(See the end of the chapter for notes .)

Chapter Text

Ancom needed to get out of this fucking house. Hang out with some people who just, treated qim as qim, no questions asked, no funny looks. Do some nice, strong, actually effective drugs.

The centricide was good and all, but yeah, no, fuck the centricide for a couple days alright?

Qi would call An-syn, he might get on qir ass sometimes about “alienating potential comrades” and “not doing useful praxis” but at least he didn’t stare at qim like qi were a fucking zoo animal.

First though, it was time to actually change. Qi needed a nice shapeless hoodie and pants to hide in. The skirt could sit at the bottom of some duffle bag somewhere with the rest of the feminine shit qi barely ever felt comfortable enough to use.

“And like, one minute he’s like boom pow leave anarkiddie alone , and the next he’s just, staring at me like I’m gross, and just, fuck Tankie okay? Fucking, fuck!”

Ancom gestured with qir hand at the ceiling to emphasize what qi were saying to An-syn.

“Yeah, Tankie can be a dick sometimes."

"Understatement." Ancom snorted. "And he never shuts up about theory, you'd think he slept with a copy of the manifesto under his pillow."

"Ehh, you're both terrible about theory Ancom, he's addicted to the shit, and you act like you're allergic to it. There is such a thing as a comfortable middle ground y'know?"

Qi let qir head flop back so qi could glare at the other anarchist. "Sounds like centrist talk to me." Qi huffed. An-syn just smiled back at qim and ruffled qir hair a bit.

"God, the worst part is when he's nice though, y'know? He stops being such an overbearing shit for a day or two, and we actually seem like we have stuff in common, the same goals. And I think, fuck, maybe I could work with you, maybe you're not so bad. And then, boom, he goes right back to the usual."

"The impossible dream of leftist unity huh?"

"Yup."

"Well, atleast he's not a trot, eh? Still some hope as long as that's true."

Ancom snorted, despite qimself. "Yeah, I suppose he's not that sectarian."

“Anyways, how long do you want to stay for? I'm organising some union stuff here this week, so it isn’t gonna be just you and me, but I’m fine with you being here as long as you need.”

“I’m probably not gonna stay that long, don't worry. Got a centricide to be doing and all. Eventually."

“I still don’t get that by the way. I mean don’t get me wrong, fuck libs, but I hate Nazi and that Capitalist a whole bunch more than I care about a bunch of centrists.”

Ancom made a face. “Yeah the Nazi is a piece of shit. And, ugh, ancap keeps tryin to get me to join some pyramid scheme thingimy, but like, fuck centrists man?”

An-syn shrugged.

“I guess. I just feel like you get more done when you’re actually focusing on what’s closer to you, bringing together people that aren’t utter dicks.”

Ancom smiled. “You’re like, so fuckin good at that shit dude. Like, mutual aid and solidarity and organising crap.”

“And you do a good job beating up fash when you’re not blazed out of your mind, Ancom."

"Shut up."

"What? It's true ."

Anarcho-Syndicalism had a statist to chew out. He never did learn his lesson about taking into account other people's needs, honestly, authoritarians.

Ancom had gone upstairs to get an early night's rest, which was honestly more worrying than the black eye qi were sporting. But hey, qi seemed fairly okay otherwise and qi would likely stick around for a couple days before heading back to that centricide clusterfuck. An-syn wanted a revolution as much as the next leftist, but you didn't achieve progress working with bosses for fucks sake.

Shaking his head, he went out into the hall to call Tankie. He answered the phone on the sixth ring.

"What do you want Syndicalist?"

"Oh I don't know, a revolution, power to the workers, you to stop being such a fucking dick to Ancom, the usual."

"I am not dick to them!"

"Christ, they/them is better, but would it kill you to just use qir pronouns!"

Tankie cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Fine. Qim. I am not a dick to qim."

"Oh yeah, obviously, the way that qi're miserable as all hell because you 'stared at qim like qi were gross' makes that very clear."

There was an audible wince on the other end of the line. Well, atleast some of it was getting through then.

"Qi don't do stuff like this very often, I forget that qi are serious-"

"Would it kill you to just, believe qim? To just listen to what qi tell you?"

"Would it hurt qim to not read the worst intent onto my face?"

"You're like a toddler, honestly, fucking apologise every once in a while for when you do fuck up and qi might be less jumpy around you."

"And how am I meant to do dat ven qi disappear into thin air!"

"You have a phone, you're using it right now, just so you know. You could consider just calling qim."

Tankie huffed, aggravated.

"You get that?" An-syn prodded.

"Da."

An-syn let out a slow breath.

"Just, you really hurt qim okay? And I like it a whole lot better when you two are getting along."

Tankie sighed as well. "I get your point comrade."

"Good. I'd best be off then." An-syn hung up.