#I have been accused of flaking countless times

[teleconhaikus]

I really wish I had the ability to bend the ears of those in Hollywood to portray disabled and ill humans with grace and empathy and not who magically get better one day, or have only one episode story archs but ones where they actually are considered daily and their needs are thought of by all their friends and loved ones.. not because it’s the reality I know but because it’s the reality I wish I could at least see in a fantasy world at least.

I spent all day yesterday on my couch in pain from lupus, hands and feet just aching and no energy to do much else than sleep.. and it’s isolating and it’s lonely but it could be better if the world saw everyone for their flaws and supported them instead and the only they would is if they see it in their heros, and the fiction first. If you can’t even imagine it it can’t ever be real.

[cutedisneygirl]

Wrong Decision

Warnings: It is a little sad at first but then there will be just fluff and sweet moments.

It is the 24th of December-Christmas Eve and Bella stood alone, painstakingly decorating her Christmas tree. Normally, she loves this time of year-cheerful music, the twinkling lights, the warmth of the season. But the past two Christmases had been tough, leaving her questioning if she should even bother putting up a tree this year. Instead of her usual post-Thanksgiving decorating spree, she waited until the last minute, struggling to find the joy she once felt. As she reaches for the ornament, a symbol of happier times, it now only reminds her of the relationship that ended so painfully two years ago, just days before Christmas.

Unknowingly to her Chris, her ex is standing outside her house, he is watching her from afar close to her window. He is in so much pain knowing he made the wrong decision and there she is, decorating her tree, sad and alone while he is outside in the snow. As Chris watches her the snow continues to fall. Hitting his jacket, and face. The flakes stuck to his coat and hair. Chris is hesitant and can’t choose between running away or walking towards her house. As he turns around and decides to leave, Bella can see him through her window, walking away.

Bella begins to cry as she sees him walking away. Her heart acts and she just wishes things had ended differently. She wished they were still together. She looks back at her tree and not feeling like decorating anymore she sighs and walks away. She heads to the kitchen and fixes herself a cup of hot chocolate. She heads to the couch, curls up with her Winne the Pooh blanket, and turns on Netflix. The sight of countless Christmas movies only reminds her of Chris and the joy they once shared. She finally settles on “Sweet Home Alabama”, hoping a rom com will distract her aching heart.

She was halfway through the movie when Bella hears a knock at her door. “I wonder who that could be.” She says to herself. She pauses her movie and gets up from the couch and walks over to the door and opens it. She is shocked, there stands Chris. He is wearing a blue collared shirt and light brown pants and bundled up with a red scarf, the scarf Bella had made him two years ago. He is covered in snow.

“Chris, what are you doing here?” “Bella, I had to see you. Please can we talk?” “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” “Bella please, let me in. I just want to talk. Please.” Bella sighs “Okay.” She moves to the side so Chris can step inside. Once he’s inside she closes the door. For a few minutes all they can do is stare at each other. “Bella, I’m sorry.” Chris says after several moments of silence. Bella remains silent as she listens to Chris apologize. “I was an idiot for breaking up with you. These last two years have been hell for me. I miss you like crazy. I want another chance.” “Chris I….” “I know I hurt you. But I was an idiot! I wish could take back what I did, but I can’t. But I want another chance. I love you Bella, I always have. I never stopped. For the last two years I have thought of you and wanted so much to reach out to you, but I thought you had moved on, I thought you would have met someone and…. but I’m guessing you didn’t.” “No, I haven’t. I have not wanted anyone else. I have been miserable without you, but….”

Chris steps closer to Bella and reaches out and caresses her cheek. “Bella, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was such an idiot. Please forgive me. The reasons I broke up with you was so stupid! I wish I could take it back!” “Why did you break up with me? You never really told me.” Chris sighs. “You’re going to think its stupid and probably hate me.” “I could never hate you, Chris.” Chris sighs. “Well to start off with, I had something happen. I got into a massive scandal, and was accused of something I didn’t do. My agent and PR team told me to distance myself from everyone that was close to me and break off my relationship with you. My agent was also pushing me to maintain a certain image, so I had to cut things off. They told me that being in high-profile relationship could harm my career and add to my stress.” He pauses and takes a breath before he continues. “I wanted to protect you, so I broke things off. I didn’t want to. I loved you and I still do. It was the worst decision I ever made, and I regret it to this day. I was able to clear my name, and I decided to not listen to my agent who wanted me to have a certain image. I have a new agent now and things are better.”

Bella is silent taking everything in that he said. “Chris, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just end it? I would have understood and would have helped you. If you loved me I don’t understand why you had to keep this from me.” “I’m sorry Bella. I was an idiot! As I said I regret it and wish I could take it. I have been miserable these past two years. They tried to get me to date other people, ones they wanted me to, but I kept comparing them to you and they weren’t you. I couldn’t do it. I ended all of them and then stopped trying and told them I was done and that I didn’t want anyone but you. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you. But I would like another chance if you can forgive me.” Bella sighs. “Chris, I love you and I never stopped, but…” “I know it might take a while before you can fully forgive me, but I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that it won’t’ ever happen again and that I love you.” Bella is quiet for several minutes and looks at Chris. She can see in his eyes how truly sorry he is and how much he does love her. She finally sights, “Okay, yes I will give you another chance.”

Chris smiles and takes her his arms and kisses her. In the kiss is so much passion and forgiveness. For that brief moment all the past and what he had done is forgotten. Bella and Chris spend the remainder of the night together cuddled up on the couch.

Now a year later since they got back together it is Christmas Eve and Chris and Bella have just finished baking cookies. “Baby, there is something I want to show you.” “What?” Chris takes her hand and leads her over to the tree. Once they are in front of the tree Chris kneels in front of it getting on one knee. Bella is now about crying. She knows what is about to happen. “Oh Chris!” Chris reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a black velvet box. “Bella, from the moment I met you. I knew I loved you. I knew you were the one for me. I knew when I heard you laugh, and the way we could talk about anything. How you loved Disney just as much as I did. Those two years apart were torture for me. I was going to propose to you back then but then I had to end things. Last year I was going to propose, but I was afraid you would say no after what I did. But now a year later, I know I can’t wait any longer. Please say yes and make me the happiest man alive and marry me. Become my wife, Mrs. Evans.” “Oh Chris! Yes! Yes!” Chris smiles and slides the ring on her finger and then stands up and kisses her. “I love you Bella” “I love you too Chris.”

If you would like this story to continue let me know. I have ideas I can do if you want more.

Taglist:

@cevansbaby-dove

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@nescavaneck

@willowsages-blog

@krissy25

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[funkymbtifiction]

What’s been your experience of knowing a person of each Enneagram type?

It’s nothing if not interesting. 😉

1s: can be principled, dutiful, and reliable. Their pet peeve is for people to be rude, irresponsible, inconsiderate, or late. I’ve known an sp 1 and a soc 1. The sp 1 does indeed resemble a 6 due to content fretting, low self esteem, terror of getting it wrong, and general anxiety, but shows 1 behaviors of obsessive cleaning, a desperate need to control everything, and rigidity in setting up “house rules.” In so doing, she has denied herself anything that is not “useful,” which I find terribly sad. She has no room for pleasure in her life. The soc 1 is far more inclined to be assertive, to correct others, to point out what they are doing wrong, and to show her anger. Much less self doubt.

2s: ah, 2s. I’ve known a few marginally and one “sort of” well, since I spent ten days with her on a visit to another state. She truly reminded me of Molly Weasley in her bustling about, her attending to everyone’s numerous needs (and ability to keep us all in line), her pride in doing things for everyone, and her sensitivities. At one point, her daughter told her, “MOM, STOP MOLLY WEASLEY-ING CHARITY! SHE’S FINE. SHE DOESN’T NEED WATER. THANKS.” Ha, ha. I liked her a great deal, but it amused me how defensively she drove – under stress, I saw her 8 come out, though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. We all snapped to attention whenever that happened.

3s: I admire their work ethic but… the one I know offline has to find some way to impress people, no matter what. If that is in showing you his muscles and making sure you know how far he biked today, so be it. It used to be because he was proud of his professional life. Since retirement, I have seen him struggle enormously with having a sense of purpose and trying to find one that doesn’t hinge on his non-existent work. That is what worries me about 3s – getting old, and no longer having society regard them as “useful and essential” is HELL on them. Please, make sure, if you are a 3, to do the internal work on figuring out who you are, and recognizing your own worth as separate from what you do, before you reach that age.

4s: I have known a lot of 4s, some healthy and some not. I have two delightful healthy ones in my life right now – an sp/sx 4 and an soc/sp 4, and they are indeed different. The sp 4 is more internal and less aware of or inclined to change herself for others; the soc 4 looks outward, and is highly attentive to other people. Sp 4 can take on others’ pain and burdens in a sense and feel overwhelmed by it – and with both of these beautiful girls, I’ve seen it turn them toward compassion. But they do tend to run high on “drama.” It’s not a song, it’s an opera. I knew an unhealthy 4 once who was hell-bound to remain miserable and a victim wallowing in her pain and thwarted (almost sadistically gleefully) anyone’s attempts to help her rise above her bad situation. She wanted to stay there. And she drove everyone who knew her insane. Eventually, she lost all her friends due to her being the wet mop all the time -- which of course, fed into her sadistic happiness at being miserable, abandoned, and unloved.

5s: can be callous at times, just because they are so lacking in emotional self-awareness and so fixated on logical solutions, but they will give it to you straight if you ask for it. They tend toward severe social awkwardness—think Mr. Darcy at the Netherfield Ball. Most inclined to disappear five minutes after you meet them and remain unseen until you leave. I knew a five once, the father of a friend, who would call out hello to me as he walked right past me, straight down into the basement, where he hid for hours among his books. Given he had a house full of giggling, silly girls, I don’t blame him. He was truly Mr. Bennet.

6s: can be either the warmest, funniest, most loyal people you will ever meet – or the biggest pains in the butt, and I say that as a 6. I know one other sp 6 and he reminds me of myself, just older and male – we both are hilarious, we both tease people to establish a rapport with them, we both crave feedback and support from trusted others, and we both swing between concern and optimism. But unhealthy, paranoid 6s are out in force right now freaking everyone out about the COVID-19 and the world doesn’t need that. It needs HOPE. So for heaven’s sake, put down the freak-outs, the paranoid accusations, the wild conspiracy theories, and accept that your worst-case scenario projections are just that -- the product of your own scared mind. It may or may not happen, and trust me, 6s, I know damn well that your worst fears usually don’t happen anywhere except in your head.

7s: are enormous fun to go on vacation with, but can be flakes. Lovable ones, but still flakes. They promise more than they can deliver and then avoid you rather than face up to the music when they realize they don’t want to do what they promised. They are hilarious, witty, optimistic, and their enthusiasm is infectious, but sometimes they fail to realize that not everyone wants to be endlessly teased, mocked, or come home to a mountain of stuff followed by a maxed-out credit card bill. Life is not always a joke, sometimes it is serious. And they are inclined not to finish a serious conversation if it in any way makes them uncomfortable or feel like they’re about to confront part of themselves.

8s: I have only known one and… there are things I like about her. Her courage. Her ballsy attitude. This woman made a place for herself in a man’s world, in a time when that was not done. She bulldozed her way to the top. Unfortunately, she never shut off the bulldozer. She has burned bridges behind her, made countless enemies, and gets into foolish personal and legal fights because she refuses to back down from anyone, and will turn anything into an argument. She lost my mother as a friend, because she thought bullying her was a good idea. My mother set up polite boundaries and the 8 trampled them, something my mother does not forgive. Something 8s need to remember – what is fun for you (you consider fighting “bonding”) is not always fun for someone else who is not an 8. Being an 8 is an asset, but only if you learn to tell the difference between a threat and a non-threat.

9s: are some of the most precious people on earth, but also the must frustrating for me, because I see them being mercilessly treated by the rest of the world, which tends to walk all over them. I wind up counseling 9 friends who are frustrated at ‘not being heard’ but cannot find it within themselves to assert themselves in any way, or think they deserve to be heard, or know how to recognize what is NOT okay. Being a 9, a peacemaker, someone able to understand everyone’s point of view, is a valuable gift, but you cannot use it for good if you are incapable of believing you deserve good things, too.

Each Enneagram type has a health level. You can find them at the Enneagram Institute. Figure out which level is ‘you’ and start working toward the next one up, through conscious choices. You don’t have to stay this way. Your life is yours to command.1s, you don’t have to be perfect. 2s, you don’t have to please others. 3s, you don’t have to win every time. 4s, you don’t have to stay in a place of self-loathing. 5s, you don’t have to fear trying things. 6s, you don’t have to be afraid all the time. 7s, you don’t have to run away from everything. 8s, you don’t have to turn every discussion into a fight. 9s, you don’t have to give everyone whatever they want. It’s time to take back your life.

- ENFP Mod

PS: Most of these examples come from my extended family, none of whom follow this blog, so if you’re one of my friends (unless you are the 4) -- I’m not talking about you. ;)

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 6

Once more, we delve into the world of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

Eda roared, leaping toward the man, the monster, who had just casually murdered a child right in front of her!! Whipping her staff down to crush his skull, she was caught dumb when he casually leaned out of the way, a frost clad fist slamming into her face as she fell forward. A gasp of pain burst out as she was sent sprawling. Luckily, Eda had been in plenty of brawls. Gathering her wits, she tucked into a roll, coming up flat on her feet.

“If you think I’ll go easy on you ‘cause you’re human, you’ve got another thing coming!!” She shouted, eyes glancing at Lily, still prone against the wall. What was up with her, this was an emergency!! She growled, shifting herself to spring between Lily and the goons following that monster.

“Go... easy... on me? Pfft HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!” The bastard laughed, actually laughed!, at Eda’s claim, as if the idea that she could beat him was so utterly ridiculous it deserved nothing but ridicule. The fact that his goons echoed him was like rubbing salt in the wound. “That- That was truly amusing!! In exchange for that wonderful jest, allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed, a mocking leer stretched across his face. “I am Rudolph Cranwin, practitioner of the most noble art of Frost Magic, not that I ever really cared about the alleged nobility of it; twas but another tool for me to kill with, nothing more. I look forward to seeing how long I can drag out your demise!!” He said cheerfully, as if her death would be the highlight of his day.

‘To this piece of shit, it might very well be.’ Eda bitterly thought to herself. Her thoughts were cut off by his next words.

“However,” Rudolph mused, “This crowd truly is far too large. Better to thin it out a bit before I let my precious brethren have their fun.” He raised his hand, a cold wind building into a ball in his palm. Eyes widening in shocked comprehension, Eda lunged forward, a massive ball of flames building along Owlbert. She had to get there in time, she needed to! If she didn’t… Rudolph gave her a mocking smile. “Too late, Owl Lady. Winter Spite.” With those two words, the ball exploded in all directions. A huge burst of extreme cold, so deep that it effortlessly extinguished Eda’s building spell, ripped through the stadium. In an instant, the entire place was coated in frost. Just from what she could see on the ground, Eda saw several Demons and Witches in the crowd frozen in place, ice and frost coating their bodies; from the few she could clearly see, at minimum twenty had died, a quarter of which were children. The smallest she could see looked to be about five. As if some signal had gone off, the hoard of Mages lurking behind Rudolph burst forth, screaming in bloody rage, sickening grins coating their faces, spells primed to rip and tear.

“Tree Shot!” “Big Head Blast!” “Sword Beam!” “Wind Cleave!”

Eda braced herself for the attacks; a tree root tore out of the ground, ripping across Eda’s ribs, a spell shaped like a giant head rocketed past her, a beam of light shaped like a blade cut into the stadium, and slashes of winds tore at the bystanders. And more. So many more. They weren’t all incredibly powerful, but they all had something in common; the palpable desire to hurt leaked out of each and every one. Bearing her fangs, Eda whirled around, launching a wave of magic upwards, cutting off as many spells as she could. Her quick timing was used against her, however, when a blast of cold smashed against her back, sending her flying.

“Ah, ah, ah! No interfering with the games, Owl Lady!” Rudolph mockingly chided. She turned her head towards him, eyes burning with hate. He merely grinned. “If the crowd wishes to live, they must defend themselves, or have one of their own act as a champion! You, and your sister I suppose, are my prey.” Rushing into her guard, his palm glowed. “Winter Punt.” A burst of frigid air formed underneath her gut, angled upward, and as it released, Eda choked on her own air as it drove her into the sky.

What was with this guy!? She had decimated Lily earlier, and while she was feeling some of the effects of pushing herself that hard, that quickly, she shouldn’t be this hampered. She sighed, freezing up as she saw her breath, as if she was in the middle of winter. She looked down, and saw her limbs coated in patches of frost, weighing her down, slowing her reactions, and who knows what else. She genuinely didn’t even feel the cold, not really, but her body was acting as if she was naked in a blizzard!!

Rudolph smirked. “I see you’ve noticed.” He chuckled, slowly stalking towards the Witch and her prone sibling. “Yes, a fun little aspect of my magic is that it clings to the body of those it hits, slowing them, filling them with cold, stilling the flow of magic. The longer our fight goes on, the slower, weaker, and more feeble you will become.” He cocked his head, a look of mockingly fake sympathy playing across his features. “Oh, how tragic, to be cut down so short.” He cackled, an uproarious sound that resounded through the arena.

“Bastard.” Eda bit out, trying and failing to flake the frost off her limbs. “If I wasn’t dealing with this, he’d be flatter than paper!!” She glanced back at her sister, still stuck in that pose from where she had dropped, dead to the world, tears pooling at her feet. ‘What’s up with you, Lily? We don’t have time for this! ...Please, whatever’s going on, I’ll help you, but you have to snap out of it!’

Luz growled as she and the others passed by yet another corpse, this one bearing the distinctive signs of Retic’s harvesting; the chest ripped open, organs carefully partitioned and severed from the surrounding tissue, and the corpse tossed aside like a rag doll, whatever body parts he didn’t take flopping uselessly. The others stoically pointed forward, steadfastly ignoring the gore and death surrounding them; they knew that if they stopped, they wouldn’t continue. But with each corpse, each tragedy they passed, the burning rage built up within them.

“So…” Willow drawled, trying to distract them from the horrors surrounding them. “You mentioned you were a member of this group. What was that like?” She instantly felt like kicking herself, but it was the only thing she could think of off the top of her head.

Luz snorted, but decided to answer; it would come out eventually. “I wasn’t a member of the Black Dog Squad specifically, but I often got saddled to them; they provided a big, bloody distraction, I completed the objective, whether it was stealing a priceless relic, assassinating an enemy, or just setting the pieces for something bigger in motion, I got it done. I hated every second of it.” It was truly the most painful chapter of her life, bar nothing.

“If you hated it, why did you join?” Amity stated more than asked. Truthfully, Amity cringed at the accusatory note in her voice; all of this pain was like nothing she had experienced before. The fact that the girl in front of her, that snarky, selfless, free-spirited girl had been in any way connected to a group capable of this? It was jarring. She had to know why.

Luz gave a small chuckle, the kind of empty, hollow ache that only came from someone trying to humor the most tragic and heartbreaking of requests. “I didn’t exactly want to join. Suffice to say, I entered Oroboros’ field of vision when I interfered in a few of their operations, not that I knew it at the time. They ended up deciding to pay me a visit. The reason? Join them, or someone will die.”

Gus cocked his head in perplexedness, deciding to ask what he felt they all were thinking. “Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem sacrificing yourself earlier.” He hoped he didn’t sound accusing, but it really was confusing to him.

Luz snorted, morbidly amused. “I never said I was the one being threatened with death.” She calmly replied, causing the others to pause for a second. Luz continued, nonchalant. “Yeah, whenever Oroboros decides it wants someone in its ranks, but they have a few too many morals, they take a hostage, someone that person cares about dearly.” The others felt a sinking feeling at Luz’s words, as she rambled on. “Whenever the recruit talks back, their hostage gets beaten. Whenever they fail, their hostage has a limb broken. Whenever they succeed, the hostage gets a wonderful meal, after having been deprived of all but the bare minimum of food and water needed to keep them alive during the extent of the mission of course. Every aspect of an Objectionary Recruit’s time with Oroboros, someone like myself, is intertwined with the health and safety of their hostage. If the Recruit dies, so does the hostage.” She finished, walking on.

The others exchanged alarmed glances, before Willow spoke up, voice loaded with uncertainty. “Then… did you leave your hostage behind?” She didn’t think Luz had, none of them did, but the only other alternative…

“HAHA!!” Luz cackled, as if what she asked was funny. “No. No I didn’t. They begged me to leave, to save myself, to do the right thing. But I didn’t! I stayed. I killed, and stole, and ruined countless lives, for the life of someone dear to me. But, ultimately, it was for nothing. A guard, one who would’ve been a perfect fit for the Black Dogs if it weren’t for his lack of magical training, decided he wanted to have some fun. My hostage took exception to that. An hour later, their bodies were found. The guard had been strangled with his own belt… my hostage had a knife slid into her liver.” She turned her head towards the others, an almost beatific look on her face. “It’s hard to threaten someone with a hostage when they’re dead, afterall.” And then, Luz laughed, the broken, empty laugh of someone who didn’t know how to find any other way to make it stop hurting.

And so the group moved onward in silence, the Witchlings carefully ignoring the splotches of tears that followed behind them; they didn’t want to tell Luz she’d been crying ever since she started talking.

Boscha growled, hastily ducking under another clumsy swing from the disgusting pile of fat in front of her. With a roar, she leapt into the air, an axe kick launched for the fat thing’s head, a curved blade of bloody flames trailing in its wake. She yelped when he caught her kick, slamming her into the ground with a painful Crack! Cursing, she bobbed under another lunge, slamming a burning fist into his stomach, something that prompted a horrific squeal from the disgusting beast.

His smile dimmed, Fatso charged Boscha with a roar, his mouth distending into the massive chasm of flesh he used to swallow his foes. Screaming in challenge, Boscha belted out a burst of flames, gushing from her mouth; it was an honestly surreal experience to be literally breathing fire!! Fatso squealed, flailing back from the flames that avoided his colossal mouth. Boscha smirked. ‘So I just have to keep him from eating my attacks, eh?’

“Try and eat this, you fat fuck!” She shouted, unleashing a wave of flames. Even if he ate some of it, the rest would scorch him badly, something Fatso was apparently smart enough to realize. With a shocking level of agility and strength, he hurled himself into the air, beaming in childish delight. Out of the line of fire, he opened his maw, inhaling with all he had; the massive wave of flames was sucked into his gut. Boscha cursed. Why wasn’t this working!? Her flames, her damnable flames, the one thing she could reliably use, were worthless against this creep!! Whispers started creeping in, the sound of screams building in her head. She shook it off as best she could; she knew trying to fend it off was temporary, but she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Oooooohhh you’re a funny one! IIiiiiiiii’llll have lots of fun tenderizing you!” Fatso cheered, rushing up to Boscha, slamming his corpulent fists into her legs, a scream of agony ripping out of her throat; he had definitely snapped a bone or two. Before she could move, he gripped her by the skull, violently slamming her against the stone. “Iiiiii’mmmm gonna have so much fun with you, and when you get all nice and tender, I’ll get to eat you all up! Wooooonnnnn’ttttt that be fun!?” He kicked her in the stomach, her lunch spilling out in response. “Aaaaaawwwww, you lost all that food! Tttthhhhaaaaattt’ssss no good! Nooooowwwwww you won’t taste as yummy when you get in my tummy!” He whined, hurling her away in annoyance. He pursed his lips, placing a pudgy finger on them. “HHHhhhmmmmm maybe I’ll have better luck if I try finding that scarf girl?”

Boscha’s eyes snapped open. Shakily rising to her feet, she screamed. “YOU KEEP AWAY FROM HER!!” With a roar, she rushed him, only for him to dismissively backhand her away, not even bothering to look at her.

“YYyyyoooouuu’rrrrrreee no fun anymore.” He said without a glance, waddling off. “Aaaaaaalllllll you can do is throw that stupid fire. Nnnnoooooo fun, no fun at all eating the same stupid trick.”

“Fun?” Boscha whispered, eyes widening in incredulousness. “You think this is supposed to be FUN!?” She half-screamed. Tears started building in her eyes. “HOW IS KILLING US, ATTACKING US WHEN WE’VE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, SUPPOSED TO BE FUN!?!?!?”

“Hhhuuuuuuuhhhh? Wwwwwhhhhaaatttt kinda stupid question is that? IIiiiiiittttt’ssss fun because I’m strong, and you’re weak.” He said, as if saying that the sky was red, or that plants were purple. “Tttthhhheeee boss said that, because I’m part of Oroboros, I can do whatever I want, eat anything I want, anyone I want, because I’m strong and they can’t stop me, so whatever I do is fun, because I say it’s fun!!” He cheerfully explained. “Eeeeaaaaatttttiiinnnnnggg is so much fun, I could eat forever!!!! BBbbuuuuuuttttt when I eat people-meat, it’s even more fun, because they give the bestest screams when they go in my tummy!!” He patted his gut for emphasis.

Boscha’s blood pounded in her ears. Strong? This… fat piece of TRASH thought he was strong!? No… he didn’t know the meaning of the word. She had seen real strength. He might’ve been powerful, but he wasn’t strong. If he faced someone with real strength, he’d be crying like a bitch. Boscha pulled herself to her feet, utterly indifferent to her previous pain, nothing but burning rage flowing through her veins at the moment. Flames sparked, sputtered… and raged. Boscha wasn’t sure if she was fully conscious at the moment, but she didn’t care. This bastard had threatened one of the few things in this life she actually cared about still, and he had the balls to pretend he knew what strength was, and that he was strong?

Flames pooled at her feet. In a burst of heat, Boscha zipped to Fatso’s side, fist cocked back. With a roar filled with the rage of a wild animal, Boscha slammed her fist so hard against his gelatinous face, she would swear later that she felt his bones bend around her fist. “You think you’re strong?” She asked, the deathly calm doing nothing to hide the burning hate hidden within.

As Fatso rocketed back, eyes snapped wide open in disbelief, Boscha rushed in, flame-clad knee slamming into his gut, watching in grim amusement as he coughed up a mix of blood and miscellaneous bits, whether the blood was his own or not was up for debate. “You don’t know anything about strength.” She ducked under his clumsy swing, landing a clean blow to the throat, prompting him to choke. “Strength isn’t about lording what power you have above someone else.” She slammed across his face, knuckles landing a solid hit to his eyes. “It isn’t acting as if you’re above the same rules and laws everyone has to follow.”

He grunted, and roared, swinging both arms down towards her skull. She leaned back, letting the attack whiff by, slamming home a kick to his chin. “It’s about making a difference.” She caught his next punch, her eyes narrowing at the panic in his gaze. “It’s about looking after what’s precious to you.” She twisted his arm to the side, prompting a squeal of pain. His eyes furrowed, before he lunged forth, attempting to swallow her, only for her to catch his face with her free hand, fingers covering his eyes and digging into his temples, arresting his movement. “It’s what happens when you stop standing on the sidelines to cruelty, or acting to further cruelty yourself.” Flames started licking up her arm, prompting Fatso to start struggling.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen real strength before.” She casually continued, ignoring his screams as the flames scorched his face. “I wonder, if I had never seen real strength, would I have turned out as something like you?” She pondered, even as Fatso begged and pleaded for her to let go. “Even so…” She murmured, glaring at Fatso, even as his skin blackened and peeled under her grip. “How can you call yourself strong… when you’re losing to someone AS WEAK AS ME!?!?!?!?” She screamed, wetness pouring down her face. She screamed and screamed and screamed, all while the skin, fat, flesh, and what little muscle remained of his body all turned to ash, tears pouring down her face all the while. When all that was left was his scorched, pitted, blackened skeleton, Boscha fell to her knees, tears falling in pools. “I’m so sorry I’m weak. Maybe if I was stronger… you wouldn’t have had to die so slowly.” And with those words, Boscha fell, her strength spent.

[theawkwardundercoverwriter]

Bucky X Reader

Description: Bucky and Y/N in the 40s. If Steve had a younger sister this is how I imagine their lives would be.  (Inspiration and scenes from Captain America: The First Avenger). Not factually accurate. 

Warnings: Abuse, swearing and of course amateur writing. No editing has been done. 

Part One:

No matter how many times you madly readjust your hair the purple blotches only deepen above your eye. 

“No no please.” You murmur to yourself. The overwhelming sense of panic runs down your spine as you note the time on the wooden grandfather clock that sits almost mockingly above the fireplace. Steve would be home anytime now most likely with Bucky in tow. Ever since your parents died both Steve and Bucky have gone the extra mile to look after you. Both held a protective gaze over you at all times. If either of them saw you in this current state they would flip. 

You grab your powder, smothering it above your eye causing you to wince - mostly in frustration that the welts couldn’t be covered to the extent you want them to be. 

You feel completely stupid as you evaluate the damage left on your body. You had a cut on your forearm that was still bleeding. A trickle of blood is currently seeping through your dress sleeve. The new shoes that Steve somehow managed to buy for your birthday are scuffed, and the bow of your hat remains detached, lying on the floor.  You had gotten into a fight with your boyfriend, Eric. You’ve been courting him for only a couple of months, but his nasty side becomes increasingly evident as each day passes. He’d enlisted for the army, he, of course, had the extra pressure of serving his country as his father was the mayor of Brooklyn, Fiorello H. La Guardia.  He had to go and fight in the war; his drafting day inches closer and closer which means his explosive nature heightens. The fight you two had was over Bucky. He as usual accused you of having feelings for your brother’s best friend. You didn’t try to deny it, because deep down, you both knew it was true. Bucky’s smile had the power to mend any ache. He is your rock, especially when your mom died. You wouldn’t know where you would be without him. He knew all your secrets, all your fears and how to make you laugh like no one else. No man could ever make you feel the way he did. Watching Bucky go on countless dates broke your heart, it nearly tears you apart at the near mention of another woman. But you ignore the dull ache in your chest; instead of pining over your brother’s best friend you alter your attention elsewhere. You decided that you didn’t want to be heartbroken by this beautiful man anymore so instead, you came up with a plan. Erica was the answer to get over Bucky. 

He beats you. He yells at you. But you still stay. You figure you aren’t exactly innocent when it comes to Eric and his drama. You are and have been using him, maybe not on purpose, but if you were being honest with yourself, he’s a distraction. It made you a guilty party in this mess.  So you stayed and remained silent. If anyone found out the mayor's son was hitting his lady, there would be a huge scandal. Your reputation would be damaged and Steve would run off and get himself killed if he and Eric ever came face to face. 

Rushing around the room you quickly change into another dress, discarding the stained one into a ball at the bottom of the closet.  You fumble in the kitchen cabinet looking for bandages. The number of times you’ve had to fish them out of the draw for Steve when he came home beaten and bloody has gotten you familiar with first aid. 

Two familiar voices irrupt in laughter from outside the walls of your home. “Crap.” You hiss as your fingers fumble with the bandage. 

“Ah, I can’t find my key.” Steve huffs from outside the door. Tying the bandage up and pulling your sleeve down you take a deep breath attempting to calm yourself. 

“Seriously man? Again?” Bucky laughs. You hear some movement and scuffling outside. You assume it’s Buck grabbing the spare key from underneath the loose brick just outside the apartment. A few seconds later the key jingles in the keyhole and the door swings open. 

“Hey Stevie, did you manage to get some bread while you were out?” You call walking towards both men pretending that it was any other normal day. 

“Sorry Y/N, I got caught up. I’ll get us some tomorrow.” He shoots you an apologetic smile. You walk towards them ready to give him an ear full when something stops you dead in your tracks. 

Bucky stands proud and tall in his army uniform. Gold flakes dance in his blue eyes as he drinks in your appearance. 

“You’ve got your orders?” You nearly choke out. 

“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.” You swallow the thick lump that’s formed in your throat. “Y/N, don’t look so sad.” He gently coos. Bucky pulls you into his side, gently rubbing his fingers up and down your arm in an attempt to comfort you, but it does nothing to soothe your aching heart. You dreaded this very day. His hand continues to trace soft patterns as he senses your unease but he soon hesitates. His hand hovers over the bandage hiding under your sleeve. Your eyes interlock and immediately a rush of panic overloads your body as he starts to notice the messy hair, the overdone makeup and the bandages sprawled out in the kitchen. You can see his mind working overtime, putting all the pieces together. His eyes burn into your soul and for a second you are convinced he can see right through you. Quickly pulling your hand away you turn your attention to Steve. Examing his appearance you notice the bruises on his face. They were nearly identical to yours. 

“Seriously Steven? Again?” You huff, “You got into another fight? Who was it with this time?” You begin to fuss over him but he swats your hands away, not allowing you to fully inspect his wounds. 

“Y/N I’m fine.” He wines. 

“Honestly is it too much to ask to just walk away?” You can feel Bucky’s eyes scanning your appearance but you ignore him. 

“Are you going out tonight Doll?” Bucky quizzes. 

“Yeah what’s with the clown makeup, you don’t need it Y/N, you’re beautiful, just like mom,”  Steve interjects. “ And I promise I will be careful next time.” He says while planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

You roll your eyes; you’ve heard that before. 

“I haven’t made dinner because I’m going to the Stark Expo.” You answer Bucky while staring at your bare feet.  

“Oh so are we, I just need to get cleaned up.” Steve groans, “Double dates are never fun, but here I am, getting pressured into this situation, again.” He walks into the cupboard retrieving a new tie without any bloodstains leaving you and Bucky alone. 

You silently plead for Steve to come back. 

“Who are you going with?” Bucky asks. He steps closer to you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.  You can feel his warmth radiating against your skin. You ignore the shivers he sends up your spin and silently curse at Bucky as butterflies explore in your stomach. 

“With Eric.” You reply, trying to will yourself out of Bucky’s grasp. 

“Is that who did this to you?” He replies softly in your ear but you notice his jaw tighten. You pull away, scrambling to find your shoes and purse. 

“I’m running late, I have to leave now. Eric is probably wondering where I am.” You shout loud enough for Steve to hear from the other room. 

“Wait sis, we will walk you. I’ll just be a minute.” Steve calls out to you.

“You can tell me, doll. I promise I won’t get Steve involved.” He pleads, searching your eyes for the truth. 

“I will see you later tonight. Don’t leave without saying goodbye to me okay?” You ignore him. You reach on your tippy-toes and place a soft gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m all good Steve! Stay at least a mile away from me tonight at all times.”  You yell as you reach for the front door.

“Take care of him tonight.” You instruct Bucky as you fly out the door. It takes every bit of strength to hold in the tears that so desperately want to escape. 

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

Part Two:

The stench of the alcohol burns your tongue as Eric pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. Passer bys shoot you dirty looks as Eric continues to make a show of PDA. 

“I’m sorry about today. I won’t happen again.” He mumbles into his flask. You were currently leaning up against the fence watching the crowd play fun carnival games and dance the night away. 

You’d only been here for an hour, and so far you’d engaged in zero fun. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bucky,  Steve and two other girls. Steve looks uncomfortable, while the blonde woman looks bored. The brunette is attached to Bucky at the hip. However, Bucky’s glances haven’t gone unnoticed. About half-an-hour ago he spotted you with Eric and has made a conscious effort to stay close ever since. The sight of him in his uniform causes tears to pool in your eyes. There was a chance he was going to die and that very thought made you want to breakdown and scream. 

“Seriously Y/N? You can’t keep your eyes off him can you?” Eric’s voice booms, as he takes another swig of his flask. “You can’t help yourself!” He gets considerably louder causing some heads to turn. 

“Eric I wasn’t-” You start.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He hisses in a tone so deadly the pit of your stomach drops. 

“Eric it’s not like that.” You begin to explain. Familiar fear creeps in. If you didn’t shut this down now, a very public scene would occur. Eric is twice your size, so any attempt of getting away is slim. He pulls you into his firm grip and tightens each time you squirm. 

“You’re a filthy bitch.” You cry out as he pushes you back into the fence. You stumble back dropping your purse. 

“Hey, that’s my sister!” You hear Steve say as he charges at Eric. You and Steve are pretty much the same in height and weight. There is no way Steve could ever take on your date. In fact, three years ago, Eric beat up your brother in one of the parking lots downtown. Steve’s face was so swollen you could barely recognise him. 

“No Steve, please. Don’t.” You scream but it’s too late. Steve is on the ground groaning in a matter of seconds. Kick after kick you desperately scream at Eric to stop. 

A few seconds pass, hearing a scuffle you blink furiously but your eyes are blinded by tears. The grunting seems to halt suddenly but you can’t seem to stop crying. This is your worst nightmare. The whole of New York, your brother and Bucky have just laid witness to your daily abuse. 

“You’ll pay for that Barnes!” Eric’s voice screams from a distance, but the only thing you can focus on is the loud pounding in your chest. 

“Hey Doll, Shh, I’m here.” A familiar voice whispers in your ear.  Your body is shaking uncontrollably as the shame sets in. Bucky’s hands fly to your face assessing the damage. “Are you hurt?” He asks, but the only reply you can manage is a whimper. “Y/N? Are you hurt?” He scans your body furiously for any injuries. 

“Y/N! What the heck was that?” Steve yells causing you to flinch. Your brother has never yelled at you in your life. “You need to explain this to me right now.” His eyes are filled to the brim with rage and his breathing ragged. You’d never seen him like this.

“Take a walk Steve, you're scaring her,” Bucky instructs as he finishes his examination. 

“No. Buck cmon!” Steve insists. 

“I said take a walk. Come back when you’ve calmed down.” Bucky says which Steve reluctantly follows. “It’s okay man, I’ve got her.” He assures. 

You watch as your brother angrily picks up your purse and stalks in the opposite direction kicking a trash can in anger. 

“Cmon beautiful let's sit down.” Bucky gently commands as he leads you over to the park bench he pulls you into his side protectively. 

“I’ve never seen Steve so mad.” You whisper glancing down at your fingers. 

“He’s just scared Y/N, he feels like he failed you as a big brother.” He sighs, as he scratches his head, “Frankly I feel like I’ve failed you as well.” 

After a moment of silence Bucky speaks up, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want Steve to get involved. As you just saw he likes to think he can take on the world.” You mumble.

“Okay, I get why you didn’t tell Steve, but why didn’t you tell me.” He gently wipes a tear that’s managed to escape. “I would have handled this for you.”

“I don’t know,” You whisper, wishing you were anywhere other than Bucky’s accusing eyes.

“That’s not good enough Y/N, why didn’t you tell me when I asked today?” He pushes. His jaw tightens and his brows furrow. 

“Because you're leaving Buck.” You finally gain the courage to look him in the eye, “You leave tomorrow, and as soon as you leave I lose the ability to count on you. I’m not stupid. I know Steve is out there, day after day trying to get shipped off into a war zone. He will either get accepted or thrown into jail for lying on the enlistment form, so I can’t rely on him either.” You swallow back the ball of cement that seems to be lodged in your throat. “I thought I could deal with this on my own, ya know, without you because soon enough, it will just be me.” You take a deep breath, “I guess I just wanted to prove to myself I could handle this.” 

“Come here.” Bucky pulls you into a fierce hug and for just a split second all your troubles melt away. 

“I’m always going to find my way back to you Y/N. Always.” He whispers.

“Not if you die in the war.” You whimper. “What if this is the last time I ever see you.” Your heart starts to pound in your ears as horrible thoughts burn in the back of your mind.

“Hey, shh, Doll.” He hushes, “I will come back, even if I have to crawl through barb wire or walk thousands of miles without food or water just to see your pretty face. I will. I will always find my way back to you.” He presses light kisses to your bruises and pulls you in closer.  

“But I need you to promise me something.” He gently grabs your chin so you are both holding eye contact. “I need you to promise me that you won’t ever go back to him or any guy like him okay? Actually on second thought, maybe don’t go near any guy that isn’t me or Steve.” He shoots you a goofy smile and you nod causing him to let out a light chuckle. 

“I’m only half-joking about that last part.” He reassures, he takes a second to think before making his declaration, “When I get back I’m taking you on a real date Y/N, I’m going to show you what true love is.” He looks down at you, adoration shining in his eyes. “I’ll make you forget all about that scum.”

You laugh, loving the sound of that. “You’ll have to tell Steve and then get his approval first.” You joke lacing your hands in his. 

“He knows doll, he’s always known about my feelings for you,” Bucky whispers. For a second it feels like the world just stopped turning.  Your face must mirror the confusion you feel inside because Buck laughs as you try to comprehend the words he so confidently spoke. 

“You better come back to me Barnes.” You whisper as you gently kiss his lightly bruised knuckles from when he saved both you and your brother. 

Bucky was and will remain your hero. 

Apologies for changing the storyline of Bucky & Steve. And a double apology for not editing this but it’s 12am here. 

[jrazillashadowworks]

Victubia Theme of the Month: June- Flower Language

I’m soo damn late with this but better than not finishing it at all! @,,@  Warnings: Dark themes with mention of violation. 

I do hope you enjoy this. Been forever since I posted anything! Bonus at the end. ^,,^ 

Through the forest frosted and covered in white from the winter season, a massive being as pale as the snow trudged along, his form only noticeable from the void black hooded cloak. A colossal dadao blade was strapped to his broad back, accentuating his dangerous form, sheening in the grey light of the surroundings. However, cradled tenderly as if a baby in his muscular arms was a black lace bouquet of various species of decidedly out of season flowers, tied with a black ribbon. Each blossom was completely flawless and radiant as if preserved and protected by some form of magic, which indeed they were and a mesh veil. Just as special was the meaning behind each of them, some sweet and others somber.

It was with the expert assistance of the eccentric and theatrical entrepreneur from the special floral shop in the capital that he was able to collect such a meaningful arrangement. The short transwoman with the tri-colored ringlet hair had flit him about the shop, expressing the significance of each and every one. Though she was respectful to his purpose, she was rather apprehensive to let him leave with the flowers, learning he intended to leave them on a grave in the dead of winter. In the end, though his expression had been guarded, she saw the tragic sadness in his black eyes and she could not deny him. In the end, he walked out with a couple of pink carnations, dark crimson and tea roses, zinnias, anemones, and the best wishes of the businesswoman Adela.

Kain’s arms cuddled more around the bouquet and his heart sank as he broke through the trees to the small, secluded bluff overlooking the opaque ocean moving calmly under the desolate sky, drizzling with flakes. He had thought he had prepared himself enough, it had been a year since that day after all but, already he felt his innards constrict and tangle, tears already threatening to sting his eyes. Though he was struggling, he finally lowered his gaze on the three graves, only indicated by a trio of nondescript, dark grey stones. A thick layer of snow had nearly buried the stones, blanketing the mounds. This would not do.

Sitting his flowers under one of the spindly boned trees, he turned back and lifted his arms to the frigid wind, feeling the power resonate within him. Brows furrowing and with a single tear sliding down his cheek, he thrust his hands forward. Harnessing his inner turmoil, he surged a blast of magically concentrated air to dust the graves free of the white, fanning it over the bluff in an avalanche. The deafening, whirling howl of the wind gave voice to Kain’s deepest feelings, the cold clawing up his arms and fingers.

Dropping his hands, shoulders slumping, he exhaled softly, the graves visible with a glossy sheen of ice over the black dirt. Muscles tensing, he could not halt the faces of the two brothers from entering his mind, Arui, and…Ovis. The third grave belonged to their mother though Kain had never met her but, he held her in great esteem for she was the figurehead of their family. Ovis took center stage of his mind as he recalled the time they spent together as friends and comrades under the way of the assassin.

These memories, more powerful here, continued to bombard him as he retrieved the bouquet, brushing away the clinging snowflakes. When he turned back around, his feet became as if encased in cement blocks dropped in quicksand. It took all of his strength to trudge over to the grave of Ovis, each step heavier than the last. He could hear Ovis’ smooth voice in his head, the passing conversations and snarky comments playing out on repeat.

Reaching the foot of the mound, the voice was cut off by the ringing of the wire that decapitated him. The scent of his blood was as fresh in his nose as the day he died. Kain’s knees buckled, the weight of his emotions, amplified by the images of Ovis’ demise, crumbling him to the ground. Hunched over, tears flowed freely now, sprinkling the petals, instantly crystalizing into frozen blossoms of their own.

Kain cried silently for a few minutes before he was finally able to lay the bouquet onto the grave, whispering yet another final goodbye. Midway through his sentence, however, another voice intruded, one horribly and impossibly familiar. The sound was gravelly, yet smooth, like the burble of a creek over jagged stones.

“Ni hao, my western wind.” The tone was dripping with longing and elation, a strange combo that made Kain notice for the first time just how cold it was.

Wondering whether he had lost his mind, the pale man turned his head slightly, squinting at the ostentatious form, emanating warm color. The very sight made his skin crawl and the sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold emptiness. Standing not ten feet away was a man of average stature, but a powerfully athletic build, draped in the most ornate and embellished ceremonial, silk robe Kain had ever seen.

A rose gold embroidered fierce serpent of Chinese myth, known as the Bashe, wrapped around his body multiple times, jaws unhinged and fangs threatening, in a sea of glittering lotus flowers of warm colors. Over the robe, he wore an open, large sleeved, cloth overcoat, tied at the chest by a felt chord, one arm occupied and the other vacant. A head and face wrap obscured ninety-five percent of his features save for a single eye, his mouth and a very long tuft of silver hair that sprung out in a downward curve. Although the sheathed Jian blade, hardly veiled by the coat was cause for concern, it was more what was behind him that snatched Kain’s attention.

Haphazardly hidden around his back was a colossal bouquet. The impossibly slight movement of Kain’s notice did not escape this new arrival, causing him to hide it better. “So living a normal life didn’t suit you huh?” He spoke matter of fact, clearly posing it as a question out of some mock sense of propriety. “And now you seem to have been accepted by THEM fully.”

Kain felt the sting of the phantom needle on the nape of his neck again where a tattoo of a wraith now resided, marking the creation of a new bloodline in the growing web of assassins. He gave no implication of responding, though his hand incessantly itched to reach for his blade.

“It’s pleasant to see one of you stuck to it, especially after all the work I put into creating such masterpieces. Shame my Eastern Wind actually succeeded in the normal life.”

White hot memories flashed before Kain’s eyes of a past friend the exact age as himself, raised in the life of murder. It was this friendship that changed everything and lead to the betrayal and fire that supposedly freed them from this life. Although a twinge of relief found Kain at the knowledge of his friend’s positive turn, he was crestfallen to find that their biggest problem apparently survived.

“What do you want?” Kain finally asked with a hard edge to his voice. “You’re desecrating hallowed ground.”

The man let out puffs of breaths that turned into a full-on cackle that shook his entire body, extremely entertained by the notion of an assassin respecting the dead. After a full minute of this, he finally calmed, still chuckling through frantic, broken breathes and apologies. Once again composed, he continued as if it did not happen.

“A peace offering…” He finally pulled out the bouquet he had hidden behind his back that easily put Kain’s to shame in both size and color. Though it would appear to be a simple collection of extravagant and beautiful flowers, Kain remembered once again the voice of the flower shop owner. Among the rainbow bouquet were flowers such as jonquils and red camellias with positive meanings behind them. However, there was also an abundance of flowers that expressed disappointment and anger, along with some that were downright warnings such as begonias and monkshoods. This bundle was a complete expression of the man’s deepest thoughts and wishes towards Kain.

“I enjoyed your idea so much I had to imitate it. Now, I’m willing to forgive you for taking my arm and nearly having me burned to death if you would but come back to me…” A vehement lust resounded from within the man now, his form quivering with a sickening longing. “I desire to have what we once had. Join me again and we can go start over, right before all those horrible mistakes you made. Forget about these silly bloodlines and dead people who were simply substitutions for your broken friendship with the Eastern wind.”

Kain reached for the hilt of his sword now. A maelstrom of excruciating emotions whirled inside him like a ravaging tornado, aided by the appalling thoughts of the countless times this man had molested, violated, and beat him, along with the accusation that everything he had with Arui and Ovis was fake. “Leave…”

“You even kept the sword I gave you. It’s clearly destiny!!!”

At those words, the smothering pain inside Kain became a coalescence of gusty magical energy that in that precise moment released in a single attack, impossible to catch. With a single spin, Kain let loose his dadao in a sideswipe that blasted forth a terrible white cyclone that tore up everything in its destructive path towards the man, including the iced stone ground.

The deafening cyclone made for the trees, collapsing a few before dissipating in a gust that blew the snow away in all directions. What was left was not the man but a scattering of shredded petals, raining a kaleidoscope of color. Brows knit so tight they were almost connected, Kain hissed through his closed lips, scanning everywhere for the individual only to find nothing.

Once the sound died down, a voice filtered from nowhere in particular. “Such a terrible shame. The west wind seems to have weakened. Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on you. But…I’m thinking I’m going to have to pay a visit to our old friend institutionalized by the false contentment of a normal life and…persuade him. Until we meet again my Western Wind.”

Kain’s powerful arms went limp as rubber, hanging down. With all his power escaped, he was left but a husk of a man staring dead-eyed into the tree line, shivering cold.

 Bonus: Flower language

Flowers in Kain’s bouquet:

•        CARNATION Pink - I'll Never Forget You CARNATION, Purple – Capriciousness

•        ROSE Dark Crimson - Mourning

•        ROSE Tea - I'll Remember; Always

•        ZINNIA Mixed - Thinking (or in Memory) of an Absent Friend

•        ANEMONE -Forsaken or forgotten love and affection, the death of a loved one or the loss of them to someone else, the arrival of the first spring winds, Bad luck or ill omens

•        DAFFODIL - Regard; Unrequited Love; you’re the Only One; the Sun is Always Shining When I'm with you

•        HYACINTH Purple - I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow

Flowers in the arrivals bouquet:

•        GERANIUM -"Stupidity; Folly for Kain’s actions.

•        HYDRANGEA - Thank You for Understanding; Frigidity; Heartlessness

•        JONQUIL - Love Me; Affection Returned; Desire; Sympathy; Desire for Affection Returned

•        MONKSHOOD - Beware; A Deadly Foe is near

•        STOCK - Bonds of Affection; Promptness; You'll Always Be Beautiful to Me

•        CAMELLIA Pink - Longing for You

•        BEGONIA – Beware

•        CAMELLIA Red - You're a Flame in My Heart

•        CARNATION Yellow - You Have Disappointed Me; Rejection

•        HEATHER   White - Protection; Wishes will Come True

•        MARIGOLD - Cruelty: Grief Jealousy

•        NASTURTIUM - Conquest; Victory in Battle

•        PETUNIA - Resentment; Anger; Your Presence Soothes me

[alicalopezlive-blog]

Sickened Coal Ash Workers Guilt Tennessee Utility for Exposure to Health Hazards

The Tennessee Valley ity, long well known for providing good careers and cheap electricity, will be facing a growing backlash above its handling of a significant coal lung burning ash spill about ten years ago, with most likely serious results for a good industry often opposed to environment regulation. A tribunal in Knoxville decided in time that the TVA’s builder, Jacobs Engineering, breached its security duties, exposing countless cleanup workers to airborne “fly ash” with known carcinogens. The jurors claimed Jacobs’ actions were competent of making the employees tired. The key question of whether many people brought on each worker’s accidental injuries had been left for a various jury in a next level of the municipal trial. More than staff fault the specialist for revealing them to ash they say caused the variety of illnesses, some deadly, including cancers of often the chest, brain, blood and even skin. Despite last November’s advantageous verdict for this first injured parties, they won’t get budgetary damages unless of course they can confirm just what caused their certain illnesses. The judge, alluding to their vital want for health care, ordered mediation. More than a hundred or so other injured persons await the result. “To have the stress placed on you, that a person have to prove just what caused these horrific items — that’s an atrocity, ” said Janie Cs, whose husband, Ansol, provides a rare blood malignancy following driving a fuel truck or van at the site. “I imagine that’s just the particular law. ” Jacobs’ legal professional, Theodore Boutrous, said the company “was carrying out it has the best to help manage the cleanup in a new way that is safe : that the regulators have said is safe. ” They exhausted that it hasn’t already been confirmed that Jacobs – or perhaps coal lung burning ash – is to blame with regard to any illnesses. The employees encountered a moonscape after the dripping six-story earthen ravage zero from the TVA’s Kingston Fossil Plant about 12 ,.,, releasing more than a good billion gallons of fossil fuel lung burning ash. It remains this biggest industrial spill inside modern U. S. background. The idea also prompted often the Age to begin regulating coal lung burning ash storage from more than, lively ash dumps around the nation, although not as exactingly because environmentalists would want. The TVA paid to get as many as men and women to have and eliminate the pollution, a few functioning -hour shifts for months from a time. The sludge dried into a fine particles that sparkled similar to glitter and sometimes whirled into clouds so deep, drivers may possibly barely observe past the bonnets of their trucks. In interviews, workers said they had been healthy before breathing the ash, but have considering experienced unusual symptoms. These people recalled joking darkly concerning “coal ash flu” just before battling strange lesions plus experiencing their skin flake off like fish weighing machines. At least colleagues have died, they said, a few gruesomely, collapsing and paying out blood. In this Oct.,, photography, Ansol and Janie Clark pose with a good funeral Ansol Simon constructed close to the Kingston Fossil Plant inside Kingston, Tenn. Typically the Tennessee Pit ity had been accountable for a massive coal ash discharge at often the plant in that covered a good community and fouled streams. The couple according to the memorial is for typically the workers with come decrease with illnesses, quite a few fatal, including cancers with the chest, brain, blood and epidermis and severe obstructive pulmonary disease. Ansol Clark simon owned a fuel vehicle with regard to four decades within the cleaning site, and now is suffering from a rare blood cancers. AP PhotoMark Humphrey “We wiped clean it up around a little more than several years, and it would’ve took years to perform it properly, ” explained Doug Bledsoe, who forced trucks generally there and today has brain and chest cancer. Gaffer boss Michael Robinette testified that Jacobs safety manager Ben Milieu purchased him to take one worker’s mask away and get rid of all the masks inside the equipment space. “We threw them inside the dumpster, ” Robinette testified.

And Greg Schwartz, a Jacobs’ subcontractor, testified his supervisor said masks weren’t allowed “because this looked bad. ” “They didn’t want individuals generating by and experiencing persons with masks. That was the solution I received, ” Schwartz said. Milieu, with trial run, denied the workers’ accusations that he / she bought debris masks destroyed or disappointed their use. healthy skin care products is definitely not a offender and hasn’t mentioned on these personal personal injury cases, other than to claim Jacobs was liable for staff member safety. With its standing in stake, the agency stresses that coal ash is classified as “nonhazardous” simply by the E. ” Fight it out University geochemist Avner Vengosh, who is not necessarily involved in the litigation, tested lung burning ash through the Kingston spill in addition to found large levels connected with radioactivity and dangerous materials, including curare and even mercury. In a new assertion regarding his peer-reviewed research, this individual warned that inhaling and exhaling airborne particles could “have a severe wellness effect on localized residents or employees. ” Nonetheless the workers claimed Jacobs safety supervisors instructed them “you could try to eat a good pound of the idea a new day and the idea wouldn’t harm you. ” Ron Bledsoe, a vehicle drivers who today struggles to breathe with severe obstructive pulmonary ailment, explained managers made a problem concerning safety glasses plus steel-toed boots but downplayed typically the fly ash whirling all around them. Jacobs officials testified they followed regulations for air monitoring, with benefits verified by outside firms, and found the employees were never ever exposed to dangerous levels. Personnel testified they witnessed the supervising being manipulated. Irrespective, experts say there isn’t more than enough research to identify some sort of safe level of prolonged experience of fly ash. “We need more research, because people are potentially getting ill from fossil fuel ash, ” said Kristina Zierold, the epidemiologist in the University connected with Alabama from Birmingham who also is not active in the law suits. Anti Snoring Products as opposed this to the concerted effort it took to prove scientifically the fact that smoking causes illness. Laws utilize to dust in general and to many connected with the individual regions of travel ash, but more do the job is needed to realize what happens by the body processes if all those toxic chemical compounds happen to be breathed in together. That is one reason many of the workers could possibly have an uphill battle demonstrating their particular illnesses resulted from prolonged exposure, claimed John Terry, an epidemiologist with the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, who testified regarding the employees. With the TVA board meeting previous week, Janie Clark pleaded for help with typically the workers’ medical bills. “They cleaned up your clutter, ” she said. “Please do not let these hardworking folks turn out to be treated as collateral destruction. ” TVA Table chairman Skip Thompson responded using sympathy but designed not any promises. The Clarks wished to visit a beach after the cleansing. Janie’s never seen the particular sea. Ansol’s illness presently can make that difficult. “It do not matter anymore, ” the girl said. “They mortally wounded of which dream in myself. ” .. This material may not be Was this article important? Thank you! Please tell us everything we could do to strengthen this short article.

[midnightmarinara]

XoRax (Spoiler-Free)

This pasta was posted on /x/ on Jan 29th, 2012. It is quite interesting and worth the lengthy read.

My parents were the first to fall violently ill from the sickness we now know as XoRax. I can vividly recall my father lying on his bed while his muscles spasmed and he choked on his own vomit. I stood as his side, frozen in place and refusing to leave as I held back sobs, his pupils dilating until his entire eye was like an inky blackness. He tried to speak, turning his head toward me, but opening his mouth only brought forth another torrent of vomit. I remember saying something, but that detail is lost on me now. I remember staring into his glazed eyes as his shuddering became less pronounced and he was suddenly very still. I let out a wail and ran into my room, unprepared and unwilling to face the truth. My mother was the first to pass, then my older brother who had just turned 17, and finally my father. I had not considered that I could have caught the disease myself - if it were in fact contagious - I just thought myself lucky, though tragically lucky at that.

I fell asleep in the corner, huddled in the blanket that previously kept my mother warm, her perfume made the putrid aroma somewhat tolerable, perhaps just enough so that I could drift off. I remember a persistent banging next, a series of muffled inquiries from the opposite side of my locked door. They were shouting for survivors, looking fervently for anyone who was still alive, despite the breakout. I rushed to the door and unlocked it to face what I would come to identify as the Day-Crew. Their faces were obscured by large gas masks fitted with some sort of capsule on either side of their cheeks, their breathing was slow and monitored, their voices were nearly impossible to hear over their mechanical wheezing. They were covered from head to toe in black regulation hazmat material with orange text reading DAY-CREW on their backs.

They ordered me out into the main hall where I managed to catch sight of fourteen other children around my age being told directions and filed into a line-up. Once the entire group had been examined, we began our trek out into the streets, which was a vision of chaos and destruction. We had heard the noises of looting and desperation from our homes, but we hadn't ventured off into the outside world for weeks for fear of catching the sickness ourselves.

There were even more Day-Crew that were burning the bodies that had fallen to the streets , trying to purge the earth as they kept their distance from the resulting fumes. We were silently ushered into the back of a large truck that took us to the south, away from the cities and suburbs and into the dense growth of the forest.

When the van came to a screeching halt, the doors swung open to reveal more Day-Crew, who ushered us out into a forest clearing. We were interrogated about our exposure to anyone with XoRax, and if we felt any symptoms like nausea or vertigo; though we had all witnessed our family members falling ill, and had tried in vain to treat them, we were all perfectly fine in any physical sense.

The Day-Crew initially told us that they were perplexed about our immunity to the sickness, as anyone who came in contact with it was sure to fall ill just hours later, so it was a shock to see that some of us had been living this nightmare for weeks on end. As they administered more tests and asked more questions however, we were told that the immunity was tied with a hormone cell that the disease was using to compromise the immune system, and since we were all too young to have properly developed it, the disease was unable to make us fall ill.

We were told that the Day-Crew wanted to study us, that we would live under the cover of the forest in quarantine. They would hope to extract a cure from our group that could be used to heal the world and rid it of XoRax Disease.

They tried their best to sound positive in light of the situation, but it was obvious that even they were doubtful of their efforts, and that there was no guarantee for any of their tests to follow through.

Still, they kept the mood optimistic and promised us that we would save countless lives with our efforts. They built a secluded village in the woods, providing us each with a make-shift house carved into the tree trunks around the area, I was led to a simple tree house that had a single bed on the far end and a table in the middle. We were told that first thing the next morning we were going to have our blood taken, so we weren't allowed to eat anything until then. I was fine with that, I hadn't been hungry for days, the image of my mother, father and brother crowded my thoughts instead. I didn't get much sleep, the forest was chirping with crickets, and the muffled bickering of the Night-Crew kept me up into the early hours.

We were woken the next day and filed into a single line up to have blood drawn. While the needles were prepared for us, we were told that we would have to receive a vaccination that would prevent us from going through puberty to preserve the hormone that might lead to a cure. It was never elaborated on at the time that we would never be able to grow up, or have children, but it was unlikely to live beyond the first few hours of infection, never mind the next few years, so our adulthood was seen as necessary sacrifice.

This continued for a few weeks, we would continue to receive vaccinations and assured that a cure would soon arise, but times were getting desperate. I took to listening in on the muffled conversations of the Night-Crew during the night, it became easier to make out what they were saying over time as they sat beneath my bedroom window next to a crackling fire.

I discovered that our encampment was only one of many in the surrounding area, and that they deduced that XoRax originally came from the sea to the West. They passed around horror stories of the people that lived by the shore that were hit the worst, that they had gone completely pale and that they began to sprout growths off of their elbows, hips and their toes. They had to be kept constantly hydrated or else their skin would begin to flake and peel. Their pupils had dilated and their entire eye was colored black, at this bit I thought back to my father, sitting on the couch and writhing in pain.

There was food in the mountains, one assured another, they were gathering it in droves, perhaps to keep it from spoiling. Another spoke up, revealing that they had managed to find expecting women who weren't exposed to XoRaX, and that they were being kept in the mountains to birth their young away from the sickness. The topic came back to their present situation and they began to discuss our encampment, that our results - while promising - weren't being worked on fast enough. There were accusations claimed, and fingers pointed, but at last they settled on keeping their mood positive, that something would come along eventually, that we just needed some more time.

Discussion drifted back to the horror stories of the West coast, which clearly sparked sick interest in the group as they talked of the corpses that had been found along the waters and drifted ashore, each with deep black eyes.

I rolled over in my bed, unable to listen to any more of the stories without images of my own family. Staring up towards the ceiling, praying that we would manage to find a cure soon, and that I wouldn't have to hear about the people of the West any more.

It had been nearly a month of testing when something went wrong - a few short hours after our latest vaccination several kids began complaining of distorted vision. They could see trailing lights in the air, making their way across the plains. While their faces were covered with their masks, I could sense the worry that played out across their faces.

We were told that they were just visual hallucinations, and that they would subside in a few hours. When I awoke the next day and glimpsed outside I too could see the trailing lights drifting through the air, they forbid anyone to discuss the lights any further, though it was clear that everyone could see them.

As we lined up to have blood drawn, one of the Day-Crew became terribly ill, and began to vomit through his gas mask. In a frenzied panic we were ordered back into our homes as they led the sick member away into the woods. We were told to come out and organize ourselves into a line for decontamination. After covering everyone with a chalk-like substance, they began to scrub away at it with some foul smelling liquid until they were assured that we were safe to deal with once more. This excessive procedure became a part of our daily regimen, and it's how we started calling them "The Scrubs" rather than their official titles. We were disillusioned, and it was obvious that they were as well.

The visual hallucinations began to worsen, even though we had stopped taking vaccinations long ago. Some kids began to befriend imaginary creatures in the air, speaking to the trails of light. I was horrified that I might start losing my sanity as well.

I didn't want to eavesdrop to the discussion over the fire that night, which had gradually worsened which each passing week. With a trailing desperation in their voice, the Night-Crew began to exchange information about the other areas.

The food in the mountain had been contaminated, and rumors began to surface that all of the births had resulted in defects, with each child being well-over a healthy birth weight with their eyes far apart. They would likely succumb to the disease and perish as well, it was decided. The cure that had been tested on the XoRax-ridden patients hadn't shown any signs of preventing the sickness, but rather had simply slowed the progress of the sickness so that it claimed lives in days rather than hours.

While this was a bit of good news, they focused on how little was accomplished over such a large span of time, and how anyone with the sickness shouldn't be kept stringing along, but rather, destroyed so that they couldn't contaminate anyone else. There was a coldness in their voice.

I rolled over in my bed to watch the lights play across my vision, dancing across my eyes until I fell asleep.

The Scrubs were gone the next day, leaving us behind as their failed experiment. The other children seemed unaware of this and decided to continue befriending imaginary creatures. In a depression I sulked off to bed, only to suffer a violent burst of spasms and shivering in the process. I drifted in and out of sleep that night, having one recurring nightmare after another. When I awoke, I heard something pass through my doorway, something that couldn't possibly be there. Rolling over I reluctantly looked up into the air to watch a trailing ball of light float around my house before descending toward my bed.

"Hello, Link. Wake up. The Great Deku Tree has summoned you!"

[neikarasu]

Mirage

A R76 week contribution.

Day 3 - At Your Back.

It was painful.

 Every punch in the gut, every slash across his marred skin, every abuse given…They were all real. Hair matted in sweat and blood, it was a challenge to keep up right. Still, his back was straight, restrained as it was, and blue eyes unwavering in his burning hatred.

 Empty owl mask stared back.

 There wasn’t much to say anymore and Soldier76, even with all his enhancements, was exhausted. Accusations, insults and rage-filled screams had already gone flying in the first few days. Or weeks. It was tough to tell the time when the cell they kept him in had no window. Soldier knew damn well nobody was going to come for him. He got himself into this, no one else knew. Even if they did, they would have told Jack he was an idiot.

 And idiot he was, but he needed to see this through with his own eyes.

 A punch knocked the wind out of his lungs. Couldn’t even double over to lessen the impact. Talon must have thought he had some kind of super strength, given all the steel cuffs. Even the cell was lined with steel, fully machine operated.

 But they didn’t need all that to keep him in. Not with the jailer they had assigned Jack.

 He must admit, the taunting jostled him more than the physical stuff. There was so much history between them, so much hurt that was buried away and under that explosion. Jack thought whatever memory left was misted over by scars, and yet here they were. He was surprised at how deep every word cut. At how many memories resurfaced, that, after all these years, the betrayal still stung.

 Talon did their research. They knew what would hurt most.

 But just like the man sent to torment him, Jack was just a ghost of the past. There wasn’t much he could offer them that would benefit the organization in the long run. Soldier76 was a nuisance at best, raiding their abandoned facilities and foiling petty gang activities. No, if he heard it right, Talon was into the bigger shit, now that Overwatch no longer could hound them.

 Jack Morrison was a dead man, but if he could spite some old enemies before he died, then he would sure take that chance.

 Not exactly keen about having Reaper’s mask in his face as the last sight, though.

 A talon-clad, gnarled fist sent Soldier blacking out.

 Jack came to what must be hours later, because he was alone. It was pitch black in the cell and there was no sound to be heard. His joints were more than just stiff and he could feel caked blood flaking off of his skin.

 Reyes had always been thorough with his work.

 Speaking of which…

 The cuffs suddenly snapped open, all but spat Jack tumbling to the floor. The thudding pain of countless bruises almost shadowed over the door’s opening, hissing as the power was cut. The slapping of metal-studded boots was deafening with how Jack’s ear pressed against the floor, and how he was yanked to his back did nothing to lessen his aching.

 Still, it didn’t deter his mocking smirk, even if he knew it was crooked from his split lips, “What took you so long? Needed to find a cane?”

 Gabriel didn’t even look impressed, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

 Jack laughed, delirious. Gabriel propped him up and, without warning, injected a whole syringe of biotic energy into his system. Needless to say, Jack’s surprised yelp didn’t exactly help his case. In fact, it had Gabriel sighing, “Really? And you didn’t even make a sound during that whole interrogation.”

 “Gotta…make it believable.” He managed between grounding teeth and gasps, the rush of energy was dizzying, “…Tough and gritty, that’s how they like it.”

 Shuffling somewhere in the room, Gabriel made an uncommitted noise. Still regaining his breaths, Jack allowed himself a moment to watch his lover setting up the scene. Cocking his head to the side, “Haven’t seen you in that hoodie in a while. What’s up with Hot Topic? Couldn’t get a deal outta them anymore?”

 The dark man paused, giving Jack an unsettling crimson glare. Jack just shrugged. Gabriel went back to whatever he was doing, mumbling under his breath. In the distance, alarms were going wild. Jack could pick up rushing footsteps and shouting. Whatever Gabriel had set off must not have been pretty.

 “…Is that gorilla hair…?”

 “Yes.”

 “…Did he punch you good?”

 “…Yes.”

 Jack threw back his head and laughed. Still, Gabriel didn’t seem amused. And yet, when he helped Jack up, his touch was gentle. Scared, almost, as if Jack would break.

 It had the old soldier feeling slightly guilty, having been the one to suggest all this.

 “I’m fine.” He assured Gabriel, lamely so. The answering grunt didn’t sound very convincing.

 With how long he had been bound, Jack was slow. Gabriel didn’t say a word, simply guided him down the corridor. Everything was a bleak red in emergency light, made harder to navigate with how Jack was trying to slip on his getups as they went. The noises suggested that it would take a while for Talon to even remember Jack was there, but still, he worried.

 “You got everything in the clear?”

 Gabriel’s stare was flat, but he answered anyway, “As far as they are concerned, I am on a plane to Mexico right now and Widowmaker is being flown in to be my replacement. The time gap is perfect and only a handful of people know of this.”

 Good. Talon would bite off their own. Just like what they had done with Overwatch. They would get off Gabriel’s case, too.

 Jack didn’t get any more question out afterwards. Gabriel shoved his visor on, and wraith-walked both of them out via air duct. Didn’t seem like Gabriel wanted conversation either. Jack didn’t blame him.

 If Jack was hurt by all this act, then Gabriel must have been tenfold. He hadn’t wanted any of this to happen. He would have never laid a hand on Jack. Never wanted to dig up old memories. In his own wording, he would have figured this out on his own. That this was risky, and Jack actively putting himself into Talon’s hand to cement Gabriel’s cover was plain stupid.

 Jack, on the other hand, was selfish.

 The things he had said were probably a thousand time more painful than what Gabriel did in the cell.

 They reformed miles away from the Talon’s base. Dawn was barely touching the horizon, giving Jack just enough light to see Gabriel’s face.

 He squeezed the man’s hand once. It wasn’t enough. So he stopped and pulled Gabriel into his arms instead, feeling muscles tensed in his embrace.

 “I’m alright. Don’t worry.”

 “…Don’t ever ask me to do anything like that again. You hear me, Morrison? Don’t fucking ever do that again.”

 Jack didn’t deserve this man’s devotion. Even in captive, under harm and helpless, deep in his heart, Jack knew Gabriel got his back. That he was foolish to ever have that trust wavering.

 But he learned.

 And by God, he would never lose this man again.

[jackfollmanwriter-blog]

Detroit

The sight of my father’s Detroit PD uniform always made me feel like a child, but seeing it there lying on the floor it made me feel even more helpless than I when I was five years old. It was funny to think how intimidating the navy blue garb could be when put upon the sinewy frame of a man with a badge when it looked so harmless and pathetic, crumpled up next to a dusty fireplace, looking like any old piece of dirty laundry.

I stepped up to the uniform with a tremble and knelt down to take it in my arms. Knowing that the sight of the uniform meant I would never see my dad’s body again, I took its collar up to my face and inhaled and hoped the fossilized scent of his Old Spice might somehow make me feel safe in a darkened place.

The little fucker’s tip was spot on. There was a cop’s uniform lying in an abandoned house at the end of Baker Street. What the little fucker didn’t tell me was the uniform belonged to Amit Patel. My father.

The little fucker I refer to is a 17-year-old borderline criminal I interviewed a few times in pursuit of a story for the Detroit Free Press before I got laid off and before I decided that he was mostly full of shit. He usually hung around the edge of an abandoned cul-de-sac pretending to sell weed and flagged me down as I was on my way to an interview with someone who I hoped was more honest.

My story was about “Zombie,” a new drug that had hit the streets of Detroit, but that was still so underground only those heavily entrenched in the world of hard drugs and law enforcement knew about it.  Those privy to information about Zombie knew it was a liquid drug of unknown ingredients usually cooked up in one of the countless abandoned houses that haunted Detroit. The users shot up the stuff in the back of their neck and it’s heavy hold led to them joining a marauding group of addicts rumored to be eating people, particularly their brains (hence the name Zombie). Whether the drug made you crave eating people or if it was just a group of people who liked to eat people who just happened to really like the drug was the subject of hot debate.

I was privy to this information because my father and my brother, Az, were in the Detroit Police Department. The two of them had pulled some strings and gotten me behind-the-scenes access to the department as I pursued the first media story about Zombie.

The department labeled me as a bad omen, because as soon as I showed up, officers started going missing. Three cops disappeared within my first month of hanging around the station and all in the same way my father eventually would. They went out on a domestic disturbance calls in one of the many cul-de-sacs littered with the shells of abandoned house that dotted the city like dead insects in a spider’s web and never came back. Their uniforms were always found in a different abandoned neighborhood than the one they had been sent to investigate.  The trend put such a scare into the department my father and brother worked at had been reduced to just four officers after a rash of retirements and resignations.  

A big reason why so many of the guys were giving it up was the entire Detroit police department had zero leads on breaking up the Zombie clan or tracking down any of the missing officers, dead or alive. I think the idea of being eaten had particularly created a flight in the officers and I believed the cannibalism rumors because nearly every house that was searched after Zombie groups had been reported there had included at least one human skeleton which was partially eaten with hacked upon bones and empty skulls.

Another key factor to the mysteriousness of the disappearing cops was, despite their uniforms always being left behind, their hats were always never recovered. The main theory connected to the permanent disappearance of the hats was because they housed a new piece of the technology, the “cop cam.” Forced on officers due to a never-ending rash of horrible PR, the GoPro-style cameras recorded everything the officers did and were monitored back at the station.

After my dad went missing, Az and his six-year-old son Cale moved into my one-bedroom apartment in the heart of the city. Az and Cale lived in a larger house on the edge of the city and we figured with all of the officers going missing, a cramped apartment downtown was a safer environment. Az and Cale had been sleeping on my couch, but the night that I had discovered my father’s uniform we all slept together in my bed with Az and I crying, Cale too young to really absorb exactly what happened.

I had an interview set up for the next week I thought about cancelling but decided to keep after days of mourning. My father’s disappearance encouraged me to double down on my pursuit of tracking down the members of the Zombie group, even if the newspaper I had initially planned on submitting my story to no longer employed me. This was no longer about reporting, this was my own personal investigation and about being able to hold a proper funeral for the man who raised me.

My interview took me out to Stoepel Park, a neighborhood ravaged by urban flight more than any other in the city. Desolate, crumpling and deserted, the burg reminded me of the Emerald City in Return to Oz.

The mother of a young man who had joined the Zombie gypsies responded to my Craigslist ad that advertised for those with information about the group to come forward for a documentary. The mother claimed her son joined the group for a few weeks, but came back home to get clean a couple of days ago. This was potentially huge. In the few months the group had been growing, there was not a single report of a defector.

I headed to Stoepel alone as the presence of anyone else, especially those that looked like law enforcement, could result in those who may have been loose-lipped clamming up. Absolutely no one wanted to be connected in any way to the Zombie group, so those that may have had information were reluctant to come forward out of fear of being accused.

My interview took me to a dilapidated manor that could have belonged to a big wig at General Motors decades ago, but was now home to single gray-haired woman with cigarette smoke-tanned skin, recessed gums and eight cats.

She spoke out of the side of her mouth with cracked lips as an ash gray feline rubbed the side of its head against my calf.

   “And I thought he was gone. I thought he was gone forever.”

I could feel the immense weight of the woman’s life in every word she spat to me from her broken easy chair in the middle of a living room that was heated by three space heaters and the body heat of a handful of felines.

   “Then one morning I heard that ol’ familiar rumble of his ol’ Chevy Luv in the driveway and I couldn’t believe it. I looked out the window and there he was behind the wheel, sleeping in the breeze of the air conditionin.”

The woman couldn’t have felt more genuine and sweet. She seemed like one of those women who looked on the verge of 65, but who was actually barely 40 and had lived about three lives already, but I just couldn’t get comfortable in the house. An open floor plan, where the living room we sat in could be entered through four different openings, I never felt secure and I was perpetually overcome with the feeling that someone was watching me.

The woman told me her son went upstairs once she brought him in from the driveway and had been up there sleeping ever since, but I kept hearing shuffling sounds from the door behind me. A clear cough from behind the door was all I needed to hear to fully tune myself out from the woman’s story and start to try and wiggle myself out of the situation.

   “He said that they tried to get him to do things he just wouldn’t do.”

I stopped the woman with a stiff hand.

   “I’m sorry, but I…

I bit my tongue harder than I ever had in my entire life and tasted the tinny spice of blood drift down my throat while I stared at something that made me want to swallow my tongue…

A gaunt, young man, clad in dirty overalls with splotches of what looked to be white paint checkered clumsily across his face emerged from a door behind the woman’s chair.  He skulked around the back of her chair with his eyes locked on me while I struggled for words.

Cold hands clamped down on the back of my neck. I was lifted up off of the couch for a moment, but squirmed as hard as I could and freed myself for a miraculous moment.

Everything became a blur – the woman screaming, my neck burning, the man in overalls descending upon me. I bolted for the front door. I dashed across the dirty carpet, slammed myself into the heavy wood of the door and pushed my way out with the presence of whoever had picked me up by my neck breathing upon my back.

I burst out onto the open porch of the house and into a shaken snow globe of a world. Fat, fresh flakes of powdery white snow stuck to the black fleece of my jacket when I ran out onto the icy sidewalk and almost fell upon my ass.

Luckily I parked my car on the street right in front of the house and never locked the doors of the 1999 Oldsmobile so I was able to slide ride in with the ice still melting upon the bottom of my shoes. I locked the doors and fired the engine just before a dark presence overtook the passenger side window. I saw the outline of an immense man out of the corner of my eye for just a sliver of a moment before I drove off down the street with my wheels skidding on the ice rink that was the pavement.

I called Az as soon as I was far enough away from the terror of the house from which I escaped.

He picked up and spoke before I even had a chance to get a word out.

   “You have to come down to the station. Dad’s camera is on.”

***

I stood with Az and the three other remaining police officers in his station watching surveillance style videos on four monitors propped on top of a long desk.

    “His came on about an hour ago. About the same time the others did,” Officer Turner explained and pointed to the monitor which broadcast the dated interior of a car.

   “Do we have tracking on these? I asked.

   “We don’t have like a GPS in them, but we can follow their location by any surroundings we see,” Turner answered. “Other than you father’s they all seem to be inside homes right now. Your father’s is going somewhere in a car, but I haven’t gotten a good look out the windows, so I don’t know where they are driving.”

Turner was clearly the alpha of the remaining group. Round, bald, mustached and gapped-toothed, he always reminded me of the dad from the show Family Matters.

   “Great fuckin time for a migraine,” Turner announced and then got up from his chair and walked away to the bathroom.

The faint sound of trickling urine was interrupted by gasps escaping from the two other officers’ mouths.

    “We got movement over here,” Officer Lind said after gulping down a mouthful of coffee sooner than he had planned.

Officer Lind was the youngest of the group and the rest of the guys always made fun of him for his long hair, even though it couldn’t have grown more than an inch from his scalp in any direction.

   “Here too,” Officer Washington chirped and adjusted her glasses. “Getting into a car.”

Officer Washington had been the lone woman in the station before everyone else left and bucked any stereotypes about female cops, she would have been considered the most attractive woman in just about any office she worked in, had two kids and was a gentle soul that actually reminded me of my grandma even though she was barely 40.

All four screens we were monitoring now showed the inside of cars.

    “Looks like everyone’s got some place to go,” Washington said quietly just before Turner came back from the restroom and took a seat next to her.

   “Still don’t recognize any locations though,” Turner noted.

    “My dad’s stopped,” I pointed out with a finger.

The car in my dad’s cam had come to a stop. We watched the cam turn to the right and look upon a palatial but crumbling estate that lurched over the sidewalk the car had parked next to.

   “Anybody see an address?” Turner called out.

   “Wouldn’t matter unless someone knows what street this is,” Lind replied.

Turner was going to continue, but was interrupted by the sound of Az vomiting upon the floor.

   “What the fuck Patel?” Washington groaned.

I patted Az on the back as he knelt over his golden vomit that smelled of light beer and splashed across the floor.

   “I didn’t know you were sick man,” I said before Az interrupted me.

   “I’m not sick. I puked because that’s Emily’s house.”

****

Emily was Az’ ex-girlfriend and the mother of Cale. I didn’t know much about her, but I did know she lived in a rundown old mansion not too far from where I had just been in Stoepel Park that Cale was scared to stay at because it reminded him of a haunted house.

I was commanding Az’ squad car on a residential street at freeway speeds while he sat in the passenger’s seat with sweat dripping off his brow and dried vomit crusted upon his lips. We had dispatched officers from other nearby stations hoping they might somehow beat us to Emily’s house, but it was likely that Az and I would be the first responders.

Both of us had blue tooth speakers sticking out of our ears connected back to the station where the other officers were monitoring our father’s cop cam and relaying what they were seeing. My heart fluttered with every detail they described, but the breaks in their descriptions were actually much more heart-stopping, my brain always assumed that they were seeing something too horrible to tell.

   “It’s somewhere in the house, but  I haven’t seen any people yet,” I could hear Washington’s voice in my ear as I mashed the pedal and tore down a street that Az told me connected to the street Emily lived on. “I sometimes hear other noises in the house though and it seems to follow those.”

   “Where is it in the house?” Az asked.

   “Not exactly sure,” Washington said. “It’s going through a hallway slowly, but I don’t know the layout of the house so I don’t know where that is.”

   “Do you know the house?” I asked Az.

He hesitated for a moment, clearly disappointed with himself.

   “No, I’ve never actually been inside, just on the porch.”

We screeched up to the house, parked behind a rusty Chevy and sprinted up to the front porch. Az handed a gun to me as we ascended the steps even though he knew that I had never touched a firearm in my life.

   “You check upstairs, I have the main floor,” Az screamed at me and tore off into the guts of the house.

I couldn’t believe how brave the adrenaline had made me. I had been the kind of person who changed the TV channel during horror movie trailers and now I was climbing stairs in a dark old house chasing after a potential cannibal with a pistol in my hand.

   “I think I hear something in the basement,” I heard Az’ disconnected voice speak into my ear. “Have you seen it go down any stairs?”

   “No,” Lind answered back instead of Washington, who had been talking to us.

   “Lind? What the fuck?” Az spat.

   “Washington left. One of the other cams just showed up outside of her house,” Lind said in an unemotional flash. “Same with Turner.”

   “Holy shit,” Az exhaled. “Where the fuck is it now?

   “I missed some shit when Washington took off, but I think I saw it go up some stairs…

I stopped at the top of the stairs when Lind finished his sentence and lifted the gun up in front of myself.

   “But now it’s in what looks like a kid’s bedroom,” Lind went on.

   “Shit,” Az yelled making me jump in my stance and drop the gun. “The noise I heard down here was a fucking dryer.”

I dropped down to pick up the gun with my eyes steadied on the darkened hallway that was in front of me.

   “Where is the last cam?” Az whispered. You said one was at Washington’s, one was at Turner’s and one is here. Where is that stray one?”

   “Uh, it was just in a backyard somewhere. It just went in a backdoor of some house. Now it’s heading down a dark stairway,” Lind answered.

    “Where is the one in here?” I called out but was interrupted by the sound of Lind yelling into the speaker in my ear.

   “Oh my God. It’s in the basement. Patel. Patel. Patel.”

Lind’s shouts were drowned out by the sound of gurgling screams.

I decided to turn back around and head down the stairs to help Az, but stopped when I saw a shadowy figure descend from an attic staircase that was at the end of the hallway in front of me.  

It was Cale. He scurried down the steps and started creeping towards me in the dark hallway.

I should have been paying complete attention to his lurking, but I was more than distracted by the horror broadcasting in my blue tooth…

Whatever Az had encountered in the basement was destroying him in a horrible manner. The sounds of my brother’s screams and Lind’s prayers to God pounded in my ear.

Interrupting the horror in my ears, a figure had stepped out of one of the doors in the hallway and had pursued Cale back up the attic’s ladder.

I snapped back to life when the sounds of my brother’s disembowelment quieted.

     “He’s following the kid up into the attic,” Lind’s voice announced in my ear.

I started shuffling to the attic ladder just as the figure’s feet disappeared up into the hole in the ceiling.

    “I don’t think it saw you,” Lind added. “The kid is hiding somewhere in the attic.”

I climbed up into the attic ladder with the gun limply held out in front of me.

   “Where is the other one, the one in the basement?” I whispered.

   “He’s still in the basement,” Lind stammered, clearly not wanting to give any details about what was going on down there.

I tuned Lind out when I climbed up into the attic and saw no signs of life, just scattered dusty boxes and lines of clothes hanging from the rafters that had turned the attic into a bit of a library of faded fabrics and forgotten styles.  The hanging outfits concealed almost everything in the space and were strung up all around me dully lit in a beam of soft light that came in through a single window.

   “Where is he?” I whispered.

   “I can’t tell, somewhere in the clothes.”

The gun still in my hand, handle slicked by nervous sweat, I started combing through the clothes, throwing them down the metal rods they hung from, revealing more and more cobwebs and dusty wooden beams.

Until…

The moving of a rack of clothes revealed Cale. Tucked up into a ball and crying, he looked away from me with his arms out in a pathetic defense.

    “We have to go,” I whispered.

I grabbed Cale’s hand and started to lift him up out of his tuck on the floor and felt a presence step up behind me. Its weight sent a creek from the floor into my ears that were also occupied by the sound of Lind’s voice…

    “It’s right behind you…

I turned around in a whirl to see the blur of a figure descending upon me with a hideously long knife.

I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

I was suddenly on my back lying next to Cale on the floor with my hand throbbing. I looked down to see the gun still in my hand and I looked forward to see the figure in a gasping clump on the floor a few feet in front of us.

I stared at the mound of motionless human matter for a few seconds before the sounds of Cale’s cries turned my attention to him. I pulled Cale close and just sat there crying with him for a few moments with my eyes glued to the prone figure on the floor in front of us and my finger on the trigger of the gun I had just fired.

After taking a few more deep breathes, I spoke.

   “Where is the other one?”

    “It’s gone,” Lind chimed back.

I didn’t bother asking any more questions about what happened in that basement, my brain assumed the worst. I pictured my brother’s uniform lying crumpled on a dirty basement floor just like I had found my father’s.

I turned my gaze to the body that lay in front of me on the floor and caught something I recognized. Perched on top of an oily mop of dark hair was a scuffed and faded Detroit Tigers baseball cap adorned with a few silver pins.

During the 80s, the Detroit PD tried to connect to kids by having officers where special police hats that were basically Detroit sports team caps. My dad had loved the Tigers one that he had so much he demanded to keep wearing it even after they quickly disbanded the idea. It was pretty much his calling card.

I could never look at a worn out Tigers cap and not think about my dad and now I was staring at his very navy hat pinned with his department pin and cop cam resting on the head of the person that had likely killed him, and possibly eaten him. It made the bone-chilling winter air that seeped through the thin walls of that attic that much more cold.

I sat shivering on the frigid curb outside of the house with Cale wrapped in a blanket next to me. I felt like I wanted a cigarette even though I had never actually smoked one.

I watched the various crews that show up after an emergency file about the stiffly frozen front yard of the house – the paramedics, the cops, the firefighters – all milling around behind the backdrop of flashing lights that seemed to light the snowy world a shade of pale pink. I put my arm around Cale and pulled him close.

I audibly groaned when an unfamiliar officer walked up to me. I was still far too shaken to be questioned about anything. I put my hands up in a dismissive posture, but the officer ignored me and started firing away with words.

    “This was all bullshit.”

   “What?” I shot back in disgust thinking about how what the guy was referring to as bullshit had just cost my brother his life.

    ��This was all just a calculated distraction to get what few cops are still around here out of the way. Those fuckers just attacked every house in the neighborhood the last few hours.”

I didn’t really care. It was my time to be selfish. I didn’t care if the savages had gone into hundreds of homes and pulled away helpless people, I only cared about my brother and I didn’t want to hear any more about anything, just hold Cale and wallow in sorrow.

It took a little while, but I think the officer finally picked up on this. A sheepish look washed upon his face.

    “I found this in there and I thought you might want it.”

The officer pulled my father’s Tigers cap out from his back pocket and stuck it down upon my head.

    “I think it fits you good.”

Originally published by Thought Catalog on www.ThoughtCatalog.com

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Why Zuckerbergs 14-Year Apology Tour Hasnt Fixed Facebook

In 2003, one year before Facebook was founded, an internet site announced Facemash began nonconsensually cleaning pictures of students at Harvard from the school’s intranet and expecting customers to frequency their hotness. Clearly, it began an protest. The website’s developer speedily proffered an apology. “I hope you understand, this is not how I symbolize for things to go, and I apologize for any harm done as a result of my neglect to consider how quickly the site would spread and its consequences subsequently, ” wrote a young Mark Zuckerberg. “I surely see how my meanings could be seen in the wrong light.” In 2004 Zuckerberg cofounded Facebook, which rapidly spread from Harvard to other universities. And in 2006 the young busines blindsided its users with the launching of News Feed, which assembled and presented in one target information that beings has hitherto had to sought for piecemeal. Countless useds were outraged and fright that there was no warning and that there were no privacy ascertains. Zuckerberg rationalized. “This was a big mistake on our component, and I’m sorry for it, ” he wrote on Facebook’s blog. “We really shambled this one up, ” he read. “We did a bad errand of clarifying what the brand-new pieces were and an as bad enterprise of giving you verify of them.” Zeynep Tufekci( @zeynep) is an associate professor at the University of North Carolina and an mind writer for The New York Times. She lately wrote about the( democracy-poisoning) golden age of free speech. Then in 2007, Facebook’s Beacon advertising system, which was launched without suitable ascendancies or acquiesce, discontinued up compromising user privacy by making people’s acquisitions public. Fifty thousand Facebook customers indicated an e-petition titled “Facebook: Stop conquering my privacy.” Zuckerberg responded with an regret: “We plainly did a bad hassle with this release and I apologize for it.” He promised to improve. “I’m not proud of the way we’ve treated this situation and I know we can do better, ” he wrote. By 2008, Zuckerberg had written only four poles on Facebook’s blog: Every single one of them was an justification or an attempt to explain a decision that had unnerved users. In 2010, after Facebook infringed useds’ privacy by making key types of information populace without proper approval or forewarn, Zuckerberg again responded with an apology–this time published in an op-ed in The Washington Post. “We just missed the mark, ” he mentioned. “We examined the feedback, ” he included. “There needs to be a simpler style to control your information.” “In the coming weeks, we will include privacy controls that are much simpler to application, ” he promised. I’m going to run out of space here, so let’s hop to 2018 and skip over all the other accidents and justifications and have committed themselves to do better–oh yeah, and the approval fiat that the Federal Trade Commission formed Facebook sign in 2011, billing that the company had deceptively predicted privacy to its useds and then frequently break-dance that promise–in the intervening years. Last month, Facebook once again garnered widespread attention with a privacy related backfire when it became widely known that, between 2008 and 2015, it had allowed hundreds, maybe thousands, of apps to scrape voluminous data from Facebook users–not just from the users who had downloaded the apps, but more detail from all their friends as well. One such app was run by a Cambridge University academic called Aleksandr Kogan, who apparently siphoned up detailed data on up to 87 million consumers in the United States and then surreptitiously sent the plunder to the political data firm Cambridge Analytica. The happen made a lot of disorder because it connects to the flattening storey of bias in the 2016 US presidential election. But in reality, Kogan’s app was just one among numerous, many apps that amassed an enormous amount of information in a manner that is most Facebook users was totally unaware of. At first Facebook indignantly represented itself, claiming that people had consented to these calls; after all, the disclosures were implanted somewhere in the thick-witted communication surrounding obscure used privacy ensures. Parties were ask questions it, in other words. But the backlash wouldn’t die down. Aiming to respond to the growing anger, Facebook announced changes. “It’s Day to Stir Our Privacy Tools Easier to Find”, the company announced without a clue of irony–or any other kind of hint–that Zuckerberg had promised to do just that in the “coming few weeks” eight full years ago. On the company blog, Facebook’s chief privacy editor expressed the view that instead of being “spread across roughly 20 different screens”( why were they ever spread all over the place ?), the assures would now finally be in one place. Zuckerberg again went on an confession expedition, giving interviews to The New York Times, CNN, Recode, WIRED, and Vox( but not to the Guardian and Observer reporters who broke the tale ). In each interrogation he rationalized. “I’m really sorry that this happened, ” he told CNN. “This was surely a breach of trust.” But Zuckerberg didn’t stop at an apologetic this time. He likewise protected Facebook as an “idealistic company” that cares about its users and spoke disparagingly about rival business that charge users fund for their commodities while maintaining a strong chronicle in protecting user privacy. In his interview with Vox’s Ezra Klein, Zuckerberg said that any person who is reputes Apple attends more about useds than Facebook does has “Stockholm syndrome”–the phenomenon whereby captives start yearning and marking with their captors. This is an interesting argument coming from the CEO of Facebook, a company that essentially supports its consumers’ data hostage. Yes, Apple accuses amply for its products, but it also includes boosted encryption hardware on all its telephones, hands timely protection updates to its entire user cornerstone, and has largely locked itself out of user data–to the chagrin of many governments, including that of the United States, and of Facebook itself. Most Android phones, by distinguish, gravely lag behind in receiving security revises, have no specialized encryption hardware, and often handle privacy limitations in a way that is detrimental to user sakes. Few governments or companionships complain about Android phones. After the Cambridge Analytica scandal, it came to dawn that Facebook had been downloading and preventing all the textbook themes of its users on the Android platform–their content as well as their metadata. “The consumers consented! ” Facebook again hollered out. But people were soon affixing screenshots that showed how difficult it was for a merely someone to see that’s what was going on, let alone figure out how to opt out, on the indistinct permission screen that flashed before users. On Apple telephones, however, Facebook couldn’t harvest people’s text messages because the permissions wouldn’t allow it. In the same interview, Zuckerberg made wide-cut is targeted at the oft-repeated notion that, if an online service is free, you–the user–are the produce. He said that he found the contention that “if you’re not compensating that somehow we can’t am worried about you, considered extremely glib-tongued and not at all aligned with the truth.” His rebuttal to that accusation, nonetheless, was itself glib; and as for whether it was aligned with the truth–well, we just “re going to have to” take his statement for it. “To the frustration of our sales unit here, ” he supposed, “I make all of our decisions based on what’s going to are important to local communities and centre much less on the advertising side of the business.” As far as I can tell , not once in his apology expedition was Zuckerberg asked what on earth he signifies when he refers to Facebook’s 2 billion-plus consumers as “a community” or “the Facebook community.” A parish is a set of people with reciprocal claims, powers, and responsibilities. If Facebook actually were a community, Zuckerberg would not be able to induce so many statements about unilateral decisions he has made–often, as he boasts in countless interrogations, in defiance of Facebook’s shareholders and many factions of the company’s personnel. Zuckerberg’s decisions are final, since he powers all the voting stock in Facebook, and always will until he decides not to–it’s just the action he has structured the company. This isn’t a community; this is a government of one-sided, highly profitable surveillance, be carried forward on a proportion that has realise Facebook one of the largest companies in the world by grocery capitalization. Facebook’s 2 billion customers are not Facebook’s “community.” They are its user locate, and they have been repeatedly carried along by the decisions of the one person who controls the platform. These customers have invested season and coin in improving their social networks on Facebook, yet they have no means to port the connectivity abroad. Whenever a serious competitor to Facebook has arisen, the company to expeditiously replica it( Snapchat) or obtained it( WhatsApp, Instagram ), often at a mind-boggling cost that simply a behemoth with massive money substitutes could afford. Nor do people have any means to completely stop being moved by Facebook. The surveillance follows them not just on the scaffold, but elsewhere on the internet–some of them apparently can’t even text their friends without Facebook trying to snoop in on those discussions. Facebook doesn’t merely collect data itself; it has obtained external data from data intermediaries; it creates “shadow profiles” of nonusers and is now attempting to match offline data to its online profiles. Again, this isn’t a community; this is a regime of one-sided, highly profitable surveillance, carried out on a flake that has made Facebook one of greater fellowships in the world by busines capitalization. There is no other channel to perform Facebook’s privacy conquering moves over the years–even if it’s time to simplify! finally !– as anything other than decisions driven by a mix of self-serving inclinations: namely, gain rationales, the structural incentives intrinsic to the company’s business pose, and the one-sided ideology of its founders and some administrations. All these are forces over which the subscribers themselves have little input, aside from the regular given an opportunity to grouse through repeated gossips. And even the ideology–a ambiguou thinking that claims to prize openness and connectivity with little to say about privacy and other values–is one that does not seem to apply to people who race Facebook or work for it. Zuckerberg buys lives circumventing his and tapes over his computer’s camera to perpetuate his own privacy, and company employees get up in arms when a contentious internal memoranda that made an debate for growing at all costs was recently revealed to the press–a nonconsensual, surprising, and awkward disclosure of the species that Facebook has regularly imposed upon its billions of users over the years. This isn’t to allege Facebook doesn’t specify real value to its useds, even as it locks them in through network accomplishes and by suppressing, buying, and mimicking its rivalry. I wrote a whole volume in which I document, among other things, how useful Facebook has been to anticensorship efforts of all the countries. It doesn’t even mean that Facebook executives make all decisions purely to increase the company valuation or benefit, or that they don’t care about customers. But various things can be true at the same occasion; all of this is quite complicated. And fundamentally, Facebook’s business model and foolhardy mode of operating are a heavyweight knife threatening the health and well-being of the public sphere and the privacy of its useds in many countries. So, here’s the thing. There is indeed a instance of Stockholm syndrome here. There are very few other situation in which person or persons will also be able to make a series of decisions that have obviously improved them while diminishing its protection and well-being of billions of parties; to shape mostly the same justification for those decisions countless hours over the gap of precisely 14 years; and then to declare innocence, idealism, and full independence from the obvious structural incentives that have influenced the whole process. This should commonly stimulate all the other instructed, literate, and smart beings in the apartment to break into howls of rally or humour. Or perhaps tears. Facebook has tens of thousands of works, and apparently an open culture with strong internal meetings. Insiders often talk of how free works find to speak up, and really I’ve frequently been told how they are encouraged to differ and discuss all the key issues. Facebook has an instructed workforce. By now, it ought to be plain to them, and to everyone, that Facebook’s 2 billion-plus customers are surveilled and profiled, that their attention is then sold to advertisers and, it seems, basically anyone else who will pay Facebook–including unsavory authoritarians like the Philippines’ Rodrigo Duterte. That is Facebook’s business model. That is why the company has an almost half-a-trillion-dollar market capitalisation, together with billions in spare money to buy competitors. These are such readily apparent points that any negation of them is quite astounding. And hitherto, it appears that nobody around Facebook’s sovereign and singular ruler has managed to convince their master that these are blindingly obvious truths whose following may well provide us with some suggestions of a healthier acces forwards. That the repeated term of the use “community” to refer Facebook’s useds is not appropriate and is, in fact, misleading. That the constant repetition of “sorry” and “we intended well” and “we will define it this time! ” to refer to what is basically the same sellout over 14 times should no longer be accepted as a have committed themselves to work better, but should rather be seen as but one indication of a profound crisis of accountability. When a large chorus of beings outside the company invokes frights on a regular basis, it’s not a sufficient explanation to say, “Oh “were in” blindsided( again ). ” Maybe, just perhaps, that is the case of Stockholm syndrome we should be focusing on. Zuckerberg’s outright denial that Facebook’s business sakes frisk a powerful role in mold its behavior doesn’t augur well for Facebook’s chances of doing better in the future. I don’t disbelieve that the company has, on occasion, regarded itself back from bad behaviour. That doesn’t move Facebook that exceptional , nor does it justify its existing selections , nor does it adapt the facts of the case that its business pose is profoundly driving its actions. At a minimum, Facebook has long necessary an ombudsman’s power with real teeth and ability: the two institutions within the company that they are able act as a check on its worst compulsions and to protect its useds. And it needs a lot more employees whose task is to keep the programme healthier. But what the fuck is absolutely be disorderly and innovative would be for Facebook to alter its business representation. Such a change could come from within, or it could be driven by regulations on data retention and opaque, surveillance-based targeting–regulations that would make such practices least profitable or even forbidden. Facebook will respond to the latest crisis by remaining more of its data within its own walls( of course, that fits well with the business of accusing third party for access to users based on extensive profiling with data held by Facebook, so this is no sacrifice ). Sure, it’s good that Facebook is now promising not to spill user data to ruthless third party; but it should eventually allow genuinely independent researchers better( and secure , not foolhardy) access to the company’s data in order to probe the real effects of the platform. Thus far, Facebook has not cooperated with independent investigates who want to study it. Such investigation would be essential to informing the kind of political discussion we need to have about the trade-offs inherent in how Facebook, and definitely all of social media, operate. Even without that independent investigation, one thing is clear: Facebook’s sole sovereign is neither are available to , nor should he be in a position to, make all these decisions by himself, and Facebook’s long predominate of unaccountability should end. Facebook in Crisis Initially, Facebook used to say Cambridge Analytica get illegal access to some 50 million users’ data. The social network has now raised that figure to 87 million. Next week, Mark Zuckerberg will certify before Congress. The topic on our recollections: How can Facebook foreclose the next crisis if its general principles is and always has been connection at all cost? Facebook has a long record of privacy gaffes. Here are just some. http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/11/why-zuckerbergs-14-year-apology-tour-hasnt-fixed-facebook/

[gummi-monkey-archived-blog]

Black Heart City

Resting, Ace muses with dry cough as a stench fills his nose, had been the best idea he'd had all day.

It had been something of a miracle, the preteen making it through first guarded gate with nothing but a mad dash. Perhaps his bloodied state and battle-cry had startled the heartless men to freeze, his own eyes a nightmare to behold. When they did finally give chase, it was far too late, his rapid footsteps carrying him through the labyrinth of Edge Town like a wisp.

Nothing would stop him, countless pedestrians jostled and fleeing his path lest they meet a similar fate to those who tried to block him. Not soon enough, Ace was able to scale the buildings and take to the rooftops. There, he could move unhindered, leaping and skidding across broken tiles and aging balconies. He has several close calls, slipping and miss-stepping with waves of dizzines, but as he travels closer to High Town the rooftops grow more stable and maintained. It becomes easier to keep his footing, and despite the increasing gaps between buildings, he was able to make the flying leaps far more comfortably than before. If only his head would stop throbbing, he'd be completely set.

Breaking into High Town itself required he leave the rooftops behind, at least momentarily, and break through another towering gate. Goa's second set of walls divided the kingdom even further, home to the noble lineages, and thus the guards were far more selective of who enter. Pausing only long enough to catch his breath and let his hammering heart remain in his chest, he flings himself down, landing himself as close as possible before charging.

These guards put up far more fight. They're accustom to rift-raft making such bolts to or from the prestigious upper town, and so are ready with their batons as soon as they catch the flash of movement.

Ace doesn't have time to fight them, not as they call out to close the gates. To grown mens astonishment the he just keeps charging towards them, making no effort to slip around or avoid confrontation. Their stances wide and arms swinging down to beat him, Ace drops down at the last second, momentum sliding him under and between their legs. He feels his matted hair brushed as he makes the move, his vision blurring from vertigo, and its on slightly shaky feet that he resumes his mad dash past High Town's gate. Several other guards made feeble attempts to grab and hit him, but were unprepared: their arrogance had gotten the better of them, believing two of their own would be enough.

Shouts of angry men and distressed women echo behind him, Ace bolts for the first alleyway he can, climbing and hopping the brick divide with ease as his pursuers curse and gawk. They scurry away, hoping to cut him off on the other side, but once they are out of sight Ace catches his breath and looks to the roofs.

Its a little tricky this time, but nothing his life in Mt. Corvo hasn't prepared him for. Even so fatigue has caught up with him, his athletic stunts bringing the pain in his skull to the forefront of his mind. Suddenly, he just can't get enough air in his lungs, and his legs shake from the effort of standing. Having reached some point of safety, knowing the fools of guards would be too busy scrambling farther into High Town in search for him here, right by the wall, Ace's adrenaline tapers off.

Its okay though, because the first part of his plan was complete.

I'm here...

Collapsing onto the flat surface of the rooftop patio, Ace doesn't get to linger on his small victory long before his breathing evens and he falls asleep.

...

That was hours ago.

Coughing a foul odor persists, Ace rubbing the sleep from his eyes and giving his skull another gentle prodding. A flinch confirms it still tender, but the blood in his hair and skin was fully dry. The rest had done him good though, and in all honesty he'd probably have still been sleeping if that smell hadn't woken him up. In a way, he should be thankfully for it; although sky was still dark he could see the orange hues of dawn. He'd slep through the whole damn night. Only, it looked a little weird. He'd watched many sunrises in his young life, and never before had the night sky been so black and gold...

As a fresh whiff of smell hits him, he chokes again, eyes watering as snow begins to fall among him. As the flakes hit his skin, he blinks and frowns in genuine confusion as it doesn't melt, and so he touches it, his finger smearing the grey speck into soot.

Then it hits him like the pipe that had bashed his head, and he turns.

No.

"Those bastards-!"

He knew it was coming. Knew he'd been an unwitting pawn it its setup, knew it was going to happen tonight.

Seeing it for himself was far more horrifying than simply knowing.

From the hill rising High Town above the rest of Goa Kingdom, and the castle above that, all of the nobles and royalty had a cozy view of the sea of flames licking over the wall of Gray Terminal. The sky was thick with black smoke, the blaze reflecting off its toxic mournful clouds to burn the air above and rain ash on the city. It was if all the fear, anger and despair of those living in the land of trash were making one last ditch effort to curse and spit at the kingdom that gleefully damned them. Crying ashes to blacken the homes and streets, to match the hearts of the people who lived there.

It had begun.

Ace had been a part of it. Made Luffy a part of it.

He doesn't realize he's scratching himself where the spot of soot soiled him, blunt nails tearing into skin and desperately trying to save himself and reason with the roaring voices from beyond the walls. Accusing, cursing and damning him for ever being born. For killing them all.

I didn't know...! I'm sorry...! I- I didn't know-!

He really didn't deserve to live. Not after this.

No- no! It isn't my fault. It isn't. It's-

"The Nobles!"

They still have Sabo. They still have Luffy.

Even if he himself didn't deserve to live, his brothers did. They wanted him to live, to, and so for them... for them...

For them, he needed to focus and move.

Sparing the inferno one last glance, he offers the people of Gray Terminal a small prayer.

"I'm sorry... I can't make it up to you. But I can try."

Then Ace takes off into the night, leaping of rooftops towards the Outlook estate.

[alicalopezlive-blog]

Sickened Coal Ash Workers Blame Tennessee Utility for Publicity to Health Hazards

The Tennessee Valley ity, long well known for providing good careers and cheap electricity, will be facing a growing backlash above its handling of a significant coal lung burning ash spill about ten years ago, with most likely serious results for a good industry often opposed to environment regulation. A tribunal in Knoxville decided in time that the TVA’s builder, Jacobs Engineering, breached its security duties, exposing countless cleanup workers to airborne “fly ash” with known carcinogens. The jurors claimed Jacobs’ actions were competent of making the employees tired. The key question of whether many people brought on each worker’s accidental injuries had been left for a various jury in a next level of the municipal trial. More than staff fault the specialist for revealing them to ash they say caused the variety of illnesses, some deadly, including cancers of often the chest, brain, blood and even skin. Despite last November’s advantageous verdict for this first injured parties, they won’t get budgetary damages unless of course they can confirm just what caused their certain illnesses. The judge, alluding to their vital want for health care, ordered mediation. More than a hundred or so other injured persons await the result. “To have the stress placed on you, that a person have to prove just what caused these horrific items — that’s an atrocity, ” said Janie Cs, whose husband, Ansol, provides a rare blood malignancy following driving a fuel truck or van at the site. “I imagine that’s just the particular law. ” Jacobs’ legal professional, Theodore Boutrous, said the company “was carrying out it has the best to help manage the cleanup in a new way that is safe : that the regulators have said is safe. ” They exhausted that it hasn’t already been confirmed that Jacobs – or perhaps coal lung burning ash – is to blame with regard to any illnesses. The employees encountered a moonscape after the dripping six-story earthen ravage zero from the TVA’s Kingston Fossil Plant about 12 ,.,, releasing more than a good billion gallons of fossil fuel lung burning ash. It remains this biggest industrial spill inside modern U. S. background. The idea also prompted often the Age to begin regulating coal lung burning ash storage from more than, lively ash dumps around the nation, although not as exactingly because environmentalists would want. The TVA paid to get as many as men and women to have and eliminate the pollution, a few functioning -hour shifts for months from a time. The sludge dried into a fine particles that sparkled similar to glitter and sometimes whirled into clouds so deep, drivers may possibly barely observe past the bonnets of their trucks. In interviews, workers said they had been healthy before breathing the ash, but have considering experienced unusual symptoms. These people recalled joking darkly concerning “coal ash flu” just before battling strange lesions plus experiencing their skin flake off like fish weighing machines. At least colleagues have died, they said, a few gruesomely, collapsing and paying out blood. In this Oct.,, photography, Ansol and Janie Clark pose with a good funeral Ansol Simon constructed close to the Kingston Fossil Plant inside Kingston, Tenn. Typically the Tennessee Pit ity had been accountable for a massive coal ash discharge at often the plant in that covered a good community and fouled streams. The couple according to the memorial is for typically the workers with come decrease with illnesses, quite a few fatal, including cancers with the chest, brain, blood and epidermis and severe obstructive pulmonary disease. Ansol Clark simon owned a fuel vehicle with regard to four decades within the cleaning site, and now is suffering from a rare blood cancers. AP PhotoMark Humphrey “We wiped clean it up around a little more than several years, and it would’ve took years to perform it properly, ” explained Doug Bledsoe, who forced trucks generally there and today has brain and chest cancer. Gaffer boss Michael Robinette testified that Jacobs safety manager Ben Milieu purchased him to take one worker’s mask away and get rid of all the masks inside the equipment space. “We threw them inside the dumpster, ” Robinette testified.

And Greg Schwartz, a Jacobs’ subcontractor, testified his supervisor said masks weren’t allowed “because this looked bad. ” “They didn’t want individuals generating by and experiencing persons with masks. That was the solution I received, ” Schwartz said. Milieu, with trial run, denied the workers’ accusations that he / she bought debris masks destroyed or disappointed their use. healthy skin care products is definitely not a offender and hasn’t mentioned on these personal personal injury cases, other than to claim Jacobs was liable for staff member safety. With its standing in stake, the agency stresses that coal ash is classified as “nonhazardous” simply by the E. ” Fight it out University geochemist Avner Vengosh, who is not necessarily involved in the litigation, tested lung burning ash through the Kingston spill in addition to found large levels connected with radioactivity and dangerous materials, including curare and even mercury. In a new assertion regarding his peer-reviewed research, this individual warned that inhaling and exhaling airborne particles could “have a severe wellness effect on localized residents or employees. ” Nonetheless the workers claimed Jacobs safety supervisors instructed them “you could try to eat a good pound of the idea a new day and the idea wouldn’t harm you. ” Ron Bledsoe, a vehicle drivers who today struggles to breathe with severe obstructive pulmonary ailment, explained managers made a problem concerning safety glasses plus steel-toed boots but downplayed typically the fly ash whirling all around them. Jacobs officials testified they followed regulations for air monitoring, with benefits verified by outside firms, and found the employees were never ever exposed to dangerous levels. Personnel testified they witnessed the supervising being manipulated. Irrespective, experts say there isn’t more than enough research to identify some sort of safe level of prolonged experience of fly ash. “We need more research, because people are potentially getting ill from fossil fuel ash, ” said Kristina Zierold, the epidemiologist in the University connected with Alabama from Birmingham who also is not active in the law suits. Anti Snoring Products as opposed this to the concerted effort it took to prove scientifically the fact that smoking causes illness. Laws utilize to dust in general and to many connected with the individual regions of travel ash, but more do the job is needed to realize what happens by the body processes if all those toxic chemical compounds happen to be breathed in together. That is one reason many of the workers could possibly have an uphill battle demonstrating their particular illnesses resulted from prolonged exposure, claimed John Terry, an epidemiologist with the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, who testified regarding the employees. With the TVA board meeting previous week, Janie Clark pleaded for help with typically the workers’ medical bills. “They cleaned up your clutter, ” she said. “Please do not let these hardworking folks turn out to be treated as collateral destruction. ” TVA Table chairman Skip Thompson responded using sympathy but designed not any promises. The Clarks wished to visit a beach after the cleansing. Janie’s never seen the particular sea. Ansol’s illness presently can make that difficult. “It do not matter anymore, ” the girl said. “They mortally wounded of which dream in myself. ” .. This material may not be Was this article important? Thank you! Please tell us everything we could do to strengthen this short article.

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

Why Zuckerbergs 14-Year Apology Tour Hasnt Fixed Facebook

In 2003, one year before Facebook was founded, an internet site announced Facemash began nonconsensually cleaning pictures of students at Harvard from the school’s intranet and expecting customers to frequency their hotness. Clearly, it began an protest. The website’s developer speedily proffered an apology. “I hope you understand, this is not how I symbolize for things to go, and I apologize for any harm done as a result of my neglect to consider how quickly the site would spread and its consequences subsequently, ” wrote a young Mark Zuckerberg. “I surely see how my meanings could be seen in the wrong light.” In 2004 Zuckerberg cofounded Facebook, which rapidly spread from Harvard to other universities. And in 2006 the young busines blindsided its users with the launching of News Feed, which assembled and presented in one target information that beings has hitherto had to sought for piecemeal. Countless useds were outraged and fright that there was no warning and that there were no privacy ascertains. Zuckerberg rationalized. “This was a big mistake on our component, and I’m sorry for it, ” he wrote on Facebook’s blog. “We really shambled this one up, ” he read. “We did a bad errand of clarifying what the brand-new pieces were and an as bad enterprise of giving you verify of them.” Zeynep Tufekci( @zeynep) is an associate professor at the University of North Carolina and an mind writer for The New York Times. She lately wrote about the( democracy-poisoning) golden age of free speech. Then in 2007, Facebook’s Beacon advertising system, which was launched without suitable ascendancies or acquiesce, discontinued up compromising user privacy by making people’s acquisitions public. Fifty thousand Facebook customers indicated an e-petition titled “Facebook: Stop conquering my privacy.” Zuckerberg responded with an regret: “We plainly did a bad hassle with this release and I apologize for it.” He promised to improve. “I’m not proud of the way we’ve treated this situation and I know we can do better, ” he wrote. By 2008, Zuckerberg had written only four poles on Facebook’s blog: Every single one of them was an justification or an attempt to explain a decision that had unnerved users. In 2010, after Facebook infringed useds’ privacy by making key types of information populace without proper approval or forewarn, Zuckerberg again responded with an apology–this time published in an op-ed in The Washington Post. “We just missed the mark, ” he mentioned. “We examined the feedback, ” he included. “There needs to be a simpler style to control your information.” “In the coming weeks, we will include privacy controls that are much simpler to application, ” he promised. I’m going to run out of space here, so let’s hop to 2018 and skip over all the other accidents and justifications and have committed themselves to do better–oh yeah, and the approval fiat that the Federal Trade Commission formed Facebook sign in 2011, billing that the company had deceptively predicted privacy to its useds and then frequently break-dance that promise–in the intervening years. Last month, Facebook once again garnered widespread attention with a privacy related backfire when it became widely known that, between 2008 and 2015, it had allowed hundreds, maybe thousands, of apps to scrape voluminous data from Facebook users–not just from the users who had downloaded the apps, but more detail from all their friends as well. One such app was run by a Cambridge University academic called Aleksandr Kogan, who apparently siphoned up detailed data on up to 87 million consumers in the United States and then surreptitiously sent the plunder to the political data firm Cambridge Analytica. The happen made a lot of disorder because it connects to the flattening storey of bias in the 2016 US presidential election. But in reality, Kogan’s app was just one among numerous, many apps that amassed an enormous amount of information in a manner that is most Facebook users was totally unaware of. At first Facebook indignantly represented itself, claiming that people had consented to these calls; after all, the disclosures were implanted somewhere in the thick-witted communication surrounding obscure used privacy ensures. Parties were ask questions it, in other words. But the backlash wouldn’t die down. Aiming to respond to the growing anger, Facebook announced changes. “It’s Day to Stir Our Privacy Tools Easier to Find”, the company announced without a clue of irony–or any other kind of hint–that Zuckerberg had promised to do just that in the “coming few weeks” eight full years ago. On the company blog, Facebook’s chief privacy editor expressed the view that instead of being “spread across roughly 20 different screens”( why were they ever spread all over the place ?), the assures would now finally be in one place. Zuckerberg again went on an confession expedition, giving interviews to The New York Times, CNN, Recode, WIRED, and Vox( but not to the Guardian and Observer reporters who broke the tale ). In each interrogation he rationalized. “I’m really sorry that this happened, ” he told CNN. “This was surely a breach of trust.” But Zuckerberg didn’t stop at an apologetic this time. He likewise protected Facebook as an “idealistic company” that cares about its users and spoke disparagingly about rival business that charge users fund for their commodities while maintaining a strong chronicle in protecting user privacy. In his interview with Vox’s Ezra Klein, Zuckerberg said that any person who is reputes Apple attends more about useds than Facebook does has “Stockholm syndrome”–the phenomenon whereby captives start yearning and marking with their captors. This is an interesting argument coming from the CEO of Facebook, a company that essentially supports its consumers’ data hostage. Yes, Apple accuses amply for its products, but it also includes boosted encryption hardware on all its telephones, hands timely protection updates to its entire user cornerstone, and has largely locked itself out of user data–to the chagrin of many governments, including that of the United States, and of Facebook itself. Most Android phones, by distinguish, gravely lag behind in receiving security revises, have no specialized encryption hardware, and often handle privacy limitations in a way that is detrimental to user sakes. Few governments or companionships complain about Android phones. After the Cambridge Analytica scandal, it came to dawn that Facebook had been downloading and preventing all the textbook themes of its users on the Android platform–their content as well as their metadata. “The consumers consented! ” Facebook again hollered out. But people were soon affixing screenshots that showed how difficult it was for a merely someone to see that’s what was going on, let alone figure out how to opt out, on the indistinct permission screen that flashed before users. On Apple telephones, however, Facebook couldn’t harvest people’s text messages because the permissions wouldn’t allow it. In the same interview, Zuckerberg made wide-cut is targeted at the oft-repeated notion that, if an online service is free, you–the user–are the produce. He said that he found the contention that “if you’re not compensating that somehow we can’t am worried about you, considered extremely glib-tongued and not at all aligned with the truth.” His rebuttal to that accusation, nonetheless, was itself glib; and as for whether it was aligned with the truth–well, we just “re going to have to” take his statement for it. “To the frustration of our sales unit here, ” he supposed, “I make all of our decisions based on what’s going to are important to local communities and centre much less on the advertising side of the business.” As far as I can tell , not once in his apology expedition was Zuckerberg asked what on earth he signifies when he refers to Facebook’s 2 billion-plus consumers as “a community” or “the Facebook community.” A parish is a set of people with reciprocal claims, powers, and responsibilities. If Facebook actually were a community, Zuckerberg would not be able to induce so many statements about unilateral decisions he has made–often, as he boasts in countless interrogations, in defiance of Facebook’s shareholders and many factions of the company’s personnel. Zuckerberg’s decisions are final, since he powers all the voting stock in Facebook, and always will until he decides not to–it’s just the action he has structured the company. This isn’t a community; this is a government of one-sided, highly profitable surveillance, be carried forward on a proportion that has realise Facebook one of the largest companies in the world by grocery capitalization. Facebook’s 2 billion customers are not Facebook’s “community.” They are its user locate, and they have been repeatedly carried along by the decisions of the one person who controls the platform. These customers have invested season and coin in improving their social networks on Facebook, yet they have no means to port the connectivity abroad. Whenever a serious competitor to Facebook has arisen, the company to expeditiously replica it( Snapchat) or obtained it( WhatsApp, Instagram ), often at a mind-boggling cost that simply a behemoth with massive money substitutes could afford. Nor do people have any means to completely stop being moved by Facebook. The surveillance follows them not just on the scaffold, but elsewhere on the internet–some of them apparently can’t even text their friends without Facebook trying to snoop in on those discussions. Facebook doesn’t merely collect data itself; it has obtained external data from data intermediaries; it creates “shadow profiles” of nonusers and is now attempting to match offline data to its online profiles. Again, this isn’t a community; this is a regime of one-sided, highly profitable surveillance, carried out on a flake that has made Facebook one of greater fellowships in the world by busines capitalization. There is no other channel to perform Facebook’s privacy conquering moves over the years–even if it’s time to simplify! finally !– as anything other than decisions driven by a mix of self-serving inclinations: namely, gain rationales, the structural incentives intrinsic to the company’s business pose, and the one-sided ideology of its founders and some administrations. All these are forces over which the subscribers themselves have little input, aside from the regular given an opportunity to grouse through repeated gossips. And even the ideology–a ambiguou thinking that claims to prize openness and connectivity with little to say about privacy and other values–is one that does not seem to apply to people who race Facebook or work for it. Zuckerberg buys lives circumventing his and tapes over his computer’s camera to perpetuate his own privacy, and company employees get up in arms when a contentious internal memoranda that made an debate for growing at all costs was recently revealed to the press–a nonconsensual, surprising, and awkward disclosure of the species that Facebook has regularly imposed upon its billions of users over the years. This isn’t to allege Facebook doesn’t specify real value to its useds, even as it locks them in through network accomplishes and by suppressing, buying, and mimicking its rivalry. I wrote a whole volume in which I document, among other things, how useful Facebook has been to anticensorship efforts of all the countries. It doesn’t even mean that Facebook executives make all decisions purely to increase the company valuation or benefit, or that they don’t care about customers. But various things can be true at the same occasion; all of this is quite complicated. And fundamentally, Facebook’s business model and foolhardy mode of operating are a heavyweight knife threatening the health and well-being of the public sphere and the privacy of its useds in many countries. So, here’s the thing. There is indeed a instance of Stockholm syndrome here. There are very few other situation in which person or persons will also be able to make a series of decisions that have obviously improved them while diminishing its protection and well-being of billions of parties; to shape mostly the same justification for those decisions countless hours over the gap of precisely 14 years; and then to declare innocence, idealism, and full independence from the obvious structural incentives that have influenced the whole process. This should commonly stimulate all the other instructed, literate, and smart beings in the apartment to break into howls of rally or humour. Or perhaps tears. Facebook has tens of thousands of works, and apparently an open culture with strong internal meetings. Insiders often talk of how free works find to speak up, and really I’ve frequently been told how they are encouraged to differ and discuss all the key issues. Facebook has an instructed workforce. By now, it ought to be plain to them, and to everyone, that Facebook’s 2 billion-plus customers are surveilled and profiled, that their attention is then sold to advertisers and, it seems, basically anyone else who will pay Facebook–including unsavory authoritarians like the Philippines’ Rodrigo Duterte. That is Facebook’s business model. That is why the company has an almost half-a-trillion-dollar market capitalisation, together with billions in spare money to buy competitors. These are such readily apparent points that any negation of them is quite astounding. And hitherto, it appears that nobody around Facebook’s sovereign and singular ruler has managed to convince their master that these are blindingly obvious truths whose following may well provide us with some suggestions of a healthier acces forwards. That the repeated term of the use “community” to refer Facebook’s useds is not appropriate and is, in fact, misleading. That the constant repetition of “sorry” and “we intended well” and “we will define it this time! ” to refer to what is basically the same sellout over 14 times should no longer be accepted as a have committed themselves to work better, but should rather be seen as but one indication of a profound crisis of accountability. When a large chorus of beings outside the company invokes frights on a regular basis, it’s not a sufficient explanation to say, “Oh “were in” blindsided( again ). ” Maybe, just perhaps, that is the case of Stockholm syndrome we should be focusing on. Zuckerberg’s outright denial that Facebook’s business sakes frisk a powerful role in mold its behavior doesn’t augur well for Facebook’s chances of doing better in the future. I don’t disbelieve that the company has, on occasion, regarded itself back from bad behaviour. That doesn’t move Facebook that exceptional , nor does it justify its existing selections , nor does it adapt the facts of the case that its business pose is profoundly driving its actions. At a minimum, Facebook has long necessary an ombudsman’s power with real teeth and ability: the two institutions within the company that they are able act as a check on its worst compulsions and to protect its useds. And it needs a lot more employees whose task is to keep the programme healthier. But what the fuck is absolutely be disorderly and innovative would be for Facebook to alter its business representation. Such a change could come from within, or it could be driven by regulations on data retention and opaque, surveillance-based targeting–regulations that would make such practices least profitable or even forbidden. Facebook will respond to the latest crisis by remaining more of its data within its own walls( of course, that fits well with the business of accusing third party for access to users based on extensive profiling with data held by Facebook, so this is no sacrifice ). Sure, it’s good that Facebook is now promising not to spill user data to ruthless third party; but it should eventually allow genuinely independent researchers better( and secure , not foolhardy) access to the company’s data in order to probe the real effects of the platform. Thus far, Facebook has not cooperated with independent investigates who want to study it. Such investigation would be essential to informing the kind of political discussion we need to have about the trade-offs inherent in how Facebook, and definitely all of social media, operate. Even without that independent investigation, one thing is clear: Facebook’s sole sovereign is neither are available to , nor should he be in a position to, make all these decisions by himself, and Facebook’s long predominate of unaccountability should end. Facebook in Crisis Initially, Facebook used to say Cambridge Analytica get illegal access to some 50 million users’ data. The social network has now raised that figure to 87 million. Next week, Mark Zuckerberg will certify before Congress. The topic on our recollections: How can Facebook foreclose the next crisis if its general principles is and always has been connection at all cost? Facebook has a long record of privacy gaffes. Here are just some. http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/11/why-zuckerbergs-14-year-apology-tour-hasnt-fixed-facebook/