufflepuff prefect called Jane mutters something that sounds like "Babies," before tucking her own wand away.

The train gives a lurch as it rounds a corner, and all four are forced to resume their seats before they topple over. A very tense silence follows. Felix keeps his face guarded, but his heart sinks into his stomach. This is exactly the sort of confrontation he's been dreading.

It's almost three years since the war ended, and the attacks in the halls have largely subsided. Slytherins still keep mostly to themselves, and Felix is no exception. But being a prefect has been his dream since his first year at Hogwarts, and he's not going to let anything get in the way of that.

"So, we're supposed to look over the list of rules and banned items." Chester references the roll of parchment they've been given to review. "It looks like they've added a few this year. First is-"

Angelica interrupts him. "How are we supposed to work with him?" She gestures at Felix. "He's practically a Death Eater."

Usually, Felix wouldn't rise to the accusation, but he's on edge. "I'm no more a Death Eater than you are a muggle just because you're related to them."

Angelica calls Felix something that makes his eyebrows shoot up his forehead and causes Jane to let out an eerily high pitched laugh. Chester grabs Angelica's arm before she can draw her wand.

"Okay, that's enough." Chester looks back and forth between the Sytherin and Gryffindor. "How on earth will we set an example for our houses if we can't even treat each other with civility?"

Felix gives the Ravenclaw boy an appraising look. He knows Chester only by his academic reputation. The two of them have always been neck and neck for top of the class, and Felix has only ever regarded him with the same wary competitiveness appropriate to any rival. Now, he feels a grudging admiration for his fellow prefect's dedication to responsiblities over rivalries. It's an attitude he wants to emulate.

Felix slicks his hair down where pieces have come out of place and takes a deep breath, turning to face Angelica again.

"How about, I'll keep quiet about your family if you will about mine," Felix proposes, his voice as passive as he can make it.

Angelica narrows her eyes, inspecting him closely. Felix has the impression she's searching for a sign he's mocking her, and he keeps his face as conciliatory as possible. After a minute, she mutters, "Whatever," crosses her arms, and looks stubbornly out the window.

"Do you really not mind working with muggle-borns?" inquires Jane, her strangely bland eyes on Felix. It unnerves him how little expression can be gleaned from her facial features.

"I'll work with anyone as long as they don't get in my way of being Headboy," Felix announces.

"No promises there," warns Chester. "Slytherins aren't the only ones with ambitions."

"No, just the ones who know how to achieve them," retorts Felix.

The two boys size each other up across the compartment. Then Chester smiles and Felix smirks.

Angelica rolls her eyes hugely at them.

"How about a truce, then? Until sixth year at least?" Chester suggests, looking around at the other three prefects.

"Very well," agrees Felix solemnly, trying not to sound too eager.

Jane nods.

Angelica wrinkles her nose. "Fine." She leans over and snatches the roll of parchment from Chester.

The three other prefects sink back into their seats as Angelica begins reading off this year's newly banned items. Chester glances across at Felix and repeats his tired smile. Felix can't quite bring himself to smile back - it's not an expression he often indulges in - but he tries his best to look appreciative.

He allows himself to relax in his seat just a fraction, enjoying the heady sense of pride and accomplishment that emanates from the prefect badge finally pinned to his chest. This year, for the first time, Felix feels confident enough to handle anything Hogwarts throws at him.

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