#and i am in almost entirely upper division courses

[acesammy]

man. so the engineering department at my school (which i am a part of) has put soooo much money into buildings and equipment in the last 10 years and i literally don't have a single class on that side of campus

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “EALS-AF.”

Hope you guys like this one. Things are heating up and getting exciting. A lot of moving parts so bare with me :) 

“What happened!”

“You know-”

“What happened! What happened with our plans, our agreement, what happened to everything we have worked to gain that you would go behind my back like that!”

“We did what was necessary.”

“What was necessary, what was necessary! You killed one man. ONE man and pissed off the rest of the universe, how does that accomplish anything.” The voiceless turned in a sharp circle, calming down and taking a deep breath, “You know what, nevermind, it doesn’t matter. You have never listened to me and you will never listen to me, and I know that. And because of your stupid pride, you will die. I got what I wanted.”

The burg queen gurgled angrily, “Watch your tongue maggot.”

The kree waved a wing at her, “Oh dry up you old hag!” He turned in a circle, “I told you what you needed to do to win this war. I told you what needed to happen, a division between the GA and all of its factions, especially humanity, but what did you do, you brought them together. As of now my sources say that more than five members of the GA council have agreed to declare an all-out war on you and your home planet.” HE turned back to look, “Do you really think that you can stand against Humanity, The drev, the Tesraki, the rundi, the gromm AND the Celzex! The Celzex alone could atomize your solar system without a second thought on their furry minds.”

The Burg queen was silent now, and it seemed as if it was only just beginning to dawn on her what exactly she had done.

THe Kree shook out his feathers, “Well, no matter. As I said, I got what I wanted. The voiced have been discredited and the Kree will not be joining the galactic assembly.” HE opened his wings, “Good luck waging war against the entire universe. I will enjoy watching your pathetic race perish from a distance while I take my next steps against the kree nations.”

***

The rundi charwoman looked out across the Irus Capital launch field, where a thousand different ships of half a dozen different alien species sat on the tarmac figures running about in wide circles as they prepared themselves for the upcoming siege.

Beside her stood the president of the UN, the Tesraki Prime minister, The Gromm Chancellor, the Drev representative and Lord Celex of the Celzex who sat moodily on the shoulder of the Drev representative glowering out across the tarmac.

“Is there a problem, Lord Celex?” She wondered, shifting her feet in worry.

Lord Celex was one of the most powerful beings here, probably second only to herself, and probably even greater than the human UN president. He had the most capable weapons in the galaxy, and at a distance could destroy entire solar systems. If he were to back out of the deal now, than their future was far more uncertain.

It seemed strange that the small, colorful creature was to have so much power, but at the same time almost fitting.

“I am not convinced of this course of action, chairwoman. Our act of war must have already reached them. If they wanted to surrender they would have already done so, sending a messenger will only open us up for attack.”

“Sending an envoy is how it has always been done and how it will always be done.”

Lord Celzex snorted but did not disagree with her, “Then I wish to send one of my ships. There is a greater likelihood they will survive, as we all know the burg do not follow the rules of engagement like the rest of us. They are likely to attack as soon as the engagement is over.”

“Very well Lord Celex, the envoy will be yours, but do not attack before an attack has been made against you.”

The small ball of fluff shook his head, though in shaking his head it was more like shaking his entire body. “If you insist, chairwoman.” He tapped the Drev on the shoulder with his foot, and the Drev held out one of each of his upper and lower hands. Lord Celex used the Drev’s hands like a ladder hopping from shoulder to hand to hand and then onto the floor before waddling away.

From the corner of her eye, the chairwoman could see the UN president looking hungirly after Lord Celex, not hungrily in the way she might heave first assumed, but she had been told by humans in the near past that Lord Celex was very ‘cute’ and that your average human wanted nothing more than to cuddle one into submission.”

For some reason, the thought reminded her of the commander, and her mood drifted downwards once again. A lot of people assumed they were going to war on the behalf of the commander, but that was not the case, if it had just been one man and a one time attack, they would have been upset, but they would not have retaliated.

Diplomatic relations were sometimes more important than the life -- or in this case -- the death of one man.

No, this had been building for a while, with their constant breach of GA sanctions, protocols and laws, their direct attack on the Gromm homewrold and Earth. In fact, her approval rating had dropped in recent years, sited mostly by her apparent liability to respond to the burg threat and retaliate against their poor behavior.

She had been hoping this conflict would all end, but she coulsee now that that was not the case.

She should have done something sooner.

Ahead of her, A column of humans marched by, their feet pounding against the ground in time with their war chant.

The ground shook as they passed, and the entire airfield seemed to turn to watch them, it was a good demonstration and reminded the GA soldiers and officers of the human power on the battlefield. 

The war was soon to commence.

***

Mistress Rizex Sat at the helm of her ship, watching closely on her instruments as burg airspace drew closer in her vision. All around her other Celzex sat in rapped attention, ready to fire their weapons if anything were to go amiss.

She tapped her foot slightly as the distant stars drew closer.

“Burg ships detected, mistress.” 

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared out at the darkness.

Lord Celex had not sent her for no reason. Other than being his longtime consort, she was also one of the greatest Celex generals the world had ever known, and likely the universe. 

He knew she understood how this was all supposed to end.

She would be pleased to oblige his wishes.

She was very good at sending a message.

“Mistress, we are being hailed by a burg command ship, shall I take the transmission.”

Her ears flicked slightly, “Yes.”

She waited for only a moment before the hologram rose up before her. The ugly creature towered over her by many feet, though she was not intimidated in the last by its size.

“You are entering Burg restricted airspace, turn around or be terminated.”

One of the technicians caught her eyes from across the room, and she gave them a subtle nod of acknowledgement before turning to look at the ugly creature. She ignored it’s warning and continued, “I am Mistress Rizex of the celzex and envoy of the Galactic Assembly, and on behalf of the galactic assembly, I wish to wonder why you think it is appropriate to enter GA restricted airspace and fire on our people, but do not rant us access in the other direction.”

The Burg hissed and chittered, “I am not interested in your politics, maggot. I am simply interested in your death. The GA can leave.”

She tapped her foot some more, “The GA will not leave. Let this be your official warning Burg, tell your queen that the GA has declared war. All trade agreements and sanctions against the Burg nation are henceforth dissolved. Any protections that your people may once have enjoyed have now been removed.” She trend to look at the rest of the bridge crew, “You are no longer welcome.”

The creature hissed and jeered, “The GA does not scare us.”

“Than you are as stupid as you are hostile.” She said, not one for diplomatic words, “And I warn you here and now that if the Burg nation does not cease and desist, we will destroy every last one of you without hesitation and with great prejudice, what say you.”

There was a pause for a moment. She could see the Burg look away from her, glancing towards someone she could not see.

In turn she looked to her bridge crew, who she could see were already ready like the warriors that they were.

She waited patiently, like the hunter that she fancied herself to be.

“I say…. THIS” Proximity alarms fired, just as she expected them to, and she did not even flinch as the rest of the floor jumped into action firing only second after the Burg. The space between their two ships was rocked with a bright flash of light and a sudden eruption of debris, that darkened almost as soon as it had brightened.

Four burg missiles had been terminated before they even made it to her cruiser.

Her ears twitched.

The Burg looked almost shocked.

She leaned a bit closer, “Do you wish to know what I say?”

The burg turned just in time to see her smile before giving the order.

A pulse of bright blue light radiated out from their ship in all directions, cutting across space. In almost the instant that the blue light touched them, the Burg ships rattled violently and then atomized.

One moment five burg ships guarded the borner, and the next five burg ships were completely vaporized, nothing more than dust on the edge of the solar system.

All around them the lights went dim, and their life support warning began to screech.

All power had been used up by the attack.

That was fine.

Behind them a rift opened and their ship was grappled by the second command module and hauled back into the warp,.

That should make enough of a statement about what the GA thought of the Burg and their tactics.

***

I woke up to something nudging my foot.

Opening my eyes I was still soar, and in pain, but it was far better than I could have hoped for. It took me a while to remember where I was and what I was doing, but the soft white bed of down reminded me, and I looked up to find one of the Omnidroids -- strange alien species that had rescued me from a hostile alien planet -- standing over me, all five of it’s trunk-like legs resting against the ground.

I looked upwards towards the top of it’s body where the slightly bulbous protrusions sat. I assumed that was it’s head, and if it had eyes, that was the most likely spot to find them.

It nudged my foot again, and I sat up.

As I did, one of its legs was lifted forward, and in it’s star, shaped hand it proffered me a strange object.

Whatever it was it was brightly colored, and when I took it, I was hit with a mildly sweet scent.

I sniffed at it, and looked up at the creature.

I couldn’t tell if it was looking at me.

Well… this was a bit of a problem. I was sort of assuming that it was offering me food, but if it wasn’t,  was I about to put something nasty in my mouth? And then there was the other factor of wondering how it even knew what I had ate. I left my detection device back at camp, so there was no way for me to test it myself.

There was, of course, always the chance that it had used some kind of unknown technology to scan me and figure out what I would be interested in eating, but, I hadn’t really seen a whole lot of technology aboard this ship, at least not in the traditional sense.

The ship itself was a silver ball, nothing more. The walls were bare, the floor was bare, the ceiling was bare. Light seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. There were no buttons or dials or knobs or levers of any sort to be seen. The air seemed to have a strange misty quality to it, and a part of me wondered if there weren’t just thousands of nanobots floating around doing all the work.

Of course that was probably just my big dumb science fiction geek brain talking.

Either way, they didn’t have any sort of technology that I recognized, so it was either concealed, or so advanced it was beyond my comprehension.

That was a thought.

 The most advanced species in the GA was a tossup between the Vrul and the Celzex, though for different reasons.

But this was something beyond that.

It was still staring at me, and I glanced down not sure about this whole fruit thing, but I guess there was only one way to find out.

I dug my nails into the outside of the thing and began peeling away the skin. In that way it felt sort of like an orange. I watched the omnidroid while I worked, but it didn’t react negatively.

I kept peeling.

INside was slimy and wet,  but when I sniffed at it the smell was sweet, somewhere between a Kiwi and a strawberry, though its innards were a strange blue purple color.

I peeled off the rest of the skin and then took a tentative bite.

It was so sweet it made my face hurt, and my mouth water.

I swallowed just a tiny bit and waited.

And waited 

And waited.

My stomach growled.

I took another piece, and waited some more.

After about half an hour I determined that the fruit was safe, and shoved the rest of it in my mouth surprised at how hungry I was.

Once done, I picked up the rest of the skin,and shrugging, offered it to the omnidroid.

What Can I say, I wanted to be a polite guest.

It didn’t move for a little bit, an action that I wasn’t sure was hesitation or not.

But eventually it took the the scraps and headed out the door.

I was left alone again and returned to my curled position on the soft white fluff.

What was I going to do? They seemed nice enough, though if I couldn’t communicate with them this was no better than prison.

Escape was in order, though how I was going to manage to do that was a mystery.

As of right now though, I didn’t know where I was, who I was with, and what they planned on doing to me. They didn’t let me out of this room, though I wasn’t sure if that was because I was a prisoner or something else. They didn’t really treat me like a prisoner. All evidence to the contrary seemed to support the fact that they were trying to keep me alive and healthy.

Medical care and food and all.

But then again maybe they were just really nice to their prisoners most of the time?

Hmm

What would Captain Kirk do?

Probably something stupid.

What would Captain Reynolds do?

Also probably something stupid 

What would Han Solo do?

Also something pretty stupid, awesome and reckless, and he would look sexy as fuck while doing it. 

I nodded to myself. It seemed as if my course of action had been decided for me, the council had spoken, and all the great space ship captains of the past were speaking to me through the ages.

The only way I was going to get out of this was by dong something pretty stupid but awesome and reckless at the same time, bonus points if I managed to make it look sexy while I did.

Although lets be honest, that last one is a tall order for me.

Most of the time I just look like a moron 

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

Operation EALS-AF was underway 

(Escape Awesomely and Look Sexy AF)

[rayshippouuchiha]

RMF Aizen style. Ooo, can we get more reactions around the Seireitei to his 'sudden' change in personality? Just, him finally coming out from behind his mask, and the /chaos/ that follows! And finding out it's because he's fallen in /love/. Shunsui at least would adore that, and possibly try to give Sousuke advice. Which, being as Sousuke had no blessed clue how to actually woo someone, he might actually /take/.

Look no it’s seriously unsettling, the way Aizen-taichou starts to change, because no one really thought he had it in him?

He’s always been strong and handsome yes but in a mild mannered and calm sort of way.  Boring really is the word most would use to describe him.  He’s pretty much what would happen if someone gave the color beige a zanpaktou?

And so rumors run rampant of course because such a major shift in a Division Taichou is news but holy shit this is Big News.

Especially since the differences keep piling up and up too.  At first it’s rumors of him being rude to a lower ranked Shinigami from the 11th Division.  Then it’s Aizen looking 11th Division Taichou Kenpachi Kiganjo directly in the eyes and telling him he’s a “waste of reishi who will, hopefully, be forcefully replaced soon to the relief of us all.”

No one knows what the fuck to do, it’s a quiet sort of pandemonium.  They wait until Aizen-taichou disappears again, off to where ever he goes that no one seems to be able to follow him to, and then they call an emergency meeting.

There’s a lot of shouting, a lot of arguing, someone is pretty sure Aizen’s been replaced by a spy of some sort.

Unohana-taichou, long used to being one of the sole voices of almost reason, suggest they do something radical and, you know, ask Aizen-taichou what’s going on.  A lot of people protest but Yamamoto agrees so that’s the plan that moves forward.

Ukitake-taichou is, of course, nominated to be the one to actually ask him even if basically the entire upper management of the Gotei 13 plan to be lurking around to listen in.

So the day comes and Ukitake has him over for tea while everyone else unsubtlely lurks around the pavilion and he’s all “so Aizen-taichou we’ve all noticed some … differences lately?”

And Aizen, with his hair slicked back and his glasses gone and looking like a whole new bitch, just sips his tea and hums and is like “yeah what about it?”

Ukitake is like “level with me man I’m too beautiful and too sick for games so just tell what’s going on??”

Aizen, not really bothered by any of this, just puts it all right out there like “I am in love and hope to marry someday soon.”

And everyone riots because what the fuck??

Basically all of Seireitei is so goddamn shook because Aizen might actually be the only person ever to become more of an asshole because he fell in love?

Like isn’t it supposed to be the exact opposite??

And then they meet Kurosaki Ichigo and they’re like oh, oh Soul King, she’s terrifying and this explains so much.

[recurring-polynya]

Renji is probably my fave anime character ever! Thanks for taking the time to do something special for his day ☺️ hmm I’m pretty terrible at being creative, but I’d love to see a Byakuya/Renji venture where Byakuya surprises him by remembering his birthday to begin with lol that’s the best I can come up with!

In Between Tides, there’s a reference to Byakuya remembering Renji’s birthday, although it eventually comes out that he didn’t remember, he just paid attention when Rukia said she wouldn’t be home that evening. You might think it was a throwaway line, but there are no Polynya throwaway lines. I am obsessed with the fact that Renji had a birthday between the end of the Soul Society Arc and the beginning of the Advance Team Arc, and I honestly got kinda excited to flesh this scene out a bit.

📱   🕔   🍾

It was after four o’clock when Renji rolled back into the Squad 6 offices. One of the things he liked most about being a vice-captain was that he had a fair amount of freedom to set his own schedule. He had known ahead of time that this afternoon was going to drag brutally, so he piled up a bunch of tasks that he hoped would make time pass fairly quickly. He’d just finished swordwork skills with the upper seats, and the only thing left was Organizing the Equipment Shed, which was always a nice late Friday afternoon sort of thing to do anyway.

He just needed to stop by the office, drop off his sword, and make sure he didn’t have any messages. As he headed down the hallway, he pulled out his phone. He had quite a number of new texts, probably birthday well-wishes, mostly people he would see later that evening. There was also a couple of texts from “Kuchiki Fucking Rukia”.

He really shouldn’t have let her put her own contact info into his phone, but she had assured him that Byakuya wouldn’t touch a spirit phone if the entire pride of the Kuchiki were on the line. He was almost positive she had him in her phone as “Abarai Fucking Renji.”

Renji stared at his phone for a long second, letting himself savor the euphoria that “two new text messages from Kuchiki Fucking Rukia” brought to his heart, before he couldn’t wait any longer, and he read them.

The first was a selfie. It was a selfie of Rukia pretending to drink straight from a large bottle of sake. He hoped she was pretending. The second message said “PRE-GAMING. Lemme know when you’re off!!!”

Forty years. Forty years of push-ups, of training with Ikkaku, of studying Kuchiki military history. Forty years of loneliness, of sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, of wishing more than anything that he could just go back to that shitty hellhole, Inuzuri. Forty birthdays spent drinking and laughing and marking off another empty year and wondering if next year would finally be the one.

And here it was, the best birthday gift he could possibly imagine, an extremely dirtbaggy text from his best girl, the First Daughter of the Kuchiki, who was taking him out to dinner after work before they met up with all the usual suspects and got roaring drunk together. He just had to survive the next forty-five minutes.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket as he shoved open the shoji to the office.

Captain Kuchiki was in.

Of course, Captain Kuchiki was in. Where else would the man be at 4:15 on a Friday afternoon, but cheerfully denying peoples’ vacation requests? At Squad 13, apparently, you were allowed to go in up to two hours early on Fridays and leave accordingly early, but Byakuya was not exactly a man who believed in flexible schedules.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Renji greeted, putting Zabimaru on their rack, and eying his inbox.

“Good afternoon, Abarai,” Captain Kuchiki replied absently, flipping over a sheet of paper.

Renji’s inbox contained three mission write-ups, a flyer soliciting submissions to a homebrew poetry magazine, one travel reimbursement request, and a sternly worded memo from the head office about what could and could not be submitted as ryouka-related damages. Absolutely nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday. That Equipment Shed was calling his name.

“Abarai,” Captain Kuchiki said smoothly, without looking up from his writing. “Today is your birthday, is it not?”

Every muscle in Renji’s body seized. “Er… it is, sir.”

What fresh hell could this possibly bring? Renji wouldn’t have minded running a few laps, but Byakuya wasn’t usually one to use physical conditioning as torture. There might be some file folders to alphabetize, or perhaps there was some multi-part personnel form he needed to update on a yearly basis. Yes, special birthday paperwork seemed exactly Byakuya’s style. Renji only hoped that he would be able to finish it in forty-five minutes or less. He was trying to have a good relationship with his captain, but if this fancy bastard made him wait even one minute more to see Kuchiki Fucking Rukia on his own damn birthday--

“If you wish, you may leave at 4:30,” Byakuya continued.

Renji stared disbelievingly at his captain, jaw slack.

“I am sure the miscreants you socialize with have some disorderly revelries planned for you,” Byakuya noted. “Try not to dishonor our division, and make sure you are sober and on-time to work tomorrow.”

Renji stood in stunned silence for a moment, drinking this moment in. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, sir,” he finally pointed out.

“Ah, yes, you are correct,” Byakuya agreed. What sort of person didn’t know, in the core of their soul, when it was Friday afternoon? “You should try to be sober by then, anyway, so that you may devote an appropriate amount of energy to whatever avocation you pursue on the weekends.”

As far as Renji know, drinking was his weekend avocation, but he wasn’t about to say so. Maybe Rukia had avocations. Maybe she would like some company for her avocations. He could ask her, when he saw her. That was a thing he could do now. Well. After he got off. In ten minutes.

“Thank you, sir!” Renji barked, picking up Zabimaru again, and digging his sunglasses out of the desk drawer where he had left them. “Thanks a lot, sir!”

Byakuya looked mildly puzzled by his enthusiasm. “You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Are you leaving now?”

“I got ten minutes,” Renji explained. “Which is just enough time to tell Rikichi to go organize the Equipment Shed.”

[dailyaudiobible]

12/07/2020 DAB Transcript

Hosea 6:1-9:17, 3 John 1:1-15, Psalms 126:1-6, Proverbs 29:12-14

Today is the 7th day of December welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian and it is wonderful to be here with you today as we continue our journey, which is what we do every day, continue our journey through the Scriptures. And each and every day greets us with something new to think about, something to carry forward, something that develops us and continues our growth in the Lord. And, so, let's dive in. We’re reading from the English Standard Version this week. Hosea chapters 6, seven, eight and nine today.

Introduction to third John:

Okay. So, yesterday we read an entire letter in the New Testament that was called second John and we talked about it. And we started and finished it. So, that brings us to the threshold of another letter. This one is the final of…of John's letters. It's known as third John and probably like the other two they were written from Ephesus probably later in John's life. But third John's just a little different than first and second John because…well…I mean, remember when we were reading Paul's letters and we came to a short letter, known as Philemon? So, Philemon’s the one with the runaway slave Onesimus and you remember all that. But the…the distinction about that particular letter is that it wasn't a letter written to a church or a group of people. It was a personal letter written to a person. So, third John is like that. Third John is a personal letter written to a man named Gaius. And Gaius it appears from the letter is an upstanding believer in the…in the…in the church world or the network of churches that John was leading. And John writes this letter to Gaius to give him…well...a couple of things; personal encouragement, because he's passionate about the gospel and he’s willing to serve and supports the traveling teachers that are sent throughout the churches that John has sent throughout the churches and the custom of welcoming these ministers who come, like itinerant ministers who move around the churches to encourage the churches and teach them. The care of their needs was a common thing and Gaius participated in this. But it’s not just to pat him on the back. John felt like this letter was necessary because it was a church leader named Diotrephes and this leader had risen up in authority but had in the process distanced himself from John. And, so, he refused to offer hospitality to these traveling ministers. And causing even more divisiveness, Diotrephes was kicking people out of the church who disagreed with him and assisted these itinerant missionaries. Now here's the irony. In second John, John basically says, “this is how you should…I mean you shouldn't really show hospitality or give words of encouragement to itinerant ministers who are coming in and bringing a false teaching.” So, Diotrephes is doing that, but apparently has decided that the people John is sending through are bringing false teachings and he's ascribed to something different. We don’t really know the full context here. Nevertheless, John wrote this personal letter to Gaius to commend him because he was caring and showing hospitality to those who were traveling to bring the gospel. And, so, this letter then would serve as a written notice, like it would affirm in writing that Gaius was doing the right thing. And you can imagine that if you get a personal letter from one of the 12 disciples of Jesus, then that's probably pretty valuable. And it has certainly been preserved and it's in our New Testament now, but you can imagine at the time that this would have…this would've carried weight with it. And, so, again, as with many of the letters, and much of the New Testament we get a glimpse back at the early formative time in the faith, and some of the controversies and some of the problems that they had to face to move things forward. And, so, we’ll read together in its entirety now. Third John.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and thank You for what it does to us, that it goes inside of us and moves around within rearranging things, transforming things, moving things out that don't belong, moving things in that do into our lives so that all things work together for the good of those who love You. And we love You and we are grateful. And we thank You even as we move into a more speedy time of the year, this month of December. And even as things begin to move more quickly in the Scriptures because we’re moving through so much territory, thank You for what we get to learn, that even though we might read a whole letter or a whole book in a day that we get to kind of fly over it and understand where it sits in the grand scheme of canon of Scripture. And, so, Father as we continue this rhythm and as it does speed up and as we do continue to move through more and more territory we invite Your Holy Spirit to lead us to what it is that we need to hear and what we need to observe and what we need to meditate upon what we need to plant in the soil of our lives. In fact, we open our lives to You and submit You fully and invite You to plant in our lives the fruit of the spirit, the fruit of Your spirit. And may this come from the transformational power of the Scriptures in our lives each and every day. Come Holy Spirit we pray into all this, we ask in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

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Right now, it's Christmas time. So, we’ve been talking about the Christmas box that we don't have this year. We normally do and we pack it full of all kinds of goodies and select them perfectly and it's just great, but with all of the uncertainties that this year has brought we have elected to just say, “here's the shop, we've discounted everything that we possibly can. Make your own Christmas box.” If you spend $40 or more in the Shop, we will send you the Daily Audio Bible Christmas ornament for 2020. That's an exclusive for the Christmas box each year, but we’ll send it to you this year. And, so, Yeah, I was talking about that yesterday, how I have them hung on my tree and how they…they represent a year of my life in the Bible, but they represent a year of my life in community with you as well. And, so, I love that. So, we’ll send it to you if you spend $40 more in the Shop. There's all kinds of resources that are in the Shop. The Daily Audio Bible Global Campfire Klean Kanteen that we only had one time this year. We have them rarely. We get them sometimes a couple times a year. This time one time this year. And this is the only time this year and it’s the Global Campfire edition. It’s awesome. I mean, I have one too. I use it every single day. Those will not last. We've had them for I think a week. They are almost gone. They might be gone by the end of the day, but they will not last this week. S, yeah, check those out. They’re in the Daily Audio Bible Shop. And there are all kinds of other…other ideas there as well. So, check it out.

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And, as always, if you a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app and share from there or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello Daily Audio Bible community this is Abba’s Joy and I just want to call in with a special prayer request. Of course, I’d like to say thank you to this community and to Brian Hardin and the Hardin family for this wonderful ministry that has blessed me tremendously throughout this year. I would like to ask for prayers for my son. He is 14 years old and he deals with anxiety, self-confidence issues. He blames God for certain things when they don’t go his way and he has developed a resistance to listening to the word of God. There’s just a lot of confusion right now and I know the enemy has been trying to get through to him. But deep down I know that he has love for Jesus Christ. And I just would like you guys to lift him up so that he just knows the power of Jesus Christ and that he can overcome anything. I thank you so much and I love you all. Have a blessed day or night wherever you may be. Thank you.

Okay I’m gonna try this again. I’m in my car and I’m on my way to work and I don’t have the phone in my hand so I’m hoping this is recording and you can hear me. This is Kathleen Mount Zion Illinois. I just wanted to thank Gigi for calling in with a prayer or not even a prayer just a story of thanks, a story of thankfulness to God for what He has done in her life. And Gigi I just…really, I just…you have such a kind spirit. You seem to just have this amazingly kind spirit in you and that just resonated with me and how thankful you were to God for bringing you Seth. And it sounds like God brought him write to you and it changes your life. That…that hit me because I too had thought I would be a missionary someday and instead I…I married and had children and now I have grandchildren and am very thankful for all of that and I just, you know, you just, you just want everybody to feel what you feel, right? That’s what I would like. I just I thank God and I think it all comes from thanking God, from being thankful. And that’s what I pray, for the Daily Audio Bible listeners, that we could thank God for anything, anything that is good and positive and wonderful in our lives. Thank you.

Hi, I’m Halo and my mom was the one who inspired me to this program, and I love it. And also, I kind of need help with my hatred. There’s a kid in my class that is really mean. And I tried to remember that you have to forgive your neighbors and I just need a little help with that. Thank you DAB family. Also thank you Brian to help my mom through the good and bad times. Bye and have a great day.

Father God tonight we lift up those who are searching for meaning whether they are Christians Muslim Seeks Buddhists another region or no religion at all or just don’t know. Father God we are searching for meaning, we’re looking for…we’re looking for something and we know Lord that…that You are the only one that gives meaning, that gives us that fulfillment that we’re actually looking for. Father God during this Advent and Christmas time I pray that You’d be…that Your truth would be a shining light, that those people who are searching could find You. We pray for our churches and our communities, for our brothers and sisters, and pray that they would be and that we would be shining light so that we would be able to guide people to You so people will find what they’re looking for even those that don’t know that what they’re looking for, that they would find it in You. May they join us in saying praise the Lord. We will give thanks to the Lord with our whole hearts. Great are the works of the Lord studied by all who delight in them. Full of splendor and majesty is His work and Your righteousness endures forever. You provide food for those who fear You. You remember Your promises forever. May we see You be glorified Lord and may lives be saved in Jesus name…

This is Candace from Oregon with a praise report. My son Micah was in a really awful situation and he actually had some good things happening at the same time, one of which was the first time in his whole life where he had paid vacation for a week. But then that last day when it was time to go back to this really difficult situation at his work he was just overcome with hopelessness and despair and depression and anxiety. So, I did warfare against the…the spirits, those spirits, those evil spirits and any back up plan the enemy had. And our Lord who is so kind and so merciful. Our Lord who is faithful and true and always loading us with undeserved favor was right there. And Micah, he…he almost didn’t go into work because of just this huge dilemma he was up against. But he managed to go anyway and when I picked him up 12 hours later after a 12 hour shift the…this oppression had completely lifted. Lord, thank You so much and please help Micah to know that it’s You and to receive You Lord wholeheartedly and to confess You before men. Thank You, Jesus. Thanks for Your love and tender care. To…to You be all the honor and all the glory for all the things You’re doing in all of our difficulties Lord.

[watusichris]

At the Black Horse Tavern on Armageddon Street

I said the soul of a nation been torn away…

In the Miracle Mile, the morning overcast locally known as “June gloom” feels deeper this year; the very air seems gray. I only escape the lockdown when I shop for groceries, in the hours the supermarket is open early for older customers. I do not drive, and, with public transportation out of the question, I am pinioned at home. Just to avoid atrophying completely, I flee my apartment for a masked walk of at least a mile every day, usually before sundown. If I walk up Wilshire, I pass dozens of empty office buildings and vacant storefronts; even restaurants with WE’RE OPEN signs in their windows are dark. It’s like something out of the 1959 atomic apocalypse movie On the Beach. The neighborhood seems almost entirely populated by the homeless who occupy the sidewalks along the boulevard. Some have been here for years. They have their spots staked out, and if they disappear you fear that something has happened to them. At night, the 8 p.m. hoots and cheers for essential workers have now died down. Distant fireworks, what sounds like gunfire, and sirens (from engines housed at the nearby fire station and squad cars from the Wilshire Division) are heard constantly. Police helicopters have always hovered every evening – Loudon Wainwright III, who used to live in the Mile, wrote a song about them, “Here Come the Choppers,” naming some local landmarks. Now they drop lower, so low that at times I fear one will land atop my building. In late May, after the Black Lives Matter protests sparked large demonstrations in my neighborhood and attendant nearby crimes committed by apolitical opportunists, I looked out my living room window and watched a looter drop out of a window at the Walgreens a block away.

It was into this vortex of disease, poverty, discord, and dread that Bob Dylan’s first album of new songs in eight years, Rough and Rowdy Ways, fell like some kind of miracle, on Juneteenth 2020.

The record was prefaced by a fanfare. On March 27, at the stroke of midnight in the East, an e-mail from Dylan’s publicist landed in my mailbox, containing a link to a new song, “Murder Most Foul,” a nearly 17-minute opus that used the 1963 assassination of John F. Kennedy as a springboard.

Now, even without its personal associations, this unexpected materialization would have been momentous. But the song pierced me to the heart, for on the day Kennedy was shot in Dallas, my mother gave me The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, the first record of his I ever owned; she had bought it as a Christmas present, but she thought it would console me, and she put it in my hands early. My mind reeling back, I listened to the new song, about Kennedy and the swell of American history and music, over and over on the night I received it. It manifested as another gift.

Two more songs, “I Contain Multitudes” and “False Prophet,” served as preludes to the arrival of the new full-length, which finally ended Dylan’s 2015-17 cycle of interpretations from the Frank Sinatra catalog of standards at a staggering five LPs worth. But the new record did not mark a definitive break with the sound and style of Shadows in the Night, Fallen Angels, and Triplicate.

Though a couple of the new tunes out of the 10 tracks rock in Dylan’s laid-back latter-day manner, the approach is largely subdued. The instruments are close-mic’ed, the atmosphere is tactile, the playing (largely by Dylan’s road band, with ringers like Fiona Apple, Blake Mills, Alan Pasqua, and Benmont Tench) is hushed and soft-focus. Only the addition of humming choral vocals on a couple of songs seems a new wrinkle.

The first time I listened to Rough and Rowdy Ways, I landed, hard, on one of those latter tracks, “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You.” Introduced by the vocal choir-of-sorts, it is a ballad sporting some of Dylan’s most poignant singing. The Never Ending Tour has left his voice mangled, still, but he stretches as far as he can into his upper register here, his rhythmic sense sure as ever, offering a declaration of devotion and humility of surprising beauty. The first time I listened to it, tears leaped into my eyes.

The more I listened to the album, the more I wondered if that song was about a woman or about God. There are more references, direct and indirect, to religion on this record than there have been on any since the ones Dylan made during his born-again conversion of the ‘70s. Usually they play in the background. The only song to foreground the subject, “Goodbye Jimmy Reed,” plays the topic for comedy, and its denial of secular music has to be taken as tongue-in-cheek – the song rides a Reed-style shuffle that tips its hat, and hand, to the bluesman’s hit songs of the ‘50s and ‘60s. (The album’s other overt rocker, “False Prophet,” drinks from the same well: As many early auditors noted, the song is purloined from “If Loving is Believing,” an obscure Sun Records B-side by Billy the Kid Emerson.)

Questions of the soul crop up along the road; in “Murder Most Foul,” Dylan muses that Kennedy’s soul couldn’t be found during his autopsy. These glancing queries really come as no surprise, coming as they do from a 79-year-old musician who is no doubt weighing his own narrowing future and the transport of his own soul. While one can’t truly say that Rough and Rowdy Ways has an air of finality to it, it certainly reflects a reckoning with the past, at times in spades.

History is repeatedly pulled into the present here. Dylan gave his game away from the first with “Murder Most Foul,” which was animated by a cascade of allusion, literary and musical references, and brainy in-jokes. (The album is broadly funny at times, most brazenly on “Goodbye Jimmy Reed” and on “My Own Version of You,” a left-handed jape in which the singer takes the role of Victor Frankenstein.) “Mother of Muses” plays with antiquities: Using an invocation straight out of Homer, Dylan professes his love for Calliope, the Greek muse of epic poetry, perhaps admitting himself into a pantheon occupied by Whitman (celebrated in “I Contain Multitudes”), Blake, Ginsberg, and Corso, who are also namechecked on the record. “What would Julius Caesar do,” he asks at one juncture, and answers with “Crossing the Rubicon,” which drolly translates Caesar’s military boldness in internal, personal terms.  “Key West” is a geographic reverie that touches lightly on events from the songwriter’s teenage years, and makes an unlikely reference to Harry S. Truman’s Little White House. Doctors of Dylanology will be kept busy by this pile-up of history for years.

The violence of history lurks everywhere on Rough and Rowdy Ways. Usually it is stated as a threat – Dylan walks heavily armed, threatening to hack off a limb if he’s challenged. That violence is of course completely overt on “Murder Most Foul,” the alpha and omega of the record: The song was the first to see release, like an exclamation, and it takes pride of place on the album, set off by itself on a disc of its own.

Part conspiracy theory, part thriller, an eruption of cultural confluences, “Murder Most Foul” would be a baffling, thrilling, and all-embracing opus no matter when it was released. But, though it appears to take a long view of a historic occurrence that shook its then 22-year-old author’s life and heart, it holds a greater, contemporary resonance. Recorded in early 2020, unleashed into the world amid great darkness in the fourth year of another American president’s monstrous, conscienceless rule, that remarkable song – about law, crime, the republic, and what Dylan calls “the age of the Antichrist” – carried resonances that were hidden, and felt more than stated. It is the jewel of a deep, knowing work that is only beginning to reveal its most profound meanings, and one that offers succor to its listeners, we who daily claw our way toward the light. “It’s darkest before the dawn,” Dylan sings on “Crossing the Rubicon,” and then he adds, sotto voce, “(oh God).” In that telling moment lies his truest prayer.

(photo: Miracle Mile/Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, June 18, 2020)

[arosnowflake]

I’m creating an esper girl AU because of course I am, and it focuses on the girls teaming up to save pretty much all the other espers of Seasoning City, who have been kidnapped by a mysterious organization. Anyway here’s a rundown of everyone’s powers I have so far:

Mezato: brainwashing, but like, mostly subtle. She basically has a form of telepathy/empathy that focuses on projecting her emotions/thoughts/wants/needs onto others, and uses that to influence people’s minds. She usually does this over a longer period of time, because that’s harder to detect or resist, but can brute force her way into your brain if need be. 

Tome: spacey powers; gravity control, wormhole creation, light manipulation (or rather, darkness manipulation; mostly the ability to take light away from places and make it dark, though other abilities sneak in too). Also has some very basic psychokinesis. 

Emi: written curses/talismans. She can curse anything she writes on, as well as make portable curses on paper. In addition, she can also protect anything she write on and create written talismans for people to carry. Also has the ability to see curses.

Tsubomi: necromancy and control over living beings. More specifically, she can control physical aspects of both dead and living things, such as bones, blood, tissue, etc. Can also create decay, and has chlorokinesis.

Rei: extrasensory perception/clairvoyance. Yes I know she’s a canon esper I just wanted to make clear she’s involved in my AU.

More details about their powers and a little bit about the role I’m planning on giving them in my AU under the cut.

Mezato:

Her powers manifested when she was too young to remember, and she’s used them on an almost daily basis since. This made her spoiled rotten and used to getting her way, creating an ego similar to that of Teru or even Touichirou. However, after the Divine Tree Incident, she got some character development and realized that always getting what she wants through mind control has left her hollow, which, combined with the newfound knowledge of just how scary it can be to be on the receiving end of mind control, has knocked her down a few pegs and made her use her powers less. 

Is mostly a support member, searching out information by brainwashing people into giving it for her and/or using her brainwashing to get access to places she shouldn’t have. 

Has the best control of her powers out of everyone in the group, and functions as something of a mentor for the rest because of that, despite her distinct un-mentor-like personality and the fact that her powers aren’t really comparable to most of the group’s.

Her power level is rather high, somewhere around Teru’s and/or Takenaka’s level, but she’s not and will never be as overpowered as Mob.

Has a very faint, sickly yellow aura. Can brainwash you into overlooking it, forgetting you ever saw it, etc. 

Avoided the organization’s detection because her power is very subtle and hard to recognize, and even telepaths and empaths generally don’t pick up on her aura because she has a unique mix of the two abilities.

Tome:

Her gravity control functions basically the same as the leader of the Seventh Division’s, but much less powerful (and she can’t create orbs at the start of the story).

Her wormhole creation is basically just cool space themed teleportation, with the added bonus of making it easy for to teleport large groups (but she develops it relatively late into the story).

Light manipulation mainly focuses on being able to take light away from a place, so it looks more like she’s controlling darkness than light. However, later during the story, she develops invisibility (and maybe even the ability to manipulate colour? idk I think it’d be cool).

By ‘very basic psychokinesis’, I mean that she can do basic esper things like create barriers/have raw explosions of energy, but can’t do anything more advanced. Doesn’t even have telekinesis. Cannot shape her raw psychic powers like the vectors Teru/that one Seventh division guy uses. At most can blast people somewhere like Serizawa, but it’s much weaker than his. Mostly, her psychic powers lie in her space themed powers.

Her powers manifested when she came under Rusty’s curse, as a desperate reaction to try and keep her alive, but since they only manifested as a slight increase in gravity and some darkness swirling, everyone assumed it was Rusty’s curse and didn’t pay it any mind. Tome later found out that they were her powers, and was planning on telling someone, but then all the espers got kidnapped.

Has really shoddy control of her powers to start with, bc she only just manifested them, but learns and grows quickly.

Has impressive powers but a moderate to moderately high power level, a little weaker than Ritsu to start with and eventually developing to somewhere around his level.

Acts as one of the front line members and is often on the offense, because her powers are very well suited for it, and she’s the only one of the team who can create barriers. Later also helps with stealth missions, after she masters her darkness control/invisibility, and acts as the transportation for the team after she manifests the ability to create wormholes.

Has a very noticeable galaxy aura when she’s using her powers, but it’s faint if she’s not. It gradually becomes more and more noticeable even when she’s ‘in rest’ over the course of the series.

Evaded detection by the organization because her powers had only just manifested, and nobody except her knew they existed.

Emi:

Manifested her powers during the last exam period, after she got way too stressed and her powers pulled a Ritsu and awakened. This happened about a year prior to the start of the story. Found out about her powers after she noticed she had accidentally cursed her teacher with her exam, and suddenly gained the ability to see spirits.

Is bad at detecting esper auras, because her power set is very unique and has little overlap with either psycho/telekinetics or telepaths/empaths.

How powerful her curses/talismans are is almost entirely dependent on how much time she’s had to prepare them; she stores up energy into the curses/talismans, which releases when the curse/talisman is activated. 

She does have an upper limit, of course; the most extreme talisman she could create would be a one-time protection against death, and the most extreme curse she could create would either cause minor decay in a person or collapse a building. She cannot store power for longer than a week.

Has a moderate to moderately high power level. However, her unique power set makes her hard to compare to others. Would, with practice, maybe be about as powerful as or just a little weaker than the curse guy from the Seventh Division, but her power is less suited for battle bc she needs to store energy first.

Has really bad control over her powers bc she’s scared of them; accidentally curses almost anything she writes on, and doesn’t really know what her base powers are. Doesn’t even know she can make talismans at the start of the story. Eventually becomes more confident and gains better control over them.

She didn’t tell Mob or any other esper about her powers because of the aforementioned fear of them. Was, however, working up to asking someone for help after realizing she can’t control them herself; had told Tome in confidence, who was planning on asking Reigen for advice on this (since he may not be an esper, but he knows pretty much all the espers in Seasoning City). 

Avoided detection by the organization partially because she’d told almost nobody of her powers, and partly because her unique power set gave her an aura that’s practically invisible to most other espers.

Has an ink black aura that rises up from her hands like thick smoke/ghibli tears when she’s writing her curses; otherwise doesn’t have an aura at all.

Rarely to never goes out into actual danger situations, because her powers are basically useless for spur of the moment defense. Almost a complete behind the scenes support member, making curses for the team to use and talismans to protect them.

Note to self: prime damsel in distress material. Might get kidnapped at some point.

Made friends with Tome online after finding out they both liked the same game. 

Tsubomi:

Her powers give her the ability to, among other things: have rudimentary brute force control over animal’s bodies (sort of similar to blood bending but harder to maintain; this drains a lot of energy and is generally impractical), deform tissue/blood/bones in animals (hard to control, but easy to manifest), control over plant bodies (the easiest for her), control corpses (very easy), cause decay in things (pretty easy in organic matter, a lot harder in inorganic matter), and heal living thigns (very difficult, requires fine tuned control).

Manifested her power about one to two years after she stopped being friends with Mob, but rarely if ever uses it because it really freaked her parents out and they encouraged her to keep it secret, and because her powers are by and large useless in day to day situations.

She’s not particularly bothered by the nature of her powers herself, but does recognize that it’s very morbid to others, and can be pretty self-conscious about that.

Her control over her powers is decent, but not great. She has a fairly good grasp on what her base abilities are and doesn’t have wild explosions of power, but is bad at knowing where her limits lie and unpracticed in a lot of areas of her power. 

She’s extremely powerful, about at Touichirou’s level, and if she was more practiced, she might even be able to hold her own against Mob. 

Is the tank of the team; because of her raw power, she often brute forces her way through obstacles. The biggest issue with her is that her control isn’t fine tuned enough to ensure that she won’t seriously injure or kill people if she goes against them, which, in the beginning, makes it difficult to send her out into the field. However, once she gets the hang of that, she’s easily the most powerful.

Evaded detection by the organization because she never told anyone she was an esper, and because she moved out of Seasoning City about a year prior to the start of the story.

Emi was a friend in school and she maintained contact with her after she moved.

Gets dragged into the story after Tome, Emi, and Rei evacuate Seasoning City and come to her. 

Rei:

Only canon esper in the gang, and mostly maintains her canon powers. However, due to frequent practice over the course of about four years, her extrasensory perception/clairvoyance now has about an 80% accuracy rate, and she can even sometimes sense nebulous things from the future, such as ‘danger’ or ‘happiness’. 

She actually was detected by the organization, but she felt a sense of danger before they came to kidnap her and booked it. When she realized that almost all of her friends weren’t answering their phone, she figured out that espers were probably being targeted by someone, and went to Tome for help, who seemed like the safest option at the time. Tome realizes she might be watched bc of her work at Spirits and Such, and brings them both to Emi, after which they decide it would be saver to go out of town entirely and go to stay with Tsubomi.

She went to Tome for help because she was one of the two (supposed) non-espers involved in esper shenanigans she knew. The other was the Awakening Lab guy, but after being kidnapped by Claw, she realizes that he would almost certainly be watched, and opted for Tome instead. 

While they aren’t close, acquaintances more than friends, she knows Tome from Spirits and Such. 

Functions as a support member, primarily; while she does go out into the field if necessary (usually paired up with Mezato, because she could point to people who probably has information/are important and Mezato could take care of them), she also often stays at home base, sifting through documents and internet rumors to find the ones that she can sense would be the most useful. 

As in canon, her power level is very low, but she is definitely one of the most practiced members of the group and has good advice on how to train your powers. Along with Mezato, functions as something of a mentor as a result, and is very nervous about it.

[atheistforhumanity]

An Example of How Bill O’Reilly Ruined A Generation With Mass Manipulation

Now, you might be thinking, “who the fuck is Bill O’Reilly, and why do I care?” That’s a valid question. Lovable Bill, is the predecessor of Tucker Carlson. He was the shining star of Fox News for most of my life, and he captures the hearts of minds of my parents generation with low brow commentary, manipulative opinions, and dog whistle racism. Bill pretended to be a regular class working Joe that spoke up for the little guy. Tucker Carlson outed his gimmick years ago before he would take Bill’s place, and take on the same fake persona.

So, how did Bill O’Reilly ruin a generation? It’s pretty simple really. Bill O’Reilly was born into the upper class and eventually took a place as an opinion show host pretending to be news, that spouted populist rhetoric in a way that always redirected opinions and anger away from the real perpetrators. Bill is literally one the most dishonest people to ever be on mainstream media, and for over a decade he delivered alternative facts to fox viewers, down played anything anti-capatalist, anti-conservative, and anti-racist. His motto has always been “no spin,” but I’ve never seen him present the whole truth in an accurate way my whole life. Bill is a more well spoken Donald Trump, who uses people’s prejudices, preconceptions, and complete unwillingness to research anything to manipulate people’s minds for a capitalist agenda.

But how does he do this, Ryan? I wish you would be more specific instead of making accusations. Well, it happens that I just came across a band new article written on Bill’s blog, where he tries to continue the glory of yesteryear before he was fired for sexually harassing several women in the work place.

If you take two minutes to read the article linked above, you’ll see that Bill is arguing that bad parenting is the real cause of income inequality. His argument is quite literally, people aren’t raised right and that’s why they can’t succeed financially. He says specifically that it’s not capitalism's fault.

Before I address specifics, let me point out what is generally manipulative about this argument. Bill has touched on a topic that literally any generation of conservatives can get fired up about, and will have built in bias to agree with. Remember, conservatism is literally resistance to change and an affinity for tradition. This also means that every generation bitches and complains about how the next generation raises kids. Remember when your parents told you that you would go to hell for watching Elvis shake his hips? Remember when there were no changing tables in men’s bathrooms? Remember when kids in school used to play “beat the fag” and then they cried victim when we said that was wrong? Yea...

The point is that he’s using a prevalent belief that many different people(but mostly conservatives) can tap into for different (mostly) unspecified reasons. Then he is attributing that common cultural division as responsible for income inequality. We’ll come back to that.

Second, is that Bill makes a point that on some level makes sense, but doesn’t support his larger claim. Are there a lot of bad parents out there? Sure. Do they have a negative effect on the child’s life as he suggests? Of course. Now we could argue all day about what makes a bad parent exactly or the prevalence of bad parents, but it’s irrelevant, because Bill hasn’t given us any solid reason to accept that this alone (or at all) is the cause of income inequality! It’s an outrageously dishonest argument. That doesn’t matter though, because this is how Bill’s followers respond...

Okay, I was going to screen shot some positive responses to Bill tweeting this article but I didn’t see any. Let’s just move on.

Now, let’s take a look at the substance of Bill’s piece.

Education: “If a young child is not exposed to learning by age two, that innocent, helpless person is already at risk in a competitive society.  If there are no books in the home, no awareness-building games, no fun dialogue with the parents, the child may not develop a curiosity about life.”

That’s interesting, Bill, because public education and programs like Pre-K are socialist inspired initiatives supplied by the government for the benefit of everyone. Head start programs were first installed by LBJ, but the Black Panthers had actually initiated similar programs in inner cities to feed children breakfast before school.

To say that capitalism has no role in this issue is delusional. Capitalism accepts and even encourages inequality. Betsy Devos is the champion of capitalist education, where attendance is not guaranteed and any difficult or low performing students can be weeded out to create the appearance of success, under no public oversight.

The fight is always the same, liberals want to increase educational funding and conservatives don’t. This is why red states have teacher strikes all over the country and Republicans are fighting against publicly funded college.

If access to education from an early age is so important then we cannot withhold education and then blame those stuck in the cycle of poverty for their own inequity.

Environment/Work Ethic:

Here’s an old and tired argument from the right. People are poor because they don’t work hard enough. But, Bill, how could that be? The average unemployment rate in America is between 3-4%, and the worst is in Alaska with 6.4%. Clearly most Americans are working, you’re always bragging about how great this economy is. Republicans tell people who need assistance to get jobs, but surprise they already have them! We know people aren’t struggling to live because they’re not working, because we have clear numbers that show people are working full-time, but not earning enough to pay basic bills. It’s crazy, it’s almost like the cost of living just keep rising, but the amount people get paid doesn’t. All of this is happening despite the fact that corporate profits have soared, but it never translates into better wages. 

While Bill drones on in his article about derelict parents, he never once actually looks at income. He sure doesn’t mention that the amount people are paid is literally up to the people at the top of the economic latter. They can choose to pay workers more or they can stash away more profit in their bank accounts. Guess which one they choose? Despite the fact that we have clear data that shows those who choose how much to pay workers are raising their own profits, the rich like Bill O’Reilly continually berate people as lazy. The entire argument is completely disingenuous because workers are at the mercy of employers.

And if you’re thinking, why doesn’t everyone just get a better job, you’re not thinking that statement through. The Bureau of Labor Statistics tracks how many jobs in the market pay minimum wage or less, and that’s roughly 2.3%.(Nearly 2 million people) You think, great, people can just get a better job. No, not really, because a large number of jobs pay just above the minimum wage and are not included in this figure. Even most retail jobs pay $1 above minimum at least. Pew Research wondered this too, and in 2004 they found that roughly 30% of all hourly workers were making more than minimum wage (7.25 at the time) and less than $10. Guess what, nearly 59% of the entire US workforce are hourly workers, and a third of them are were making $10 or less. I make 13$ an hour, live with a roommate, and am just able to live with no savings in 2019. If I had a wife making the same amount, we would drowned trying to raise even two kids. That’s a travesty.

Roughly 35% of all jobs require a college degree, which is a significant debt due to increases in education and cost of living. Education is very important, but unfortunately most people who are born poor, historically, don’t get to go to college. What does capitalism say about this? Well, again, in a free market system there is no mechanism to correct the disadvantage people are born into, and generally no desire among conservatives to do so. Conservatism is stuck in the past where the poor and uneducated make perfect laborers, but labor as a staple job market is dead in the 21st century. Hence the push toward service jobs, which is all an uneducated person do.

The numbers tell the real story. People are working, but not being paid enough. The people controlling the pay are increasing their own pay. Cost of living is rising faster than worker pay. Funding for education has been stagnant and the cost of higher education rising. All this and I haven’t even gotten into the politics that effect this issue.

How did Bill O’Reilly destroy a generation? By feeding them ignorant, pandering garbage like this article every night for years. By completely ignoring the real facts of any issue and directing your attention to a manipulative hot button, tailored to the bias of conservatives.

The sad thing is that Bill is completely representative of everyone championed by the right wing. They are unintelligent, malicious, racist, greedy, and completely dishonest.

[nerdy-flower]

Folks on AO3 seemed to like this one, so I decided to cross-post it here! Enjoy!~

Solstice

Jesse and Hanzo's wedding ceremony + Genji's best-man-by-default speech, absolutely the sappiest nonsense I have ever written.

The tile of Fareeha and Angela's master bathroom is cool beneath Jesse's dress socks as he leans closer to the mirror. A delicate touch is needed with the comb to coax his hair into the nice, slightly slicked-back look he wants without raising any cowlicks. He sings to himself, a low echo beneath the struggling air conditioner and the chaotic din of their charming cabin-type setup.

Weddings have oddly never meant much to Jesse. The slivers he remembers of his mom indicate he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. His grandfather was just a photo over the piano and a pair of boots in the hall closet, his and Gran's rings pawned to pay for something or other back then. In Deadlock, no one could afford to end up on paper, even at a drive-thru chapel out of Vegas, so relationships had to be memorialized in other, louder ways. He's been to the occasional engagement happy hour for various coworkers since, but hadn't so much as attended a wedding until Genji and Zen got hitched last year.

“Oh I'm, gonna do this ri-ight,” Jesse hums, lips sticking together as he smooths his recently trimmed, still-damp beard into tidiness. “Show you I'm not movin', wherever you go-”

“Are you done yet, Jesse?” Ana raps on the half-open door, looking like she stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. Forever classy, despite maintaining the highest kill-count in her division. She chuckles at his suit, seeing it for the first time. “Very handsome! But I thought white was only for virgins?”

“Nah, see? It's hussy white.” Jesse gestures to the cream-coloured jacket as he shrugs it on, satisfied with his face.

Ana snorts into her hand and brandishes a red rose, its stem wrapped with ribbon and baby's breath or whatever those little white things are called. “The flowers arrived, let me.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Jesse smiles warmly, sticking his chest out so she can pin the boutonniere to his lapel. “Everything goin' okay out there?”

The theme of their wedding might be “no fuss, for chrissakes” but Jesse still wants it to be a good time. Everybody had worked so hard to put this on for them. It might not be a big shindig, but he wants it to be a memorable, relatively disaster-free one.

“Of course,” Ana demures with a smile and a slow wave of her hand. “Everything's fine, nothing's on fire, these are not the droids you're looking for.”

Jesse laughs and gets an affectionate pat to the cheek before she hurries off to check on something or other. The younger Ms. Amari appears in her wake, plum-painted lips all pursed. “Get out of my toilet, I need to unfuck this eyeliner.”

“Told ya not to use your phone,” Jesse smirks, glancing at her enormous bunny slippers as they swap places. “Oh, please tell me you're wearing those for the photos.”

“I have hose on!” Fareeha gestures exasperatedly at her legs before rubbing a q-tip over her tongue. She looks real cute, all dolled up in that blue number Angie's sure to love.

Jesse shuffles down the hall in a mild fugue state, fixing his cuffs unnecessarily. He ought to be doing something, but he doesn't know what. The reception is a while away yet, that had been more his bag. He's less about ceremony and more about celebration, he supposes, but that's a bit reductive, isn't it? The faint burn of a red dragon recently inked into his upper arm is telling. He has a poetic heart, so he's told, a love for a symbol's secret meaning rather than its apparent one.

“There it is,” Gabe says behind him, Jesse turning on his heel to see Genji jogging up the stairs, a flush in his cheeks. “You alright? I heard shouting.”

“Oh yeah, just Hanzo being himself.” Genji rolls his eyes as he passes off Jesse's missing tie, nodding at him. “Do you have the lint-roller?”

“Olivia had it, last I saw.” Jesse answers, sending Genji hurrying back to the living room, hopefully to put on something besides pants and a tank top. “D'ya mind- ah, thanks.”

Gabe smiles as he leans into Jesse's space to fix his collar and tie the tie. “So, you ready to stand up in front of God and everyone and bet half your stuff that you'll love this guy forever?”

“Damn skippy I am,” Jesse laughs, watching Gabe's scarred hands work on a perfect knot. “Oh, by the way, I had Lúcio put 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' on the playlist for you two.”

“Aw, how thoughtful.” Gabe drawls, doing that fake-grin that stretches out the hole in his cheek for effect. “Are you gonna cry?”

“'Course not, we live together. There's nothin' to cry about.”

“He's gonna cry,” Jack says confidently, leaning on the banister while Gabe fixes the tie just so and steps away to grab some things. “Hana put tissues in your inside pocket.”

“You might need some, I won't.” Jesse retorts, jokingly defiant. He rocks back on his heels and takes a second to breathe. The last six weeks were a blur, but he remembers the next steps. Enter with Gabe and Ana on his arms, stand tall and look pretty waiting for Hanzo, everything else is on note-cards. Easy as pie.

“Hey.” Jesse adds after a moment's thought, and after Jack's screen-reader finishes telling him that Lulu ate her food and is doing fine at the kennel, thanks so much. “You don't feel- left out of this, do ya?”

He isn't sure what he'd do if Jack did, at this point, but it seems worth asking. Jesse's time in their patchwork family had seen him through their good times and their not-talking periods where Gabe continually said he was fine, but played way too much shitty music to mean it. His attitude had clashed with the former soldier's early and often, and at times it felt like it was him and Gabe versus Jack. He's way too old for that shit now, and the guy had paid for his GED, amongst other things in his quest to accidentally parent everyone he ran across.

“Hm? Oh, god no.” Jack breathes a laugh, folding his arms. “Honestly, I'll be happy to sit down and relax for the rest of the day.”

“You sat down the whole way here,” Gabe notes, handing Jesse his fancy shoes. “At least you got to nap.”

“I got out and pumped gas,” Jack replies, with an almost petulant cock of his head. “And do you know how boring that highway is without the scenery? I nearly lost my mind.”

“I know, I know,” Gabe scoffs, gripping the man's bicep in a manner that could be construed as loving. “And you did such a good job pumping that gas, it's what I keep you around for.”

“Hmph.” But there's an entirely fond smile with it, his fingers curling over Gabe's. Goddamn they're cute, in their black and slate suits with the little matching pocket squares. They had best not start making out at the wet bar, though that would be an improvement on Jack pretending he knows how to do the running man.

As they step out of the sliding-glass patio doors into the heady summer air, Gabe squeezes the back of his neck in what Olivia calls a 'man-hug,' though Gabe is far from the too-insecure-to-actually-hug type. “No la cagues, alright, mijo?”

Jesse snorts, knowing he doesn't mean walking down the aisle. “I won't.”

There's nothing fancy to it, not even a proper altar, just a bunch of folding chairs and a borrowed music stand  for Mondatta to set his notes on. Camping tents off to the side, lights and flowers strung through the surrounding trees, music playing softly through Lucio's speakers- a piano version of the ending credits theme to a movie they both love. But then Hanzo walks out, in the same outfit he'd tied Genji into last year, his brother on one arm and Amélie on the other. There's some shuffling and laughing over how to link elbows properly, but then their eyes meet while everyone's backs are turned and he smiles so sweet and Jesse's chest feels so full- “Oh god, he's so gorgeous.”

“Called it,” Fareeha whispers, smug as anything at his side, rose pinned to her chest and ringbox in hand. Jesse smacks her discreetly, to the amusement of the spiritual leader behind them, but can't say anything around the lump in his throat.

It's all he can do not to smooch those lips right there while Genji steps to one side and Amélie takes her seat. Hanzo takes his hands and grips tight, the afternoon sunlight doing wonderful things to his brown eyes, and it's enough for now.

“Dear friends, we gather here today to celebrate what will hopefully be only one of many happy days shared by Jesse and Hanzo. They have asked me to thank you on their behalf, for coming together to support them.” Mondatta begins, and goddamn if he doesn't sound straight out of a movie with the gravitas in his voice. Add the resplendent, silvery robes on top, and Jesse gets the draw of his speeches, and why Lena looks like she might explode whenever he's around. Dude's got charisma for days. “There are so many people who influence our lives and the paths we take, from before we are born until after we have gone. If you'll permit me a moment's indulgence, I would like all of us to close our eyes for a minute and think about those people, perhaps especially the ones who cannot be with us today. I'll keep the time.”

In the head-bent pause, Jesse feels Hanzo's hands shake minutely and he squeezes back tight. It's one thing to wonder, with gratitude and frustration, about how he got here and why. It's another to know, and speculate with all the acute pain of memory.

“Thank you,” Mondatta says, looking up from his simple wristwatch and back to his notes, a smile in his voice. “As we stand in recognition of the commitment that these two are making to each other, we acknowledge that their life together is not starting, but has already begun. They have withstood many hardships and experienced many joys that have led them to make this proclamation not lightly, but gladly, solemnly, and with great courage. In your shared life, we all wish you peace, but acknowledge the yet-unknown hardships that will test you and the bond you share. Are you prepared to take on these challenges together?”

“We are,” they manage in almost-unison, Jesse half a beat behind. Hanzo smiles at him sideways, sweat building at his temples as the sun beats down on the black cotton of his kimono.

Mondatta nods, almost cat-like in his satisfaction. “Good. Now, while you are self-sufficient adults-” Oof, that might be a stretch. “-You will still need a community to nurture you, and many hands to help you on the road ahead. So I ask all of you here today, do you pledge to support these two and the family they've created, to speak the truth kindly to them, and to lend them your strength in times of need?”

Scarcely a second passes before the air rings with “We do!” and the occasional “Hell yeah!”- even an impressive whistle from someone. Hanzo's eyes well up then, as they smile out over the crowd, though he thumbs the tears away quick as can be. Heaven forbid someone capture him having an emotion on film, Genji's quip materializes in Jesse's mind with only a sharp smirk over his brother's shoulder.

“How wonderful,” Mondatta continues, off-script and genuine. “The two will now exchange the vows they have written. Jesse, I believe you 'called first dibs.'”

Jesse's face aches from smiling while the titter dies down. He locks his eyes on his fiancé's and tries not to talk too fast. “Hanzo, you know me better than anyone else in the world and somehow, you still love me.” Muted laughter again, and an endeared chuckle from Hanzo, the same one he'll never get enough of. “You tell me all the time how I've made you a better man, but I don't think you realize that you've done the same to me and more. So, I promise to remind you of that every day, and I'll do everything I can to look after you and make sure you don't regret this, till death do us part.”

Hanzo's laugh turns wet, but his smile doesn't flag. He clears his throat at Mondatta's nod, shutting his eyes a moment to block everyone out. They had purposefully kept it short, Hanzo struggling to be sentimental in public. Even still, there isn't an ounce of hesitance in his serious, stage-worthy tone. “Jesse, I promise to always give you the best of myself, though you have often put up with my worst. I will take your family as my family, as you have already taken mine. I will work hard to make you at least half as happy as you've made me, to ensure our life together is well-lived, and I'll always draw you handsome.”

The laughter is mixed with sniffles now, one at Jesse's back and surprisingly none at Hanzo's, though Genji's glasses do nothing to hide the red in his eyes. The 'boring bit,' as their rehearsal sticky notes read, allows Jesse to catch his breath. They sign the register with their loopiest signatures, Genji and Fareeha stepping forward to do the same. Genji pours the sake for the san-san-ku-do ceremony Hanzo taught him the week before, Jesse kneading his chest afterwards. “Oof, shoulda had breakfast.”

“Do not vomit,” Hanzo whispers in that crisp, eye-narrowing tone Jesse's come to know and adore. He just snickers, though he hopes somebody remembered to make dinner rolls.

In the slim moment where the cups and bottle are cleared away, Jesse looks back. Zen's in the front row, neatly dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, cute guy that he is. Ana is beaming, a single tear slipping down her cheek while she there-there pats a weepy Reinhardt. Gabe and Jack sit in similar tired old men poses, but their eyes tell all, Jack's arm looped around Gabe's shoulders. Torbjörn's brood takes up the two back rows, Brigitte shushing some of the younger ones as they fidget in the formal clothing they were wrestled into this morning. The rest of their friends sit rapt and smiling, leaning on each other and fanning themselves in the sticky heat. Even Amélie's smile is softer than usual.

“Now it is time for the exchange of rings,” Mondatta intones with something like giddiness, or as close as someone like him gets. He pauses so that Genji can open the box for his brother to take the ring, the glance between them speaking volumes. “Hanzo, if you would please take Jesse's hand and tell him first why you love him, second why this day is important to you.”

Hanzo obeys, having requested to go first so that he might 'maintain some dignity,' since Jesse's dignity obviously up and went a long time ago. He takes Jesse's flesh hand in his, his smile more than blue skies and sunshine to his fiancé in that moment. “I love you because you are a truly good man, one stubborn enough to love me.” Everyone gets a good laugh at that while Hanzo pushes his braid back over his shoulder. “And because I wished to show you that I'll never leave your side.”

The multicoloured band slips on with ease. They've worn them as engagement rings all this time, but slim tears still join at Jesse's chin. The levity in Hanzo's words somehow keeps the tremble from his own, but only just. Fareeha's grin is as big as his while she holds out the box, Hanzo's right hand almost fragile in the grip of his metal fingers. “I love you because you showed me that my dreams weren't anywhere near as good as reality.” Hanzo's lips pull thin at that. Who knew they'd both grow up to be such sappy bastards? “And because I wanted to prove how serious I've always been.”

The weight of Mondatta's hands on their shoulders is almost paternal, pride shining in his face as he speaks that much louder than his previous words. “What the two of you have made together, let no one unmake. You may-”

Hanzo's patience flames out exactly then. He cups Jesse's jaw and pulls him down for a chaste, but very firm and knee-weakening kiss in front of everyone they know.

***

Genji stands up and rolls his shoulders, much like their judo instructor taught them to do as boys. Lena passes him an unopened bottle of champagne (the good kind, he owes Winston a hug) with a cheeky grin. Hanzo and Jesse's thank-you speech was cute and all, but he'll never let his brother get one up on him.

“Several years ago,” Genji begins, minding his feet as he steps outside the circle of guests around the fire pit. “I agreed to go shoot pool with some weirdo I met in our dear Doctor Ziegler's waiting room, with the sole intention of getting him to stop bothering me. Spoiler: It didn't work, but at least I got him to quit calling me Shimada-san.”

That nets a laugh and Genji smiles, warmed by the setting sun and the half-finished fourth mojito in his other hand. He doesn't often drink now, beginning to fret over what medicine and addiction have done to his liver, but he's been working harder than Cinderella's mice this week and getting lit once a year never killed anybody. “Jesse and I spent a lot of time together back then, mostly eating and binge-watching stupid TV shows on a streaming account belonging to someone who shall remain nameless.” He gestures with the neck of the bottle. “But on an unrelated note, Fareeha, you should really change your passwords once in a while.”

“Son of a bitch!” Fareeha shouts from across the fire, firing a chunk of cake at Jesse which he catches and promptly eats just to spite her.

“I came to consider Jesse a good friend, one of the first I'd had in some time.” Genji keeps an edge to his smile while the crowd softens. No need to bust that emotional nut too early. “Luckily we never slept together, or this would be really awkward.”

Another chorus of giggles and snorts, the first groan of distaste from Hanzo. Perfect. “Around this time, a wild brother of mine appeared.” Genji quickly dances past the smoke, not wanting to linger on a painful point by collapsing into a coughing fit. “And in accordance with his lifelong pattern of terrible taste, developed a big fat crush on one Jesse McCree.”

“Love ya too, asshole.” Jesse smacks him on the way by, but Genji keeps going. At this point, he might need the perpetual motion to stay upright and dignified. Hanzo's eyes are trained on him, but he's not done yet.

“But unbeknownst to him, Jesse had also caught feelings,” Genji takes a sip of his drink for a brief dramatic pause. “Despite the fact that my brother is a stuck-up grouch who sucked his thumb until he was twelve.”

A proper snarl of his name sets him cackling, though Jesse is kind enough to restrain and smooch Hanzo into submission. He pushes his glasses back up, realizes he isn't wearing them, and carries on. “Jesse's approach to this situation was to drive to the other side of town every day for terrible sandwiches and a chance to glimpse his beloved's perpetually exhausted visage. Hanzo's approach was to do absolutely nothing.”

More laughter, more Hanzo grumbles. “They did finally go on a date with no insignificant amount of prodding from yours truly, but since it's their special day, I won't congratulate myself too much. Except to say, you're welcome!”

That inspires some gentle jeering aimed at the two of them, Genji bouncing back on his heels and almost slipping, gesturing with both arms. “But truly, I never expected things to turn out this way; Hanzo marrying the guy who taught me how to roll joints specifically because doing it one-handed is a pain in the ass.”

A deeper groan at that one while the others laugh and shout. “Relax, Jesse, it's not like your entire family's here or anything!” He slows his wandering to one side of the fire to avoid further swipes, lifting the bottle to draw attention to his left hand. “Being married myself now, I get to incorrectly call myself an expert and assure you that it's totally great- no, honest! Hey, I'm not here for those ball-and-chain jokes, you've all seen my husband. He's literally right over there, look at him.”

Zenyatta has been watching him with that knowing 'I will save you from yourself if necessary' look this whole time, but his posture softens noticeably, his hand on his cheek as he sits curled up on their blanket. So goddamn cute, it isn't fair.

“You already know exactly how annoying you both are, so I won't bother reminding you.” Genji grins again, lifting one finger from the stem of his drink. “Though by the same token, don't say I never warned you!

“Thanks again for letting us use your matrimony as an excuse to throw a party, that was cool of you.” He pauses for a chorus of cheers and glasses clinking, the sun nearly gone now and their friends' movements reflected in flickering shadows. “I think I speak for all of us when I say I look forward to you two enjoying a long and happy life together, and bickering like old hens when the sex gets boring.”

Another loud groan from Hanzo. Zen mouths 'be nice' at him on his way by, but Genji can tell he doesn't mean it. “Just kidding, a Shimada's stamina never dies! Don't skip physio, McCree!”

More jeering, a request from his brother to be put out of his misery. He paces again, his cheeks buzzing with laughter. “Hanzo and Jesse specifically requested no gifts- but we all ignored that and put money in the cards, right?” A beat before a series of nods and sarcastic put-offs, eliciting some whinging from the couple. “Okay good, otherwise I'd want my five dollars back.”

The laughter rises again and he speaks again before it falls, slowing the groove he's wearing into Angela's lawn. “What these two nerds don't realize is that I'm taking home the biggest gift of all, and they gave it to me without even realizing. Can anyone guess what it is?”

A few shout over each other, making Genji knit his brows together. “You guys are gross.” He smiles then, holding up his glass in proper toast. “The truth is that I've spent more time worrying about both of you than I care to say. When you two finally got serious, I was so relieved. Partly because I no longer had to listen to Hanzo's bitching, and partly because I knew I didn't have to worry so much anymore.”

Hanzo's face is rather blurry at this distance, but he can see the change in it. The way his eyes get big and how his spine straightens up. Genji's smile stretches impossibly wider. “The rest of you can laugh at this part if you want- but I honestly can't tell you how grateful I am that I get to watch you become who you always deserved to be.”

He keeps his gaze over everyone's heads because if he makes eye contact with anyone right now, he might cry and he cries super gross. “And I never thought I'd say this, but I couldn't be happier to have a new big brother.” Genji tips his glass in their direction, giggling at the odd feeling of the words in his mouth. “Thanks for sticking around, Jesse. God knows we haven't made it easy for you.”

He doesn't let more than a couple “aw's” and fond chuckles escape before interrupting, shaking the bottle as hard as he possibly can. “And on that note, congratulations! Let's get this party-”

The cork pops off suddenly, hitting the metal gutter of the porch with a spectacular bang while those nearest to him shriek and dodge the spray of foam. “Oh, whoops.”

“Trying to break my windows, are we?” Angela appears at his side with eyebrow arched, yanking him down by the tie as the others scramble up, Lúcio dashing to the DJ station he'd set up beside the bar.

“Now how was I supposed to know it would do that?” Genji giggles, filling her empty glass with flat champagne and kissing her cheek. She seems appeased as they finish it themselves, good. He's ninety-nine percent sure she could suplex him without breaking a sweat.

Hanzo and Jesse had opted out of the first-dance business because “It's embarrassing and I don't want to,” blah blah. That means Lúcio cranks the beats right from the start, to which Genji is not at all opposed. He lets Angela spin and dip him before shaking and shimmying his way to Zenyatta's side, then bouncing from person to person across the rented dancefloor like a tipsy pachinko ball.

It's not a huge group, the younger half of the Lindholm children already back at the monastery for a monk-supervised sleepover. The older half put the trampoline through its paces while the adults make fools of themselves. But damn, if there isn't a perfect energy to the night, both excitable and intimate. Emily pours him another drink and he revels in it.

Zarya ends up stealing a table to arm-wrestle any willing participants, which include his husband, who lasts an entire minute before she puts him down. Twice as long as Genji last time, he's impressed.

“You are like bamboo branch!” Zarya declares, lifting Zen's lean arm by the wrist and affectionately slapping his bicep. “Lean, but surprisingly strong!”

Zenyatta flushes, looking adorably sheepish as Gabe, Jack, Ana, Mei, and Lena clap for him and wait their turn. Genji's just about to walk up and tease the hell out of him when he feels someone grip his shoulder from behind. It's Hanzo, frowning slightly, how entirely unexpected.

“What's-” Hanzo wraps his arms around him before he can finish, his face pressed against Genji's shoulder. He can't help but laugh, though the tight embrace constricts his ribs. “Aw, two hugs in one day? You do love me.”

“Shut up,” is Hanzo's only reply, because of course it is. His eyes are doing the sad puppy thing when he pulls back. He was sort of born looking sad, but it's still concerning. “My speech at your wedding wasn't nearly as good.”

“You know, you're right! Tell you what, I'll get married again so you can do it over. Will that make you feel better?”

Hanzo scowls at him. Ah, such a nostalgic sight. “Can you stop ruining the moment for ten seconds?”

Genji downs the last of his cocktail and snaps his fingers into a point. “Nope.”

Hanzo sighs, his brow pinched like he has a headache but his eyes remain gentle, shining in the glow of the string-light canopy. He toys with the cord of his obi. “I will pay you back for this if it's the last thing I do.”

“The hell you will,” Genji huffs. “You don't have to wear that damn thing all night, you know. I didn't.”

“I like it, it's comfortable.” Hanzo insists, having not removed so much as the haori despite the heat. He folds his arms across his chest, his eyes lowered, the many piercings he chose to leave in because they were 'more attractive than empty holes' glinting slightly. His voice is barely audible when he finally speaks. “There is much I admire in you, and much I can never repay you for.”

Genji's response is stolen by the approach of Jesse. Hair askew, jacket off, and a big stupid grin on his face. “C'mere, you shit.” He hauls Genji into a bear-hug as soon as he raises his arms for it, gladly accepting it in lieu of the ones he used to dodge.

He groans as his toes leave the ground. “Ugh yes, crush me so I can skip this hangover.”

“Not a chance.” Jesse laughs, dropping him and slinging his arm around Hanzo, bending to kiss his forehead. The way he acts around him still makes Genji shake his head in disbelief. All Velcro eyes and little sighs and darlin'-honey-sugarbean's. Unbelievable.

Even more surprising is the ease with which Hanzo turns into his touch, lifts his chin to hold his gaze, lets his arm be stroked as they speak. To see his big brother smile again, watch him do the things he wants, not what he feels he must or is ordered to do- it's worth the world to him.

As he's having that realization, a certain slow song comes on and Jesse gets excited, tugging Hanzo towards the dance floor. He looks back at Genji for permission, legitimately concerned about his brother feeling ditched. Genji can't help but grab his face, squishing his cheeks and planting a smacking kiss on his forehead. “Pft, you're so cute, anija! Go have fun!”

“Ugh, don't.” Hanzo recoils from him like an angry cat before Jesse laughs and hurries him along.

He giggles and leans against the wall of Angela's house, considering asking Lúcio to put on something loud and fast after this so he can do an ill-advised handstand or twerk towards Bastion or something. No meds plus rum certainly leaves him with lots of ideas.

Zenyatta rolls up beside him then, merely smiling and setting his brakes when Genji plops himself into his lap, perhaps ten percent too confident his presence is desired there. God, he looks and smells so good. Buttoned into one of those gauzy pastel tops he prefers, features ringed with thin gold jewellery, nails painted and eyes lined in deep blue. His hand is so soft against Genji's cheek. He's beautiful. “You're beautiful.”

“And you're very warm,” Zenyatta observes, reaching for the buttons of his black vest. “Let's get this off before you overheat.”

Genji chooses comedy over tenderness, striking a pose worthy of a soap opera. “Ooh, Mister Tekhartha, are you trying to undress me?”

“Oh, you are drunk.” Zen replies, an amused statement of fact rather than a question, fixing him with a cheeky, freckle-bunching smile once he helps him out of it. “Try not to let your lips write cheques your body can't cash this time, hm?”

“I said I was sorry, I got the spins!” Genji whines in his defence, but quickly abandons that in favour of sweetly kissing Zen. He fits so perfectly in Genji's arms when he cuddles up to him afterwards, nuzzling against his temple.

“Do you want to go dance, dear one?”

Genji looks back, catching a glimpse of Hanzo tucked under Jesse's chin, Jesse's cheek on his crown, their hands clasped. With his glasses back on, their smiles are easy to see even from here. They both look so- safe, is the only word he can come up with.

“In a minute,” he murmurs, turning to share another, slower kiss with his husband in the electric night air.

[breadclubrising]

I am hearing news about Kota Ibushi actually signing with NJPW (instead of being a free bird)... does this mean... he will finally be the heavyweight champion?

OFFICIALLY, it’s still a rumor right now—we haven’t heard an official announcement from NJPW. So, because Kota… I’m going to wait until something official is announced. Keep in mind that he did the entire Cruiserweight Classic and was in NXT during that time, but still hadn’t for-sure signed in time to win the tournament. He then continued to be in NXT for a couple of months, even though he didn’t commit, and WWE kept offering him shorter contracts, better schedule flexibility, and more money. According to him, after all of that, he physically attended a secret hotel room meeting with WWE for the sole purpose of telling them no, never, and that his mind would not be changed by any money or promises they could make.

I’m not even really saying the rumor is dubious—I think it’s likely he has done exactly as he says—I’m just saying I’m gonna wait for actual official confirmation with this guy.

That said, I’m going to write a long thing about his character arc. It’s what I do.

Let’s start with the obvious: Kota Ibushi is really fucking good at wrestling. He could show up on the doorstep of any wrestling promotion in the world and be welcomed with immediate upper-card booking, open arms, and a fuckton of money. He’s just that good. He’s pretty much universally admired by other wrestlers and wrestling critics. Very few people would argue with you if you called him one of the greatest pro wrestling talents of all time.

And if breathtaking natural ability isn’t enough (it’s not), Ibushi has all the magnetism, star power, and understanding of emotion needed to make a wrestling superstar. Sure, it often gets missed or overlooked in light of his talent, and yeah, sometimes he really sucks at promos. Still, you don’t get to be ace of a company like DDT on flips alone. Don’t let the dumb jock act fool you: he’s the whole package. Let no one tell you otherwise.

In sports, a reputation like Ibushi’s usually comes with a small museum’s worth of titles, trophies, and accolades. But Ibushi doesn’t have the trophy case to back up the praise he’s earned. And that’s because in most sports, talent usually translates directly to winning and becoming legendary—but not wrestling.

Because, of course, in wrestling, the outcomes of matches are not decided by talent, they’re chosen based on the best interests of the wrestling promotion. Ibushi has been a freelancer since 2016, which neatly coincides with when he stopped winning stuff. 

Because he’s just that good, he’s gotten far better booking than most freelancers could ever dream of. But he hasn’t gotten serious pushes, because no matter how talented someone is, it ultimately doesn’t make good business sense for a wrestling promotion to have a champion who only works for himself, to invest money and reputation in someone who can’t—explicitly will not—promise your promotion a return on your investment. Which is why Ibushi’s trophy case is so empty compared to his reputation.

He obviously knows all these dots are connected. Titles never really mattered to him, back when he had titles more often. Now, he knows the reputation he has, and he knows that all he has to do is want to be the best in the world. Ibushi doesn’t love making choices, but this one he cannot avoid: achievement or freedom. His dazzling talent grants him access to both, to an extent that’s simply not available to others. And he’s actually had a really impressive amount of cake-and-eating-it-too as a freelancer; much more than most could hope for.

But since 2016, he’s deliberately chosen freedom, knowing that the cost is achievement. 

The truth is, when you’re as talented as Kota Ibushi is, sometimes your gifts feel like a burden. No matter what you want out of life, your talent is so obvious and striking that it demands you account for what you’re doing with it, both to yourself and to other people. Your talent is bigger than whatever it is that your heart wants, and you will be obligated to answer for that, to yourself and others, constantly—wherever you go and whatever you do. And that will remain true even if fulfilling your potential has a cost you don’t want to pay.

Ask Kota Ibushi. His amazing talent meant that NJPW and DDT were both willing to give him full-time contracts at the same time; he was the first wrestler to have two home promotions. Someone as good as he is almost has to accomplish unprecedented things like that, right? No one else can, and no one else would be allowed to even try—who else would be worth that level of accommodation; two promotions both willing to not only have a guy who spends half his time making money for a rival promotion, but both push him as far as he wants to go, and work their scheduling so he could successfully maintain two schedules? And even before that, he won Best of the Super Juniors as an outsider. He was the first. He was the only one. He did that. 

Buuut, the cost of fulfilling that amazing potential was his mental and emotional wellbeing. For one, it meant he had to give up one of the things that made him happiest—being a Golden Lover. For another, his life was not his own. He later said that he learned that even one schedule is incredibly draining for him, and that one of the hardest things was how little emotional investment he was able to give his performances and the storylines happening in each promotion. 

His surgery in late 2015, the reason he left both DDT and NJPW, was for a cervical disc injury he’d been living with for a while. It probably sucked, but it was also a way out of his contracts, because the bigger and more grindingly burdensome issue was that he was horribly emotionally and mentally burned out from answering to two promotions. 

In other words, to Ibushi: dismal failure. Leaving your job for mental health reasons in Japan is not a thing. He felt like he just couldn’t hack it, didn’t deserve the acclaim he receives. In his mind, he’d failed his fans and critics, and exposed himself for being the flaky, emotionally weak weirdo he always saw in the mirror. When he was well enough to wrestle again, he left Japan, a bit humbled and humiliated. If being exceptional in Japan didn’t work, maybe just one contract, but with the world’s largest and most famous wrestling promotion, home to the majority of history’s greats, would be a way to live up to all of that potential.

And just like NJPW and DDT did, WWE was willing to make accommodations they rarely make for anyone else—a major reason WWE organized the Cruiserweight Classic was to try to sign him. Not only did they famously beg him as I noted above, they offered him contract flexibility—WWE does not do that; the vast majority of WWE contracts are quite exclusive. They let it be a pretty open secret that Kota Ibushi was definitely going be the ace and crown jewel of their new Cruiserweight division. And when he didn’t sign in time to win the tournament he was going to win (if he’d signed), they didn’t tell him to fuck off. They let him stay as long as he was willing to entertain the idea of signing. 

But he ran up against the same problem: he doesn’t do well in a tightly-controlled, heavily scheduled environment. So he told WWE no, definitely not, never. And he went home, forced to come to terms with the fact that some people can handle the schedules that come with a full-time contract, but for him, it’s too emotionally taxing. 

So this perception of him that’s out there, that ‘haha that’s our fantastic dolphin son, what a ~free spirit,’ is a little unfair.  Dude isn’t a freelancer because he’s flighty, unserious, or afraid of commitment. He’s a freelancer because he quickly gets burnt out when he has to follow someone else’s rules/schedule, and his talent gives him the privilege of naming his price. It’s not that he just doesn’t feel like being serious, it’s that he hates his life when he has the kind of commitments that come with a full-time contract. When he talked about saying no to WWE, he said “I don’t wrestle for the money anyway.” That didn’t mean I don’t care about money because I love wrestling, it meant I literally can’t function as a person if I start to think of wrestling as the thing I do to get money.

That means that when he came back to Japan in late 2016, he did so on his own terms, because that was the only way he could. His solution to the problem of burnout and emotional health has been controlling his own time; deciding where, how much, and how he works (he has a school now apparently, and he does stunt work on the side too). 

But now, as the grim march of time eventually comes for all of us, his back is to the wall and he knows: if he ever wants the titles to match his talent, if he wants wrestling history to remember him as something other than a could-have-been, it’s now or never. 

So, it’s now. He’s clenching his teeth, apologizing to Tana, going back into Serious Wrestling Star mode. He even said last night that he’s still trying to get his feet back under him, and IMO that’s because he’s still readjusting to being Professional Working Guy again. ‘Cause that’s who wins titles, and he knows that now.

Back in baby Golden Lover days, Kenny looked at Kota and saw all the things he wasn’t: natural, easy talent, and the booking to match it. Kenny was jealous and felt lesser; he worried he’d be a footnote in the history of Kota Ibushi. So when the Golden Lovers broke up, Kenny chose achievement, and achieve he did. Now, Kenny has a legacy: a huge pile of best bouts, worldwide fame, a name that will never be forgotten by wrestling history. The only titles he hasn’t held in NJPW are the NEVER Openweight Championship and the Heavyweight Tag Team Championship.

Now, Kota looks at Kenny and sees someone who didn’t have the burden of obvious easy talent, but did do all of the things you’d expect of someone who did. He’s not jealous like Kenny was, but he thinks: what have I done with what I’ve been given? Kota hasn’t held a Heavyweight singles title in NJPW. Kenny’s had all of them. Kota feels overshadowed now, irony of ironies.

Now, Kenny’s choosing freedom, and Kota’s choosing achievement. But it’s not a simple swap, because there’s a third element here: happiness. Both Golden Lovers are quite obviously happiest when they’re together. The first time they were apart, they both tried to fill the void where happiness belonged; Kenny with achievement, Kota with freedom. Then, they came back together, and happiness was so important to Kenny that in the end, when he won the biggest prize, he managed to tell a story in which all that he sacrificed and fought for was ultimately, distantly, secondary in importance to being happy. 

Now they’re apart again, but don’t mistake it for the same story. Before, they thought they could replace happiness with personal fulfillment. They learned, after years of unhappiness, that they couldn’t. This time, the Golden Lovers aren’t under any illusions that they’re going to replace happiness with what they’re doing instead. Bittersweetly, the lesson is the same as before, but from the other direction: personal fulfillment isn’t compatible with happiness right now. Now, both of them are setting their sights on accomplishment, but it seems pretty clear that they’re doing so with the intention of being back together as soon as they can be. 

Serious Wrestle Guy is explicitly not personally happy. But Ibushi’s at his best when he’s happy, even if he’s not winning titles. Titles make him feel fulfilled, and he needs that, but being a Golden Lover makes him happy, and I think he’ll always return there, and so will Kenny.

In fact, I’d guess that’s why there’s been no announcement about Kota’s contract: even from the interview posted the other day, there were some allusions to the possibility of working with Kenny again in the future. I would imagine that NJPW is still trying to figure out their relationship with Kenny, and Kota’s still trying to figure out how involved he can be with AEW. (I think I just outed myself as a Golden Lovers Truther—yeah, I think it’s somewhat likely that they’re an IRL couple, and as many IRL wrestling couples do, they’re working on separate continents.) My guess is Kota’s contract won’t be final until those details are ironed out. I don’t think they’d do all that work to get back together only to close and seal the door on it.

Only time will tell, but Kota hasn’t changed: fundamentally, he is still motivated by happiness. It’s just that he was happy long enough to know he can have it forever if he wants it, but he only has a few more years to get the trophy case his talent demands, to be the Kota Ibushi he thinks wrestling history deserves.

[qoslinqs]

Untouchable (Chapter 2)

Tony Stark: genius, crime syndicate leader, billionaire, and stolen art collector.

A man who was many things.

Now, he was a criminal informant too.

OR: An alternate universe where Tony Stark is the head of a major crime family in Manhattan and gets caught.

.°•.° .°° .°•.°

Pairing: Steven Rogers/Anthony Stark (STONY)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word count:  2000 something (~15 minutes)

Author’s Note at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Two: Landscape with the Good Samaritan

        An hour had passed. Anthony Stark and Pepper Potts sat silently in the back of the unmarked FBI vehicle as it pushed through the New York City traffic. Thousands of thoughts raced through Tony’s head, as he watched the honking taxis and people rush across the streets. He always dotted all of his i’s and crossed all of his t’s. What went wrong? Why was he sitting in the back of an FBI car?

        There was always the possibility that this was a mistake- and that the evidence they had for whatever fancy law code that he had violated was falsified. Yet he was haunted by the chance that it was true- that they had caught him. He was always twenty steps ahead; why was it now that they were able to catch up?

The black Ford Explorer pulled into an underground parking garage and stopped. Glancing at Pepper, Tony noticed the worry that showed on her face. Her leg bounced up and down, and she seemed to shudder with every breath she took.

        Pepper- she was Anthony’s right-hand woman. Even more than that, she was one of his best friends. The lifestyle that Stark chose had consequences, and he knew that; however, getting his best friend arrested- when she was only toe-deep in the criminal world- was never a consequence that he had thought of. Seeing her frightened eyes and her body shaking with fear made Tony’s heart sink. This was his fault.

        “Pep. Pepper. Look at me,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath.”

        She looked at him nervously as she breathed in and out, almost desperately gasping for air.

        “I-...I’m scared, Tony,” she said, trembling.

        With her admission, he murmured, “...Yeah. Yeah, I am too.”

        Special Agents Maximoff and Barnes soon left their seats and opened the doors for the two. It was time for them to depart. As he began to slide out of the car, he turned to Pepper.

        “Pepper…I’ll make this right.”

        Led in a different direction, Barnes and Stark walked to an elevator far from the ladies. A weight pushed down on his head as he walked; he tried to shake away any anxious thoughts. In the elevator, Tony felt the male agent glare into his backside, practically burning a hole into his shirt. Once the elevator reached the twentieth floor, it came to a stop, and opened with a short ding. Agent Barnes gently pushed Stark out of the lift, grabbed his arm, and led him towards a set of desks; rows of white desks that were in neat rows. On each desk was a computer, many different documents, and other office supplies. It was the workplace of the lower agents in the division.

        While Barnes did not declare his intentions for idly standing in the middle of the office, Stark assumed it was because he awaited the command of the higher ups. The agent seemed to be a quiet man, not exactly enjoying the fact that he had to babysit the stolen art collector. Instead of speaking with Tony, Barnes scrolled through his phone while Tony observed the nearby desks.

        Names of several criminals were scribbled across different files, documents, and photographs. Noticing one in particular, labeled “UNKNOWN SUSPECT,” he squinted in an attempt to get a better look. The document was practically empty, only stating that three of the FBI’s key witnesses to take down a Russian drug operation were killed. The only evidence left at the scene was imprints of shoes that appeared to be high heels, indicating that the killer was most likely a woman.

        Almost immediately, Tony made the connection. He knew who the suspect was, and he was fortunate enough to avoid her; the talk of the town was that the woman was named Black Widow. He did know some who had the pleasure of meeting the murderer. Of course, those people never lived to see the next day.  Supposedly, she was a former KGB agent who defected and became a hitwoman. She only worked on hired hits, and never went out of her way to find jobs. The only way to get in touch with her was through a code, given to a man in a shady bar at Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. Somehow, through whatever the Russians used to communicate and deal shady business, the message got to her and she met you at random. It was rumored that Black Widow was so terrifying and intimidating that when you saw her you knew it was her, and if you were her hit, you would die of fright almost immediately.

        Looking back at the files, he didn’t notice too many big players. While there were a few more, none were as infamous as Black Widow or himself. It seemed that the Bureau either didn’t prioritize the capture of big criminals or didn’t know of them. And yet, he thought, they got me.

        Interrupting his snooping, an agent walked to Barnes and murmured something inaudible. Within the next second, Tony was whisked into a different hallway filled with private offices. As the pair walked past the rooms, the workers stood up or peeked out of their workrooms to see the infamous Anthony Stark. Once the two arrived at their destination, Tony was uncuffed and told to sit at an old, worn table. Looking around, he noticed a mirror and not much else.

        “Is that the one way glass that you see in TV shows?” he joked, grinning stupidly at Barnes.

        “Shut up,” the agent said, annoyed, “Agent Rogers will see you shortly.”

        The door clicked shut, and Tony heard about twenty different locking mechanisms click into place. If it was anything like the shows he watched, this would take forever.

        After what felt like an entire day- there were no clocks in the room- the blond agent stepped into the room. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of Tony, placed some folders on the table, and he raised his hand to be shaken.

        “Supervisory Special Agent Steve Rogers. You’re the talk of the town here, Mr. Stark,” he chuckled, as he made himself comfortable.

        Tony raised his eyebrows at the remark, and retorted, “I haven’t heard about you, Agent Rogers, but it’s great to know the FBI is in my business.”

        Almost immediately, Steven’s expression hardened, seemingly annoyed at the man’s jokes. Noticing this, Tony scoffed.

        “What? Only you’re allowed to have fun? Fine. Then let’s cut to the chase. I want my lawyer.”

        The blond shook his head as he explained, “Unfortunately, when you cross into my territory, you no longer have the privileges we give others.”

        Before the criminal could protest, the agent asked, “Why do you think you’re here?”

        “To entertain you,” Tony jeered, “No one told me shit. How would I know why I’m here?”

        Rogers winced at the swear, as he shook his head, “You know why you’re here. We have evidence, Mr. Stark. You shouldn’t lie to the Bureau.”

        Opening one of the manila folders, he revealed several photographs of artwork in a warehouse. Each photo had a caption that followed the lines of “STOLEN, CONFIRMED TO BE IN POSSESSION BY ANTHONY STARK AT PRIVATE LOCATION.”

        Staring at each photo, Tony’s blood ran cold. He could easily identify each work. They were all his, from Angel Appearing to the Shepherds to The Guitar Player, each was one that he had spent countless hours retrieving from illegal art dealers around the world.

        “Are these yours, Mr. Stark?” Steven asked. Tony did not respond.

        He began to feel dizzy, as if his world was collapsing upon itself.

        “An agent saw your private collection,” the blond continued, “after you invited him yourself.”

        What?

        “While we call him Agent Wilson here, you may know him as Paint.”

        Rubbing his chin and looking at each of the photos, the criminal tried to maintain his composure. Tony remembered bringing Paint to his gallery, but he never seemed to arouse any suspicion. In an attempt to save face, he gestured to the folder of photographs.

        “How did you get photos of these reproductions? When I was with Paint-...or, well...Agent Wilson- he was alone and didn’t have any cameras.”

        Almost immediately, the man replied, “Reproductions, Mr. Stark? We’ve forensically authenticated all of these works. We received a warrant to search your warehouse. I’ve seen it all. It’s impressive. If only Wilson had been able to deliver the Degas painting. Miss Potts said you were incredibly excited and had waited for this deal for over eight months.”

        The cat had caught the mouse. Anthony Stark was cornered.

        He froze in his seat, searching his brain for answers. He needed to gain the upper hand. For his freedom. For Pepper.

        He could confess his crimes. Maybe that would let Pepper go free, and he’d take the fall. He mentally hit himself on the head. No, you idiot. She’s an accomplice to your crimes.

        He could slide a few million dollars into FBI funding. Isn’t bribery also against the law?

        Then, the answer struck him. With the thousands of ideas racing through his head, one made it to the finish line.

        “Black Widow,” he blurted out. “A defected KGB agent.”

        Puzzled, Agent Rogers furrowed his eyebrows.

        “And why do I need to know this?”

        “Because she’s your unknown suspect.”

        Steve Rogers grabbed a pen and marked the name on a manila folder. Staring into Stark’s eyes, he tried to figure out how the criminal knew that the FBI was attempting to name an unidentified murderer. Her files were classified, and no information of the case had been released to the public. It was obvious by his blank face and scrunched nose that he couldn’t figure it out.

        “One of your field agents left a document out,” the criminal answered, “I thought the Bureau would be more careful with information, but it seems otherwise.”

        As if a weight was lifted off of his back, Steve relaxed and his face returned to its normal, stoic demeanor. While it was a bit concerning that his agents left their documents out in the open, it was better than someone leaking classified details. However, it was obvious that the details of Black Widow weren’t exactly relevant to Stark’s case.

        “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Stark?”

        “To be released by the FBI. Both Pepper Potts and I. I want full immunity. I’m giving you a chance to avenge your witnesses.”

        The agent shook his head. “I’m afraid that I can’t grant you that; it’s not in my power nor am I interested. You’re a criminal, Mr. Stark.”

        “Then who will listen? I’ll talk to the man in charge,” Tony retorted. “He’ll understand the importance of the information.”

        Stark looked to the mirror. He had seen it on TV shows, so hopefully, it was true. Clearing his voice, he spoke to the mirror with some uncertainty.

        “I have intelligence on the most notorious criminals in New York City. I looked at your files. They are empty, yet you and I both see the streets drowning in crime. I’m not the only fish in the sea. You need me. I can provide that information to catch them all. You don’t trust me? I know who killed your witnesses. Black Widow. I can bring her to you on a silver platter.”

        Within a minute, the door to the interrogation room unlocked. A man with an eye patch walked in, and Steven Rogers stood up to greet him. Tension began to rise in the air.

        “Sit down, Rogers. No need to stand,” said the newcomer as Rogers returned to his former position. “I’m Nick Fury. Special Agent-In-Charge of the Organized Crime unit. What’s this about Black Widow?”

        Relief welled up in Tony’s chest. The tide was turning in his favor.

        “Three key witnesses to testify against the Russian mob all found dead. The only thing that’s left is high-heeled shoe marks. The most famous hitwoman on the market is Black Widow, a Russian. Unless a guy can rock heels and murder like her, she’s your woman. Connect the dots, Agent Fury. I can get her for you.”

        Standing there, Nick Fury watched Tony Stark. He thought of the man’s future; the potential that the criminal could bring to the Bureau. He made his decision rather easily.

        “What do you want for Black Widow?” he asked.

        “Immunity for Pepper Potts and I. I’ll continue running Stark Industries. No one needs to know of this encounter. I’ll be a criminal informant for as long as you need me. Then, I’ll go free.”

        Having sat there quietly, Rogers finally raised objections. “With all due respect, sir, we can’t just let a criminal run fr-”

        “Quiet, Rogers,” the head agent commanded. “We’ll put a tracker on your leg. When you’re not on missions, you are bound to travel between Stark Industries and your Manhattan home.”

        With a grin, Tony asked, “Can my driver still drive me?”

        “Don’t get cocky, Stark. Your driver can still drive you, but you and your unit- Potts and Hogan- will always be supervised by Agent Rogers and his team. You are to report to him.”

        Eyes widening, both the agent and criminal exclaimed, “Wait wh-”

        “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet, Agent Rogers? Stand down, Stark. These are my terms. Take it or face ten or more years in prison.”

        Without hesitating, he raised his hand to be shaken.

        “Easiest decision I’ve ever made in my life. If it’s ten years in prison or hanging out with the FBI, I’d much rather spend it being babysat by Agent Rogers.”

Thanks for reading! `7`)/

Story info: Updated twice a month, always beta-read, not taking requests

Chapter title reference: Yet another one of Rembrandt's painting, still not found.

My beta readers: Claire, Jadene, Alexandra

I wouldn't have been able to write this without my beta readers!

I take prompt requests for one shots here, on my Twitter.

Check out the fic on Ao3!

[sparklyjojos]

Let’s Read & Suffer: Tsukumojuku by Maijō Ōtarō [part 11]

Today`s recap: In which the serial throat-cutter case is solved, with a twist!, and Tsukumojuku faces a moral dilemma. (tw: csa, obvious-murder-typical-gore, discussed necrophilia, brief incest mention, police brutality)

STORY 3 PART 4

To put the plan in motion, Tsukumojuku headed to the police station in Nagoya, said that his name was Ryuuguu Jounosuke, and that he wanted to turn himself in as the culprit of the serial throat-cutting case.

He was taken to the interrogation room. The main investigator, Okubo Kengo, immediately made an impression of being a needlessly cruel person who was probably not the best to use reason with. So when Okubo asked him to take off his sunglasses, Tsukumojuku did just that, and slowly met his eyes.

(Emiko had once described the sensation of looking at him as “a thin thread sliding through your brain”, and he wondered if the five investigators fainting now also felt it this way.)

He went out to the hall and fainted a bunch of people who tried to get him, but since the situation was likely to escalate and get him shot sooner or later, he put his sunglasses back on. Too late, there were lots of people aiming guns at him already. So to show he's not armed, he stripped, then raised both arms and casually walked out.

Just as he thought. Nobody here could bring themselves to hurt his beauty.

He found the empty criminal division room (everybody had ran away quickly having heard what he was capable of), and found documents about the case signed by the head investigator Okubo Kengo. But those documents and pictures... Ah, He understood everything now. He knew who was the culprit.

It seemed that instead of putting himself into a trap, he could make one.

He put his underwear back on, then found and dragged some probably-very-terrified investigators with him to the whiteboard, so they’d hear his explanation.

--

[This made-up explanation, that he is speaking out-loud to the investigators the entire time, is written as one big stream of consciousness that spans pages upon pages, and it’s pretty damn awesome. He makes it up as he goes, so we can see how he makes all the connections needed, and all the stray lines of thought he delves into before backtracking and trying another one.]

The victims were killed with a blunt weapon, then had their throats cut, then were subjected to necrophilia. Nothing that unusual. But there had to be something else in common between these crimes.

The crimes happened in Nagoya. The name of the city originally came from the word “nagoyaka”, which meant “peaceful”, and was written  和やか. That first kanji,  和, would individually be read as “wa”. Just like the kanji 輪 and 環, which meant “ring, circle”.

Inspired by this, Tsukumojuku drew a circle on the map connecting all the crimes, and found that the Nagoya Castle was right in the middle.

He picked up another mind thread: Nagoya was in the former Owari Province. “Owari” could mean “end”. End of the world? Tsukumojuku flipped through a mental library of related book titles in search of inspiration. (Haruki Murakami's “Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World”? Miyazaki Takako's 1998 novel, Satou Yuya's 2002 novel, Patricia Highsmith's 2001 novel, all of which had “end of the world” in the title? Satou Yuya showed up again, which was mildly interesting, but trying to make up reasons why he could be the culprit probably wouldn’t work, oh well.)

The point of that is, there’s quite a lot of people writing about the end of the world, from very personal standpoints. It’s something people care about. And for a person, the end of the world would be their death.

The 市 kanji in 名古屋市 (Nagoya City) was read “shi”, which could also mean “death”. Then that would make the phrase “Nagoya City” mean “Owari Shi” ( 終わり死). The end of death? Was the criminal trying to overcome death, in a way? But what did they want to achieve by killing specifically women?

All victims were young Japanese women living in Nagoya City, close in height and weight, with almost the same clothes sizes, similar skin tone.

On the crime scene photo of Azusa, there was a discoloration around her neck. Some foundation getting on a woman's neck isn't anything weird, so nobody examined it closer during autopsy. Had this discoloration been connected to the reason for cutting off the head?

All three women looked similar. Without their heads and clothes they couldn't be easily recognizable. So maybe the criminal wanted to make something like a real-life aikora [=porn that has a popular idol's face photoshopped onto the model’s]. The culprit tried to have sex with someone unreachable, his “idol”. And that's why all the women had similar body types..

Then, what if the criminal had the disembodied head of his “idol”, and kinda... put it on the corpse during the deed? Sounds right, but who's head was that anyway? Lots of women are missing, it’d be hard to figure out.

Well, but here, dear investigators, on this news site from two years ago, please take a closer look, was a certain interesting article. “Kato Junko's head still not found on 10th day of searching”. Her murderers were two people called Seshiru and Serika, you see. They probably still had the head with them. And their webpage confirmed they were involved in something in Nagoya. Through their past murders they were “reborn” again, so who can tell if the next step for someone as monstrous as them wasn't to symbolically have sex with their mother (to “become adults” or something).

Tsukumojuku told the police to arrest Serika and Seshiru, and when the officers in awe asked for his name, he answered once more: Ryuuguu Jounosuke.

STORY 3 PART 5

While the police went into a frenzy searching for the twins, Tsukumojuku asked to be allowed to go to the bathroom, and was guided there by who else but the head investigator Okubo Kengo. On the way, Tsukumojuku made an innocent comment about how he liked to do fortune-telling based on people’s blood type, and asked what Okubo's was. A Rh+, apparently.

Of course it was. The criminal would have the same blood type as the traces left on the corpses, after all.

Tsukumojuku went inside the empty bathroom, and Okubo Kengo – the real criminal of the throat-cutting case – entered right behind him.

--

For serial killers and other wicked people, the police is often seen as a symbol of power. They may even have something of a police mania: want to drive similar cars, buy similar guns, and sometimes become a police officer themselves. A power-wielding criminal like this is the society's worst nightmare. A sadist who could freely use cruelty on the criminals... as well as fabricate evidence and submit it in an investigation meeting as a secret show of power.

The crime scene photos Tsukumojuku had found inside Okubo’s desk were all a little off: the bodies’ shadows weren’t quite natural. No doubt Okubo had killed the women, took pictures for “future use”, touched them up a little to hide evidence of his guilt, and then had the time of his life enjoying his power, seeing the police fumble with the prepared photos. It was like his own personal heaven.

---

[I will not recap exactly what happened to Tsukumojuku in that bathroom. I believe the reader of this recap may understand exactly what Okubo did to him just from the csa warning. All I’m going to say is that it was one horrible and graphic scene. Tsukumojuku then feigned interest and managed to manipulate Okubo into promising to let him come to his house later that evening, so they could “do it more”. ...Yeah, I know Tsukumojuku’s planning something, seeing as the goal of that lengthy Nagoya speech was also to show off his half-naked body as bait (JESUS CHRIST), so he probably wants to trap Okubo in his own house... but I am still terrified, both about this scene and about what can happen. I would really prefer that Tsukumojuku didn’t put his own well-being on the line like that. I am afraid for this boy.]

---

Tsukumojuku was waiting in the station while the police forces were searching for Seshiru and Serika. They two were finally cornered in a construction site for a giant shopping mall. When Okubo got the news about that and went there in his patrol car, Tsukumojuku stealthily followed him in a taxi.

On-site, Tsukumojuku found one of the young investigators who had listened to his explanations earlier and convinced him to let him take part in making the arrest. They entered the building wrapped in giant protective sheet. The young officer was following him without hesitation. (It seemed the young ones knew the detective novels well, and the image of the police following the lead of a great detective had been deeply imprinted on them).

Apparently the twins hadn't been located yet, but were somewhere on the highest floors, where the police hadn’t looked yet. The elevators were all guarded, and Okubo Kengo was laying low in the vents. The upper floors were too high to survive jumping off. The twins would have no way to escape.

If Tsukumojuku wanted to get to them first, he had to hurry, so he left the young investigator behind, ignoring his warnings. He ran with all his might, the legs that were a few years ago so weak, now being able to compete with athletes. He had learned how to run properly. (Maybe not yet to kick or jump, though.) He dodged the police, ran up the many stairs to the upper floors that the police haven't reached yet, and heard somebody hysterically crying.

It was Serika.

–

Seshiru and Serika. They grew up so much, and one could finally notice a difference in height between them. They were sitting huddled close, looking absolutely terrified. Broken and scared, Seshiru and Serika.

Looking at them from the shadows, through a flood of conflicting emotions, Tsukumojuku realized slowly just what he was trying to do: to scapegoat them, treat them like tools, like toys, he wanted to hurt them so much, to “wound” them, to throw them away--

Just like what had been done to him.

Poor Seshiru and Serika. Chased by the police for something they didn’t do. Crying their eyes out. With no way to escape. With Okubo Kengo already waiting for them...

Tsukumojuku made a decision, and came out of hiding.

“Gajobun,” Serika said, completely shocked. 

Tsukumojuku told them to keep their voices down, and asked if they had a knife. (They had to have something they planned to kill him with it, after all.) Seshiru took out an army knife, pretty big and durable. Good.

“Errol Flynn,” Tsukumojuku told them, and when the two stared in confusion, he continued, “Errol Flynn? You know, like in that old American movie. When a ship was attacked by pirates, Errol Flynn jumped off the top of the mast, vertically slicing the sail with a knife to slow his descent, and made it safely down. It seems like something worth trying. Crawling through the vents like in Die Hard is a bad idea, though. There's one terrifying officer waiting there. ...So, good luck.”

Seshiru started crying.

Turning around to leave, Tsukumojuku added, “...Tonight, under the alias of Ryuuguu Jounosuke, I'll be staying at the house of the real criminal of this case, Okubo Kengo.”

He left them there, and pretended he had never found them.

The police didn’t find anyone either. The only thing they found, much later, was that the protective sheet covering the building had one long vertical knife cut, extending from the 8th floor to the ground.

---

IMPRESSIONS:

Tsukumojuku is too good and forgiving for this world when he’s not murdering people or accusing the innocents that is, and I just hope this won’t backfire horribly, and that maybe him and the twins catch/kill Okubo together because hey, common enemy, gotta do something about it first before we go back to fighting each other.

I want to drop-kick Okubo into the Sun. That one fragment was incredibly painful to read. It’s probably gonna get worse.

The sail-knife trick actually comes from The Black Pirate (1926) with Douglas Fairbanks, not Errol Flynn. Here’s the scene in question. Interestingly, the Mythbusters have tested if it would work -- no, it wouldn’t. Although the issue was mainly the seams of the sail, so maybe if the protective sheet was smooth enough the twins would indeed have a chance.

Ryuuguu Jounosuke (龍宮 城之介) that Tsukumojuku impersonates here is one of the best JDC detectives, and many people’s fave. He’s a childhood friend of the Tsukumo siblings. His specialty as a detective is cryptanalysis, and because of that he knows the basics of over 50 languages. (In fact, I wonder if Tsukumojuku chose his name as an alias because he knew he was going to decipher stuff using word plays, and it seemed like something a “Ryuuguu” would do. Or did he subconsciously shift towards this type of thinking because of choosing that alias?). He also has a bad case of eternal baby face, as you can see from his canon self in the Joker manga (I believe he’s supposed to be in his 20s here):

And just for completion’s sake, here’s how another version of Ryuuguu looks like in Detective Ritual. I was quite dissapointed when I found out that this is just a fancy mask he’s wearing and he is not, in fact, a Predator-like monster bird dude who just happens to like detectiving between snacking on unsuspecting people, or whatever is it that detective monsters do.

>>>>NEXT PART>>>>

[hayjeon]

Guys Like Him (ft. Jeongguk)

Drabble game prompt 42. “His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow.” → badboy!jk, jock!au, prequel (part 1) to You Who [M]  → 6k words, (fluff, mentions of sex, tiny bit angst) 

Y/N: Originally didn’t want to make another series about jk, but You Who got a 1000+ notes and I decided to upload this as a surprise :) Enjoy! Split it into two parts, but I’m finished with part 2 so it’ll be uploaded in less than 24 hrs! 

“Nice job boys, that was a really good practice, let’s keep it up! Go home and get some rest!” Coach Kim blows his whistle as the boys all scatter and cheer as their practice comes to an early end. Jimin catches up to Jeongguk and claps the younger boy on the back, “Nice job kiddo, you’re stepping up into the quarterback shoes pretty well.” 

Jeongguk laughs and punches Jimin back in his shoulder pads, earning a playful laugh from him, “Thanks hyung.” 

“What’re you doing Friday night? Seokjin’s frat is throwing a party soon and is inviting the entire cheerleading squad the night before the game. And I overheard Jisoo saying that all of them were gonna be going. Wanna come?” 

Jeongguk smiles, shaking his head. “Sorry hyung, but I have a date with Y/N. I promised her way before that I wouldn’t flake. And since we have the game on Saturday, we planned for Friday.” 

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I miss the days when Jeon Jeongguk wouldn’t miss a frat party for the world. What happened?” 

They reach the lockers and begin removing their heavy gear. “I ended up dating the smartest, prettiest girl on campus. Can’t risk losing that.”

Jimin catches the slight blush on Jeongguk’s face. Smirking, he comments, “Damn man, you can literally get with any of the girls on campus. And you used to! What happened? You’re so whipped for her dude.” 

Jeongguk smiles as he walks towards the showers. With a wide smile, he adds, “I am.” 

It wasn’t always like this though. Everyone knew Jeongguk as the new quarterback who ended up hanging out with the biggest fuckboys on campus, although he had his fair share of one-night stands with pretty girls here and there. It didn’t help that he was also good looking. Academics, extracurriculars, school pep, sports, and getting along with everyone; all of this came easy to him. He worked hard, played hard. That was his motto. 

Although he wasn’t as open as Jimin or Shownu were, he still had his fair share of flings, and that immediately tagged him as “one of them” as other people gossiped on campus. His cocky smirk and stocky build didn’t help either. 

Girls threw themselves at him, and secretly, there was a bet within the football team to see which players could score with as many cheerleaders as possible before the season came to a close. It was disgusting, yes, but didn’t help that the cheerleaders also had a pretty obvious bet to see who could sleep with as many of the hottest players before they graduated. 

So, many people didn’t expect him on the first day of junior year to enter the upper division physics classroom along with a binder and a full backpack. The classroom erupted in whispers as he clambered towards the back and sat down and opened his textbook, glasses perched on his nose. 

One of the whisperers were Jungyeon, who leaned over in her seat with her eyes still trained on Jeongguk, and whispered loudly in your ear. “Guess he got lost?” 

You boredly looked at the boy who was sitting at the end of your row. Shrugging, you yawned. “Probably.” You were recovering from an all-nighter of studying for your chemistry test. 

But she grabs and shakes your arm. “No,” she hisses, “Actually he’s got the textbook.” You squint annoyedly to note that he, indeed, does have the thick physics textbook open on his desk and is currently writing a few things in a brand new notebook. “Hm,” you grunt, frowning at the sight, “I didn’t know he was a physics major.” 

“I heard he was a computer science major. Explains why he’s here, but also doesn’t make sense how he can juggle both football and cs at the same time,” pipes in Jihyo on your left. You nod at her, “Yeah, my roommate’s cs and she literally has no time to even eat because of all the work.” 

“Probably gets paid off or given slack by the university cause he’s the quarterback.” Jungyeon quips, rolling her eyes, “the sports players in this uni are always given the benefits.” 

Sighing, you open your notebook as the professor walks in and begins his introduction. “Well, that’s the life of attending uni in a country obsessed with football.” 

“Good morning class, welcome to Physics 118, Quantum mechanics and Analytic Mechanics. My name is Professor Song, and I’ll be your professor for your first upper division class in the physics department, so I hope for a great year,” begins the man in the front. 

Jihyo scoffs, “Yeah right. Heard he’s the worst teacher and the hardest grader in the department. Sucks he’s the only teacher for this subject. Tenure suck my ass.” Leaning back in her seat, she crosses her arms and huffs. 

The professor continues, “To start off this year, I’d really like to get to know each and every single one of you and why you’re taking this class. But because there are so many of you, a hundred, I’ve decided to change things up this year and start you off with a group project.” Jungyeon and Jihyo excitedly grip your arms, hoping that you could be a group. “My TA’s have gone ahead and assigned partners according to each of your majors.” Groans echo throughout the hall and your friends groan as they let go of your arms. “That way, we will get to know each other and learn to help each other out, because in this class, you’ll need a lot of help. Partners will be posted at the end of class. Let’s go over the syllabus!” 

As Professor Song continues, Jihyo growls, “I fucking hate group projects.” 

You sigh, nodding. “Same. I barely know anyone who even has my major. I’m gonna be with strangers!” You slump in your seat. Jungyeon and Jihyo give you sympathetic looks, them being both chemistry majors, and most likely together apart from you, an electrical engineering major. 

The three of you sigh as Professor Song finished his lecture and pack up with urgency, rushing towards the front to look at the list that his TA posted up. Jungyeon, with her tall, lanky figure, gets to the board first and punches the air. “Yes!” She cries, turning to Jihyo with a smile, “Same team!” 

“What about me?!” You cry as other students jostle you, and you’re not tall enough to look over their heads at the list. “I got you!” she says, and turns to look at the list for a moment, before turning to you with a sympathetic pout. 

“Uh, Y/N,” she starts, dragging you away from the mess, “I don’t know how to tell you but, you only have one partner.” 

You shrug, “It’s okay. Prof. Song said that he would adjust the workload accordingly if the groups aren’t large enough. I expected it, not many people are EE majors here unless they’re EE and CS.” 

She chews her lips, and says lowly, “Yeah, but, you’re partner is Jeon Jeongguk.” She frowns, and straightens up to give you a sad pout as your head whips up in disbelief. “What?” You hiss, and you ditch her to run back and shove your way up to the front of the class to make sure, and alas, there was your name typed in Times New Roman next to “Electrical Engineering: Jeon Jeongguk.” 

Your jaw drops open as you read the pairing over and over again. It was like bad irony. Of course, in the class you were actually worried about not getting an A in, you were paired with a jock, and one that you’ve heard already so many bad things about. Sighing, you turn to your friends in defeat. Guess this semester was going to be another one where you had to shoulder the entire project to yourself. You walk up to Jihyo who gives you a pat. “You’re right, I fucking hate group projects.” 

She murmurs encouragements to you, “Maybe he just recently changed majors?” but then she stops and you turn to see what she’s staring at. Jeon Jeongguk is walking towards the three of you, the thick textbook tucked in his thick arms and the backpack hanging from a shoulder. He’d taken his glasses off, and was wearing a white shirt with ripped jeans and boots. 

“Uh, Y/N?” He tentatively approached you and you turn and try to change your grimace into something a little more polite. 

“Oh, hi. Are you Jeongguk?” You ask. And to your horror, he nods, a cocky smirk coming onto his mouth. “Hey, I’m Jeongguk.” He holds out  his hand and you take it hesitantly. “It’ll be fun working with you.” 

Jihyo and Jungyeon walk ahead as you and Jeongguk walk out of the classroom. “Uh, yeah. When do you want to meet? We should discuss where we want to take this project. Prof Song wants us to focus the paper on what we want to do with our majors, and I feel like stuff like that would be easier to discuss in person before we split off and do our own things.” 

Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, didn’t he say that he wants us to work on it together? Like, if he catches us doing stuff separately, then he’ll dock off points?” 

You shrug, trying to walk faster to avoid this conversation. There was no use for him to pretend like he was going to do any work. You were too used to being paired up with jocks and people who didn’t pull their weight on these projects. “It’ll be fine. I’ll make sure it’s fluid and one solid paper, so don’t worry about that. You have football stuff, so I’ll just take care of it.” 

You turn to walk up the stairs to your next class, but Jeongguk grabs your arm with a pissed off expression. “Just because I’m an athlete doesn’t mean I’m not gonna help you on this project, Y/N.” The corners of your mouth turn down at the statement. You’ve heard it too many times. But before you can say anything, he gruffly says, “Wednesday, 7 at the main library entrance,” and walks off downstairs. 

Rolling your eyes, you turn and walk briskly to your next class, slumping down on the seat in front of you. It’s not until halfway into the lecture that you realize you’ve written down no notes so far and are still annoyed at the fact that he didn’t ask you if you were okay with the date or not. 

“And he didn’t even ask me if I was free!” You exclaim, angrily chewing your fries. 

Jungyeon shrugs, chewing on her own burger. “Well, are you?” 

You slump, lowly muttering, “yes.” 

She laughs, sipping on her drink. “Well, then there’s that. He probably knows all you do is study, anyway. Which is why he was so happy to be your partner.” 

You groan. “I know! Ugh, does he really think I’m gonna fall for this again? This is so dumb.” Ruffling your hair, you lean on the table. “Don’t expect any word from me until this project is over. If I’m gonna pull his weight, it’s gonna take every minute of effort.” 

Jihyo smiles, “You need to chill a little. Those projects just take you so much because you put in way too much effort in them. You get A’s anyway. And who knows? Maybe Jeongguk’s good-looking head is good for other some other use than, well, ya know, head.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you and Jungyeon fake gag as you laugh together. 

“Oh please, his head is full of himself. His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow.” You groan as you finish your burger off and check your watch. “Ah, it’s almost 7. Gotta run, I’m supposed to meet him at the main library. See ya!” 

You get to the library and expect to stand there waiting for about ten more minutes, but then you see Jeongguk already leaning against one of the benches, scribbling something in his notebook. Raising your eyebrows, you jog over to him. 

“Oh, hey.” You start, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why do you look so surprised?” He asks and you’re caught off guard. “Did you expect me to be late or something?” He comes off a bit aggressively and you know it’s your fault for being so rude to him off the bat a few days ago, but you can’t help but snap back, “Well, yes, actually. People like you don’t necessarily have the best reputation in my books.” 

He slams the notebook shut and straightens up, heading towards the library entrance. “I told you I wasn’t like that, Y/N.” He grumbles, before pausing in front of the double doors to hold it open for you. You stop suddenly too, and then quickly scurry into the entrance. He notices your surprise at his action and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say more. 

He knows about the reputation athletes like him have. Cocky, sex-starved, party-animals, kiss-ups, lazy cheaters, and the worst people to be partnered up with. Sure, he admits he’s a tiny bit of the first three, but his parents had raised him to also work hard, and he hadn’t even wholeheartedly dedicated himself into football or lost his virginity until he got to college. In high school, he was a hard working kid who was either on the field or in the library. But of course, people like you didn’t know that. 

You find an empty table and lay out your materials. You start, “So, I want to be an electrical engineer so I can work for programming and engineering for the military.” At his raised eyebrows, you explain, “My father is a general, so it makes sense to me.” He nods, you continue, “So I think we can take the project in the direction of how it benefits in a humanitarian sense. I could also talk about the recent advances in missile engineering!” You pause to scribble it down in your notebook. 

“Y/N?” He begins, and you pause in your tirade. “Yes?” 

“Are you really planning to do this all by yourself?” He’s frowning again. 

You fidget. “Well, I’m offering. You have football and stuff, so I’d rather just do it on my own then have to worry about you meeting deadlines and all.” 

He shakes his head. “Stop talking about football for once. Jeez, that’s my job. You know that this is a shit ton of work? I’m gonna pull my own weight too. If he notices that you did everything, then that fucks me over and I’m not getting anything less than an A in this class.” He grumbles, frowning when your eyebrows shot up at the last statement. It was odd, because Jeongguk didn’t usually talk to friends like this. He was usually flirty and very smooth and patient with people he knew, but he didn’t know why he wanted to prove his trustworthiness so much to you. He continues, opening his notes. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’m gonna be doing 50% of this project. So, let me talk.” 

You nod, eyes wide as you watch him flip through some pages in his notebook and the textbook. “I switched to electrical engineering because I want to go to less privileged countries and build energy generators that are clean and sustainable. I went to Africa this past summer for an internship, and we made windmills that generated energy for an entire small city.” 

You’re genuinely surprised, because you’d been expecting him to answer some stupid shit about making money at Google or something. But this was different. His voice softens as he talks about the experience. “And so I think the way we should take this project is to, yes like you said, talk about how electrical engineering helps in the humanitarian sense. That sound good to you?” 

When you nod, he relaxes and slides his notebook over to you. On the page, are outlines of the projects and article titles and subjects that you could go over. Your eyes widen at the work. It was way more than you’d expected, and way more than even you’d prepared for this meeting. You were genuinely impressed. 

“Wow, uh, yeah, Jeongguk. That sounds like a great idea.” 

Jeongguk straightens up with a smile that has no hint of a smirk nor mocking in it and you suddenly feel really sorry. Quietly, the both of you lapse into your individual research for the next few hours, and you quietly say goodbye to him and he gives you a small smile, saying he’ll stay at the library for a little longer to finish up some work for other classes. 

You smile and turn to leave, but slowly turn back and approach him. “Hey, Jeongguk, I’m really sorry.” 

He looks up from his math homework and frowns at you. “Huh?” 

You rub your arm as you stare at the ground. “Uh, I’m sorry, if I ever made you feel like I looked down on you. I didn’t mean to assume that you were gonna screw me over, it’s just that I really haven’t had good experiences getting paired up with athletes for group projects.” You sheepishly glance up at him and instead of a cocky smirk, he’s genuinely smiling at you with a soft look. 

He pats your arm. Laughing, he stands up. “It’s okay, Y/N. Thanks for apologizing. Let’s do well yeah?” You smile and you turn to leave, but then he stops you. “Actually, sorry, I didn’t see how dark it got. Let me walk you home.” 

He gathers his books and shoves them in his back despite your protests, and grins at you as he drags you towards the entrance. When you fumble with your heavy textbook, he reaches over and grabs it from you, easily balancing the heavy brick-like thing along with his own books and football bag in his arms. He opens the door for you and you two step out in the direction of your off-campus apartment. 

He makes light conversation, and you ask him about his internship, and his eyes sparkle as he continues talking about his experience. You notice that he maneuvers himself so that he walks on the side of the road where the cars are. “Wow, it was amazing. It was hard, yeah, but I learned a lot from it. The kids there were really awesome too, we played football together a lot and that’s when I decided I wanted to take the sport seriously when I came back.” You nod as you realize that his involvement with the sport had an amazing background as well. “My dream is to go live there after I retire.” 

You hum, “Wow, that’s amazing. Really, I respect that a lot.” He turns to you and smiles shyly. “I really never told anyone about that, now that I think about it.” He bumps your shoulder with his playfully. “I guess you’re the first.” 

You smile, bumping him back playfully. In the distance, you see your home. “That’s it right there,” you turn, stopping in front of a small food truck selling spicy ddukbokki and kimbap rolls, with hot udon, and some students are tucked into the warm corner, lightheartedly drinking soju together. “Thanks for walking me home, Jeongguk. Really appreciate it.” 

He squints in the direction you pointed. “Wait, you live here?” 

You frown, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Why?” 

He looks at you oddly. “What the heck? I live here too. Building 4?” 

You laugh, “Yeah! Apartment 215!” 

He grins, “No wonder I didn’t see you, I’m floor five, Apt 526.” You smile, “What a coincidence.” 

He insists on carrying your book all the way too your door and so you start towards the apartment building, but you turn and smell the mouthwatering scent of the late-night snacks from the truck. Your stomach grumbling, you pause and call out, “Hey, Jeongguk, do you want to grab a little snack? This is my favorite place.” 

He grins as he turns around to see you pointing towards the food truck. “This is literally my favorite place. Thought you’d never ask!” He smiles as he jogs up to you and calls out a greeting to the kind lady who runs the truck. She greets the both of you with a warm smile. “Oh! My two favorite customers, it’s a first seeing you here together!” 

You smile and look at Jeongguk who also turns to you with a wide smile. Shrugging, he laughs, “We ended up doing a project together. Two servings of dukkbokki and a roll of your awesome kimbap auntie!” She smiles and gives you your orders. 

The rest of the night is a lot more fun than you’d ever had in a while, contrary to your usual visits to the food truck alone on your way home from the library. It felt nice to sit down and have a conversation with someone, as you both laughed about the guy who lived on the third floor and always walked around in bright red santa boxers. 

You guys talk animatedly home, and Jeongguk carries your bag all the way up to your door. Taking it from him, you smile, “Hey, Jeongguk, thanks for tonight. I really had fun in a while.” 

He laughs, “Me too. I’ll see you later, yea?” You nod, and he waves at you before jogging up the steps towards his own place. You watch him with a warm feeling. Maybe it was time for you to open up, because you realize, Jeon Jeongguk was actually a really good friend. 

“Are you kidding?” Jihyo screeches, as you show her the powerpoints you guys finished. “He literally did all of this?!” 

Nodding you point at the expertise math he did on one of the slides. “Yeah! He’s actually really smart. Got the secondary formula proof and all. That wasn’t even in the textbook!” 

She nods, scrolling through the rest of the slides with her mouth open. “Jesus, we haven’t even gotten halfway. Looks like you two are almost done!” 

You nod again, pursing your lips. “I looked over it like three times, and it’s right. I didn’t even know how to do it until he showed me.” 

“Think he paid someone to do it?” She asks, and you slap her arm. “C’mon, there’s no way he just memorized the proof for this on his own. I think he knows his stuff.” She rubs her arm as she finishes scrolling. “Well damn. Cause I could swear I heard he fucked the new cheerleader after the game on Saturday.” 

“Saturday?” You recall Jeongguk apologetically telling you not to schedule anything on Saturdays because of his games. To which you had agreed was totally fine, because he worked hard to make up for it on Friday and Sunday nights. “Wait what?” 

She nods, biting her lip. “I know you really trust him as a friend, but, I’m warning you Y/N. He’s not the nice guy you think he is.” 

“I’m telling you, he’s actually a really kind person!” 

She hums, “Yeah, but kind people don’t fuck girls and throw them away the way he does.” 

You sigh, “I don’t want to judge him for that. I mean, it’s wrong. But you have one-night stands occasionally too! And honestly, he doesn’t even do it as bad as Jimin or Shownu do. You know, you almost had a thing with Jimin!” 

She rolls her eyes, “It’s different! His one night stands and mine are different!” “Explain how, Jihyo!” You exclaim back, and she throws her hands up in the air. “I-I dont know! But!” she points at you, “Be careful of him! He’s not known as the fuckboy of campus for anything!” 

And you forget about the exchange for a while, spending the next two months working hard on the project and assignments from other classes. You and Jeongguk meet up often even after you get outstanding marks on the project, discovering you share a few same classes, and so it becomes a routine a couple times a week to go to the library with him for hours and then walk home together, visit the food truck, and go home together. 

You catch yourself often, though, staring too much at the gorgeous guy in front of you, engrossed in his computer science homework. He was truly good looking, and you couldn’t say you weren’t affected by it. Now that you two were much more comfortable around each other, he let loose around you, and cracked more jokes with you and fooled around with you every chance he got. It wasn’t bad, per say, because he was always doing so with a lighthearted attitude. But it didn’t help that he was touchy, throwing his arm around your neck as a joke or grabbing your wrist whenever he tried to get your attention. 

You weren’t oblivious to the looks that some girls gave you when they saw you studying every week. He only sat next to you, and when some other girls waved him over to their saved seats, he rejected them with a polite smile and jogged his way over to you and plopped down next to you. Or sometimes, you’d walk into the library a little late and see him fending off girls who asked him if the seat next to him was empty or not, and he’d always only take off his heavy backpack from the chair when he saw you come over. 

Similarly in classes, you always subconsciously searched for his curly head of hair to pop up and sit next to you, smelling like his shampoo and cologne. He’d often bring you matching cups of coffee, or if it was later in the day, an iced latte or something. 

And Jeongguk enjoyed it too. Yeah, he had his fair share of flings throughout the time, because it just ended up happening during the frat parties his team was invited to. He rubbed his eyes as he got up from the foreign bed, and looked over to see a head with long ashy hair. She was naked, and so was he. Groaning, he holds his head as the hangover rushes over him in fierce pain, and the sound wakes up the girl in the bed. 

“Mmmm” she hums, stretching, “You’re up?” He looks up and recognizes the cat-like eyes that he’d once lusted so much after. It was Jennie. He sighs and gets up, and she grabs his wrist, “Where are you going?” 

He shakes her off. “I gotta go.” 

“Where?” 

“Doesn’t matter fucking where, I gotta go.” He grits out as he throws his pants and shirts on and searches for his keys. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to that nerd girl you’ve been studying with,” Jennie sneers, glaring at him. “I hear from everyone that you’re her little bitch.” 

Jeongguk flips her off. “Fuck you,” he grabs his keys, “Don’t talk about her like that. At least her ass isn’t a bet to see which one of us can get some of it first.” With that, he leaves her seething as he slams the door on his way out. He doesn’t know why he always comes back to the library. 

Maybe its for once, he gets a break from his douchebag friends, the parties, the games, the drinks. Or maybe he enjoyed the comfortable silence that he had with you, and got a lot of work done whenever he had his study dates with you. Walking home wasn’t as lonely anymore. And he decided, after a lot of conversations with you about his dreams and the struggles he had on the field, that you were one of his closest genuine friends in such little time. 

So when that night, he receives a call, and you look up from your work to see his expression fall at whatever is spoken into the phone. He leaves and comes back after finishing the call, but you notice something is wrong immediately. His face is crestfallen and his shoulders are hunched in. “Jeongguk, you okay?” You ask, and he doesn’t reply. “Jeongguk?” 

“Huh?” He straightens up and smiles at you. “Y-yeah, just got distracted a little bit there. I’m fine!” He returns to his work and you frown at him before returning to your own work. But the nagging feeling in your head distracts you, so you decide to get up. “Ah, Jeongguk, do you wanna leave a little early today? I’m not really feeling like studying right now.” You gather your stuff and he nods, “Yeah, was gonna say the same thing. Let’s go home.” 

You walk in silence, but you can feel the struggle in his head. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your jacket pockets as you near the food truck. “Hey, you really ok?”

He pauses, and you turn to see him staring at the ground. “M-my parents, they’re…they’re getting a divorce.” 

Your mouth falls open as you suck in a breath. You understood that it was a big deal for him, and your roommate had gone through a similar thing in freshman year. Stepping up, you knew there was really only one thing that would help someone in that kind of situation. You stepped up, and grabbed the textbooks from his hands gently, and he let them go with a confused look. You set them gently down on the ground, and step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. 

You remembered when your grandmother died, a hug was all you wanted. The words and comforts and looks of pity did nothing for you, but hugs were really comforting. So you press your cheek against his chest, and tighten your arms around him and just stay still. He tenses, and you’re scared for a moment that you’ve overstepped your boundaries. You’d known him for seven months now and you hoped this was okay. 

But he slumps in your grasp, and his arms come around you, heavily settling on your shoulders as he cranes his neck down to your shoulder and rests his forehead there. You don’t say anything and smooth a hand down his back, patting him gently as he lets out a few heavy breaths against the fabric of your jacket. “I kind of knew this was coming, but it still hurts, ya know?” His voice is muffled in your jacket, and you hum as you can hear the emotion in his tone. 

But trying to be a man, he prevents himself from getting any more emotional. He squeezes you close once before stepping away from you. “Hey, Y/N, wanna buy me a drink tonight?” 

You nod, and you smile and pick up the books and walk over to the tables. Pouring him a drink, you grin as he laughs, “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” And you listen to him as he explains that his parents had been fighting for a while and he’d been pouring himself into studying and football to avoid confronting the issue. And later, buzzed, the both of you return to your apartment with smiles on your faces. He’d been able to vent to you and felt much better, and you felt a little warm at being able to know him a little better. 

But the same amount of alcohol between you both affects you more, and on your way home, you’re already seeing double and stumbling drunkenly. As he guides you up to your floor, you turn sharply on your heel and grab his collar. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Jeongguk,” you murmur, looking up into his surprised eyes with your hooded ones. Giggling, you lean in further, and lean up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Here’s a good night hug,” you slur, rocking on your heels and Jeongguk wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. At the action, your mind goes blurry again and you blurt out, “And here’s your good night kiss.” 

You lurch forward and press your pursed lips against his, almost missing and catching his chin. He’s frozen, and doesn’t know what to do as you cutely scrunch your eyes shut as you tip toe to press your lips to his. Fuck it he thinks as he leans down, dropping the football duffel on his shoulder to press his lips harder against yours. You mewl into the kiss, as a hand comes up to cradle your cheek and the other is still wrapped around your waist, pressing you to him. 

He swipes past your lips and literally melts at how sweet you taste, and you drunkenly try to keep up with him before you detach for some air. He’s panting for breath too, and he gazes down at you to see your expression, but you only smile drunkenly in your hazed state. “I like you, Jeon Jeongguk,” you whisper, before your lids slide shut and your head lolls against his hand and you grow limp while leaning on him. 

He takes a moment to collect himself, his cheeks blushing fiercely red before he knocks on the door to make sure your roommate isn’t home before opening the door with your key and stumbling with you towards your bedroom. He gently sets you down on your bed and lifts the covers over you, before sitting on the edge and gazing down at you. 

He sighs, lifting a hand to tuck a curl behind your ear. You were so beautiful to him, and he wanted so much to return the confession. But then your phone buzzes on your nightstand and he grabs it before it wakes you. 

But he can’t help but see the previews on your lock screen. 

[From: Jihyo, 1:11 AM] News flash! Jeongguk and Jennie had sex the other night! 

[From: Jungyeon, 1:11 AM] Ugh, Y/N, I’m telling you he’s not worth it. You deserve so much better! He’s a fuckboy! 

[From: Jihyo, 1:12 AM] Yeah, he’s not a good influence. Stay away from him! Fucking prick…boys like him should stay away from girls like you. 

Jeongguk sets down the phone on your nightstand with a solemn expression. Rubbing his lips that are still tingling from the kiss, he looks back down at you, who’s sleeping with an innocent smile lingering on your lips and in your cute little jacket. He reaches out to touch your cheek, but pauses, and decides against it with a bitter scoff. 

Cause, like the text had said, you deserved so much better. 

Boys like him should stay away from girls like you.

--> Part 02 [fin]

[dailyaudiobible]

04/10/2018 DAB Transcript

Deuteronomy 34:1-Joshua 2:24, Luke 13:23-14:6, Psalms 79:1-13, Proverbs 12:26

Today is the 10th day of the month of April. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today. Briefly back in the rolling hills of Tennessee and then we'll be heading for the rolling hills of Georgia and the beginning of the More Gathering for Women 2018. That begins this Thursday, day after tomorrow. So, it's great to be here with you today. We will be concluding the book of Deuteronomy here just momentarily. Which means we will be concluding what is known as the Torah or the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible and then moving into what comes next, which is the book of Joshua. And we'll talk about that when we get there. But let's conclude. Reading from the Good News translation this week. The book of Deuteronomy, chapter 34.

Introduction to the book of Joshua:

And that concludes the book of Deuteronomy, which brings us to the book of Joshua, which is an exhilarating book to step into.  Because we've been at this fourteen weeks since the beginning of the year, I have to count. But something like that. We've been at this day by day, moment by moment, moving through the stories here. And almost from the very beginning of the Bible we've been hearing about this thing called the promised land. So, by this time it's almost mythic. It's like a mythic land that was promised in advanced to Abraham and then Isaac and Jacob and Joseph. All of these people we met and followed their stories. And learned a lot about our own story in their stories. And throughout all of their stories, there's this whisper of hope. All throughout the formation of the children of Israel and their captivity. And their exodus into freedom and the establishment of a new culture. Everything that we've gone through so far has been toward the promised land. And here we are. We're about to cross over the Jordan River into the promised land. And this is the second time they've been right at the precipice. The first time they were thwarted. Forty more years were spent wandering in the desert. An entire generation was lost because of their disobedience, their fear, their lack of trust in God. And now as we just read in the conclusion of Deuteronomy, Moses has died having seen the promised land but not entering it. And that's kind of where we are in the Scriptures. We hear of it. It's mythic. We've kind of seen it but we haven't gone into it. And now Joshua has stepped up as the leader of Israel. And Joshua translated to English means savior. If we go back to the original Hebrew, Joshua is Jesus. Yeshua. Joshua. So, I'm not saying this man Joshua that we're about to read about is Jesus. I'm just saying the parallels of redemption are just so intertwined in the Scriptures. So, we're gonna cross the Jordan and we'll see that God has prepared this land for his people. He's promised it for generations. But they're not just march in and take it. They're gonna have to fight. They're gonna have to contend for it. They are on a great mission with God. And to accomplish it, they'll have to partner with God against all odds to take the land. And in this conquest, we'll notice God asking them to do very unconventional things. God continually confounds conventional wisdom with almost bizarre instructions that sometimes wouldn't make logical sense to the human mind. This is no different for us today. This is why we must be sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s guidance. This is why we must be a people of prayer. Otherwise we're just sort of bulldozing our way through life, hoping for the best decisions when we actually have our creator to guide us. And his very kingdom to bring. So, in a very real way for all these years the children of Israel have been learning to obey the Lord. And now they must go into this land with full faith that God will show up. And full faith in the promise that he gave their ancestors that this land was the promised land. And we're gonna see one of the most glorious moments in the Bible. One of the most glorious times in the lives of the children of Israel even though we'll see stumbles along the way. Right now as we move into the book of Joshua the people are fully engaged. And it gives us a glimpse of what a unified church even could look like. Unfortunately, that's not the end of the story. We'll get to that soon enough because it's not really that much of a spoiler. They do fall away and return and fall away and return for the next several hundred years, but right now we're at this glorious time. A new generation, a new leader. And the entering of the promised land. So, as we go into Joshua right now, the first five chapters will document the preparation for crossing the Jordan for battle and even their first encounters, their first battles. And the next seven chapters will recount the main battles and the actual taking of the land. And then the last part of the book is the division and settling of the promised land. Everything in the story of the patriarchs comes to these great moments. This is the promised land. The giving, the taking, the settling of the promised land. Everything that has been promised is about to be fulfilled. And so we begin. Joshua chapter 1.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and we've turned the page and entered into a new era as we move through the Old Testament and into the book of Joshua. And, so, here we stand on the banks of the Jordan River with the children of Israel looking over into the promised land and we're about to enter. And the story will take a completely new complexion as we move into this new generation and to this new era and a shift takes place. And we can feel this in our own hearts. There's things that we have long, long desired, things that we have seen but not been able to experience. We ask, Holy Spirit, as we watch the children of Israel move into the promised land and all the things that they will have to face in it that, You will begin to speak to us about our own moving forward. Because so many times when we're dreaming something we idealize it even when You are leading us and we forget to count the cost. We're going to have to trust You to degrees that we didn't even know about. Because You're not leading us forward in life so that we can have new toys. You're leading us forward in life so that we can discover new levels of intimacy with You. So, come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here.

And so right around the corner here is the   beginning of the More Gathering for Women, which is the day after tomorrow. So, between now and then a lot of orchestration has to happen. A lot of moving parts, a lot of technology, a lot of travel, a lot of all kinds of stuff. And, so, this is the time where we really do join together, lock arms, lock hearts as a community, the tens of thousands strong and raise this canopy over this event and intercede over every aspect of it. So as a community, every time the Holy Spirit might bring the More Gathering to mind, just say a prayer. Ask for God's blessing and wisdom and instruction and protection over the hearts of everyone involved as we move into the latter parts of this week and through the weekend. And I'll be down there and doing the Daily Audio Bible from the top of Sharp Top mountain and keeping us all informed. So, thank you for your prayers.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link that just lives on the homepage. Thank you. Thank you for your partnership. We can't do this if we don't do this together, so thank you. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the give button in the upper right-hand corner. Or if you prefer, the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee, 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that’s it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello Daily Audio Bible community my name is Robert. I live in Canada in the province of Ontario and I’m a new listener and I’m really trying to listen the right way. And, of course, there’s nothing that I did…nothing that I did to get here. I always understood that the blessings that God showered upon me are new every morning but I just took it for granted, I just took it for granted. And I really feel like there is a period of darkness in my life just really lifted. And I feel like…Gods…I’ve battled some dark stuff in my life. And I’m sorry that I’m so emotional but I don’t really know how to process this all too well. And here I am, I’m calling in, with some prayers for me, please. Please guys, my wife, Shiloh, isn’t a believer and we’ve been fighting about this kind of stuff. And I’m trying to just release my marriage into God’s hands so I can do. Thanks for hearing my prayer. Her name is Shiloh. Shiloh __ pray for you __. Thank you. Okay. I love all of you guys so much. I love all of you guys so much. Bye.

Hello DAB family this is Linda from Alberta calling. I was just listening to some of the prayers and I heard Sharon call in, that she called in for her daughter and her husband and she herself has some health concerns right now. But Sharon I just wanted to try to encourage you right now. I really can say I know exactly how you feel and I have my own struggles and challenges with my daughter, who also has an addiction and mental health problem. She, right now, we are in a crisis in our family but that’s, you know, not what I wanted to call in for right now. But Sharon, often I go to my closet door and I open it up and I have a paper taped and there. And this is the prayer that I pray when I’m feeling really, really uptight about things and worried about my daughter. So, I’m going to read you the prayer and I hope that ministers to you and it is actually from the reading I did once. It’s A Child’s Window. So, God, You are at work and You are in control and Lord God You know this is happening. You are at the beginning and You will bring it everything that occurs to a conclusion that results in Your greater glory in the end. Sharon, I hope that this will minister to you as well as anyone else that needed to hear that today. God bless every one of you. Bye-bye.

Hello Daily Audio Bible this is Nathan from Bloomington Illinois calling for thoughts for the day, that this is thoughts for the day. I’m suggesting that you go back and listen to the last two days, April 4th and April 5th commentary because Brian ties it together and nails the head right there. So, he said what do we see with? What if you were to look around and all you see is the glory of God? Now, we know God created everything that is around but sometimes we do sit in the darkness. Sometimes our life is stuck. And then he talked about ask, seek, knock. Ask, seek knock. It begins with asking. So, a lot of times we ask for prayer and we ask others to pray for us and that’s important, but we’re also asked to seek. Not just seeking the answer but seeking help from others like the DAB prayer line or from a counselor. And then not. When I think of knocking, I want to suggest that that tells us to do something other than just asking and seeking, seeking for answers, that it suggests not sitting and doing nothing or doing very little. So, just something…something to think about. My wife says, you can’t do the same thing and expect a different result. So, I’m expecting different results when I do something different other than just asking, seeking, and knocking sometimes. So anyway. Just some thoughts for the day. Have a great day. Make it a great day.

Your heart my home. I live and breathe and have my being in Your heart. Your heart my home. I live and breathe in Your heart. Your love is gracious, deep, wide, and true. You have forgiven me. In You I’m free. Oh Lord, restore me to who You really made me to be. Your heart my home. I live and breathe in Your loving heart. I can’t be good unless You free me to. You release me, the real me. I want to be real. Only You can take me there. Every hour, every moment, Your heart my home. [singing] Let’s pray always, worry never and love deeply. Pray always, worry never and love deeply. I can’t be good unless You free me to. You release me. The real me. I want to be real. Only You can take me there. Every hour, every moment, Your heart my home [sing ends].

Good afternoon Daily Audio Bible. This is Prosperous Pam from the San Francisco Bay Area. I just gave myself that name. Praise God. I wanted to hear a couple of things. Brian, that message that you gave today. Today’s date is, I believe it’s April the 5th, is it Wednesday, Thursday, apologize. That was such a blessing. I’m going to listen to it over and over again, how you were speaking about, help me to see better, praying that the Lord allows me to see, you know, the light. You know, a lot of times we do get stuck in some different ways and we just, you know, focus more on the darkness but there’s magnificent things all around us. So, thank you for that. Also, you can probably tell, I’m very uncomfortable speaking in front of a group. So, He’s working on me on that too. This is actually a praise report because I’ve been out of work for year. I called about a year ago in March when I didn’t have a job and I was like really having a hard time. And I still am going through my different stages, but God has just given me such power. He’s strengthening me during this time. I am still unemployed and looking for work, but I’m still praying according to His will, not my will. And I’ve never been out of work this long but He’s strengthening me, He’s maturing me, He’s loving me more. I’m so closer to Him. I’m getting so connected with the body of Christ like the Daily Audio Bible. And I have a family here that I just love so much. Declare victory in the bay area. The overseer is Pastor Dion. I’m just being so blessed. And I just wanted to share that. Praying just lives someone up who’s listening, who’s going through something, who’s waiting for that job. God has just done so many things. He’s purged so many things out of me throughout this year that I haven’t been working. So, I just hope that lifts someone up. And I still ask you to keep me in prayer. I am looking forward to going back to work when God has willed for me, the place that he has for me. My flesh has been wanted to but…

He DAB family today is April 5th and just catching up and just listening to the Easter April 1st podcast or I think it was the April 2nd one. Yeah that was funny, that April fool’s joke that you guys played. Anyways, so, I just wanted to call in and let you guys know that, Michaela from the UK, and Lisa the Victorious, I heard your prayers, I heard your prayer requests. And I want you to know that I just spent, probably, the last 20 minutes praying for you both. So, just calling because I find that just knowing that somebody’s thinking about you helps. And, of course, I don’t have to tell you, God doesn’t forget you, He doesn’t leave you, He doesn’t forsake you. He hears you even when nobody else does. And Lisa I also prayed for your daughter. I hope that you understand, I’m sure you do, that you don’t have to give up your life for her. Jesus already did that. He’s got her. So, I hope you take that. Hope you hold onto that and rest secure in His victory because he is victorious. Hey, have a great day DAB. Thanks, so much Brian again.

[nightblink]

Blink Reads Oathbringer - Chapters 107-111

More confirmation of emotional transfer/sensing via the Nahel bond, which I am all about, and then even more-

And also, shit’s starting to hit the fan.  (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Seven – The First Step

[squints] I don't think the Unmade can be 'returned to Damnation' like the Voidspren, but I could be wrong. No way she was destroyed at Aharietiam, though.

Not a flashback! We're getting more present!Dalinar! Gooood.

We haven't heard a whole lot about Gavilar and Dalinar's father – or what their life was at all like before they decided to go unite the princedoms into a kingdom. Their father getting into honor-duels all the time and getting a bad head injury from one of them could explain a little more of why young!Dalinar scoffed at dueling.

That dream with Nohadon in it is still suspicious, even if it turned out to be something possibly good for Dalinar to hear and ponder over. It was just too vivid, too pointed, for it to be Just A Dream. Maybe Cultivation had a hand in it…?

[growls at Taravangian's presence] The old king seems to be in a more compassionate state today, though not with a low enough intelligence as to appear doddering. Hmm.

AHHHH THE STORMFATHER SENSED KALADIN WHEN HE TOUCHED THE ORB-THING AT THE LIGHTHOUSE. Hah – is hope a new emotion for him? It's enough to give Dalinar some hope, at the very least (which he sorely needs).

Are there only two highprinces left in all of Jah Keved after the civil war – and these two even being new ones after former ones died? I'm betting they're Diagram, considering that Taravangian appointed them.

Queen Fen is not letting him go without an explanation and, to be fair, she's got a point, even if 'sulk' is a bit harsh.

[hums] Command of a language though Dalinar's Surges are temporary. It might last for a few hours, maybe longer if he starts practicing it more often, but we don't have any indication yet as to how long he can hold the Connection right now.

Fifteen thousand men in Jah Keved, and among them “some of their most loyal Kholin and Aladar troops.” I… hmm. Jah Keved isn't particularly stable still, but even so, that's a lot of troops to commit to one place, especially with how few you have left. And isn't the bulk of Sadeas' forces in Thaylen City right now to help rebuild? The place where Kaladin and Shallan and Adolin are heading? …I have a bad feeling about this.

Dalinar has a Bad Feeling about this too. That's not comforting.

[rolls happily at Dalinar acknowledging Navani's patience and support and thanking her for it] And that small touch of hands aaaaaaaaahhhh-

DALINAR HIDING A SMIRK AT JASNAH SNARKING AT IALAI, BLESS. That's absolutely professional behaviour right there, mmhmmm. 'Intelligence', pffFFFT

!!!! Talk about a sudden outburst, but damn that's a good flash of insight, and one that they desperately needed. Their lost Radiants are heading there, so it only makes sense story-wise, and now Dalinar's laying out military reasoning as well. Very good. I'm still wondering how exactly the Thaylen ships survived given how badly the city was smashed up; Queen Fen says that it was “as if the winds left them alone”, which infers that Odium – or perhaps an Unmade – has very direct control over the effects of the Everstorm.

Thank the Heralds that they're managing to (hopefully) scrape together at least some semblance of a navy, because they'll desperately need it.

“You are a good man, Dalinar Kholin. I did not expect that.” Um. Um. Coming from Taravangian, that sounds ominious.

!!! Dalinar's telling Kadash he's going to give his ardents to Taravangian? And Kadash is telling him to stuff it? He's got a point about serving the Kholin people even if the Highprince Kholin has been excommunicated, though. The waiting people that Dalinar just passed in the hallway are an easy example to point to right off the bat. The ardents are not going to accept what he's saying anytime soon, but those that already serve him aren't abandoning him entirely.

Ooooo. Oooooo. Are we going to meet Ba-Ado-Mishram via a vision?

[hisses at Taravangian]

Dalinar recovering from his PTSD-triggered psuedo-catatonic state wasn't good for the Diagram That makes me even more worried than before.

“Moelach seems to have settled in the Horneater Peaks.” Um. You're tracking the Unmade who gives Death Rattles. Y'know, tracking one of the Unmade seems like it would be awesome information to share with the people who are trying to stop the end of the world. Just so you know. Because you're all just a collective bag of dicks with half the usefulness, if that.

Kill or recruit Dalinar? Really. That was your plan. [LAUGHS IN YOUR FACES]

[blinks] Did they. Did Taravangian and the Diagram team force a Nahel bond in order to get a Radiant on their side? Because the term 'project' certainly makes it sound like they did.

Division burns, or turns things to dust; that much we pretty much knew already. It's the specific Dustbringer combinations of their Surges that we're still entirely unsure of, and Division and Friction together? Yeaaaaahhhhh… Also, Note: Dustbringerspren are called Ashspren, and there are definitely a bunch of them and other spren that are pissed about the Recreance (and not without reason).

Hmmm. So. Both Spark and Malata are definitely into the whole breaking things aspect of their bond. Was that common amongst Dustbringers of the past?

Are you the one leaking information to Odium's forces, then? (Did Shallan not reveal that she's actually a Lightweaver to Malata? It's been a while, so I can't remember.)

Fuck off, Taravangian, you and your whole crew.

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Eight – Honor's Path

Another sketch-page before the chapter! The little scribble in the upper right hand corner must be the drawing – or the same type of drawing – that Kaladin noticed when he last glanced at Shallan's sketchbook. I'm glad for the visualizations of glorsyspren, though, they're actually quite cute. The anticipationspren and whatever those others are…. They're less cute.

Another Unmade mention: Chemoarish, the Dustmother. Any connection to the Dustbringers, I wonder?

Ahh, 'Honor's Path' is the name of the honorspren ship! Fitting, to be sure. !!!! But the humans spent a week locked in the hold down below? Oh fuuuuck, that could not have been good for either Kaladin, with his history of being imprisoned and aversion to enclosed spaces with no open areas in general, or for Adolin, who'd probably been swinging between bouts of extreme energy and lethargy if he really is ADHD like I suspect/headcanon. They're still not letting Syl out though – too important to risk her getting away, I imagine.

Note: 'Unyielding Fidelity' = honorspren stronghold near Kharbranth (though in the CR)

Of course Kaladin argued with the honorspren and got tossed in the hold again – probably trying to get Syl free, considering. I doubt that honorspren do well in captivity either, and he definitely believes that.

Kaladin is in full single-track-mind mode right now – a desperation that lends him certainty, which Shallan is seeing here as authority, but. Mmmmmmm. It's both, I think. The drive that desperation gives him lends itself to an authoritative manner, but it's apparent just how fragile it is – he's bolting towards a destination rather than actually leading with authority.

There's a loooooot of ifs in Kaladin's plan, and I'm pretty sure at least one of them is going to come into play and fuck things up, or it wouldn't be a Sanderson Avalanche.

Shallan mistaking Kaladin's drive for passion is making me twitch.

Oh shit. Looks like Shallan's fractured sub-personalities are starting to leak out again. It looked like she was almost stabilizing a little, but what small measure of healing she might have processed with talking to Wit can only do so much.

[buries hands in face] The part of Shallan that's subsumed into Veil that sees Kaladin as a 'wild spren of passion, trapped by oaths and codes' – I just. How can you misinterpret someone that badly. It's like I'm watching comedy with secondhand embarrassment; it's that painful to see. He's driven, yes, he's determined, most certainly, but it feels like she's overlaying it with this over-romanticised rose-glasses view that's skewing everything off-kilter and making it very uncomfortable to read.

I'm definitely judging the little corner of her mind that's adding to Veil for liking the scruffy, unkempt beard on him, though. Ugh.

Finding a bead to use would require Shallan getting down to the level of the beads to find an appropriate one, and I don't think the honorspren will be as indulgent in your desires to look overboard as the Thaylen sailors were.

The mistspren or whatever they are sound really cool, ngl. Porcelain masks on bodies made of mist!

Huh. Her asking to practice with the beads… actually worked? Sort of? And the honorspren – or at least a faction of them – are some of those who were definitely not hoping for the Radiants' return. Considering that Aharietiam probably involved the mass breaking of oaths, I can certainly see why.

No guarantees on not breaking your ship, buddy.

I wonder if with all of this practice, she could convince a stick to become fire…? Heheheheheh-

Kaladin is not doing well with being forced to wait in this relatively-enclosed area, no matter if he'd be waiting anyway from the sheer fact that they have to travel. They do need to get back, though, and each day away is one more that the people in Urithiru have no idea about what happened in Kholinar. On top of that, Shallan and Kaladin are Radiants – they're absolutely necessary in this Desolation, more than any of the others of Strike Team Kholinar that haven't returned yet. How long until the Voidspren forces in Shadesmar catch up with them?

!!! Is Vivenna's Blade sentient. And it thinks of itself as a 'she'! Is it an Awakened blade?

Admittedly, Vivenna's right that she has no stake in this fight – so far as she knows. If they fail and Odium is released to ravage the Cosmere, that's an entirely different story, but she doesn't know that, not really. And so, she follows her own motivations, not the overall party's. Kaladin must not have heard or picked up on the hints/outright statements that she's not only not Alethi but not from this world, though, because that softly breathed 'Traitor.' says that he still thinks of her as such.

“I've seen a lot of young hotheads in my time, and young Stormblessed feels like another color altogether.” Because lbr, he's not so much a 'hothead' as a bundle of poorly-contained emotion. Determined, passionate – in a way other than what the part of Shallan that lends itself to Veil sees – and devoted, but prone to outbursts and needing direction to keep from slipping. Kaladin's feeling different here partly because he's amongst equals of a sort – he doesn't have a group of people that he can take under his wing and watch over as their leader, only people who might-be?friends who are alongside him as he rushes towards his goal of trying to protect the person he promised to do so for.

OH. You're not chasing Vasher, you're chasing Nightblood. Well. And Vasher, but he's secondary on your list. [back in Urithiru, an ardent's suddenly aware that someone's talking about him...]

[hums] Is Shallan slipping back into a relatively-unhealthier state of mind? All these 'wrong' sketches seem like they might suggest he's headed back in that direction, but she's still far more in control of herself and aware than she was before. It still feels like she's a smidge healthier than she was before her talk with Wit, all the stress of Shadesmar nonwithstanding. Although this talk of making a new mask since she came across shortcomings that made her recognize the illusion of Veil… (not that she calls it that, she calls Veil broken instead, even though what's really 'broken' is Shallan's ability to see her Veil-persona as flawlessly competent as she had before, and therefore a suitable mask to hide behind)

“I just have to recover… her...” !!! Are you… are you outright admitting about your splitting personality-masks to someone other than Wit? That's… hell, this conversation is a huge step of trust, Shallan. “Shallan's broken, so I think I'm trying to hide her. … I'm not doing it on purpose, but it's happening, and I don't know how to stop it.” Okay, telling someone else is a huge measure of trust and an enormous step forward in possible recovery, but even more so, she's admitting it to herself as well, in a way that she can't alter lie away because it's being witnessed by another person. That's an even bigger step forward, especially since acknowledgment has been one of the things she's been most reluctant to do throughout the entire series thus far. It's always 'hide it away, pretend it doesn't exist', even when she was little, which isn't healthy at all, and has led to the splitting personalities to deal with all the things that she doesn't want to face herself.

[hums] Is this the first time that someone's offered silent acknowledgment of her pain, rather than suggesting what she should do to deal with it? I mean, it makes sense that Adolin's doing what he can to support her even when-

Wait. Did he just. Um. Um. I… well. I did not expect that revelation to happen like that.

“It was me. I'm the one the spren copied the first time. I kept thinking about how I was lying to you, to Father, and to everyone. The honorable Adolin Kholin, the consummate duelist. A murderer. And Shallan, I… I don't think I'm sorry.” I figured he didn't regret it. He's not the kind to regret something like stabbing that snake of a man for the sake of his loved ones and his people. He may regret the consequences that come if anyone finds out about it, though. That lying, though – how much does that weigh on him? Without any POV sections for Adolin in most of the early and mid-book chapters, we haven't seen much of him facing and upholding his lie.

omg Shallan. “Good for you.” HE WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT. And she's not going to tell Dalinar either. For now, it's a secret between the two of them (which could be bad later, if he does get, say, caught in a trap by Ialai and accused, and Shallan now knows the incriminating fact)

I do like that he's offering support via a measure of understanding, (see some of my previous Shallan/Adolin writings because hooooo I've gone over both of their tendency to use situational masks already) acknowledging her problem while still admitting that a) it's a problem and b) he doesn't have an answer for it, but could she share one if she finds any? It's very much unlike Kaladin's earlier and rather wince-worthy response of 'you can just. repress your emotions? That's AWESOME.”

“You never did say which one you prefer.” “It's obvious. I prefer the real you.” “Which one is that, though?” “She's the one I'm talking to right now. You don't have to hide, Shallan. You don't have to push it down. Maybe the vase is cracked, but that only means it can show what's inside. And I like what's inside.” Sanderson, beyond my personal pairing preferences in general and even in specific, these two had better be endgame with how well they interact/you're setting them up. They're actually good for each other.

'What was this peace? This place without fear?' asfhjakldlfghlagfhdgdgfhdgfksbjdbjdbf

Kaladin did you fly up to the deck that you're not supposed to be on. I'll bet you did.

You did. [CACKLES]

He's right to worry about any Fused/Voidspren following them or laying traps ahead of them, as I still have a Very Bad Feeling about this. Oh man but he can sense Syl's anxiety! EMOTIONAL TRANSFER VIA THE NAHEL BOND ONCE MORE COMFIRMED.

'Of all the spren they'd interacted with on this side, honorspren seemed to share the most human mannerisms.' Oh, interesting; I wonder why that is? Were honorspren nonexistent on Roshar before humans?

“It's not like we eloped.” “It is worse, as the Nahel bond is far more intimate a relationship – the linking of spirits.” He's got you there, Kaladin. Did you really think that that was going to work when you two are bonded?

Why am I cackling so hard over Captain Notum being completely thrown by Kaladin's nonchalant agnosticism/atheism.

Also:“You… actually understand this?” “Understand, no. Follow, mostly.” PFFFFFFFT. That's  about how the rest of us who are only lightly versed in Realmatics feel about this whole schtick too, Kal. It's complicated and we don't even have all the pieces.

Ooooooo, shit – all the honorspren from before the Recreance save Syl are dead, and all the others now are the ten made by the Stormfather and their descendants? I think the fact that all of the old honorspren dies might have been been insinuated before, but it's the first time it's been outright stated. No wonder the Stormfather is particularly attached to Syl and the other honorspren are so bent on bringing her back.

The thought that Syl herself might not be ready for a bond – that the spren themselves can be just as unprepared as humans when going into this – isn't something I'd really considered before. That means that the spren can make mistakes – perhaps even big ones – in choosing to bond.

“But your bond is dangerous, without Honor. There will not be enough checks upon your power – you risk disaster.” Hmmm. Does he mean the Surges when he says 'your power'? Other than the Oaths, what checks/bindings did Honor put on his Invested?

“Not too late. Killing you would free her – though it would be painful for her. There are other ways, at least until the Final Ideal is sworn.” …….judging by the fact that the final Skybreaker Oath is basically 'becoming the law', and now this honorspren all but says that the bond between spren and human cannot be broken once the Fifth and Final Ideal is sworn, I'd bet a handful of emeralds that that means that the spren and human halves of a Radiant pair become almost merged somehow, unable to be separated by any means.

Heh – since appealing to logic isn't getting him anywhere, it's time for Kaladin to play by his strengths and bring out the emotional side of his argument. And… okay, doesn't look like that's getting him anywhere either. Damn.

The Ideals are overwhelming when you take even a moment to sit down and think of them, and it's no wonder that many spren don't see the humans as being able to keep to the oaths they swear. There's very valid points here though: all of those in the world that cannot protect themselves is an impossible order for one person; what is right, and how is one supposed to judge who is in the right? Much like the Skybreakers and what is justice?

Huh. Interesting that windspren exist almost solely on the Physical Plane. His debating the Ideals somehow manifested them in the CR despite their rarity – Windrunner and windspren, that's a no-brainer – but why would windspren not only be drawn to him while he debates his oaths, even bolstering his bond with Syl to the point of telepathy?

Also, just. HOT DAMN, TELEPATHY VIA THE NAHEL BOND NOW TOO, not just for Dalinar and the Stormfather alone anymore!

Which, speaking of, looks like Notun wasn't of the understanding that the Stormfather is bonded again as well. Heheheheheheheheh

I am highly amused by Adolin coming up out of the hold to this sight of Kaladin on deck and his admiring description that follows, though really, same. The fond addition of 'the storming bridgeman' right before he thinks of how heroic Kaladin looks deeeeeefinintely feels like a 'storming damnation how is he so handsome'. Also, with those windspren glowing points? Canon shoujo-sparkle!Kaladin Stormblessed confirmed,

And it looks like Shallan agrees – which again, same, can we all please love and appreciate Kaladin – but her body language as she does so, in what's probably the Veil part of her slipping out in appreciation… [winces] Adolin already has some serious self-doubt/self-worth issues about their relationship, as we saw not only back in Kholinar but all the way back in Urithiru as well; this definitely isn't going to help in that regard.

He's not laying fault on either Kaladin or Shallan, though, thank you Sanderson for Very Much Not going a jealous route there or I may have had to murder you.

Ooooop, and there we go, the Fused finally caught up to them. Fleeing probably isn't even close to an option here, so it's time to stand and fight. Problem is, there's eight flying Fused, one Windrunner, and no Shardblades. This could turn very bad very quickly.

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Nine – Neshua Kadal

Ahhhhhahahahahahahah oh, Re-Shephir was very much Not Destroyed – though she was caught, which could perhaps also be the case for Ba-Ado-Mishram, perhaps, since they were both 'thought destroyed' at Aharietiam?

I wondered if they were going to try infusing that massive column of gemstone and try to power Urithiru again, but apparently they've tried and it's just not working so far.

That armguard is a watch and serious ibuprofin all in one. Navani needs to start marketing those.

'He raised his chis as the storm slammed into Urithiru, roughly at the height of its third tier.' Okay, so the lower levels of Urithiru get stormlight and rain and crem; it's the upper levels that the storms can't reach – or so far as we know.

Oooop, time is short, go go go before Odium finds you-!

Haaaaaah, Venli recognises him, or at least his description. Good, then they can get straight to the point without too much dithering. [winces] And she has every right to tear into him for the genocide he and his visited upon her people.

'Though he was not short for a human, her current form was a good six inches taller than he was.' Venli's in… storm-form, or scholar-form? Something else? Either way, that height would put her at at least seven-foot-one, maybe even taller, headcanon-wise.

“Don't you understand? The people who live there – the singers, my cousins – are from Alethkar. That is their homeland too. The only difference between them and you is that they were born as slaves, and you as their master!” I'm applauding Venli as she rips into Dalinar tbh. [cups hands and yells] YOU STILL HAVE SLAVERY. AND ALSO YOU HAVE MASSIVE SOCIAL INEQUALITY B/C OF YOUR HIGHLY STRATIFIED, RACIST CLASS SYSTEM. AND THE PARSHMEN YOU CONSIDERED PRACTICALLY ANIMALS AND BELOW EVEN THAT.

Ohhh, shit, that cracking – that's probably the Stormfather trying to shield them, and Odium just powers right on through, blasting the vision-world to smithereens in the process, with them in it. That must be utterly, bone-shakingly terrifying to experience.

Note: Neshua Kadal. Radiant Knight. 'The listeners remembered this as a song sung to the Rhythm of Awe. Neshua Kadal.'

!!! Dalinar's got stormlight, and is somehow using it to resist Odium's pull on the vision-world around him? But only so much, only the immediate area that his light can spread, and the rest still crumbles around him.

Without Odium's influence pulling at her via the Voidspren in her heart, Venli can think more clearly. And! Timbre followed her even into the vision! She can do that? Are they almost-bonded?

(okay, so she's not in stormform, but still a Voidspren-form, though more delicate than stormform)

YOU WENT AFTER HER YOU SAVED TIMBRE FROM BEING PULLED INTO THE DESTRUCTION AT THE RISK OF YOURSELF BEING PULLED IN TOO, AHHHHH- 'Great. Now we can fall together.' Sarcastic, but aaaaaahhhhhhh, VENLI

!!!! Dalinar jumping in to catch her! And that 'Something flashed around his arm. Lines of light, a framework that covered his body. His fingers didn't bleed as they scraped the stone.' PROTO-SHARDPLATE, PROTO-SHARDPLATE

[winces] And now with Venli back safe in the waking world, Dalinar gets to experience Odium's torture.

FUCK OFF, ODI-DUMB. AND YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM SON. SCRAM. SHOO.

Don't trust a single word he says, Dalinar. You don't have to be a force of destruction.

And on his return, he hears through the bond as the Stormfather itself, greatest of spren, weeps in pain and broken fear, 'whispering that Odium was too strong'.

A price paid indeed.

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Ten – A Million Stars

Hessi's book calls the Midnight Mother's creations 'monsters of shadow and oil', though as we've seen they tend to favor the shadow side, with an oily movement and, if I'm remembering right, slight iridescence.

With as little stormlight as they have, they can't afford to have Kaladin fly all four of them – or even just three, if Azure didn't come with them – to the closest land mass, or they wouldn't have any light left to work the Oathgate, if they can even manage to do so.

Syl has not done well in her extended captivity, although now I want to draw Kaladin and Syl leaning on and supporting each other as she stumbles out from the doorway and he steadies her with shaking hands of his own.

HEHEHEHEH. Watch out Vasher, Vivenna's here and she's hunting you down! And now Adolin and Kaladin know that she and Zahel know each other. U CANNOT ESCAPE

Shitfuckdamn they're jumping in to the sea of glass-

It's a damn good thing that Shallan managed to not only find a bead that could work to hold out the other beads, but that she somehow managed to either test it or get information from the honorspren or Pattern to know that it would work like that in the first place.

Okay, at least spren don't need to breathe, that's good to know.

Shallan: ...I'm holding both their hands right now #livingthedream

A forest of glass plants? Oooooo~ Do they react like 'normal' Rosharan plants and curl away or clam up at vibrations and/or contact? They sounds beautiful. - 'The trunks were translucent; the leaves looked like they were blown from glass in a multitude of colors. Moss drooped from one branch, like melted green glass, strands hanging down in silky lines.'

Another highstorm. This is probably the same one that Dalinar used in the last chapter to send a vision to Venli, and Odium broke in. Ooo, the other storm that Syl senses might be the Everstorm approaching.

Okay. Short flight inland to gain some distance without (hopefully) using up too much of their stormlight, then several days' walk to get to the Oathgate. They're so close. So close. Something's going to go wrong when they get there; everything's starting to ramp up in energy and in stakes. Besides, what's a Sanderson book without the fear of Major Suffering during the Avalanche?

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Eleven – Elia Stele

'Lore is confident there were nine, an unholy number, asymmetrical and often associated with the enemy.' So who's the ninth Unmade. What're their powers. Kinda need to know that.

'Dalinar stepped out of the Oathgate control building into Thaylen City and was met by the man he most wanted to punch in all Roshar.' Fucking bless. The entirety of the Kholins finally being solidly on Kaladin's (and Jasnah's) side in this and viciously wanting to either verbally flay or physically maim Amaram on sight is so satisfying.

God fucking damn it, Amaram. You have a point about the Sadeas soldiers assuming that they've been essentially assigned Punishment Duty (which is basically what it is in standard Alethi estimation, as they're rebuilding instead of actively engaging an enemy or sent to wait in defense for a possible attack), but you're tossing fuel on the fire by thinking of the Thaylens as 'our enemies', and as acting-highprince now, that is going to leak down to your soldiers as well. Friction between allies is the last thing all of you need for the survival of Roshar right now.

It's amazing how Bridge Four can just pop in and lighten the mood like they do, with their vibrant personalities and their humor and their sense of loyalty, of right and wrong, so different from the broken bridgemen that littered Sadeas' camp back in TWoK. They've come so far.

Queen Fen's son has gone from his outright distrust to practically outright hero-worship in regard to Dalinar and it's hilarious.

“More bankers. The quiet economic collapse of Roshar continues.” Um. If they're all making their way back to Thaylenah along with their gemstones, and we-the-readers as well as the alliance are expecting an attack on Thaylen City… ahh, but this could be Very Not Good if Odium's forces start making off with their way of storing light – essential to the Radiants' Surgebinding.

???? 'Rin? Renarin? What do you need the large stone(s) for? Do you have a plan?? Capturing the Unmade like Re-Shephir once was, maybe?

!!!!!!!! Dalinar's met Cultivation! And she's not the Nightwatcher! WHO IS SHE AND WHERE AND WHEN DID THEY MEET. And there's another one – a Splinter-spren greater than the rest, one that sleeps now and that humans have hurt before. Where, and who, Stormfather.

[hums] Your job of Uniting Them is far, far from done, Dalinar…

“Odium lies when he claims to have sole ownership of passion.” THANK YOU. That's definitely something that Dalinar needed to hear from an outside source, not just him trying to convince himself of the fact.

“It is not a day to be heartless.” FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK, HOW BAD IS TARAVANGIAN TODAY AND WHY DO I FEEL LIKE IT SPELLS DISASTER. SHITFUCKBALLS

Oh noooo, Dalinar's actually interested in and excited to be at the meeting and I have this looming feeling of dread that everything is just about to be upended into the fan...

(despite that looming dread I do love the detail of Fen's son chatting with Renarin; plz let him have more friends, all the friends)

…..it's not the Stormfather whispering in the back of Dalinar's mind, despite their Nahel bond having grown even closer, and the Stormfather can't hear it either. Bad Feeling Intensifies.

Renarin's getting the Bad Feeling too, isn't he. Fffffffftttt-

“Something… something is coming. A storm.”

Uh oh.

A storm indeed. Odium's sent it early, and with more power behind it – a supernatural assault to speed his armies on their way and to give them lightning strikes as near-artillery? That can't just be it, not when last book's Avalanche hinged around the Everstorm as well...

...what did Jasnah and Navani just discover.

Oh.

Shit.

Okay, so. Unpacking – those first called Voidbringers were humans, called such by the native Parshendi/Singers/Listeners- Dawnsingers. “They destroyed their lands and have come to us begging.” Well, that negates my theory that Rosharan-variant humans were scratch-created based on the Yolen model, but I'm still of the mind that they at least got a serious DNA-manipulation (probably via Cultivation) in order to not only survive on Roshar but to be able to have children with the Parshendi, considering that there's several (maybe all, save for the Shin?) Rosharan-variant human races that have Listener(Dawnsinger?) blood.

But which world did those original humans come from? And how did they use Surgebinding to destroy an entire world? And how did that truth in turn destroy the Radiants – was it the realization that they, and their predecessors before them, had been the Voidbringers to these people, the invaders and bringers of death and destruction? Or was it something else?

Oh for- and of course, now Taravangian has to speak up, and with… news about…

This is what you had your informants spreading that would destroy Dalinar and all that he's been working for, you poxed slug. This is the point where you sweep Dalinar's feet out from under him and there's nothing he can do about it.

[newstfionline]

The Really Big One

By Kathryn Schulz, The New Yorker, July 20, 2015 Issue

When the 2011 earthquake and tsunami struck Tohoku, Japan, Chris Goldfinger was two hundred miles away, in the city of Kashiwa, at an international meeting on seismology. As the shaking started, everyone in the room began to laugh. Earthquakes are common in Japan--that one was the third of the week--and the participants were, after all, at a seismology conference. Then everyone in the room checked the time.

Seismologists know that how long an earthquake lasts is a decent proxy for its magnitude. The 1989 earthquake in Loma Prieta, California, which killed sixty-three people and caused six billion dollars’ worth of damage, lasted about fifteen seconds and had a magnitude of 6.9. A thirty-second earthquake generally has a magnitude in the mid-sevens. A minute-long quake is in the high sevens, a two-minute quake has entered the eights, and a three-minute quake is in the high eights. By four minutes, an earthquake has hit magnitude 9.0.

When Goldfinger looked at his watch, it was quarter to three. The conference was wrapping up for the day. He was thinking about sushi. The speaker at the lectern was wondering if he should carry on with his talk. The earthquake was not particularly strong. Then it ticked past the sixty-second mark, making it longer than the others that week. The shaking intensified. The seats in the conference room were small plastic desks with wheels. Goldfinger, who is tall and solidly built, thought, No way am I crouching under one of those for cover. At a minute and a half, everyone in the room got up and went outside.

It was March. There was a chill in the air, and snow flurries, but no snow on the ground. Nor, from the feel of it, was there ground on the ground. The earth snapped and popped and rippled. It was, Goldfinger thought, like driving through rocky terrain in a vehicle with no shocks, if both the vehicle and the terrain were also on a raft in high seas. The quake passed the two-minute mark. The trees, still hung with the previous autumn’s dead leaves, were making a strange rattling sound. The flagpole atop the building he and his colleagues had just vacated was whipping through an arc of forty degrees. The building itself was base-isolated, a seismic-safety technology in which the body of a structure rests on movable bearings rather than directly on its foundation. Goldfinger lurched over to take a look. The base was lurching, too, back and forth a foot at a time, digging a trench in the yard. He thought better of it, and lurched away. His watch swept past the three-minute mark and kept going.

Oh, s--t, Goldfinger thought, although not in dread, at first: in amazement. For decades, seismologists had believed that Japan could not experience an earthquake stronger than magnitude 8.4. In 2005, however, at a conference in Hokudan, a Japanese geologist named Yasutaka Ikeda had argued that the nation should expect a magnitude 9.0 in the near future--with catastrophic consequences, because Japan’s famous earthquake-and-tsunami preparedness, including the height of its sea walls, was based on incorrect science. The presentation was met with polite applause and thereafter largely ignored. Now, Goldfinger realized as the shaking hit the four-minute mark, the planet was proving the Japanese Cassandra right.

For a moment, that was pretty cool: a real-time revolution in earthquake science. Almost immediately, though, it became extremely uncool, because Goldfinger and every other seismologist standing outside in Kashiwa knew what was coming. One of them pulled out a cell phone and started streaming videos from the Japanese broadcasting station NHK, shot by helicopters that had flown out to sea soon after the shaking started. Thirty minutes after Goldfinger first stepped outside, he watched the tsunami roll in, in real time, on a two-inch screen.

In the end, the magnitude-9.0 Tohoku earthquake and subsequent tsunami killed more than eighteen thousand people, devastated northeast Japan, triggered the meltdown at the Fukushima power plant, and cost an estimated two hundred and twenty billion dollars. The shaking earlier in the week turned out to be the foreshocks of the largest earthquake in the nation’s recorded history. But for Chris Goldfinger, a paleoseismologist at Oregon State University and one of the world’s leading experts on a little-known fault line, the main quake was itself a kind of foreshock: a preview of another earthquake still to come.

Most people in the United States know just one fault line by name: the San Andreas, which runs nearly the length of California and is perpetually rumored to be on the verge of unleashing “the big one.” That rumor is misleading, no matter what the San Andreas ever does. Every fault line has an upper limit to its potency, determined by its length and width, and by how far it can slip. For the San Andreas, one of the most extensively studied and best understood fault lines in the world, that upper limit is roughly an 8.2--a powerful earthquake, but, because the Richter scale is logarithmic, only six per cent as strong as the 2011 event in Japan.

Just north of the San Andreas, however, lies another fault line. Known as the Cascadia subduction zone, it runs for seven hundred miles off the coast of the Pacific Northwest, beginning near Cape Mendocino, California, continuing along Oregon and Washington, and terminating around Vancouver Island, Canada. The “Cascadia” part of its name comes from the Cascade Range, a chain of volcanic mountains that follow the same course a hundred or so miles inland. The “subduction zone” part refers to a region of the planet where one tectonic plate is sliding underneath (subducting) another. Tectonic plates are those slabs of mantle and crust that, in their epochs-long drift, rearrange the earth’s continents and oceans. Most of the time, their movement is slow, harmless, and all but undetectable. Occasionally, at the borders where they meet, it is not.

Take your hands and hold them palms down, middle fingertips touching. Your right hand represents the North American tectonic plate, which bears on its back, among other things, our entire continent, from One World Trade Center to the Space Needle, in Seattle. Your left hand represents an oceanic plate called Juan de Fuca, ninety thousand square miles in size. The place where they meet is the Cascadia subduction zone. Now slide your left hand under your right one. That is what the Juan de Fuca plate is doing: slipping steadily beneath North America. When you try it, your right hand will slide up your left arm, as if you were pushing up your sleeve. That is what North America is not doing. It is stuck, wedged tight against the surface of the other plate.

Without moving your hands, curl your right knuckles up, so that they point toward the ceiling. Under pressure from Juan de Fuca, the stuck edge of North America is bulging upward and compressing eastward, at the rate of, respectively, three to four millimetres and thirty to forty millimetres a year. It can do so for quite some time, because, as continent stuff goes, it is young, made of rock that is still relatively elastic. (Rocks, like us, get stiffer as they age.) But it cannot do so indefinitely. There is a backstop--the craton, that ancient unbudgeable mass at the center of the continent--and, sooner or later, North America will rebound like a spring. If, on that occasion, only the southern part of the Cascadia subduction zone gives way--your first two fingers, say--the magnitude of the resulting quake will be somewhere between 8.0 and 8.6. That’s the big one. If the entire zone gives way at once, an event that seismologists call a full-margin rupture, the magnitude will be somewhere between 8.7 and 9.2. That’s the very big one.

Flick your right fingers outward, forcefully, so that your hand flattens back down again. When the next very big earthquake hits, the northwest edge of the continent, from California to Canada and the continental shelf to the Cascades, will drop by as much as six feet and rebound thirty to a hundred feet to the west--losing, within minutes, all the elevation and compression it has gained over centuries. Some of that shift will take place beneath the ocean, displacing a colossal quantity of seawater. (Watch what your fingertips do when you flatten your hand.) The water will surge upward into a huge hill, then promptly collapse. One side will rush west, toward Japan. The other side will rush east, in a seven-hundred-mile liquid wall that will reach the Northwest coast, on average, fifteen minutes after the earthquake begins. By the time the shaking has ceased and the tsunami has receded, the region will be unrecognizable. Kenneth Murphy, who directs fema’s Region X, the division responsible for Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Alaska, says, “Our operating assumption is that everything west of Interstate 5 will be toast.”

In the Pacific Northwest, the area of impact will cover* some hundred and forty thousand square miles, including Seattle, Tacoma, Portland, Eugene, Salem (the capital city of Oregon), Olympia (the capital of Washington), and some seven million people. When the next full-margin rupture happens, that region will suffer the worst natural disaster in the history of North America. Roughly three thousand people died in San Francisco’s 1906 earthquake. Almost two thousand died in Hurricane Katrina. Almost three hundred died in Hurricane Sandy. FEMA projects that nearly thirteen thousand people will die in the Cascadia earthquake and tsunami. Another twenty-seven thousand will be injured, and the agency expects that it will need to provide shelter for a million displaced people, and food and water for another two and a half million. “This is one time that I’m hoping all the science is wrong, and it won’t happen for another thousand years,” Murphy says.

In fact, the science is robust, and one of the chief scientists behind it is Chris Goldfinger. Thanks to work done by him and his colleagues, we now know that the odds of the big Cascadia earthquake happening in the next fifty years are roughly one in three. The odds of the very big one are roughly one in ten. Even those numbers do not fully reflect the danger--or, more to the point, how unprepared the Pacific Northwest is to face it. The truly worrisome figures in this story are these: Thirty years ago, no one knew that the Cascadia subduction zone had ever produced a major earthquake. Forty-five years ago, no one even knew it existed.

In May of 1804, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, together with their Corps of Discovery, set off from St. Louis on America’s first official cross-country expedition. Eighteen months later, they reached the Pacific Ocean and made camp near the present-day town of Astoria, Oregon. The United States was, at the time, twenty-nine years old. Canada was not yet a country. The continent’s far expanses were so unknown to its white explorers that Thomas Jefferson, who commissioned the journey, thought that the men would come across woolly mammoths. Native Americans had lived in the Northwest for millennia, but they had no written language, and the many things to which the arriving Europeans subjected them did not include seismological inquiries. The newcomers took the land they encountered at face value, and at face value it was a find: vast, cheap, temperate, fertile, and, to all appearances, remarkably benign.

A century and a half elapsed before anyone had any inkling that the Pacific Northwest was not a quiet place but a place in a long period of quiet. It took another fifty years to uncover and interpret the region’s seismic history. Geology, as even geologists will tell you, is not normally the sexiest of disciplines. But, sooner or later, every field has its field day, and the discovery of the Cascadia subduction zone stands as one of the greatest scientific detective stories of our time.

The first clue came from geography. Almost all of the world’s most powerful earthquakes occur in the Ring of Fire, the volcanically and seismically volatile swath of the Pacific that runs from New Zealand up through Indonesia and Japan, across the ocean to Alaska, and down the west coast of the Americas to Chile. Japan, 2011, magnitude 9.0; Indonesia, 2004, magnitude 9.1; Alaska, 1964, magnitude 9.2; Chile, 1960, magnitude 9.5--not until the late nineteen-sixties, with the rise of the theory of plate tectonics, could geologists explain this pattern. The Ring of Fire, it turns out, is really a ring of subduction zones. Nearly all the earthquakes in the region are caused by continental plates getting stuck on oceanic plates--as North America is stuck on Juan de Fuca--and then getting abruptly unstuck. And nearly all the volcanoes are caused by the oceanic plates sliding deep beneath the continental ones, eventually reaching temperatures and pressures so extreme that they melt the rock above them.

The Pacific Northwest sits squarely within the Ring of Fire. Off its coast, an oceanic plate is slipping beneath a continental one. Inland, the Cascade volcanoes mark the line where, far below, the Juan de Fuca plate is heating up and melting everything above it. In other words, the Cascadia subduction zone has, as Goldfinger put it, “all the right anatomical parts.” Yet not once in recorded history has it caused a major earthquake--or, for that matter, any quake to speak of. By contrast, other subduction zones produce major earthquakes occasionally and minor ones all the time: magnitude 5.0, magnitude 4.0, magnitude why are the neighbors moving their sofa at midnight. You can scarcely spend a week in Japan without feeling this sort of earthquake. You can spend a lifetime in many parts of the Northwest--several, in fact, if you had them to spend--and not feel so much as a quiver. The question facing geologists in the nineteen-seventies was whether the Cascadia subduction zone had ever broken its eerie silence.

In the late nineteen-eighties, Brian Atwater, a geologist with the United States Geological Survey, and a graduate student named David Yamaguchi found the answer, and another major clue in the Cascadia puzzle. Their discovery is best illustrated in a place called the ghost forest, a grove of western red cedars on the banks of the Copalis River, near the Washington coast. When I paddled out to it last summer, with Atwater and Yamaguchi, it was easy to see how it got its name. The cedars are spread out across a low salt marsh on a wide northern bend in the river, long dead but still standing. Leafless, branchless, barkless, they are reduced to their trunks and worn to a smooth silver-gray.

What killed the trees in the ghost forest was saltwater. It had long been assumed that they died slowly, as the sea level around them gradually rose and submerged their roots. But, by 1987, Atwater, who had found in soil layers evidence of sudden land subsidence along the Washington coast, suspected that that was backward--that the trees had died quickly when the ground beneath them plummeted. To find out, he teamed up with Yamaguchi, a specialist in dendrochronology, the study of growth-ring patterns in trees. Yamaguchi took samples of the cedars and found that they had died simultaneously: in tree after tree, the final rings dated to the summer of 1699. Since trees do not grow in the winter, he and Atwater concluded that sometime between August of 1699 and May of 1700 an earthquake had caused the land to drop and killed the cedars. That time frame predated by more than a hundred years the written history of the Pacific Northwest--and so, by rights, the detective story should have ended there.

But it did not. If you travel five thousand miles due west from the ghost forest, you reach the northeast coast of Japan. As the events of 2011 made clear, that coast is vulnerable to tsunamis, and the Japanese have kept track of them since at least 599 A.D. In that fourteen-hundred-year history, one incident has long stood out for its strangeness. On the eighth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth year of the Genroku era, a six-hundred-mile-long wave struck the coast, levelling homes, breaching a castle moat, and causing an accident at sea. The Japanese understood that tsunamis were the result of earthquakes, yet no one felt the ground shake before the Genroku event. The wave had no discernible origin. When scientists began studying it, they called it an orphan tsunami.

Finally, in a 1996 article in Nature, a seismologist named Kenji Satake and three colleagues, drawing on the work of Atwater and Yamaguchi, matched that orphan to its parent--and thereby filled in the blanks in the Cascadia story with uncanny specificity. At approximately nine o’ clock at night on January 26, 1700, a magnitude-9.0 earthquake struck the Pacific Northwest, causing sudden land subsidence, drowning coastal forests, and, out in the ocean, lifting up a wave half the length of a continent. It took roughly fifteen minutes for the Eastern half of that wave to strike the Northwest coast. It took ten hours for the other half to cross the ocean. It reached Japan on January 27, 1700: by the local calendar, the eighth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth year of Genroku.

Once scientists had reconstructed the 1700 earthquake, certain previously overlooked accounts also came to seem like clues. In 1964, Chief Louis Nookmis, of the Huu-ay-aht First Nation, in British Columbia, told a story, passed down through seven generations, about the eradication of Vancouver Island’s Pachena Bay people. “I think it was at nighttime that the land shook,” Nookmis recalled. According to another tribal history, “They sank at once, were all drowned; not one survived.” A hundred years earlier, Billy Balch, a leader of the Makah tribe, recounted a similar story. Before his own time, he said, all the water had receded from Washington State’s Neah Bay, then suddenly poured back in, inundating the entire region. Those who survived later found canoes hanging from the trees. In a 2005 study, Ruth Ludwin, then a seismologist at the University of Washington, together with nine colleagues, collected and analyzed Native American reports of earthquakes and saltwater floods. Some of those reports contained enough information to estimate a date range for the events they described. On average, the midpoint of that range was 1701.

The reconstruction of the Cascadia earthquake of 1700 is one of those rare natural puzzles whose pieces fit together as tectonic plates do not: perfectly. It is wonderful science. It was wonderful for science. And it was terrible news for the millions of inhabitants of the Pacific Northwest. As Goldfinger put it, “In the late eighties and early nineties, the paradigm shifted to ‘uh-oh.’”

Goldfinger told me this in his lab at Oregon State. Thanks to his work, we now know that the Pacific Northwest has experienced forty-one subduction-zone earthquakes in the past ten thousand years. If you divide ten thousand by forty-one, you get two hundred and forty-three, which is Cascadia’s recurrence interval: the average amount of time that elapses between earthquakes. That timespan is dangerous both because it is too long--long enough for us to unwittingly build an entire civilization on top of our continent’s worst fault line--and because it is not long enough. Counting from the earthquake of 1700, we are now three hundred and fifteen years into a two-hundred-and-forty-three-year cycle.

It is possible to quibble with that number. Recurrence intervals are averages, and averages are tricky: ten is the average of nine and eleven, but also of eighteen and two. It is not possible, however, to dispute the scale of the problem. The devastation in Japan in 2011 was the result of a discrepancy between what the best science predicted and what the region was prepared to withstand. The same will hold true in the Pacific Northwest--but here the discrepancy is enormous. “The science part is fun,” Goldfinger says. “And I love doing it. But the gap between what we know and what we should do about it is getting bigger and bigger, and the action really needs to turn to responding. Otherwise, we’re going to be hammered. I’ve been through one of these massive earthquakes in the most seismically prepared nation on earth. If that was Portland”--Goldfinger finished the sentence with a shake of his head before he finished it with words. “Let’s just say I would rather not be here.”

The first sign that the Cascadia earthquake has begun will be a compressional wave, radiating outward from the fault line. Compressional waves are fast-moving, high-frequency waves, audible to dogs and certain other animals but experienced by humans only as a sudden jolt. They are not very harmful, but they are potentially very useful, since they travel fast enough to be detected by sensors thirty to ninety seconds ahead of other seismic waves. That is enough time for earthquake early-warning systems, such as those in use throughout Japan, to automatically perform a variety of lifesaving functions: shutting down railways and power plants, opening elevators and firehouse doors, alerting hospitals to halt surgeries, and triggering alarms so that the general public can take cover. The Pacific Northwest has no early-warning system. When the Cascadia earthquake begins, there will be, instead, a cacophony of barking dogs and a long, suspended, what-was-that moment before the surface waves arrive. Surface waves are slower, lower-frequency waves that move the ground both up and down and side to side: the shaking, starting in earnest.

Soon after that shaking begins, the electrical grid will fail, likely everywhere west of the Cascades and possibly well beyond. If it happens at night, the ensuing catastrophe will unfold in darkness. In theory, those who are at home when it hits should be safest; it is easy and relatively inexpensive to seismically safeguard a private dwelling. But, lulled into nonchalance by their seemingly benign environment, most people in the Pacific Northwest have not done so. That nonchalance will shatter instantly. So will everything made of glass. Anything indoors and unsecured will lurch across the floor or come crashing down: bookshelves, lamps, computers, canisters of flour in the pantry. Refrigerators will walk out of kitchens, unplugging themselves and toppling over. Water heaters will fall and smash interior gas lines. Houses that are not bolted to their foundations will slide off--or, rather, they will stay put, obeying inertia, while the foundations, together with the rest of the Northwest, jolt westward. Unmoored on the undulating ground, the homes will begin to collapse.

Across the region, other, larger structures will also start to fail. Until 1974, the state of Oregon had no seismic code, and few places in the Pacific Northwest had one appropriate to a magnitude-9.0 earthquake until 1994. The vast majority of buildings in the region were constructed before then. Ian Madin, who directs the Oregon Department of Geology and Mineral Industries (dogami), estimates that seventy-five per cent of all structures in the state are not designed to withstand a major Cascadia quake. FEMA calculates that, across the region, something on the order of a million buildings--more than three thousand of them schools--will collapse or be compromised in the earthquake. So will half of all highway bridges, fifteen of the seventeen bridges spanning Portland’s two rivers, and two-thirds of railways and airports; also, one-third of all fire stations, half of all police stations, and two-thirds of all hospitals.

The shaking from the Cascadia quake will set off landslides throughout the region--up to thirty thousand of them in Seattle alone, the city’s emergency-management office estimates. It will also induce a process called liquefaction, whereby seemingly solid ground starts behaving like a liquid, to the detriment of anything on top of it. Fifteen per cent of Seattle is built on liquefiable land, including seventeen day-care centers and the homes of some thirty-four thousand five hundred people. So is Oregon’s critical energy-infrastructure hub, a six-mile stretch of Portland through which flows ninety per cent of the state’s liquid fuel and which houses everything from electrical substations to natural-gas terminals. Together, the sloshing, sliding, and shaking will trigger fires, flooding, pipe failures, dam breaches, and hazardous-material spills. Any one of these second-order disasters could swamp the original earthquake in terms of cost, damage, or casualties--and one of them definitely will. Four to six minutes after the dogs start barking, the shaking will subside. For another few minutes, the region, upended, will continue to fall apart on its own. Then the wave will arrive, and the real destruction will begin.

Among natural disasters, tsunamis may be the closest to being completely unsurvivable. The only likely way to outlive one is not to be there when it happens: to steer clear of the vulnerable area in the first place, or get yourself to high ground as fast as possible. For the seventy-one thousand people who live in Cascadia’s inundation zone, that will mean evacuating in the narrow window after one disaster ends and before another begins. They will be notified to do so only by the earthquake itself--”a vibrate-alert system,” Kevin Cupples, the city planner for the town of Seaside, Oregon, jokes--and they are urged to leave on foot, since the earthquake will render roads impassable. Depending on location, they will have between ten and thirty minutes to get out. That time line does not allow for finding a flashlight, tending to an earthquake injury, hesitating amid the ruins of a home, searching for loved ones, or being a Good Samaritan. “When that tsunami is coming, you run,” Jay Wilson, the chair of the Oregon Seismic Safety Policy Advisory Commission (osspac), says. “You protect yourself, you don’t turn around, you don’t go back to save anybody. You run for your life.”

The time to save people from a tsunami is before it happens, but the region has not yet taken serious steps toward doing so. Hotels and businesses are not required to post evacuation routes or to provide employees with evacuation training. In Oregon, it has been illegal since 1995 to build hospitals, schools, firehouses, and police stations in the inundation zone, but those which are already in it can stay, and any other new construction is permissible: energy facilities, hotels, retirement homes. In those cases, builders are required only to consult with dogami about evacuation plans. “So you come in and sit down,” Ian Madin says. “And I say, ‘That’s a stupid idea.’ And you say, ‘Thanks. Now we’ve consulted.’”

These lax safety policies guarantee that many people inside the inundation zone will not get out. Twenty-two per cent of Oregon’s coastal population is sixty-five or older. Twenty-nine per cent of the state’s population is disabled, and that figure rises in many coastal counties. “We can’t save them,” Kevin Cupples says. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and say, ‘Oh, yeah, we’ll go around and check on the elderly.’ No. We won’t.” Nor will anyone save the tourists. Washington State Park properties within the inundation zone see an average of seventeen thousand and twenty-nine guests a day. Madin estimates that up to a hundred and fifty thousand people visit Oregon’s beaches on summer weekends. “Most of them won’t have a clue as to how to evacuate,” he says. “And the beaches are the hardest place to evacuate from.”

Those who cannot get out of the inundation zone under their own power will quickly be overtaken by a greater one. A grown man is knocked over by ankle-deep water moving at 6.7 miles an hour. The tsunami will be moving more than twice that fast when it arrives. Its height will vary with the contours of the coast, from twenty feet to more than a hundred feet. It will not look like a Hokusai-style wave, rising up from the surface of the sea and breaking from above. It will look like the whole ocean, elevated, overtaking land. Nor will it be made only of water--not once it reaches the shore. It will be a five-story deluge of pickup trucks and doorframes and cinder blocks and fishing boats and utility poles and everything else that once constituted the coastal towns of the Pacific Northwest.

To see the full scale of the devastation when that tsunami recedes, you would need to be in the international space station. The inundation zone will be scoured of structures from California to Canada. The earthquake will have wrought its worst havoc west of the Cascades but caused damage as far away as Sacramento, California--as distant from the worst-hit areas as Fort Wayne, Indiana, is from New York. FEMA expects to coordinate search-and-rescue operations across a hundred thousand square miles and in the waters off four hundred and fifty-three miles of coastline. As for casualties: the figures I cited earlier--twenty-seven thousand injured, almost thirteen thousand dead--are based on the agency’s official planning scenario, which has the earthquake striking at 9:41 a.m. on February 6th. If, instead, it strikes in the summer, when the beaches are full, those numbers could be off by a horrifying margin.

Wineglasses, antique vases, Humpty Dumpty, hip bones, hearts: what breaks quickly generally mends slowly, if at all. OSSPAC estimates that in the I-5 corridor it will take between one and three months after the earthquake to restore electricity, a month to a year to restore drinking water and sewer service, six months to a year to restore major highways, and eighteen months to restore health-care facilities. On the coast, those numbers go up. Whoever chooses or has no choice but to stay there will spend three to six months without electricity, one to three years without drinking water and sewage systems, and three or more years without hospitals. Those estimates do not apply to the tsunami-inundation zone, which will remain all but uninhabitable for years.

How much all this will cost is anyone’s guess; FEMA puts every number on its relief-and-recovery plan except a price. But whatever the ultimate figure--and even though U.S. taxpayers will cover seventy-five to a hundred per cent of the damage, as happens in declared disasters--the economy of the Pacific Northwest will collapse. Crippled by a lack of basic services, businesses will fail or move away. Many residents will flee as well. OSSPAC predicts a mass-displacement event and a long-term population downturn. Chris Goldfinger didn’t want to be there when it happened. But, by many metrics, it will be as bad or worse to be there afterward.

The Cascadia situation, a calamity in its own right, is also a parable for this age of ecological reckoning, and the questions it raises are ones that we all now face. How should a society respond to a looming crisis of uncertain timing but of catastrophic proportions? How can it begin to right itself when its entire infrastructure and culture developed in a way that leaves it profoundly vulnerable to natural disaster?

The last person I met with in the Pacific Northwest was Doug Dougherty, the superintendent of schools for Seaside, which lies almost entirely within the tsunami-inundation zone. Of the four schools that Dougherty oversees, with a total student population of sixteen hundred, one is relatively safe. The others sit five to fifteen feet above sea level. When the tsunami comes, they will be as much as forty-five feet below it.

In 2009, Dougherty told me, he found some land for sale outside the inundation zone, and proposed building a new K-12 campus there. Four years later, to foot the hundred-and-twenty-eight-million-dollar bill, the district put up a bond measure. The tax increase for residents amounted to two dollars and sixteen cents per thousand dollars of property value. The measure failed by sixty-two per cent. Dougherty tried seeking help from Oregon’s congressional delegation but came up empty. The state makes money available for seismic upgrades, but buildings within the inundation zone cannot apply. At present, all Dougherty can do is make sure that his students know how to evacuate.

Some of them, however, will not be able to do so. At an elementary school in the community of Gearhart, the children will be trapped. “They can’t make it out from that school,” Dougherty said. “They have no place to go.” On one side lies the ocean; on the other, a wide, roadless bog. When the tsunami comes, the only place to go in Gearhart is a small ridge just behind the school. At its tallest, it is forty-five feet high--lower than the expected wave in a full-margin earthquake. For now, the route to the ridge is marked by signs that say “Temporary Tsunami Assembly Area.” I asked Dougherty about the state’s long-range plan. “There is no long-range plan,” he said.

Dougherty’s office is deep inside the inundation zone, a few blocks from the beach. All day long, just out of sight, the ocean rises up and collapses, spilling foamy overlapping ovals onto the shore. Eighty miles farther out, ten thousand feet below the surface of the sea, the hand of a geological clock is somewhere in its slow sweep. All across the region, seismologists are looking at their watches, wondering how long we have, and what we will do, before geological time catches up to our own.