#also in my defense it's al ewing

[tethrarisms]

Marvel writers and artists really committed to making me enjoy Ororo and Max way more than Cherik 🧍🏻

Resurrection of Magneto #3 (2024)

Written by Al Ewing Art by Luciano Vecchio Colors by David Curiel and Jesus Aburtov Lettering by VC's Joe Sabino

[ewingstan]

If you had a chance to recommend (real-world) superhero comics to the Undersiders, which comics would you recommend and why?

Oh, good question. Its been a minute since I was really into comics (I gotta figure out how to reactivate my Marvel Unlimited account), but I think I have enough background to come up with some good picks.

Lotta good options for Taylor. My first thought is to give her Ewing's X-Men Red (aka "the main reason I need to catch up on Marvel comics"), since a superhero story that focuses a lot on gaining and maintaining societal power and the work of governing as a leader in a super-community seems like it would appeal to the Warlord of the Boardwalk. Plus a lot of it is "kill the previous leader in a way that ensures you have a popular mandate," which I'm sure she'd be a fan of.

If we're talking Taylor at the start of the story or younger—well, I don't know if it makes sense to give her runs of the character she's most a pastiche of, but maybe something that fits the Spider-Man niche could still be appealing for a young down-on-her-luck aspiring hero? I could see her getting something out of the Simone or Ahmed Ms. Marvel runs, for instance.

(While Watchmen might seem like the natural pick, I'm pretty sure she'd lose a lot of enjoyment just from picking out all the ways Veidt's plan was obviously gonna fail for x y z reasons. Also dark deconstructions of superhero worlds would probably seem too familiar to her world for her to enjoy it.)

If Taylor would be interested in comics statecraft, Lisa would probably be more interested in comics spycraft and intrigue. Ewing's S.W.O.R.D. would probably scratch the same itch for her that X-Men Red would for Taylor (and Storm dramatically blowing off Doom would probably satisfy her after all the ulcer-inducing negotiations with Accord.) I might also give her Ewings New Avengers and USAvengers runs (look this is gonna include a lot of Al Ewing recs, get used to it early) if only because I feel like she'd enjoy how Roberto gets characterized in those comics. Magnificent bastard solidarity.

If we're giving comics to Brian, we already need to work past his defensive avoidance of anything that seems too childish, so I don't think we're getting anything pre-dark ages. That said, he famously thinks "looking mature" means "sick-ass skulls and leather jackets," so his idea of maturity might skew a bit into McFarlane territory. Ultimately though I think he'd be most comfortable with something where he could plausibly say "this isn't just a comic, it's actually a well-respected piece of literature." I'd want that to mean Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing, but it'd probably actually mean The Dark Knight Returns.

As a dark horse pick, I'd give Brian some early New Warriors or Ewing's Contest of Champions, if only because Night Thrasher feels so close to what he wants his vibe to be (dramatic black leather ensemble with a very 90's idea of cool, unflappable expert strategist who pulls his weight despite a powerset with limited applicability, died horribly and came back much later for weirdly impersonal reasons) while also being just ridiculous enough to make me want to see his reaction.

Given Iota's commentary on Alec's pizza habits, I'd think Alec would most be a fan of something intense and bombastic and not mind if its often repetitive. I'd almost say Berserk would be a good match for him, but parts of that that might actually be triggering for him. Maybe some other ultra-violent longrunning work; I haven't read Fist of the North Star but it seems like a safe recommendation; various X-Force runs could work if we're sticking with Western comics.

Rachel really doesn't seem like someone who'd have much appreciation for any aspect of comics. The best bet would be something visually spectacular in a way that could be appreciated on its own, and a plot that's interesting taking issues on their own and not just as part of ongoing runs. I could see Ewing's Immortal Hulk as fitting those criteria; her power gives her an artist's appreciation for Bennett's horrific depictions of the Hulk's transformations (even if praising Bennett for anything feels in poor taste).

Ewing's scripts for each issue of Hulk are clever in a way that I feel Rachel could find entertaining; they don't require an attention she couldn't keep up, but also aren't simple to the point of being condescending. Plus, the thematic focus on "what can and can't be solved through unspeakable acts of destruction" would feel familiar in a way that's less frustrating than normal comic tut-tutting about how obviously we can't attack these guys (plus the greater willingness to say "oh yeah unspeakable destruction definitely is the best way forwards here" would be pretty satisfying).

I feel like Aisha would have more patience for comic tropes than a lot of the other undersiders, (I could see her enjoying the original Fantastic Four run), but at the same time she'd probably enjoy something a bit more complicated and out-there. Ewing's Rocket might be appealing as heist-focused mini, and I feel like the mix of melancholy and absurdity would appeal to her. Rosenberg's Hawkeye: Freefall would work for similar reasons, though replace "melancholy" with "simmering rage."

Morrison's Doom Patrol and The Invisibles both have characters Aisha might relate to for the whole "society largely ignoring or wanting to go away" thing. Plus they both have big weird ideas she'd appreciate, Richard Case's art works well with her aesthetics, and they're both seen as "respectable" series to the point that she might like peppering in references to them in alongside Jules Verne jokes.

Huh, I just realized that Aisha and Brian both ended up chasing an appearance of being mature and somewhat surface-level and off-putting ways. Brian "trust me I'm a normal adult man" and Aisha "I've compiled spider-man quips for every work in the Western Canon and will get frustrated when you don't get them" Laborn, the "something ain't right about that kid" siblings.

(I will say that Morrison's Doom Patrol has some weird black stereotypes so if anyone wants to pitch me on a similar work without Morrison's occasional racism I'd be curious).

I'd give Rowell's run on Runaways to Sabah, if only because "somewhat antivillanous found family group of teens that mostly don't have to worry about anything besides relationship drama" sounds like a nice escape for her. Closer to what she wants the Undersiders to be like. Also, I feel she'd enjoy Kris Anka's focus on fashion in his art.

I don't have a lot to go off for Lily. I could see some of the more recent Captain Marvel runs appealing to her sense of true-blue militant heroism. Ayala's New Mutants or Ahmed's Black Bolt might help combat her whole "villains are ontologically evil" thing, at least to a certain extent.

[comicalarchitect]

Samantha Reads Comics: Digressions on David #7

Time for some more issues of Hulk!

One thing that really strikes me about this run, and about David's style in general, is how dense it trends. Not just in terms of wordiness, but also in terms of how many plot and character beats he can get in on a single page. He's a bang-for-your-buck kind of writer, which is fun considering he's also absurdly prolific.

The Titan Up the Defense podcast taught me to always be tickled by the unironic use of "bozo" as an insult.

I haven't uniformly loved Jeff Purves's art on this series, but the man can draw a fuckin sneer.

Trump's America be like

Yeah, Tony, how dare you vent about being disabled? Don't you know Bruce is the only one allowed to have feelings?

some choice mid-transformation body horror here

owned

can't decide if I love or hate this cover

THE OL' SWITCHEROO

That guy looks nothing like Steve Austin

I feel like this is dawning on the "gamma skirts the line between science and magic" motif that Al Ewing would later run with

owned

this is rapidly becoming a Bruce Banner hate page

MY MAN

I love Reed Richards a lot.

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Reacting to Contemporary Comics (Without Context) 13/?

I've been working on this for six weeks. I'm sorry, homework and TWO ISSUES OF IMMORTAL THOR sidetracked me. Getting this post hammered out before the next issue of Immortal Thor comes out tomorrow.

I don't know what the fuck this is. I think it might be an anthology? We're joined by modern Thor genius writer, Jason Aaron, creator of the story with The Best Panel Ever in Comic History; and Walter Simonson, of nude!Loki bait fame, and several authors whom I don't recognize.

Spoilers for The Mighty Thor #700 (2017) and likely others.

This is feeling vaguely IT 5-ish

Thori! My good boy!

Thor wants to murder Yggdrasil. I love Thori.

Am I crying about mundane panels again? Possibly. In my defense I lost my dog recently.

Fuck I forgot he lost his arm!

Thori and the goat (idk which one it is) just following him is so great

"Man?" You recruited just random dudes, Malekith? What's Joe from Accounting gonna do? Did Doom have the afternoon off and owed you a favor?

Jane vs She-Hulk?! Why is She-Hulk so hot in this? Did this come out before Ragnarok? It must have, right? Ragnarok came out October 2017. Wait, no, it says December 2017.

WHOA, doc/nurse/whoever you are! HIPAA! I know Jane is technically a doctor, but she's here as a patient right now. Don't give her Jennifer's entire backstory.

Volstagg was Thor once?!

LOKI!!!

Loki why are you dressed like that? Where is your sense of style, you queer little twink?

THOR YOU DID NOT NAME THESE NEW HUMANS JANE AND STEVE WTF

There's my boi! Took you fucking long enough, dude

Yeah, because he's the God of Stories! Give him a fucking minute to try before you erase everything he's written! God.

Also can we stop drawing him so gross?!

Okay but I might change the name of my Loki playlist from Disaster Spouse to Little Prince of Jackasses lol

Why is Throg's name Simon Walterson... one of the prolific Thor writers is Walter Simonson... this is a multi-level spoof [I'm thinking he probably created the character, actually, but I'm not in the mood to fact check that atm]

Okay, when is Loki's thread of the narrative? Because that was... still in character, but he seems too cold about it for when I thought this was. Ugh, this is what happens when you let anyone other than Al Ewing write Loki.

NO! What the fuck? Talk about a NoTP! Hela and Thanos? Thanos needs to die alone and unloved. And Hela's married to Karnilla. >:(

[unqualified-critic]

With my recent criticisms and somewhat fan chaos, here is Loki related media I absolutely recommend to everyone. I pray we are granted additional installments by these talented folk. Writers and artists don’t profit extensively, so please purchase copies if you can or check your local library; instead of supporting websites that illegally upload content.

Loki: Where Mischief Lies by Mackenzi Lee

(Audio book available)

I adored this book beyond belief. One of the best comic related books I’ve read. Critically speaking, it’s well written. Enjoyability wise, I loved it. This book takes place not long before Thors coronation in the events of the first movie. Loki and Amora get into trouble and Loki is sent to earth to investigate a murder concerning magic; as punishment. This book addresses Loki’s feelings and point of view as Odin’s emotionally neglected son. We also see his softening out from a defensive shell, without feeling out of character or weak. This book also explores bisexuality and gender. This was the first content I’ve seen giving Loki a male love interest and it never felt tokenized or empty. This may be one of the only romances in media that felt genuine and not cringey. I really hope they have Mackenzi Lee returns for more Loki content.

Comics

Loki: Agent of Asgard by Al Ewing

This comic hit one of my all time faves. This comic follows Loki, as he explores a new lifestyle. Focusing on bettering himself yet never feeling out of character. He’s still a witty pain in the butt, however we see a side of sincerity to him. This comic addresses sexuality and gender In depth and giving us the genderfluid representation we’ve craved. We also see many characters from the original comics such as Lorelei and Sigurd. Although I recommend reading Journey Into Mystery prior, I originally didn’t and isn’t obligatory to understand the plot. I recommend this comic to everyone from the show writers to the casual fans. I enjoyed that Loki has a friend and cares for Verity, yet doesn’t see her as a love interest. We get to see many variants of Loki, and his coming to terms with his actions. The self love and acceptance was perfectly executed without awkwardness or confine.

Loki: The God Who Fell To Earth by Daniel Kibblesmith

This comic builds on Agent of Asgard and brings back Verity, my beloved. We see some references to Loki’s character development, genderfluidity, and sexuality. Going through different story themes and time periods was exciting (especially with Wolverine one of my favorites) this comic bases a bit off Journey into Mystery, and War of Realms. I also enjoyed the bringing back the classic villain Nightmare and Loki’s clever way of addressing him. This comic was cancelled only shortly after launch (Marvel you cowards) so show it a little love.

Journey into Mystery (2012) by Kieron Gillen Issues #637-645 follow Kid Loki who first appeared in Thor #615-621, but really you can start with Journey into Mystery and pick up what’s going on. This is the start to Loki’s rise from the ashes, most literally rebirth into a new start. This comic was a fresh take with a more innocent yet still clever Loki. Hated for his past crimes despite not committing them. Ok so I haven’t finished this arc yet, but I’m really enjoying it so far. It’s a good read for those who wish to dig a little deeper.

Double Trouble by Mariko Tamaki

The artwork in this comic was so so fun. It’s fairly hard to make me laugh, but I cracked a few giggles at this comic. Double Trouble is friendly for any age, but don’t let that push you aside as an adult. This story added substance to Thor and Loki’s rocky relationship, as well as exploring their young escapades. I loved watching Loki use their magic and Thor try to save their skins. We get to see Lady Loki and Lady Thor and everything still felt on brand for their respective characters. There’s nothing prior you really need to know for this comic, and is great for casual fans.

[gravelgirty]

Hi could you talk more about caves what you said on that post is really interesting

Sure thing!

First of all, it was an amazing cave I worked in. You never forget that. I'll pick one of my favorite topics,

the FALLOUT SHELTER AGGRAVATION TAX.

Clears throat.

Limestone caves are literally stone libraries in the geologic record of the world. Twice a year the airflow would change and then you'd smell smoke from decrepit old torches dating as far back as 1812. People made saltpeter in these caves, they were natural mines for things that went boom, and one of those 'requirements' meant airflow so you wouldn't suddenly and embarrassingly, drop dead of too much Underground. This is why the coal miners were eternally bemused and asking us questions like airflow. Sometimes you gotta canary. Sometimes you are the canary. This often led to predictable questions that was these old gents trying to be polite, but what they really wanted to know was,

'why the hell are you being paid $10 a trip plus tips to walk us 1.1 miles underground up to 3 times a day and no one has a mortgage gun aimed at your head?'

To which I would say, 'it wasn't quite that bad. If no one shows up at all we get paid $10.' ...Dear Saint Barbara, Chango, and the Gods of Deep Mystery, the things we tell ourselves. $10 a day. Crap. Thank goodness I had Granny's House, dad was paying the property tax, the water was on a well, and garbage was less that $20 a month. A shame we can't afford a TV, but hey, we can stay busy digging up that quarter-acre garden that will keep us fed plus the road kill Deer in the fall.

But the conditions that created saltpeter (I'll go into depth on that later if people are interested) also convinced some weird-ass people in Washington DC that caves were the perfect place to do a DR STRANGELOVE and people could go hide out in the caves, free of...well, nothing, really, because radiation = straight lines +caves, air, irradiated air and water, and everything goes down into the caves...

Look. It made people feel safe, ok? And it wasn't the worst decision the Pentagon ever made, considering they were telling the scientists working with HOT RADIOACTIVE MATTER to stay safe by sticking the stuff on a long pole so they wouldn't have to touch it.

Everybody knows about the bomb shelter President Kennedy was prepared to run to with his family in case of Cold War. It was in the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs (I prefer to think of it as the HIDDEN FIGURES birthplace). FYI everybody who lived here knew where it was. There are only so many power stations one measly little resort that cries that it can't afford to pay for its own water bill can keep.

[insert sniffle boohoo sobbing of the pro-confederates who run that place and while I can't be there for you, try to imagine the joy I am stockpiling for the day when we have another traitorous uprising and this time, the resort doesn't get a GO PASS GO by dangerous romantics and is finally burned to the ground.]

Anyway, the important people like the President, his family, his Secret Service, his staff, cook, maid-in-waiting, bootblack and et al got to go bunker down in the luxurious bomb shelter at the resort, which probably wouldn't be very resort-y after a certain point of Castro going, 'fuck you, you whippersnapper Irish Dog' or Khrushchev throwing a little more than his shoe around. I'm not convinced it was that great of a place to hide, really. I mean...they have lightning rods on the trees over there, and believe it or not, cavers in that country have been hit by lightning while underground. Because. Lightning. If it can bake entire acres of potatoes in the field, two subterranean surveyors with metal measuring tape haven't got a prayer.

I want you to know that I can't at this point go into detail (space restrictions) on the importance of all these caves to Union Sympathizers, slaves on the Underground Railroad, and the Far-Righter MAGAS called Confederates. Trust me when I say, if you didn't know where these caves were, you had absolutely no right to know.

In Appalachia, limestone caves were listed on properties and handed down because of their value. Thomas Jefferson made a point of making sure there were lots of caves to provide nitre for the Gunpowder Committee. I don't know if landowners had to pay taxes for having saltpeter caves (probably), but when the Cold War came around, they definitely and cheerfully sold the access rights to the government because...it was the government. I am not in the least bit joking when I tell you there are people over there who are still pissed off over George Washington's Whiskey Rebellion.

If you really want to get into the psyche of Appalachians, go read up every scene Terry Pratchett ever wrote about Lancre in his Discworld books. Just give them more libraries and a LOT of coffee stations.

Oh, dear. I forgot all about the owling and the Prohibition.

Owling = the practice of moving your herds of cattle from one ridge to the next to avoid a higher payment when the taxman came a-calling.

Prohibition = The Second Oldest Profession.

These days, many of the Fallout Shelter caves are being used for...modern needs. Meth labs, if you're a sensationalist, but if you aren't, bear in mind that hiding out stolen cattle and horses still requires big places out in the middle of nowhere. But when Mr. Gov't Man came around and offered cash for the access rights to grand-daddy's old saltpetre cave? Goodness gracious, we know we aren't supposed to take people's money from them because that's a sin, but...taxes...you know how it is... (most of the mountain folk had no real quarrel with Kennedy despite his heathen dog Catholicism because it wasn't his fault he was brought up Catholic, but when it came to the government...well, it was the principle of the thing).

In short order papers were drawn, and shelters were built and good god, they were ugly. Clapboard shantytowns, I swear. They were stockpiles whacked together with off-brand plank and tenpenny nails for where the selected few could bunker up in the cozy, damp, dripping, chilly, dusty, sneezy, probably-warm-from-stray-radiation environs. I have no idea who the Pentagon hated enough that they would send them to these caves. They had a bottleneck opening for easy defense, yes, but there was no defense against puking yourself to death or accidentally taking off your own skin with your uniform at the end of your shift.

YOU THINK I"M KIDDING?? YOU THINK IT IS A COINCIDENCE THAT CLASSIC DR WHO SHOWS DALEK HISTORY IN AN OLD STONE QUARRY? WELCOME ABOARD!

A fallout shelter's stockpile generally consisted of

*High-quality medical equipment, even though some of that stuff had a shelf life of three minutes.

*Radio Equipment. Which was probably a real belly laugh to the folks running the NARO satellite dishes up in Green Bank, because families in the most rural portion of WV (Pocahontas County) spent their evenings parsing Latin and teaching the young lads and lasses the wonders of shortwave and how to rig up your own crystals in case you needed to jackleg your own.

*Food. God. Awful. Food. It was designed to keep you alive, but you can't say anything more charitable about it. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody tried to corner a government contract on dehydrated water.

*Water. Potable water for drinking, but, I should say, I couldn't find any means with which you could make a potable distillery. Or, how much of this potable water was going to be used to rehydrate the ghastly awfulness of the dehydrated food, or the canned goods that included stuff the military couldn't wait to forget. Go ask your grandparents how much canned horse Circa WWII they ate while they served, m'kay?

*Candy. High energy, easily digestible candy. Flavor optional, at the discretion of the same government that made the WWII Chocolate Bar.

*The containers themselves. Yep, they counted. They were heavy metal barrels and tough buckets or small drums, plus the amazingly dense metal and plastic containers for medical kits, candy, and misc. I'm not sure if they had a requirement other than impervious, waterproof, and on sale. In fact, the smaller drums/buckets were supposed to be lined with the plastic used to wrap the other goods, and convert into a toilet.

Cold War comes and goes. I'm sure what happened next is shocking:

1) medical supplies goes missing in the dead of night.

2) Electronics follows. That probably makes the electricians feel good, because...what good would they have done in the wet, dust-filled atmosphere of the caves?

3) Candy. Candy, did you say? I don't remember seeing any candy..?

4) The gradual disappearance of the food rations is mysteriously in proportion to camping trips multitasking with double-dog-dares. Who needs a frat pledge if Freckles here has never been introduced to the joys of Dehydrated Ketchup?

5) If you think the backyard blacksmiths are making forges with tire rims, do you think metal containers stand a chance?

This leaves the barrels of water, but who would want to drink that stuff? It's been sitting around for how long? Ew. And the boards for those shelters...cripes.

This inadvertently makes up a tiny little side bonus for the hard-working tour guide. Because these shelters are usually ridiculously close to the entrance of the tour caves. You have to take your tour group in stages, see, and once they finish gasping and wheezing their way through the first 300 steps, you have to take their minds off how miserable they are and pause at the shelter with your flashlight, and describe this little chapter of history. By this time the bats are hanging off the boards (your chance to remind them of the exorbitant federal fines for hurting these little mosquito-hunters), the occasional lost salamander, and the beginnings of the Dreaded Cave Cricket (ten minutes with these little monsters and you'll never think pink is an effete color ever again).

And the mold. There are patches of mold the guides have been watching for YEARS. Some of them have even bothered to look them up, because...tourists. They love to stump the guides and use it as an excuse for not tipping you because you haven't taken a Master's in The Encompassing Topic of Karst Everything and are clearly a dumbass, hah-hah I'll spend my money in the overpriced gift shop, peasant.

But no, folks. If you ask them one more damn time if they're sure all the candy and drugs are gone...we're too tired to take your bleeping bleep bleep tip anyway.

[morose-magnetrix]

Xandra: “Could Storm not even say hello?”

Brand: “We’ve got confirmed puppy dog eyes, people. This is bad.”

S.W.O.R.D. #9 by Al Ewing (writer), Jacopo Camagni (artist), and Fernando Sifuentes

Since X-Factor has ended, S.W.O.R.D. (and New Mutants) have been consistently my favorite book to read. We’re starting to hit a balance when it comes to the book’s own story and mandated line wide crossovers, one of the earlier weaknesses as SWORD was tied up in King in Black. 

In this issue, the primary story is that the Shi’ar are coming for an official visit to Planet Arakko, and Storm is late, dealing with more challenges from the Arakki for her seat. Gyrich and Orchis meanwhile have hired/purchased some assassins from another planet to kill the Shi’ar, presumably to make the mutants look bad? Or to test them? Or because they somehow know Xandra is part human mutant? That part isn’t really well explained, but I think that’ll probably be covered more in a future issue. It’s very possible it was just a test of mutant defenses. 

This issue has made me such a fan of Xandra, primarily because of her powerful puppy dog eyes. I think it’s hugely fascinating to know that she’s the child of Professor X, and how that contextualizes Krakoan-Arakki-Shi’ar relations and I really hope that relationship is specifically touched on. It definitely seems like something Brand should know. 

The other highlight of this issue is the revelation of the mole within SWORD - who is Wiz Kid?!?!?!?! Everything I’ve read from Taki indicates that he’s all about his friends, so either he’s double crossing Orchis on Brand’s orders or someone’s messed with his mind, which may have been foreshadowed with Gyrich talking to James Hudson about Wolverine potentially being mind controlled (an early theory from the HoXPoX days). 

(I also am crossing my fingers that Xandra is queer. I know so little about her but I’m so positive she’s a little queer baby and I just adore reading characters who I can relate to, cuz y’know, representation and all baby). 

Verdict: Eight out of ten Shi’ar jelly beans

[libraryleopard]

September reads!

I read a fair amount in September because I was on break from college

Inferno by Chris Claremont and Louise Simonson. Honestly an absolute BANGER of a superhero comics cross-over, they don’t make them like this anymore. Madelyne and Illyana are such interesting characters. This comic is literally Medea but with superheroes.

Marvel’s Voice: Pride. Lord knows that mainstream superhero comics are not the best place to seek out LGBTQ+ representation, but I liked this for the most part. Happy that Karma finally got a gf, had many emotions over the Iceman story, absolutely support Mystique and Destiny the murder wives. 

DC Pride (2021). I don’t know as much about DC comics, but I still enjoyed this a fair amount–the Batwoman story was great, the Midnighter and Extraño story was pleasantly bonkers, and it’s nice to see the DC comics has some trans superheroes. 

Sabriel by Garth Nix. I can’t believe I never read this as a kid, I really missed out?! (I read Lirael for some reason, but not this.) I really enjoyed the magic system and Moggett the snarky cat demon, definitely going to continue this series now that Iv’e read the first one.

Batman: Under the Red Hood by Judd Winick. Okay, listen…I don’t really read Batman comics but my sister convinced me to read this and it was…kinda really interesting? Jason Todd makes me sad. (Also the topic of a future podcast episode.)

Hellions vol. 1 by Zeb Wells. Continuing my quest to read my way through current X-Men comics. Love the Kwannon is getting a leading role and that Madelyne Pryor is back, the cast of characters is wild and interesting, however I can’t believe how much they whitewashed Jetstream in that first issue and I dearly wish Kwannon could get a better costume. Will probably continue reading this to understand the anguish my sister seems to be constantly feeling over Kwannon and John, though.

Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson. Loved Leah Johnson’s debut novel but this didn’t quite hit the spot in the same way, though I did enjoy the music festival setting. (Imani deserves better…)

Suicide Squad: Bad Blood by Tom Taylor. I have never read any SS comics before, but this was fun! I enjoyed the line-up of new, diverse characters with fun powers (Wink and the Aerie <3), hope they’ve turned up in other stuff.

Gotham Academy vol. 1-1 by Becky Cloonan, Brenden Fletcher, and others. Reread this comic, which I still loved (fun spooky mysteries, great art, love thee characters), though upon reread the ending feels a little rushed and the Yearbook arc is not my favorite. This would make an amazinggg animated show, though. Also read the Lumberjanes/Gotham Academy cross-over.

Perfect on Paper by Sophie Gonzales. Rom com about a bisexual girl who runs an anonymous advice column. I really liked this, it was very readable and I thought the character work and insight into relationships was well-done!

A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking by T. Kingfisher. Sooooo delightful, this author never misses. A fantasy novel that’s both whimsical and kind of dark, very fun uses of bread magic. (Also the topic of a future podcast episode.)

Secret Wars by Jonathan Hickman. Sometimes you read confusing comics for fanfic-writing purposes, okay?

Odd Spirits by S.T. Gibson. Urban fantasy novel about a magician and a witch navigating their marriage. Liked the writing and the everyday magical world-building, wish it had been a little longer so as to deal with the storyline about biphobia that emerged near the end. I would still read more in this universe, though!

Original Sin: Thor & Loki: The Tenth Realm by Al Ewing. Sometimes you read comics for fanfic-writing purposes, okay? Also Loki said genderfluid rights.

Sunshine by Robin McKinley. Adult urban fantasy about a magical baker who gets kidnapped by vampires. This was interesting–very dense narration and world-building, interesting creepy vampires, but left a lot of loose threads left hanging.

Jack of Hearts and Other Parts by L.C. Rosen. Young adult contemporary novel about a gay high schooler who runs a sex advice column and starts being stalked by an anonymous hater. I had a bit of a rough time getting into this, but I liked the advice column aspect and it’s an interesting look at how far discussions of sexuality have come in YA books.

[kittyboogirl]

Mother warned us about this day, and now it was here. The first day of the Contingency. I didn’t really think much of it when mother talked about it but boy was I wrong. I should’ve prepared. The Contingency is a war between our three species. Vampires, wolves, and dragons. I was born in the dragon section. No one’s ever born a dragon though. Every twenty years they draft two boys and two girls from each species to be in the war. The people who are drafted are then taken to a lab to get the certain DNA shot to transform them. The DNA shots leave a scar on each victim. The vampires have the symbol of a bat on their chin. The wolves have a symbol of a paw on the bottom of their back. The dragons have a barcode on the left side of their neck. The barcodes are scanned to let the lab workers know what type of dragon the victim is. They are then sent to war. Whoever wins, gets to rule over the other two species for the next 25 years. Right now we are being ruled by the wolves. It sucks. We have a curfew of 8:45. If any wolf spots a body outside after curfew, it’s the end for them. No one knows what they do, but what we do know is that once they leave the house they never come back. We also have assigned seats at lunch. We aren’t allowed to eat in our houses with our families. The wolves have to watch us eat. Each family gets two meals a day. Three, some snacks, extra water, and medicine if someone in your family is sick. The doctor is the nicest wolf I’ve ever met. Practically everyone in all three species knows him. He’s the only actual good doctor. The vampire doctor I heard only cared about herself and doesn’t even care for her patients. She just brings them in and keeps them until they die. The dragons don’t have a doctor right now. Our doctor died in the last Contingency. My dad is a werewolf and my mom is a dragon. My mom got all custody over me and my sister. My dad got all custody over my two brothers. My mom was supposed to get custody over all of us, but the wolves took my brothers Arin and Alex. I haven’t seen them since last year. One of the major rules is that you’re not allowed to have kids with another species unless they haven’t been drafted and they are still human. If you do then your kids will be split up and you probably will never see them again.

Its currently 6:00 in the morning and my mom is making breakfast. I stand up and stretch.

Alice runs over to me, hugs me, and giggles, “EEEEE EEEE!!!”

“Yes good morning to you Al.” I hug back and say while yawning.

Alice is 5. She is the youngest of all four of us, and the only girl. She has long brown hair and she stands right at 4 ft.

The bell rings for breakfast and I groan. I’m never hungry when I first wake up. There's also this really annoying kid that I sit beside during breakfast and dinner.

“Morning Eric!” Mother says as we walk out of the house.

“Morning mother.” I say and hug her from the side.

Snow falls as we make our way to the church. I start to regret not bringing my jacket. A familiar voice calls out in a playful cheer. I look around and spot the familiar red hair. It’s Clara. She is my friend and enemy. Just depends on the day. Our families are really close. She’s lucky because she’s an only child and both of her parents are human. Neither of them have ever gotten drafted before. Her parents are really nice to me. They’re like my second set of parents. Her dad especially considering I hardly ever see my dad. “Hey beautiful!” I say nudging her with my elbow.

“Hey shit face!” She yells and I glare playfully.

“You’re really asking for a fight now aren’t you?” I put my fists up. She rolls her eyes and we walk in silence.

“Soooo?” She says.

“Sooooo what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You think you’ll get drafted??” She asks.

“I certainly hope not!” I say defensively.

She giggles and looks over at Alice. Alice waves and starts talking to her. I sigh. I’ve liked clara since we were Alice’s age. But I’ve never had the guts to tell her. My parents told me that her parents are planning on moving to America if she gets drafted, because they don't want her in the war. Clara’s always wanted to get drafted. It’s like her dream. It’s all she ever talks about. Now what the day is here, this is the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.

I walk into the church and hold the door for everyone. I put my foot out as Clara walks by. She trips and I snort. My mom glares at me and I hold my hand up in surrender and walk in. An alpha stops me at the door of the cafeteria. I pull down the collar of my shirt to show that I have no barcode. He nods and lets me go. He does the same to everyone else. I walk through the line, get my food, and sit down. There are four cafeterias. One for humans, one of dragons, one for vampires, and one for werewolves. I go to my seat and thankfully the annoying kid who sits next to me isn’t there yet. Maybe she’s sick. Or dead. Or just non existent. But as soon as I think that she sits down.

“Hi Eric!” She says with a smile.

I sigh, “Hey Amy.”

She spends the entire breakfast talking about music and the draft and a bunch of other stuff that i don’t really wanna talk about.

“So, I was thinking! If we both get drafted we can pretend to be a couple. Like Katniss and Peeta did in the Hunger Games! And they will hopefully surrender and we can actually experience what freedom is! Because I heard that when the dragons ruled, it was nothing but freedom and fun times! So! What do you think? Wanna be my boyfriend?” She does air quotes when she says boyfriend.

I facepalm and start laughing and she looks at me confused. “Okay so, first of all, you’re not anywherenear my type. Second of all, Hunger Games was not and is not real. And third of all, even if it was real, I highly doubt The Contingency is anything like the hunger games. But good suggestion! Glad you were thinking of me.”

She looks disappointed and but finishes chewing before she starts talking. “Okay, but just hear me out-”

“Amy! The answer is no! I’m sorry but you really don’t listen to anything that anyone says do you?”

She crosses her arms, “That's not fair! I do listen! I just always like to try things but no one ever lets me or goes along with my plans!”

I snort, “That’s because last time we did you set off an explosion in the middle of the cafeteria kitchen and we also found hair in the food!!”

“That was Hiltons fault!” She is clearly getting heated.

“It was your hair!!!” I yell kind of loud.

She stands and goes to empty her trey. I put my head on my hand and pick at my grits. I always sneak my food back to the house and eat it when I’m ready to. But I don’t know when the drafts are so I start forcing myself to eat.

Clara stares at me from across the table. “Hey Eric, guess what.”

“What?” I say with a mouthful of grits. She starts laughing and gets a spoonful of her grits.

I already know where she’s going with this so I freeze. “Don’t you dare! Clara I swear! You will regret it!”

She bends her spoon back and I brace myself. A huge spoonful of grits hits me in the face and I shake my head. I scowl. She laughs hysterically. I look around to make sure no alphas are around. When I see that they are all outside the cafeteria I take my bowl of grits and chuck it at her. It hits her forehead and starts running down her face and into her long red hair.

“EW!!!! ERIC I DIDN’T DO THAT MUCH!!!” She starts whining and takes her napkin trying her hardest to get it out of her hair.

I laugh so hard that tears start to form in my eyes, “You should see yourself! It’s hilarious!”

She glares at me and groans. I wipe the tears from my eyes and grab my napkin and wipe my face off.

“See, this is another reason that I want to get drafted. So I can go completely Eric free for the next 6 months.” She smiles, clearly proud of what she said.

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her, “Well what if I get drafted with you? Then you’ll not only have to deal with me still, but you would have to team up with me. We’d have to actually get along. Imagine that.”

She fake gags, “Ew.”

I hold my hand to my chest as if I’m hurt, “Ouch! That was cruel. You do know that if we actually tried we could get along.”

“No thanks… But thanks for the suggestion!” She says and then smiles. She gets up and goes to empty her trey.

I look down at my food and realize that the grits are the only type of cafeteria food I like. I sigh, hold my nose and start to eat the eggs.

When I stand to go empty my trey, a siren starts going off. Clara looks over at me with a smile and runs outside. I’m frozen. The alarm seems to get louder and so I drop my tray on the floor and run after her. Not long after everyone comes outside.

“Everyone line up! Boys with boys, girls with girls!” An alpha yells.

We all get in lines and follow the Alphas. I look around and spot Arin and wave. He doesn’t see me so I quietly whisper his name. His eyes shoot to me and he waves but then puts a finger over his mouth.

Arin is the oldest. Of all of us. He is 17. He’s got a full head of sandy blonde hair, and hazel eyes. He stands at 6 ft tall, very underweight. He doesn’t like to eat at all. Very picky at least.

We stop at these tables and the alpha yells to everyone, “Alright listen up! When you get to the table, sign your first name and last name, species, and strongest defence!”

Clara leans back and whispers, “I thought it would be more exciting than this. I’m kind of disappointed.

I roll my eyes, “Yeah like a draft for a war would be soooo fun! A morning to remember. Really dissapointed.”

She turns to face me, “OKay Mr. Smart Ass! Unlike you, I actually want to defend our rights. I want to fight for our species and get our rights back. That may not be your cup of tea but it’s definitely mine. So stop making fun of it and keep you smart ass comments to yourself. Capeesh?”

My eyes widen and I throw my hands up in surrender, “Relax! Damn! It was a joke! I get it.”

She scowls, “By the way you threw your hands up and tried not to smile, and all the times you’ve lied to me, I’m not sure that I believe you.”

“Well will you believe me when I say that the lines have been moving this entire time and the people behind us are getting really ultra mega heated?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She spins around and runs to catch up with Amy in front of her. I try to hide a snort and follow her.

Alex is sitting at the table when I walk up and he hands me the form. We make eye contact and I can see the look of sorrow in his eyes. He got to drop out of the draft?? That's not fair! I think to myself. Alex has always been dad's favorite. Mainly because he looks more like him than any of us. Big chocolate brown eyes. Fairly tan skin with a white birthmark on the cheek. Very noticeable uneven dimples, one smack dab in the middle of the right cheek and one on the top corner of the left right under the eye and next to the nose. Average height and weight. Extremely buff. Get’s all the ladies. No wonder he got to drop out. He gets to do whatever he wants. Never has to do anything.

He smiles, “Good luck. Try not to get chosen okay. Try to blend in. Try not look tough. Look weak. Sick even. Do anything you can okay?”

I nod. As if I can control whether I get picked or not. I smile back, “Love you.”

He nods and winks. Two alfas come over and get on each side of me. They start walking and I have no choice but to walk. They tell me to go faster so I try. They take me over to a chair and push me down into it. I flinch when my tailbone slams into the seat. They walk off and I look around. There are nothing but guys around me in other chairs.

“Pssst! Hey!” the guy next to me taps me.

I look over and raise an eyebrow, “Please don’t touch me. And get back in your chair. Personal space is a thing you know.” The guy looks at me with a face of fear, “Please….please…..if they pick me please take my spot...I have kids. A family…”

I look away and shake my head, “As do I. You’re not the only one. I have two brothers and a sister. And I don’t know you. I’m not risking my life to save someone that I don’t know. Would you do that for me?”

He starts breaking down and turns around. I laugh a little and lean back in my chair. We sit there for hours. Eventually I almost end up falling asleep.

The siren stops and I snap out of it and shoot into a sitting position. There is another siren that starts going off. Same as the last one except louder and faster. People start standing up. Arin eyes me and snaps. I shrug. He mouths, stand up! I stand up and the professor starts walking down each aisle, observing each and every person. He stops at Arin and smiles.

“Form!” He yells while staring at Arin. An assistant gives him Arins form and he examines it with a big dopey grin.

Arin looks down as a drip of sweat rolls down the side of his head. He licks it when it gets to the corner of his mouth. I try my best not to gag.

The professor hands the form back to the assistant and puts his hand on Arins shoulder, “Perfect wolf material…”

Two of the assistants roughly grab him and start dragging him away. Surprisingly he stays quiet as they walk away. The professor starts walking again and he immediately stops at a girl that was three chairs down from Arin. She gets dragged away without any hesitations. I zone out and don’t pay much attention while he’s doing the rest of the wolf section.

The professor starts going down the dragon aisles and stops at many people. He’ll stop, observe, and keep walking. When he gets to Clara she is standing up tall and proud with a big smile on her face. He walks right by her but then stops. He hesitates but turns around and walks back over to her.

“Form.” The assistant gives him the form and all he does is look at her name on the front and hands it back, “Dragon.”

She smiles and starts walking excitedly. I cough and she looks at me. I mouth good luck, you’re gonna need it. She rolls her eyes and walks over to stand with the other chosen ones.

Amy fidgets with her hands nervously as he chooses her as well. When they grab her, she starts crying and screaming. An alpha comes over and picks her up, throws her over his shoulder, and takes her in the large building that the drafted kids are standing in front of.

He starts walking down our row and my heart starts racing. The guy beside me breaks down again. Sobbing to the point of hyperventilation. I look down and try to look weak. He starts getting closer and my palms start sweating. It wasn’t until now that I realize just how scared I am of being drafted. He gets to me and stops. I freeze, breaths quivering. My anxiety levels rise as he asks for my form. I make eye contact with him and he smiles evily.

“Dragon.”

[the-barn-rat]

IB 1. Dianora Brixie, Sk.

SUP FOLKS i’ve decided im literally going to just post monster hunters (working title Iron Bound) as i fucking write it?? because 1. i really like hearing what people think about what’s happening/what’s going to happen as i go, which ties into 2. I Want The Validation

this is literally a fresh completely unedited draft, so there will be a lot of changes & additions, especially to descriptive setting prose. that being said, if there’s specific shit you want to hear more about immediately, lemme know and i’ll make sure it goes in draft 2

These posts will all be tagged “monster hunters draft” in case you want to track them or don’t want to see them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: that monster hunters shit i’ve been planning since like november

.....

Sigi is the only one who can tell that she is distracted. They are twins, and so they know each other’s tics and tells, but it still feels like a weakness. He eyes her across the table, squints and tilts his head—dark and owlish like hers, with sharper angles—and she lets out a long breath through her nose, ignoring him. A folded-up letter sits heavy in the pocket of her waistcoat. Dia can’t think about it now.

At the centre of the cabin, the hunter kneels for preparation. She could be made of lifeless bronze but for the steady rise and fall of her breastplate. The mentor, whose virtue-name is Eager, clasps golden ornaments into her hair and onto her black horns.

There’s a murmur outside, beyond the stone walls and locked shutters. Townspeople have gathered, doubtless fascinated by the spectacle of a hunting crew. Dia ignores them in favour of the crossbow resting in front of her: she fidgets with it, checks the springs and sights and checks them again. There is nothing wrong with the crossbow, but she needs to occupy her hands.

Eager steps back, and the hunter stands. Dia never feels right sitting down when the hunter stands. The hunter is too tall, too broad, and it makes her nervous. She feels as though she must be ready to flee or hide at any moment, however futile an exercise that would be.

At least this one is Cornuta, and not one of the stranger breeds. Not Seguna with their twisted animal faces, or fish-like Pescqui with their gills. Hollow comforts. This hunter could still slaughter all of them if she chose to. If the rumours are true, she might yet choose to.

Eager produces an elegantly carved mahogany box, about the size of his own palm. He presses his thumb to the rune on its front, and it opens for its keeper. The single vial inside glows a soft, sickly yellow-green.

“In defense of the common folk, your masters,” Eager intones, “sharpen your senses and steel your mind.”

Wordlessly, the hunter takes the vial, uncaps it, and swallows its contents. If Dia were closer, she might see the hunter’s pupils shrink down to dots for a breath and then dilate until her irises are slender lilac rings. Dia prefers not to be closer until absolutely necessary.

Sigi fits a belt of flasks and tiny grenades around the hunter’s hips. Dia slides the crossbow into the hunter’s hands, checks the straps on her quivers, and backs away.

The pathfinder speaks: “It was last sighted eight miles north of town, in a valley bog between two nameless peaks. We have no expert testimony, but eyewitness accounts continue to support our initial conclusion that the creature is a green hag.”

“You hear that, Ferro?” Eager says, addressing the hunter directly. “This is a fawn’s assignment.”

The hunter nods once, terse. In theory, her kind can speak. Dia has never heard this one’s voice.

“Medic, is she sound?” Eager says.

The medic, Antare, has not risen from his seat at the table. “Do you reckon she injured herself kneeling on the floor?” he asks.

Eager reddens. His mouth twists underneath his full silver-specked beard. “The rituals are not for nothing,” he starts.

Antare sighs, but he stands. He’s the tallest and broadest of them, the only one who can look the hunter right in the eye. Dia has wondered privately if that’s why they sent him to replace the last medic. If she snaps again, he’s the only one with half a chance.

The medic stands square before the hunter. “The body is sound,” he says.

Eager says, “You haven’t…”

Antare cuts him short. “I checked her over at dawn,” he says. “She’s in excellent health. The body is sound.”

“The path is clear,” says the pathfinder, effectively delaying the inevitable argument.

“The steel will bite,” says Dia.

“The fire will burn,” says Sigi.

Eager collects himself. “Murat’s light guide you to your quarry,” he says. “In his name, Valiera’s Nezetta Six Ferro, strike true.”

The hunter gives a shallow, wordless bow from the hips, and otherwise does not respond to any of the proceedings. Eager unlatched and opens the door, and the smell of pig shit and springtime mud billow in before the hunter steps out.

The small gathered crowd flows away from her like water. They fall silent, staring up at this tamed creature of legend. She may well be the first and last they ever see; Apla is a small, unimportant farming village well-protected from most fronts of the First War. This hag is an irregularity at best.

She stands there, not looking at the people, until Antare brings the horse they bought from one of the farmers for well above its value. It looks small and scruffy beside the hunter. When she sits astride, it drops its parrot-mouthed muzzle and arches its ewe neck as though it knows that this is the most important thing it will do in its life.

A murmur starts to rise again from the farmers. Dirty-faced and small-minded, they cast wide-eyed glances at each other, up at the hunter, at the crew standing behind her. Dia knows what they will say, to each other and to Eager and to whomever else is stupid enough to stay outside the tower for longer than necessary. They will continue to say it until the hunter returns with the head of a hag.

Eager senses the shift. “My friends,” he booms, opening his arms wide. “The hunter is strong and true. She will bring your tormentor’s end.”

“We sure that ain’t a demon also?” someone says.

“Go, hunter,” Eager intones. “Win their hearts and minds with the highest gift.”

The hunter swings the horse about and kicks it into a trot, and then a gallop. None stand in her way. Dia watches horse and rider disappear up the dirt road, between the pig farms and into the encroaching woods.

Dia tunes out the villagers’ concerns as well as Eager’s responses to them. As soon as the hunter is out of sight, she turns back into the tower, giving Sigi a look on her way past. He understands and follows her up to the third level, to the bed chamber she claimed as hers.

Sigi goes to open the shutters on the single window.

“Don’t,” Dia says. “I can’t stand the fucking smell.”

Her twin shrugs. “City smells worse.”

“That’s why we don’t live in the city, either.”

Sigi smirks. “That and no other reason, right?” he says.

Normally, she would laugh. This time, she half-turns away from him and rubs at her eyes. His face falls; she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the folded-up letter.

“Courier caught me right before we boarded the Olunaria,” she says. “I forgot about it until this morning.”

When she holds it out to him, he approaches it like a skittish deer. He reads it in silence, a small frown wrinkling his brow. He does not shed a tear; neither had she. They were never close to their lord father.

“What does it mean for us?” he says carefully, once he’s through.

Dia sighs. “Hopefully, very little. We weren’t expecting an inheritance, were we?”

“No, I meant…” Sigi says. “Should we go to Brixi? Cecilia may need us.”

“Cecilia needs us as far away as possible,” Dia snorts. “If we go now, the nobility will decide that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to mine the estate.”

“Or perhaps that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to their sister’s aid in her time of mourning,” Sigi says. He is charmingly naïve, sometimes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We can’t leave the crew now.”

He doesn’t argue. He folds the letter up and slips it back into her pocket. “I’ll be in the cellar,” he says. “Knock before you come in.”

And that’s the end of that, she supposes. They ought to write to Cecilia, eventually, but that will fall to Dia. Sigi is better at expressing emotions, but Dia knows how to avoid political misunderstandings.

There is no one here to call for wine. This little tower is barely maintained and has not hosted a hunting crew in years.

Dia goes to the pantry on the main floor, freshly stocked with bread, cheese, eggs, cured pork, and root vegetables from the local baron’s kitchen. The carrots and turnips are firm and fresh, but they’re not what she wants.

“No drink allowed in a sentinel tower,” says a voice at the door. The pathfinder leans against the frame, a performative boredom etched across his face. Every member of the crew is well-dressed and groomed, but the pathfinder’s class is still obvious to a trained eye. He wears silks, embroidery, and ennui like the wearing is sport.

He pats the limestone wall. “These are sacred stones.”

Dia stands up straight and gives a short curtsy. It feels ridiculous when she’s wearing breeches and a waistcoat. It must look ridiculous, too, because the pathfinder gives a snort of mocking laughter.

“My lord,” Dia starts.

“We could see if Apla has a tavern,” he says. “Though they’re as like to brew pig piss into ale as grain.”

She says nothing. He looks her up and down.

“I’ve heard the Fiadri is short a patriarch,” he says. Dia feels a misplaced flare of anger at his flippancy, but then she notes the wine skin dangling from his hand. He holds it out toward her. “Lesson one of crewing: bring your own.”

Dia takes the wine skin. “Thank you, my Lord,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The pathfinder’s brow knits. He tips his head back to squint at her down his aristocratic nose. He always manages to look tired, but now the circles under his eyes are especially pronounced.  “Aren’t you highborn? You’ll take my wine, but you can’t say my name?”

Dia carefully keeps her expression neutral. “Forgive me. It’s safer to stand on ceremony.”

“Fair enough. Drink, it’s Luquian.”

She does. The wine is good: robust and sweet, blooming on her tongue for a long breath after she swallows. She tries to hand the skin back, only to have the pathfinder push it away.

“I have more,” he says. “A Kyriak dry white and a Sahnish spiced red. Both excellent.”

“Each more expensive than that farmer’s horse, I’ll wager,” Dia said, but she took another drink of the Luquian.

“A discerning Brixian palate,” says the pathfinder.

“My lord is too generous,” Dia says, to see if he insists.

“Corso,” says the pathfinder. “Valiera, if you must, though I’m about as near the Valiera seat as you are the Fiadri. If you really think about it, we’re equals.”

“You’re no bastard.”

“Neither do I hope for my brothers to die,” he said, somehow blunt and nonchalant at once. It occurs to Dia that this might be Corso Valiera’s way of offering his condolences. She won’t ask how he knew; information is a pathfinder’s currency. She takes another drink.

“Corso,” she says.

“Dianora,” he says. “There, now we can be colleagues.”

Below their feet, something rumbles like distant thunder. The pathfinder’s thick black brows climb, and Dia sighs and hands him the wineskin. “He’s the more emotional between us,” she offers, by way of explanation.

“And yet you’re the one hiding in the pantry, sharing illicit drinks with your patron’s fifth-born,” says Corso. “At least that sounded productive.”

Dia’s scalp tingles with embarrassment. “I had neither the time nor the space to bring my prototypes,” she snaps.

“Easy, there,” he says and, maintaining eye contact, takes a drink.

She realises, suddenly, that he’s still standing in the doorway, effectively blocking her path. Eager is outside with the masses. Sigi is in the cellar with his concoctions. Antare’s movements are nigh impossible to track. Corso Valiera outranks them all by far.

Dia’s heart beats rabbit-quick. Idiot. “I should go,” she says, controlling her tone. “My sister will expect a reply.”

The pathfinder hums. “Right, yes,” he says. “The worst part, this. The performance. The determination of what parts and pieces of your grief to display, to hide, to inflate for others to notice.”

He seems to turn inward, eyes distant and faded. Dia makes for the door, and the pathfinder stands up straight, blocking her path. He’s not much taller or older than her, but he’s broader and stronger. She doesn’t look him in the eye.

“Take this,” he says.

Dia blinks. The wineskin hangs between them, still mostly full. She reaches out and carefully takes it by the neck, and the pathfinder looks down at her.

“My advice, for what it’s worth, is to write at least four letters and burn the first three.”

She’s quiet and still for long enough that he notices, sighs, takes several deliberate steps backward. It’s the sudden release of tension from a spring, knocking the fear out of her lungs.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Dianora,” he says. When she looks up, he winks. “I’m shocked that you haven’t heard the rumours.”

She has, actually. She assumed they were slander. “I apologize,” she says stiffly. “I’m sure you are an honourable man. I have wronged you with groundless conjecture…”

He waves her off. “Go write your sister,” he says.

A part of her still expects that he’ll stop her as she goes by, but he doesn’t, and she’s left to feel childish and strangely dirty as she half-jogs up to her chamber. She hates it. It’s not Corso Valiera’s fault, really. He gave up a dangerous truth to calm her. Dia wondered, once a heavy door was closed and locked behind her, if he somehow knew or sensed the truth about her.

She takes his advice about the letter, sort of. The first sheet of parchment is utterly wasted on failed greetings alone:

I am so sorry to have heard—

My deepest condolences, dear sister—

We have just received—

This awful spectre follows us to Apla, where—

Father’s timing is impeccable as always—

Dia takes a long pull from the wineskin, corks it, and buries her face in her hands. She might sit there for a minute or an hour, and then she burns the parchment over a candle.

Hoofbeats drum on the dirt road outside. Dia starts: that’s quick, much too quick, even for a hag. She cracks the shutters, holding her nose against the smell. The shaggy brown horse gallops home, riderless.

Dia rushes down the stairs, teetering only once with drink. Corso and Antare stand in the doorway; Eager is outside among the people, has been for hours. Dia stands between the two men, peering out, listening.

“Is it dead? Is the demon dead?”

“We’re doomed. It’ll come for us next.”

“You said the hunter would stop it!”

“It ate my goats.”

“Liar!”

Eager stands, stoic and still, with a hand on the horse’s bridle. The beast is unharmed, without a drop of blood on it that Dia can see. A man comes wading through the crowd, and Eager hands him the reins.

“She has sent the horse back,” Eager intones. “You see? She has returned him unharmed to his master. The hunter will follow in time.”

“He speaks with confidence,” Antare mutters.

“An impressive front,” Corso replies. “He’s about to piss himself, as he should be.” Both Dia and Antare shoot him a look. The pathfinder shrugs and meanders deeper into the tower, ignoring the throng outside and leaving Antare to shut the door.

“I wasn’t aware you were concerned,” says Antare.

“You didn’t see the body,” says Corso. “To be frank, we should already have a courier running back to my father.”

Dia understands, belatedly. “You think she’s gone feral. So suddenly?”

Corso levels her with a look. “You didn’t see the body,” he says again. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and leans against the table at the centre of the room. He looks exhausted. “Maybe, when this is over, we’ll all be reassigned to something normal. I’m fond of the Ottiudi strain, myself, which of course means that the Signore will give me a Seguna. What are the two of you being punished for, by the way? I never asked.”

Antare says nothing. Dia swallows. “We wanted to work a hunting crew,” she says to fill the silence. “Your brother…”

“Ah, yes, right,” says Corso. “The University man himself. I suppose it was the best he could do for a pair of bastards. Terribly sorry that you’ve stepped out into this mess, green as grass.”

Dia has read the last medic’s journals, of course. They all have, but the tension in the pathfinder’s voice is a stretched bowstring, ready to snap. Drinking wine in the pantry, Corso’s face had been a healthy, warm brown. Now, it’s gone grey.

Antare stares out the window like it holds a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “Why would she run off now? She must know she’ll be hunted in turn.”

“You talk like she is a rational, thinking creature,” says Corso. “She was not thinking then, and she is not thinking now. I’ll draft a letter to my father.”

The door swings open. “You’ll do no such thing,” Eager says. “Have a little faith. She either fell off the horse or sent him back and out of danger.”

Corso presses his lips together. Dia thnks that gesture is all that keeps him from yelling at a Brother of Murat.

“You fear her,” Eager says.

“Bloody right I do,” says Corso.

“As you should,” the mentor says, nodding sagely. “As one fears the wolf, or the mountain-lion, or the summer storm. She is a force of nature. She has not lost her mind to a hag.”

Corso scoffs.

Eager presses on. “Do you remember what she was, before? The monsters she slew? She can be that again. It is our task to keep faith and to help her reclaim herself.”

The pathfinder complains, but the mentor helms the ship. They wait. Eager goes back out to the villagers after a time. Dia bangs on the cellar door and tells Sigi what’s happened now. Corso produces the Sahnish red and drinks most of it himself. Antare seems to vanish and reappear at will.

Near midnight, Corso balls up the fourth draft of his letter to the Valiera and tosses it into the hearth. Sigi reaches across the table for what’s left of the Kyriak white. Eager joins them, at last, and bolts the door behind him.

“Sleep soundly, my friends,” the mentor says. “Murat’s light will guide her home.” He flows up the stairs, calm as anything. Antare is the first to follow. Sigi goes next.

Dia meets Corso’s eye. “You saw the body,” she says.

The pathfinder’s face is lit with firelight behind and candlelight before. It flickers across his skin, casting a twisting grimace across his still features. “There was no head,” he says. Slurs, but only barely. “She had not cut it off, mind you. It was gone. It was paste on the stone. My nephew found a tooth in the garden, just last week.”

Dia nods. She sits in silence for a time, watching the fire burn. “If you’re right, then she’ll be gone soon.”

He doesn’t respond. She rises, at last, and puts herself to bed, where she stares at the ceiling until a dozen shouting voices stir her at dawn.

She staggers down the stairs just in time to see Antare shoving his way past Corso and Eager, rushing out the door with his equipment under his arm. Outside, another small throng has gathered, milling about with wordless shrieks and cries. Antare shouts, disperses them just enough for Dia to see the hunter’s body, face down in the mud.

The smell of pig shit hits her then, stained with something acrid and sharp that burns in Dia’s lungs. The hunter’s face is tipped just enough that her nose is not submerged in muck, but her eyes are shut, and they don’t flutter when Antare turns her over. The medic’s eyes bulge, and he swears.

“Clear the table,” he shouts over the din. “Clear it, there’s no time to move her!”

Antare lifts the hunter’s body, draping her across his arms like a gruesome bride, and marches through the villagers in a straight line. It’s only when he passes through the door that Dia sees the gore and sinew dropping from the empty socket of the hunter’s right shoulder.

“Alchemist!” the mentor shouts. Sigi has already recovered Antare’s equipment. He arranges knives and cloth and bottles of bubbling fluid on the table beside the filthy, prone body.

Corso mumbles. “Just let her die. Just let her die. It would be a mercy.”

Eager grips him by the shoulders and shakes, once, before turning to Dia. “Take him away, girl. You don’t need to see this.”

Dia wants to protest that she’s seen any number of surgeries and dissections. Instead, she grabs Corso by the arm, decorum be damned, and pulls him toward the stairs.

[zephyrthejester]

...What’s that scribbled rune on the back of that armor’s neck? That feels like it’s important.

Jeeze, dude. Something seriously wrong happened to the people in these suits of armor. Something horrible.

So yeah, Alphonse said that this sort of Alchemy came naturally to him. I guess... That after all his experiences, after Ed yanked him and his soul through the Gate so many times... Al’s soul rests lightly in his body. It’s easy for him to spread himself around into other objects.

That’s never going to be not freaky.

And it’s also pretty freaky to see flesh-and-blood Alphonse fight alongside Armor-Alphonse, who definitely has (a portion of) Alphonse’s soul inside it.

This is so freaking weird.

Well hi Falman! Good to see you. Thankfully, he answered my question... The people in the armor were all dead, long before they entered this world. Apparently, they died from “extreme pressure.”

Oh. Ew. Okay yeah now I’m glad we didn’t see under any of them, yeesh.

Well, since Nazis passing through the Envy-portal has a 100% mortality rate, they have no way of engineering further defenses, and probably won’t try sending people in again any time soon. Hopefully.

[subscriptlaw]

New York State Rifle and Pistol Association vs. New York City

Argument: December 2, 2019

Petitioner Brief: New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc., et al

Respondent Briefs: City of New York, et al

Court below: United States Court of Appeals, Second Circuit

Supreme Court wants a piece of the NYC gun rights case

Up until a couple of months ago, New York City laws prevented licensed gun owners from traveling outside the City with their handguns. A handgun owner who only had a “premises” license only could travel with the gun to one of several authorized shooting ranges in the City. The City allowed a few limited exceptions for taking the gun elsewhere, like to a gunsmith or to hunt just outside of the City, but the licensee would have to get written permission from the Police Department. Generally, though, the laws made clear that handguns are for self-defense in the home, and traveling with the gun is only for training at designated places within the City.

NYC had reasons for doing this. For safety, of course. As NYC tells the Supreme Court, the City is the most populous and by far the most dense city in the country. The public transportation system is crowded: any route touches “sensitive places such as schools, daycare centers, government buildings, playgrounds, and places of worship.” In short, we do it it to keep guns from causing harm to all of the people out and about.

The lawsuit

Several gun owners in NYC, along with the New York State Rifle and Pistol Association, sued the City arguing the law violates the Second Amendment right to “keep and bear arms.” The gun owners in the case want to be able to take their guns to other locations of legal gun use, such as shooting ranges outside of the City. One of the plaintiffs owns a second home outside of the City and wants to be able to take his gun there too. The NYC law — at least before July of this year — prohibited that.

The lower courts sided with NYC, ruling the restrictions were valid. They did not violate the Second Amendment. Then, in January 2019, the Supreme Court agreed to hear the case for its term starting in October 2019.

Shortly after the Supreme Court accepted the case for review, NYC changed the regulations at issue. The City was probably worried about the makeup of the Court: that the case would give the conservative Justices a chance to broaden Second Amendment rights. So while the case awaited argument, the City changed its laws to allow gun owners to travel with their handguns to shooting ranges and second homes outside of the City. 

Mootness

Courts aren’t supposed to take irrelevant cases. Courts don’t just hypothesize on what the law should be. Rather, they take live disputes and grant resolutions. Once NYC changed its laws to allow the plaintiffs’ requested conduct, the case is arguable not necessary anymore. It’s not a “live case or controversy.” That’s NYC’s view. After changing its laws, NYC requested that the Supreme Court rule the case “moot,” or irrelevant. 

The Court refused to do so. The Justices want the parties to provide arguments both on the issue of “mootness” and on the Constitutional arguments. The Court will address mootness first because if the case it moot, the Court won’t be addressing the Constitutional arguments at all.

When a case develops a change in circumstances such that a court is no longer useful in resolving the controversy, the case is moot. One prototypical case: a college applicant argues a university discriminated against him in rejecting his application, but after the case started, the university grants the student admission and the student is about to graduate by the time the court will be addressing it. That case is moot because the student already got what he wanted. 

This case looks like a prototypical case. NYC already gave the plaintiffs what they wanted, so what role can the Court play now?

The plaintiffs the Court is still needed. Ok, they say, NYC changed the law to quickly resolve certain limited situations (traveling to gun ranges and second homes outside the City), but what if I want to make a stop along the way? Maybe I need to fill up my car, or pick up a sandwich. The new NYC law would still make it illegal for me to make stops like that while carrying my handgun. The Court needs to step in and grant me a real right to travel with my gun.

Moreover (and this is a well-recognized exception to mootness), NYC only voluntarily changed the law to resolve the Supreme Court case. It could very well go back and make the same law again. The Supreme Court needs to make a real ruling clarifying that the City can’t make a law like that.

NYC continues to characterize the case as the prototypical case of mootness. The plaintiffs got what they wanted; case over.

Only if the Court sides with the gun owners on mootness may the Justices address the potential Second Amendment violation of the now-old NYC laws.

The Second Amendment

The Supreme Court has made one thing clear: The government cannot strongly restrict someone’s right to keep a gun at home and to use it for self-defense. That’s in the “core” of the Second Amendment, the Court concluded in D.C. v. Heller (2008). D.C. v. Heller invalidated a law requiring guns to be in a nonfunctional state in the home. The same decision invalidated a law placing “complete” bans on handgun ownership because handguns are the preferred type of gun for self-defense. Self-defense is clearly within the core of the Second Amendment right to “keep and bear arms.”

What about the right to travel with your gun? The 2008 Supreme Court decision didn’t give too much instruction to lower courts about how to decide other gun regulations, but federal courts around the country have pulled together a framework. 

Text, history and tradition

Federal courts look to the text, history, and tradition of the Second Amendment as a primary step in characterizing how strictly to scrutinize a challenged gun regulation. If a regulation places limits on a “core” Second Amendment right, then a court will apply “strict scrutiny,” and if a regulation places non-“core” limits on a Second Amendment right, a court generally will apply “intermediate scrutiny.” Strict scrutiny is code for: the law will be invalidated. Intermediate scrutiny means it depends on the importance of the government interest and how narrowly the challenged regulation has targeted the government interest. 

The first step for the parties, then, is to argue that the NYC restrictions on traveling with a gun restrict either a super important (“core”) Second Amendment right (gun owners’ argument), or a Second Amendment right that governments may regulate within reason (NYC’s argument). 

The gun owners’ argument

The gun owners say: No way; this regulation cannot square with the Second Amendment. The right to travel outside the city with our guns, especially to second homes and other gun ranges, is critical to the Second Amendment. It’s “core.” The Second Amendment, first of all, says we have the right to “keep and bear arms.” Bearing is taking with me. I want to bear my gun to other places where I will use it for self-protection, and we all know that self-protection is in the heart of the Second Amendment (D.C. v. Heller). 

The gun owners argue the Second Amendment clearly cannot be merely a premises-based right that only applies to one location (e.g. a home). The history and tradition of gun rights in the country shows traveling with arms is inherent to the Second Amendment. Especially traveling to train to properly use the gun.

The historical record is likewise replete with sources confirming that the right to keep and bear arms “implies the learning to handle and use them in a way that makes those who keep them ready for their efficient use.” Indeed, as far back as 1541, Englishmen were entitled “to use and shoot the same, at a butt or bank of Earth … whereby they and every one of them, by the exercise thereof … may the better aid and assist to the defence of this Realm, when need shall require.” As the Crown recognized, possessing arms alone was not enough; those keeping them needed to have some level of familiarity with their use.

[F]ew things would more obviously frustrate the exercise of the right to self-defense, the people’s interest in a well regulated militia, and public safety, than to entitle the people to keep and bear arms but then deprive them of the means to hone their safe and effective use. 

NYC’s argument

Look, NYC says, in the entire history of the country, there have always been rules on where people can engage in gun training. It’s never been absolute. “Surely, for example, gun owners are not entitled to set up their own shooting ranges in Central Park or Times Square.” 

In sixteenth-century England, for example, Parliament responded to a spate of violent crime by restricting residents of cities, boroughs, and market towns to discharging firearms only in defense of their homes or at specific locations designated for target practice. 

From the colonial period onward, localities and states exercised the same authority. Some localities, like eighteenth-century Boston and New York City, limited target practice to specific locations for public-safety reasons. . . . Others, like antebellum Tennessee and Ohio, precluded training within any town or in other area where it might endanger public safety. 

After offering several more examples, the City concludes:

There is thus overwhelming historical evidence that there has never been a right to train wherever one wishes, and that governments have instead had extensive authority to regulate the location and manner of training.

NYC also challenges the gun owners’ textual argument. The City says, when the Second Amendment gives the right to “keep and bear arms,” the right to “bear” the arm applies to its real goal: for confrontation. Training is not the inherent goal for the Second Amendment; it’s a “supportive” role. Gun owners have the right to train insofar as training requires them to be able to use their guns well in confrontation. Gun bearing for training is not “core” to the Second Amendment. As long as our laws don’t meaningfully impair plaintiffs’ right to train, they are reasonable.

NYC argues that its former laws don’t too harshly restrain gun owners’ ability to train. In other words, NYC argues the gun ranges in the City are able to accommodate the number of gun owners, and the City argues the ranges and opportunities to train in the City certainly are adequate, despite the regulation. 

Intermediate scrutiny

If NYC convinces the court that the right to travel is not a “core” Second Amendment right, its former regulations probably will still need to pass “intermediate scrutiny.” That means the regulations must be justified by an “important” governmental interest and the regulations must be “substantially related” to that interest.

To satisfy that standard, NYC will have to show that the travel restrictions aren’t overly broad so that they restrain conduct that is not necessary to achieve the city’s safety goals. NYC argues that the former regulations function to address the danger of handguns in public, as opposed to in the home. The City explains that policing handgun carry is substantially more difficult if destinations outside the City are permitted (i.e. harder to track plausible travel routes). 

Additional arguments

The Supreme Court may address two additional constitutional arguments put forth by the gun owners: that the gun travel restriction violates their right to interstate travel (guaranteed by the Commerce Clause) and that the gun travel restriction violates a more general “right to travel” (implicit in the Constitution).

More information

Useful overview on the Second Amendment: Congressional Research Service, Post-Heller Second Amendment Jurisprudence (March 2019).

Second Amendment Reports:

[winnerstaysloserpays]

easy peasy. 

One of the problems with ol’ Galactus is he’s usually used to just show how fucked a situation is or how powerful a character is like “oh shit, Galactus is here to help battle this threat, this must be a big deal!” or “oh shit, that dude cracked Galactus’ armor!” or my favorite from JLA/Avengers “Oh shit, that dude made a fortress out of Galactus’ remains!” so, yeah he shows up in a bunch of stuff and gets some real cool moments but what about comics ABOUT Galactus himself?

the first story obviously is his original appearance in Fantastic Four by the dudes that made Marvel Marvel, Stan Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby, “The Coming of Galactus” where the FF are basically forced to fight God. What do you do when a literal universal constant shows up on your doorstep to eat your fucking planet while giving 0 shits about you living there?

You can find the 3-issue epic collected in a few different formats on comixology here: https://www.comixology.com/Fantastic-Four-1961-1998-48/digital-comic/49500

it’s been collected in a few trades too including Marvel Masterworks Fantastic Four vol 5 (of which the paperback version is out-of-print and kinda pricey though you can also get it cheaper off of comixology or kindle or whatever) and in the Silver Surfer Epic Collection “When Calls Galactus”

amazon: http://a.co/9S6YL2e

Later during John Byrne’s tenure on the FF, Reed and the FF find a weakened Galactus on death’s door and make the decision to save him, leading to the destruction of the Skrull homeworld. Reed is put on trail by various alien races while Galactus’ true nature as a necessary universal constant is revealed. The story is…kinda controversial since it literally creates a defense for letting Galactus commit planetary genocide over and over again but, eh, it’s long established now and no one’s really changed it or anything so…

The story gets its start in Fantastic Four 242 when Galactus’ herald, Terax, attacks earth

Comixology: https://www.comixology.com/Fantastic-Four-1961-1998-242/digital-comic/346890

the arc goes on for a few issues and then becomes something of a on again off again b-plot for a bit until 262, “The Trail of Reed Richards”!

Comixology: https://www.comixology.com/Fantastic-Four-1961-1998-262/digital-comic/150565

There’s an old long out of print FF collection that abridges the actual Galactus story called “The Trail of Galactus” but it’s not particularly hard to find and you can get it pretty cheap on amazon here http://a.co/1Qq2Hsx

There’s some series here and now again where Galactus is an important player but they just kinda come and go or he’s not really the main focus (Annhilation is a personal favorite where the villains capture him and use him as a weapon until he’s freed and lays the smackdown on some turd burglers) but let’s skip ahead to Al Ewing again with the absolutely awesome The Ultimates

What if the cure to stopping Galactus isn’t killing him…but taking away his hunger? Galactus the Devourer of Worlds becomes Galactus the Lifebringer and makes his saviors his new heralds and universal troubleshooters!

amazon: http://a.co/2bQVNZt

comixology: https://www.comixology.com/Ultimates-2015-2016/comics-series/58180

Al Ewing is a fucking trip. I love that dude.

[audreycritter]

Stabilized

This should go up on AO3 soon and I'll add the link. I'm still on official hiatus from fic prompts and chapter updates, but I'm writing other things as I have time and inspiration strikes. This was spawned out of a brief conversation about a specific line of dialogue and it was fun to write. It got sappy and I do not apologize. Stabilized Gen/Family Bonding Tim Drake + Bruce Wayne Rated T for Language ~2500 words The Batmobile roared into the Cave and the engine cut-off, plunging the bay into silence. Only voices from the medical unit carried over when Batman leapt out of the car. “How is he?” he called, pulling back his cowl as he hurried up the steps. “Dazed and a little incoherent,” came Alfred’s reply. “I'm still assessing him now.” Bruce had been on patrol with Damian when Oracle had informed him over the comm that Tim had been taken back to the cave with a head injury of unspecified severity. Cassandra had found him and then had fallen silent on the comms after letting Oracle know. He climbed the steps to see Tim perched on the edge of the gurney, a bucket in his hands. It looked freshly rinsed. Cass was sitting on the countertop with her arms wrapped around her folded legs. Alfred was prepping a CT scanner they'd invested in after an earlier nasty head wound. “Is Robin with you?” Alfred asked, glancing over as Bruce took in the scene. “He's with Batgirl,” Bruce said, not taking his eyes off Tim. “Miss Cassandra might appreciate your help in engaging Master Timothy’s attention.” “Listen,” Cass said, when Bruce took a step closer to them. Tim had still not noticed his arrival, or if he had, he had given no indication of it. “Tim. Tell me again. Becoming Robin.” “So,” Tim said, his word slurred. He leaned forward over the bucket and nearly toppled off the gurney. Cass slid forward, a tangle of limbs unfurling and stretching toward him in the same instant Bruce put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and gently pushed him upright again. “So,” Tim repeated, “you know, you know the first part.” “Green. Girls. Fast cars,” Cass supplied, weight braced on her hands on the countertop. She held her body aloft, an inch above the surface, by her splayed palms. Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered, knowing and hating this origin story. He loved Tim but he tried not to think often of why Tim was there. “Exaaaactly,” Tim said. “Gone. So, B, you know B, he's a fucking disaster. Like Cass you don't even know how bad. He was erratic and violent and reclusive like a baby kangaroo. Cass, don't laugh at me, I'm serious,” Tim’s voice took on a pleading tone and Cass was in fact, giggling behind her hands. She'd dropped back to the counter to cover her face. “Baby kangaroos are dangerous, Cass. They have really strong legs but they hide, too,” Tim sounded near tears. “Okay,” she said, consoling. Bruce felt like he wasn't doing much to help other than ensuring Tim wouldn't topple over, but he was also reluctant to miss the rest of the story from Tim’s perspective. “He was hiding and I knew where to find him,” Tim said. “I snuck in. Who gives a fuck about rules, not me. I never have. Anyway I found him, and he was all like, ‘What are you doing here, punk? Aren't you Jack Drake’s kid?’” Bruce had half-anticipated this part of the story, but he has not anticipated that Tim’s voice would rise to a falsetto while imitating Bruce’s lines instead of dropping to a lower octave. He had to stifle a sudden laugh. Cass’ eyes were shining and Bruce realized belatedly she'd said “again” earlier. She had wanted him to hear this. “Then what,” Cass prompted when Tim’s attention began to drift. “Oh,” Tim said. “Oh yeah. So. So, I found him. And he was angry. But I just told him the truth. I said, ‘bitch, you need some kid to stabilize you, and I guess I have to be it.’” Bruce, despite his twinges of guilt and amusement, could not actually argue with the truth of this summation. “I seem to remember more pleading on your end, Master Timothy,” Alfred interjected a bit defensively. “No, that's pretty much it,” Bruce said with a wry grin. Cass beamed at him unabashedly. Tim turned as if surprised and looked up at Bruce standing next to him. “Hey, bitch,” he said in a sluggish tone. “I mean, Bruce,” he amended without apology. “Hey, kid,” Bruce said. “They told me you hit your head.” “That's stupid,” Tim spit out bitterly. “Something else hit my head, not me. I'm not an idiot.” “Brick wall,” Cass said. “That,” Tim said forcefully, pointing a finger at her. “What Rainbow Daughter said.” “True name,” Cass clarified for Bruce. “Secret.” “The scanner is ready,” Alfred said. “Master Timothy, if you might lie back?” “Try and make me,” Tim said. “I can go back out there. I'm fine!” “Tim,” Bruce said, a little sternly, and Tim sighed and reclined on the bed, still clutching the bucket. “Has he been nauseous?” Bruce asked Alfred. “No,” Tim answered. “I just like this bucket.” “Ask him questions,” Alfred said. “Keep him awake, if you might.” “Favorite dinosaur?” Cass asked before Bruce could think of anything. “Velociraptor,” Tim answered with a scoffing noise. “What kind of question is that.” “Movie?” Bruce asked and Cass gave him an alarmed expression. From inside the portable scanner Tim sniffled hard and bit back a sob. “Dumbo,” he whispered a second later. “Favorite happy film,” Alfred amended, giving Bruce a severe look. “One must specify.” Cass added a reproving frown to this, and a nod, as if it was common sense. Inside the machine, Tim sniffed again and answered in a steadier tone, “No such thing. Is Bruce still there?” “Yes,” Bruce answered. “Tell them. There are no happy films,” Tim insisted. “I'm sure there are some happy films,” Bruce countered slowly, looking to see Alfred’s still disapproving reaction to this concession. “But you haven't seen any,” Tim said sourly. “You can't think of any. Art is misery.” Bruce, who had been feeling slightly bewildered by his apparently massive misjudgment moments before, knew immediately that this was something he could salvage. “That isn't true,” he argued, ignoring the absurdity of disagreeing with a stubborn teenager who had a probably massive concussion. “What about the photo essay on abandoned research labs in Gotham?” “The one I did for Wired?” Tim asked hesitantly. “Yeah, that was fun.” In the corner of Bruce’s line of sight, Cass bit her lip to hold back a pleased smile. “Nikon or Canon?” Bruce asked next, dragging a wheeled stool over to the gurney and sitting down. “Digital or traditional?” Tim asked, his whole body now otherwise still. “Both,” Cass said. “I guessed.” “Canon for digital, Nikon for traditional,” Tim said. “Were you right?” “Yes,” Cass said quietly, despite having no proof of this. Bruce didn't doubt her. He himself had been fairly certain. “Hell yes,” Tim said triumphantly. “Sibs know shit.” “Sibs know shit,” Cass repeated solemnly, like it was a vow of some kind. For all the weight they gave it, Bruce supposed it might have been. “I'm gonna sleep,” Tim announced with a yawn. “It's so cold in here.” “Tim,” Bruce said, instead of trying to persuade him otherwise. “Which USSR camera model did you prefer?” “You don't remember that,” Tim said as if it were obvious fact. “No way.” “Of course I do,” Bruce said, because he did. “Zorki-6,” Tim said with a fond sigh. “Why?” Bruce asked, because he wanted to keep him talking and because he'd always been curious about the antique camera Tim had spent a long spring season taking everywhere. He'd come to Bruce’s office after school most afternoons to sit on the couch and do homework and fiddle with the settings. He'd take pictures from the window, or traipse around the building with the camera, and develop them in the darkroom at the manor afterward instead of going home. But Bruce has never asked-- Tim had been skittish about his art then, likely to tuck it away if anyone paid attention. “Because no one else that I knew had one,” Tim said. “And it smelled like your old briefcase.” Bruce was so acutely aware of Cass sitting nearby and Alfred beside him overseeing the machine as it powered down that it didn't take much effort to retain his face’s composure, but there was a moment where it nearly broke in surprise and sentimental warmth. “Good smell,” Cass said. “Hell yes,” Tim said again. “One of the best. Like vanilla extract.” Bruce was frozen on the stool while they discussed this and he exchanged a look with Alfred that told him, without words, that his semblance of facial control was likely a myth. “Ew,” Cass said. “Bitter.” “I told you, you can't taste it,” Tim said. “Extract is gross to taste.” The machine rolled back and Tim was prone on the bed, still, the small bin wrapped in his arms. “This is just a cursory glance,” Alfred said, “but I don't see anything concerning. His heart rate is still a tad elevated.” A suspicion bloomed in Bruce’s mind and his frozen limbs moved again. He slid the stool down toward Tim’s head and leaned over the bed, looking into the boy’s face. “Tim. How many shots of espresso did you get in your red eye tonight?” “Oh,” Tim said, thinking. “Before I fought with the wall.” “Yes,” Bruce said, a smile quirking one side of his mouth. “Uh,” Tim said, meeting Bruce’s gaze and then looking down at the bin. “You’re going to be pissed.” “I won't be,” Bruce said, promising to himself as much as Tim. “If you tell me, you might get to sleep soon.” “I'm so tired,” Tim allowed. “Really. Like, it's been days. Fudge. I'm so tired.” “C’mon,” Bruce said, and he felt Cass move behind him before he saw her at his elbow. Cass bent forward and kissed Tim’s forehead. “You tell,” she said. “Or else.” “Seven,” Tim whined with a hand over his eyes. “Seven, okay? And maaaaybe a Red Bull. I'm a robin. It gives me wings.” “Well, that solves that mystery,” Bruce said, sitting up. “Al, mark this one down as a minor concussion and an excess of caffeine consumption.” “Master Timothy,” Alfred said, aghast. “You ought to know better.” “I said don't be mad!” Tim protested. “Master Bruce made such a promise,” Alfred replied sharply, with worry in his voice. “You will be staying here for a few days, is that understood?” Tim nodded sullenly and stuck both arms in the air, suddenly, the bin clattering on the floor when it fell. “Carry me,” he ordered. “I can't feel my legs.” Cass reached over and prodded his knee; Tim’s leg jerked away. “Liar,” she said simply. “I'm compromised.” Tim jiggled his arms, held out in a zombie-like fashion. “Somebody. I don't want to sleep in the cave.” Bruce stood up and slid an arm under Tim’s shoulders and another under his knees. Tim slumped against him, unresisting, as he straightened. “Night, Timmy,” Cass called from her reclaimed perch on the counter while Alfred muttered under his breath. When Bruce glanced back, she'd scooted down to hug the older man around the neck and Alfred patted her hands. “How bad is your headache?” Bruce asked as he climbed the steps in the cave. “Middling,” Tim mumbled against the batsuit Bruce was still wearing. “And anxiety?” Bruce prompted next, knowing from experience the side effects of that much caffeine. He'd gotten a few stern lectures from Alfred when he hadn't been much older than Tim. “Um,” Tim said, “pretty shitty. How'd you know?” “When was the last time you asked me to carry you?” Bruce questioned in reply. “I think the answer is probably never.” “I was serious about my legs. They fell asleep,” Tim said, his head still turned against Bruce’s chest as Bruce side-stepped through the narrow door. The boy sounded almost asleep already, but more lucid than earlier. “I didn't want to fall in front of you guys.” “Hm,” Bruce said. He rounded the corner and began climbing the second set of stairs. Tim had never, even with muscle, been very heavy. “I miss you,” Tim mumbled when they reached the top. “I try really hard not to be bitter about Damian, but I miss how things were before. When it was us.” “Me, too,” Bruce said, knowing he meant it and that no one else was around to hear. He knew Damian would take it the wrong way and was glad he was still out, but he felt the same way about each of them as Robin. He did miss the days when he was out on the rooftops with Tim. “I know it wouldn't be the same,” Tim said, as if consoling himself. “Handle,” Bruce prompted, stopping at the door. Tim flopped his hand over and swung it wildly around, reaching without looking. When his fingers landed on the knob, he turned and his grip slipped off. “It's locked,” he complained. “I don't know where I left the key.” “I can kick it open,” Bruce said, considering. “But Alfred might be upset. I could pick the lock. Or we can go down the hall and you can steal my bed for the night.” “Where would you sleep?” Tim demanded groggily, and Bruce took that as his cue and headed further down the hall. “The couch in my office,” Bruce said. “Or a guest room.” “Your bed has good pillows,” Tim mumbled when Bruce worked the knob with his knee and pushed the door open. He carried Tim across the room to the bed and stood there for a moment, then dropped him abruptly onto the comforter. “Bruce,” Tim complained, laughing. He crawled under the covers until all but the top of his head had disappeared and from under the thick blankets, he sighed. Bruce sat on the edge of the side table and reached over and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You did stabilize me, you know,” he said quietly. “I know,” Tim said in a drifting tone. “You can't keep doing this, Tim,” Bruce said when Tim rolled over and pressed his hand against Bruce's outstretched hand. “Come by my office. Or we can patrol. But you need sleep. And less caffeine.” Tim nodded and yawned. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.” “You're a good kid, Tim,” Bruce added. He wished he said it more often. “You too, bitch,” Tim said, and then he giggled. It sounded young and childish coming from him. “Sorry. Sorry. I mean, thanks. My heart is still going crazy.” It was Bruce’s turn to yawn. “You okay?” he asked. “I need to get out of this suit.” “Mhm,” Tim said. “M’good. Night, Bruce.” “Goodnight, Tim,” Bruce answered, standing. “Shout if you need something.” The answer was a soft snore. Bruce closed the door behind him and stopped to pick the lock to Tim’s door on the way down the hall. It was unlocked. Bruce grinned.

[chestnutpost]

Anyone Can Get Trolled — Even The New Yorker

This post was originally published on this site

On the evening of the midterm elections in November, The New Yorker published a short online profile of Jonah Rich, a “Trumphead” who claimed to have attended about 20 of President Donald Trump’s rallies. The 41-year-old Rich compared the rallies to the World Series or the Super Bowl. He said he’d met people who’d been to hundreds of them.

Rich had a familiar “Make America Great Again” backstory. In college, he’d been “indoctrinated” by “left-wing” professors, he said. Later, he’d been deprogrammed by Sean Hannity, Breitbart and Alex Jones. When the Trump train pulled up billowing nationalism, Rich jumped on board.

But that wasn’t why photographer Mark Peterson plucked him from the crowd at the Trump rally in Fort Myers, Florida, on Oct. 31 and posed him for a low-angle portrait. Rich stood out because of the sky-blue yarmulke on his head and his T-shirt, emblazoned with the Star of David and the words “Jews for Trump.”

Four days earlier, a gunman — allegedly a white nationalist — had murdered 11 people in the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. Rich was at the rally, he said, to show Jewish support for Trump, despite his misgivings that the president’s rhetoric was fueling bigotry.

“I sometimes have visions of potential confrontations with Proud Boys, or with white supremacists, or with some other Trump supporter who might not appreciate having Jews around,” Rich told New Yorker writer Andrew Marantz, “but it’s never happened. To be honest, everyone I meet at the rallies feels like family.”

Jonathan Lee Riches Jonathan Lee Riches poses as Jonah Rich at a Donald Trump rally in Fort Myers, Florida, on Oct. 31, 2018.

This was good material. Too good, it turned out. Within days, the Rich article had disappeared from The New Yorker’s site. (It’s preserved here.) Eventually, editors put up a note stating that “the interview subject had misrepresented himself, and the piece was removed.”

The hoax was nothing to mock. Journalists today operate in an information environment crawling with right-wing propagandists looking to dupe the media so they can cry “fake news.” Not even The New Yorker, with its vaunted fact-checking department, is immune. 

And it wasn’t an ordinary shitposter who’d bamboozled the magazine. Like TMZ, Radar Online, the San Francisco Bay Guardian, SB Nation, BuzzFeed and other outlets, The New Yorker had been rolled by an OG troll. Jonathan Lee Riches was his name ― his given name ― but he had plenty of other monikers he’d created for lulz in the past: Johnny Sue-nami; the Crackpot Matlock Judicial Sasquatch; the “Patrick Ewing of Suing.” He was as warped as wet wood.

An underground menace long before Gamergate and the alt-right, Riches, who is not Jewish, hails from a time when trolling wasn’t the political blood sport it is today. It was wackier and funnier. More prankish, though still irredeemable.

(Want to know more? I interviewed Riches below.)

As a young adult, Riches got into phone phreaking, then phishing scams. He went to prison in 2003 for wire fraud. Behind bars, he became a world-class irritant by filing absurdist, frivolous pro se lawsuits. He filed thousands of them, against anyone and anything (e.g., the Kardashians and Kanye West, whom Riches accused of running a secret al Qaeda camp.) So prolific a litigant was Riches that he became a one-man burden on the federal court system, a troll tagging the docket forever. In 2010, federal prosecutors won an unprecedented and possibly unconstitutional nationwide injunction against him to prevent him from suing, claiming that if he weren’t stopped, the government would “suffer irreparable harm.” 

I was just creating a clusterfuck. That was my entertainment when I was in prison. Jonathan Lee Riches

Riches immediately bypassed the injunction by slipping a batch of suits to a soon-to-be-released inmate to file on the outside. The prison cracked down hard. No paper in his cell. No stamps. Riches went on a hunger strike in protest. After 22 days, the warden had him force-fed through a tube. Imagine one of today’s millennial edgelords showing such commitment to disinfo.

Riches was different. He trolled harder, unafraid to use his name and face, often shunning a keyboard in favor of real-world trickery. All of which made him a more effective hoaxer.

In 2013, I wrote a story about Riches for Details magazine. He was out of prison just long enough for me to have lunch with him at the King of Prussia mall. A few weeks later, he was back behind bars after violating the terms of his probation by crossing state lines to visit the site of the Sandy Hook school massacre, where he pulled off one of his more reprehensible trolls.

At a makeshift memorial to the murdered children — whose corpses far-right propagandists like Alex Jones have tried to convert into money — Riches dropped to one knee to pray. When a reporter asked him who he was, he mournfully said he was the uncle of shooter Adam Lanza. Soon, Riches was in the middle of a media scrum giving interviews, an early example of a bad actor creating “fake news.”

New York Daily News Archive via Getty Images Riches pretends to be the uncle of Sandy Hook Elementary School shooter Adam Lanza while visiting a memorial to the victims of the shooting.

Hartford Courant via Getty Images Riches, pretending to be the uncle of Adam Lanza, gives interviews to the media.

Riches and I stayed in touch sporadically over the years. I knew that when he next got out of prison, he’d enter a far uglier trolling landscape created by companies like Twitter and Facebook. On social media, racists and harassment crews roam freely, threatening lives, undermining democracies and radicalizing future Adam Lanzas. There’s nothing fun or funny about it.

As expected, Riches waded into the fray. He embraced the new weapons and gravitated, in particular, to Facebook, where he lures marks by creating fake pages connected to real events. Amid the media fracas over MAGA-hat clad boys from Covington Catholic High School in Kentucky facing off with a Native American elder, Riches and other trolls created several Covington-related pages — including a fake page for Covington student Nicholas Sandmann that bashed the elder, Nathan Phillips. (Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg continues to make lying like this on his platform alarmingly easy.)

Jonathan Lee Riches A fake Covington Catholic High School Facebook page set up by Riches.

But Riches’ real-world stunts continue to set him apart from the lumpentrolletariat. He attended the Bill Cosby trial in September 2016 and offered Cosby Jell-O every time the rapist entered court. He turned up in Florida with gubernatorial candidate Andrew Gillum as a Black Lives Matter demonstrator. A particularly successful ruse was posing as Muslim and attending political events. He did it at a Trump event in Manheim, Pennsylvania, on Oct. 1, 2016.

Jonathan Lee Riches Riches at a Donald Trump event in Manheim, Pennsylvania, on Oct. 1, 2016.

Three days later, he was front-row at a Hillary Clinton town hall in Haverford, Pennsylvania, representing “Muslims for Clinton.”

Bastiaan Slabbers/Alamy Riches, posing as Muslim, approaches Hillary Clinton in October 2016.

That appearance led to Riches being featured in the lead image of a Breitbart story attacking the Council on Islamic-American Relations, a Muslim civil rights and advocacy group that the political right has used as a bogeyman to whip up Islamophobia.

The photo is the very definition of fake news. It is still live on Breitbart over two years later. 

Breitbart Riches appears in Breitbart as a fake Muslim for Clinton.

Riches may be a Zelig-like figure photobombing America for his own twisted enjoyment rather than for any clear ideological purpose, but his shamelessness, narcissism and lack of empathy place him squarely on the political right in the Trump era.

Jonathan Lee Riches Riches moves in on former President Bill Clinton.

CactusJackTexas Riches photobombs a Michael Flynn court hearing.

He has found himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder at events with people like Jack Posobiec, the Roger Stone protégé who spearheaded the near-deadly Pizzagate disinformation campaign and has collaborated with armed neo-Nazis yet still has a platform on Twitter from which to sow discord and lies. 

In November, Riches released a book about his litigation exploits. One of his co-contributors also writes for white nationalist publications such as Counter-Currents and Arktos Media and last month appeared to endorse a political run by alt-right leader Richard Spencer.

What Riches has failed to grasp is that there’s little room left for the merry trolling of yore when truth is under assault in America. If your goal is to sandbag reality, you’re bedding down with grifters, foreign agents and an army of deplorables.

And Riches has no intention of stopping. This past weekend, he put on his “Jews for Trump” outfit to troll a benefit in Tampa where Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) was speaking. Outside the venue, he helped provoke a confrontation that led to a woman being taken away in handcuffs.

Nevertheless, Riches might still have few lessons to impart ― about gullibility and how a newsy character in outlandish attire (a living meme, essentially) can slip past journalism’s antiquated defense systems. At a time of peak truthiness, he is here, above all, to remind us that skepticism is mandatory.

Note: After being contacted by HuffPost, a spokesperson for The New Yorker provided a more detailed statement about the fake “Jonah Rich” story. We are publishing the statement in its entirety here:

On November 6th, The New Yorker published a piece on its Web site about a man who claimed to travel the country attending Donald Trump’s rallies. The article was done in an as-told-to style, meaning that the interview subject’s own words formed the basis of the story. Though the subject of the piece was not able to speak with the fact checker before deadline, the checker took steps to verify the subject’s account, including conducting an interview with a woman who claimed to be the subject’s mother and who confirmed his story. We learned on November 7th that both the subject of the piece and his purported mother had deliberately misrepresented themselves. Upon learning this, we unpublished the piece. The next day, November 8th, after further reviewing the matter, we added an editor’s note. Reporting an as-told-to story involves both trust and verification; in this case, our trust was misplaced and our system for verification intentionally manipulated.

It is generally unwise to give trolls attention. A troll willing to explain his motives and tactics, however, can be worth listening to, if for no other reason than to understand how bad actors operate in an era when they are empowered by social media companies that do so little to combat disinformation. To that end, we’re including the following Q&A with Riches, from November. The interview has been edited for clarity.

How long were you in prison for?

Ten years, got out, and then I went to Sandy Hook and left the state without permission, so I violated [probation]. I got three years for a violation.

I actually went up there like a conspiracy theorist to see what was going on. I just thought it was fascinating to go there. I actually got on my knees and prayed at the memorial. Then, I got up and some reporter was in my face. Then I just winged it.

I just said, “My name is Jonathan Lanza. I’m the shooter of the uncle and I’m here to give respect to the victims’ families.” Then, next thing I know, I get bombarded by media people. “You’re the uncle of the shooter. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.” They’re putting cameras and microphones up in my face. I gave like a press conference there. I drive home. Next thing I know, my phone’s blowing up and everybody’s telling me I’m on the news as the [shooter’s uncle].

After the Sandy Hook stunt, you were in prison for three years?

Yup. At that time, I’d stopped the lawsuits and I shifted towards the Pennsylvania “right to know” law, which is like the Freedom of Information Act but on the state level. I just kept submitting them and submitting them, like “I want to know Taylor Swift’s educational record.” Every department in Pennsylvania. “I want to know how many gallons of milk your milking department made in the month of …” Just stupid stuff.

I was just creating a clusterfuck. That was my entertainment when I was in prison.

You got out of prison the second time in May 2015, which was coincidental because not long after that, Trump declared his candidacy.

That’s where I got fascinated, because Mr. Trump comes and then he just is not politically correct. He’s just a candidate that I instantly paid attention to. I was looking at the online reactions to him and stuff and then I trolled off of other people’s reactions.

So Trump was your entry point to political trolling?

Political and online trolling, yes. And real life trolling. Once he got the nomination, then that’s when I started. Especially in Pennsylvania, because Pennsylvania was a hotbed state. So I was going to every single rally with anybody that was a high-profile political figure.

I went to a Hillary Clinton town hall meeting and they placed me right behind Hillary Clinton, as a Muslim for Clinton. I shook her hand and everything. Sometimes the campaigns put people behind a certain candidate if you fit a narrative, whatever, like that.

My next troll is I’m gonna start running for political office. Like mayor, city councilman, sheriff in different elections. Like mock campaigns.

Tell me where and when that New Yorker interview happened.

It was at the Fort Myers Trump rally. I was just standing in line as “Jews for Trump” and this photographer came up to me, liked my shirt, and started asking me some questions, wanted to take my picture. He was directing me. He was telling me exactly what to look at, the way I should position myself. Which was strange, cuz I never had anybody do that. So he took my picture and gets my information and says a reporter is going to get back to me.

And you were wearing a yarmulke the whole time?

Yarmulke, “Jews for Trump” shirt, Trump shoes, shoes that have “Trump” on it. And then I just told that guy my name is Jonah. I just took a Jewish name, I figured Jonah was Jewish. Jonah Rich, I was gonna say Rothschild, but I just said Jonah Rich.

You were posing as a Jew after a massacre in a synagogue. Do you think there’s anything wrong with that when so much anti-Semitism is swirling around, and you’re not Jewish, and people might interpret it as you making light of a tragedy?

My mind at that particular moment, for that particular rally, was, go down there “Jews for Trump” and show that Jews do support Trump.

But you’re not Jewish, right?

No, I’m not Jewish at all.

So you were creating disinformation that in the wake of an actual tragedy could be viewed, especially by people in the Jewish community, as very disrespectful.

I’m just thinking of myself in the moment. With different rallies, I try to go with different themes. So I had that “Jews for Trump” shirt and I had the yarmulke for a while, and it was just an opportunity to use it at that time. Just the luck that the tragedy happened, I’m like, “OK, I’m going to run with the ‘Jews for Trump,’ because of the tragedy.” I don’t think about the long-term consequences as far as disinformation or offending anyone.

But I understand after the fact that people could be offended. My belief system shows no disrespect whatsoever toward that tragedy.

What did you tell The New Yorker reporter when he contacted you a few days later?

We talked about my life and I just created a whole story that wasn’t even true: I come from a Jewish family. I’ve been ostracized from the community, or from my Jewish community, for supporting Trump.

The only thing that was real that I told him was maybe close to my name, Jonah Rich, Jonathan Riches, and my age. I’m from Philadelphia. Other than that, everything I told him was complete bullshit.

I was telling him I was going to rallies I’ve never even been to. I was Googling Trump rallies from 2017 to get the time and month right so I could spit it out to him. He did ask me on the phone, “OK, so who’s your parents?” I’m also looking up the white pages and I just find some family [in Philadelphia] linked to a guy named Jonah Rich in their 60s. I shot him off their names so it backed me up.

How long was the story up?

The next day, I put a Facebook post up that said, “Haha, look at this, I trolled them.” And then that evening it was gone.

[Trump] knows what he’s doing. I think he’s trolling the presidency, to be honest. For what reason? I think he’s just getting a kick out of this, man.

In terms of effective trolling, how important is it for you to do things in person?

It’s like testing my own boundaries, testing my own limits. My next troll is I’m gonna start running for political office. Like mayor, city councilman, sheriff in different elections. Like mock campaigns.

Getting out diversifies my craft, it gives me confidence to do these feats. And I like to try to test the limits.

Social media has made it much easier to troll, right?

I think the tools are available now that can be exploited and it’s easy to get that message spread. The disinformation that I want, I can put out there. The next mass shooting, before they identify the shooter, I can set up 10 Twitter accounts looking like news sites and then create whoever I want as the shooter, and then use the other news sites to retweet that. Vulnerable, gullible people will see that, they think it’s from a news site and then they will copy it and tweet it out.

Whenever there’s disasters, I also set up Facebook groups and then just thousands flock into the groups. I encourage everyone to basically fight each other. I don’t censor anything.

Is Facebook aware of the groups?

Facebook is aware. Every single tragedy that happened in this country since, I would say, 2015, I got a group set up in that topic. I can create fake Facebook accounts under people’s names so I can be anonymous. If a mass shooting happens, I’ll create a video real quick and put whoever I want to identify as the mass shooter, put some music, photo edit it real quick and then throw it up on BitChute because I know that will be the searched word.

People think of trolling in a negative way for good reason, but can trolling have a positive effect?

I think if someone trolls, I think they should expose their troll to bring awareness. When I troll something and troll events, I go on my Facebook page and talk about the troll. Kind of like informing everyone what I’ve done. One, to brag, but also to wake people up. It provokes thought. It plugs the loopholes.

What do you believe, underneath all this? Do you have any firm beliefs? What are your politics?

I’m just an atheist from a Christian family. I don’t practice any religion. I don’t hate anyone for their religion. I might pretend I [belong to] a religion but not to disrespect it.

What about your politics?

I made a choice: Whoever’s in power, that’s who I’m going to support. I just try to go with the flow. Obviously, I was in prison and I strongly believe in criminal justice reform.

Do you think Donald Trump is a troll?

I would consider him the king troll. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what to say to provoke attention. He’s a showman. I think he’s trolling the presidency, to be honest. For what reason? I think he’s just getting a kick out of this, man. This might be some sort of bigger thing. Maybe with Russia or something. Create division. Because there’s no unity in this country. It’s getting more and more divided.

I don’t know what the future’s gonna be like. I just think that 2019 is going to be a bloody political [mess], right before the election again. It’s gonna be tense, man. And it depends on what Trump trolls around and tries to excite everybody with. I just know whatever is going on, I’m gonna be trolling. Whatever breaking news, you can expect me to troll it.

RELATED COVERAGE

The post Anyone Can Get Trolled — Even The New Yorker appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://thechestnutpost.com/news/anyone-can-get-trolled-even-the-new-yorker/

[investmart007]

NCAA Latest: Upset watch _ Buffalo leads Arizona in 2nd half

New Post has been published on https://goo.gl/3zkJHu

NCAA Latest: Upset watch _ Buffalo leads Arizona in 2nd half

/March 15, 2018 (AP)(STL.News) —

The Latest on the NCAA Tournament (all times Eastern):

11:20 p.m.

Buffalo is giving Arizona fits with its quickness.

The Bulls are repeatedly getting to the rim for baskets and have collapsed on defense to force the Wildcats to shoot from the perimeter.

The 13th-seeded Bulls lead No. 4 seed Arizona 65-55 midway through the second half in Boise.

___

11:15 p.m.

Montana is giving third-seeded Michigan everything it can handle in the first round of their West Regional matchup, scoring the game’s first 10 points and trailing just 31-28 at halftime.

Perhaps the Wolverines were a bit rusty by the long layoff between the Big Ten Tournament and the start of the NCAA Tournament. They haven’t played in well over a week.

Michigan would be in worse shape if not for Charles Matthews, who has 12 points and seven rebounds. He’s 6 for 8 from the field, providing the Big Ten champs their only consistent offense.

___

10:20 p.m.

Justin Bibbs hit all three 3-pointers to help ninth-seeded Virginia Tech grab a 43-41 lead over Alabama at halftime.

Bibbs had 11 points in the half and the Hokies were an impressive 7 of 9 from 3-point range.

The ninth-seeded Crimson Tide shot a solid 60 percent from the floor to keep this opening-round game close.

Virginia Teach coach Buzz Williams must have been a screamer on the sideline. He was hoarse during his halftime interview.

The winner gets top-seeded Villanova on Saturday.

___

10:10 p.m.

Rob Gray drove for a wind-milling layup that just trickled over the rim with 1.1 seconds left, and Trey Kell’s off-balance 3-pointer at the buzzer was no good, giving No. 6 seed Houston a 67-65 victory over San Diego State in the first round of the NCAA Tournament on Thursday night.

Devin Watson had just tied the game for the Aztecs with a turnaround 3-pointer, his second in a matter of seconds, when Gray dribbled up floor with 29 seconds left. He allowed the clock to tick down to six seconds before crossing over, scooting under two defenders and scooping up his shot.

The layup gave him 39 points and the Cougars (27-7) their first tournament win since 1984.

Devin Davis and Corey Davis Jr. added nine points apiece for Houston, which lost two players to fouls down the stretch, and struggled to contain the Aztecs’ big front line.

___

9:25 p.m.

Kentucky’s record streak of consecutive games with a 3-pointer has ended.

The Wildcats had it a 3 in every game since 1988, but went 0 for 6 in a 78-73 win over Davidson in the South Region.

Kentucky last went without a 3-pointer on Nov. 26, 1988, against Seton Hall in the Great Alaska Shootout, a span of 1,047 games.

The streak nearly came to an end against Missouri in February. The Wildcats were 0 of 13 from 3-point range until Wenyen Gabriel knocked one down with 2:51 left.

UNLV now has the longest streak at 1,040 straight games.

___

9:20 p.m.

Stephen F. Austin is looking to be the life of March Madness again but No. 3 seed Texas Tech made a run to tighten the Lumberjacks’ lead midway through the second half. Stephen F. Austin leads 53-52 with just about eight minutes left on Thursday night.

Meanwhile, Kentucky pulled away late in the second half to stifle Davidson’s chances of sparking a Cinderella run 10 years after Steph Curry made his mark on March Madness.

___

9:05 p.m.

Looks like Alabama forward Donta Hall will play for the Crimson Tide in their first-round game against Virginia Tech.

Hall took the court with the rest of his teammates for warm-ups six days after suffering a concussion in the second half of a victory over Auburn in the SEC Tournament. Hall has been the most consistent big man this season for the Crimson Tide, averaging 10.9 points and 6.8 rebounds per game.

Head coach Avery Johnson said there was a 60 percent chance Hall would be able to face the Hokies.

___

8:55 p.m.

Top-seeded Villanova’s scorching shooting lifted the Wildcats to an easy 87-61 win over Radford in the first round of the NCAA Tournament.

Jalen Brunson led six Wildcats in double figures with 16 points as Villanova cruised. Mikal Bridges added 13 points for the Wildcats.

Villanova (31-4) knocked down 14 3-pointers and shot 60 percent (31 of 52) from the field for the Big East champions, who will play either Virginia Tech or Alabama in the second round on Saturday.

Donald Hicks scored 13 for Radford (23-13) but Villanova needed just 11 minutes to build a 20-point lead and the Highlanders never threatened.

___

8:45 p.m.

No. 14 seed Stephen F. Austin has a 30-27 halftime lead over Big 12 runner-up Texas Tech.

Kevon Harris hit a buzzer-beating 3-pointer to put the Lumberjacks back in the lead.  SFA led for 15 minutes in the first half.

This is a matchup of former junior college colleges who used to have meals together at McDonald’s on recruiting trips. Chris Beard is in his second season at Texas Tech, like Kyle Keller at Stephen F. Austin.

All-Big 12 guard Keenan Evans had only four points — on four free throws while going 0-for-4 from the field. But he had the highlight assist, starting the alley-oop play that ended with a 360-degree dunk by Zhaire Smith.

___

8:40 p.m.

Rob Gray has shot sixth-seeded Houston to a 39-29 lead over San Diego State at halftime of their opening-round game in the West Region.

The Cougars’ star guard hit a 3-pointer from about 30 feet as the shot clock wound down, and just before the halftime buzzer, to finish with 16 points. He also has five rebounds.

Houston struggled early against the Aztecs’ length, especially 6-foot-11 forwards Malik Pope and Jalen McDaniels. But the Cougars finally had success getting to the rim late in the half, allowing them to draw away to their biggest lead of the game.

___

7:45 p.m.

Tournament betting favorite Villanova is rolling against Radford in the first round.

The top-seeded Wildcats thrashed No. 16 Radford in the first half of their NCAA Tournament game.

The Wildcats lead 44-23.

It could have been much worse. At one point, Big East player of the year Jalen Brunson had 12 points on 5 of 6 shooting. Radford? Just 10 points on 4 of 20 from the floor.

Villanova started the game shooting 81 percent. For those who struggle with math, that’s a crisp 81 percent.

Radford won a First Four game to advance to Pittsburgh. The Wildcats just won the Big East Tournament in New York. With more shooting performances like this one, they’ll win much, much more in March.

___

6:40 p.m.

Ohio State coach Chris Holtmann gave a special shoutout after his fifth-seeded Buckeyes beat No. 12 seed South Dakota State 81-73, saying his players were motivated by bracketeers saying they would lose.

Holtmann said in a postgame TV interview Thursday that he gets the hoopla over upsets and his team may have fed into it with some mixed results.

But fans weren’t fading the Buckeyes nearly as much as he thinks — more than three-fourths picked Ohio State to win in the first round, better backing than fellow No. 5 seed Clemson.

The upset many fans called was Loyola of Chicago, which beat Miami on a last-second 3-pointer to reward 36 percent of the brackets filled out on ESPN and Yahoo.

5:30 p.m.

Loyola Chicago’s Donte Ingram drained a 3-pointer with 0.3 seconds left to help the 11th-seeded Ramblers defeat No. 6 seed Miami 64-62 in the first round of the NCAA Tournament.

Miami had one last chance, but the Hurricanes had to go the length of the court and couldn’t get a shot off.

The Ramblers won the Missouri Valley Tournament to reach the NCAAs for the first time since losing to Patrick Ewing and Georgetown in the Sweet 16 in 1985. It was Loyola’s 11th straight win.

Loyola advanced to play No. 3 seed Tennessee on Saturday.

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5:20 p.m.

Seton Hall and North Carolina State have decided defense is optional in their first-round game.

Desi Rodriguez poured in 14 points, Khadeem Carrington added 13 and the Pirates shot 61 percent from the field in taking a 51-41 lead over the Wolfpack into halftime.

Seton Hall scored on its first eight possessions, building an early led it kept most of the half.

Al Freeman led three Pirates in double-figures scoring with 14 first-half points.

The winner gets top-seeded Kansas in the Midwest Region’s second round Saturday.

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5:15 p.m.

The first No. 12 seed over a No. 5 upset in this NCAA Tournament could be in the making in Boise.

South Dakota State, behind big man Mike Daum, was tied at 43 with Ohio State at halftime on Thursday in the West Region.

Daum has 17 points for the Jackrabbits. Keita Bates-Diop leads the Buckeyes with 17.

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5 p.m.

Kansas expects to have injured big man Udoka Azubuike for more regular minutes when the top-seeded Jayhawks play the Seton Hall-North Carolina State winner in the second round on Saturday.

The 7-footer played only three minutes, pulling down one rebound without taking a shot, in their 76-60 victory over Penn in the Midwest Region’s opening round. He played wearing a hefty brace on his left knee, where he strained a ligament in practice last week.

Jayhawks coach Bill Self said he could have played “max five or six minutes,” but that he held him out in the second half as Kansas pulled away. The hope is to have him 80 percent for practice Friday.

“At first I was kind of getting used to my legs but after that I was fine,” Azubuike said. “I’m going to practice tomorrow and hopefully play much more on Saturday.”

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5 p.m.

Marvin Bagley III scored 22 points and second-seeded Duke dominated from start-to-finish in a 89-67 win over No. 15 Iona in the opening round of the NCAA Tournament on Thursday

The Blue Devils (27-7) will play Rhode Island in the Midwest Regional on Saturday.

The seventh-seeded Rams (26-7) beat Oklahoma 83-78 in overtime to advance.

Duke never left any doubt and is it starts it quest to win its first national championship since 2015. They led by 17 points late in the first half and got every Blue Devil played a role.

Trevon Duval scored 19 points, and Grayson Allen and Gary Trent Jr. each scored 16 points. Duval, Trent and Allen each hit four 3-pointers.

The Gaels (20-14) clapped toward their fans as they walked off the court. Roland Griffin led them 21 points.

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4:15 p.m.

Loyola-Chicago is all even with Miami at halftime of its first NCAA Tournament appearance in 33 years.

Miami’s Dejan Vasiljevic hit a jump-hook in the lane with one second remaining to tie the score at 28.

The 11th-seeded Ramblers won the Missouri Valley Tournament to reach the NCAAs for the first time since losing to Patrick Ewing and Georgetown in the Sweet 16 in 1985. They have a boisterous group of fans wearing maroon-and-gold scarves in a section across the American Airlines Center court from their team’s bench.

Burly center Cameron Krutwig leads Loyola-Chicago with eight points at halftime.

Sixth-seeded Miami is in its third straight NCAA Tournament under coach Jim Larranaga. He took No. 11 seed George Mason to the Final Four in 2006.

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4:05 p.m.

Devonte Graham ignited a sluggish Kansas offense midway through the first half, pouring in 29 points and lifting the top-seeded Jayhawks to a tough, grind-it-out 76-60 victory over No. 16 Pennsylvania in the opening round of the NCAA Tournament on Thursday.

Lagerald Vick added 14 points for the Jayhawks (28-7), who trailed the Ivy League champs by 10 in the early stages before going on a 19-2 run late in the first half to take control.

Graham, perhaps atoning for a miserable performance in last year’s tournament loss to Oregon, also had six rebounds and six assists as the Jayhawks cruised into a second-round matchup with eighth-seeded Seton Hall or No. 9 seed North Carolina State in the loaded Midwest Region.

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By Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC (A.S)

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