#grenade journal

[feminerds]

The thesis is: Desire I Want to Turn Into You (DIWTTITY) is an exploration of the many forms our relationships to billionaires take.

So I saw that advert (the amazon one - with Bunny is a Rider and the cat) last week, and I can no longer abstain from posting about it.

*club-horn blaring* Never Post Podcast Mentioned *bhrmmm bhrmm bhrmr*

My family and friends will no longer tolerate the Pepe Silvia timbre of my yelling about CARO POLO (Caroline Polachek). So I simply must turn to outlet of the desperate - making posts - and talking to strangers on the internet about my little obsessions.

(I joined r/Caroline Polachek and they are all disappointingly normal about her(!) it's nice and fun there. But c'mon now I wanna talk to the people who are being little freaks about her - I know they're out there - it cannot possibly just be me!)

I am making a slow series (there's like 2) of tikt*ks about the subject - and I've been posting Grenade Journals about it for quite some time!

CAROLINE POLACHEK's diwttity IS OBSESSED WITH BILLIONAIRES!

As you well know.

06 May 2024

Addendum: I don’t truck with billionaires - obvs, and this is by no means an endorsement of them. I just think it’s interesting that we all kinda have to - because of the *gestures broadly* circumstances - think about them so often. And because we have to think about them so much, I maybe feel it's important to notice how we conceive of this relationship "we have with them" and interrogate it's forms, functions and limitations!

[feminerds]

Sounds like op and I were getting the same sheets in 2021, hahaha.

reviewing my DBT worksheets for homework & something about the way this bit is formatted is so fucking funny

[southernroach]

thinking of roach's coping mechanisms and i kinda think that he would have a log of all of his scars. maybe in his journal, written along the edges as if they were afterthoughts to his actual entries.

the first couple entries are clinical. they list:

the body part

the general weapon type (gun, knife, rope, whatever)

if he got revenge

all the usual stuff that he would find important

just enough to document them, in case they fade or to use as a story for later. every time he dots a period, it's with a warped sense of pride.

and then one day he gets a scar from someone protecting him. they had pushed roach out of the way a second after someone screams about a sniper through their comms and takes a bullet. roach ends up falling onto his own knife and gets sliced for it but that’s nothing compared to his savior.

when he goes to write the entry, it’s noticeably shakier, scribbled over and smudged like he couldn’t decide what to write and then got far too frustrated for what should be gratitude.

he’s seen people die but it’s never been for him. he makes sure that guy’s name is clear, makes sure the ink dries before allowing his hands to touch the page.

then another one happens. an enemy tosses a cooked grenade. they have a split second to react and the guy upfront turns around, looks him in the eye, and slams his palms into roach’s chest.

roach crashes to the ground, barely notices that he got hit with a nasty piece of debris until he’s crouched behind a wall and realizes that what’s dripping down his body is too hot, too thick, to be sweat. and another entry appears.

the scar, the location, his savior’s name. how it felt to look someone in the eye moments before death, knowing again that it was for him. another messy entry, cut only by the pristine printing of those names.

he’s lucky he doesn’t have to write one for every close call but even those have lost that naive arrogance from before.

the more it happens, the more he survives and other don’t, the less it becomes about the scars.

[ltwilliammowett]

The grenade

The grenade (grenade is likely derived from the French word spelled exactly the same, meaning pomegranate, as the bomb is reminiscent of the many-seeded fruit in size and shape. Its first use in English dates from the 1590s.) as we know it today is not a modern invention - on the contrary, it has its origins in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages.

First grenades appeared in the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire not long after the reign of Leo III (717-741). Byzantine soldiers learnt that Greek fire (a mixture of sulphur and oil), a Byzantine invention from the previous century, could be thrown at the enemy not only with flamethrowers but also in stone and ceramic vessels.

Byzantine " Greek Fire" Grenade, c. 800-1000 AD

With the invention of gunpowder in Song China (960-1279), weapons known as ‘thunderbolts’ were created by soldiers packing gunpowder into ceramic or metal vessels with fuses. In a military book from the year 1044, the Wujing Zongyao (Collection of Military Classics), various gunpowder recipes are described in which, according to Joseph Needham, the prototype of the modern hand grenade can be found.

The grenades (pào) are made of cast iron, are the size of a bowl and have the shape of a ball. They contain half a pound of ‘divine fire’ (shén huǒ, gunpowder) inside. They are sent by an eruptor (mu pào) towards the enemy camp, and when they arrive there, a sound like a thunderclap is heard and flashes of light appear. If ten of these grenades are successfully fired at the enemy camp, the whole place goes up in flames.

Grenade-like devices were also known in ancient India. In a Persian historical account from the 12th century, the Mojmal al-Tawarikh, a terracotta elephant filled with explosives was hidden in a chariot with a fuse and exploded as the invading army approached.

These encrusted hand grenades were washed up from a 17th-century pirate shipwreck, Dollar Cove, in the coastal Gunwalloe district of Cornwall's Lizard Peninsula

The first cast-iron bombs and shells appeared in Europe in 1467, where they were initially used in the siege and defence of castles and fortresses. In the mid-17th century, infantrymen known as ‘grenadiers’ emerged in European armies, specialising in shock and close combat, usually using grenades and engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat. But grenades have also been in use at sea since the 17th century. They were used to inflict as much personal damage as possible below deck after boarding a ship by throwing the grenades underneath.

After the middle of the 19th century, grenades were used extensively in the Crimean War and the American Civil War. Before they changed in design and function to be used in the trenches, especially in the First World War and later. They are still in use today.

Forbes, Robert James (1993). Studies in Ancient Technology

Thomas Enke: Grundlagen der Waffen- und Munitionstechnik

David Harding (Hrsg.): Waffen-Enzyklopädie

Bertram Kropak: Die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Handgranaten. In: DWJ Deutsches Waffen Journal. 1970

[kneecapsbelong2me]

Marvel Women x Diabetic!Reader HCs:

When your blood sugar is low

Characters: Kate Bishop, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Wanda Maximoff, Carol Danvers

A/N: this can be read as platonic or romantic! Also, world diabetes day was last week, but here we are.

Kate Bishop:

Before you met, the food scene at Kate’s apartment was dismal

The only things she ever really kept on hand were boxed Mac and cheese, microwave popcorn, and chocolate bars

Now, (in addition to real food and snacks you can eat more regularly) Kate’s apartment is filled with all of your favorite carb-filled, high glycemic index snacks and drinks

When you go low, she’s immediately offering you everything under the sun

If your favorites are from abroad, she WILL order them, shipping costs be damned

If you’re having a super mild hypo, she’ll pop downstairs and grab you a slice of pizza

Kate Bishop is a bit of a hoverer

Constantly checking in to make sure your sugar levels aren’t going down further

She HATES waiting 15 minutes to see if you’re back above 70 mg/dL (3.9 mmol/L)

Lowkey more anxious about it than you sometimes

“Are you sure you’re not going to collapse?”

“Kate, I’m only at 68, and I had a snack. I’m fine.”

“That is not fine!”

Natasha Romanoff:

Natasha is super observant (obviously, she’s a spy)

Seems to know you’re going low before you do

Will tell you to check your blood sugar because she’s noticing you look a little shaky and out of it

Other times will rummage through your bag and hand you a pack of gummies just as you’re about to tell her you feel low

She keeps little hard candies/gels hidden in the most random places for you

Once you were out and she pulled a candy from a pocket in her shirt you didn’t realize was there

Will never force you to do anything, but will give you her hardest stare if you don’t immediately treat your low (especially if you wear a continuous glucose monitor [cgm])

“I don’t even feel shaky, and you know this thing sometimes shows false lows,”

“I can tell you’re about to go low. Here, drink this.”

“Where were you hiding a juice pouch?!”

“I have a lot of things hidden on my body,”

“IS THAT A GRENADE??”

Maria Hill:

When she found out you were diabetic, Maria did a whole bunch of research, including on the signs of hypoglycemia and how to treat it

She has your lows down to a science

If you have a cgm, she definitely has the app on her phone so it tells her when you’re going low

If the cgm says you’re low, but you don’t feel the symptoms, she makes you check with the finger stick

Has things portioned so each serving has exactly 15 grams of carbs

Makes sure you eat a more substantial snack with protein in it once you’re back in range

Keeps a journal of the dates/times you go low and how effectively different treatments work for you

“I think you should start having an afternoon snack. I’ve noticed you have the most hypoglycemic incidents an hour or two before dinner.”

“Hmm, okay. But only if you take a break and have a snack with me.”

“If that’s what it takes, deal.”

Wanda Maximoff:

Wanda is an even bigger worrier than Kate

She’s lost so many people in her life, and she’ll be damned if she lets you die from something she can directly stop

She keeps a closer eye on your blood sugar than you do

Like Maria, if you have a cgm she has the app to track

Wanda makes sure EVERY alarm is turned on and at the highest volume

When you go out, she carries more snacks than you do

If you have glucagon, Wanda keeps a dose with her, even if you also have one on you

The instant she knows you’re low there is a candy in your hand (before you can even access your own stash)

“If that doesn’t do it, I have three juice boxes, two packs of fruit gummies, and about two dozen hard candies in my bag,”

“Geez, Wanda. That sounds heavy. Which one of us is diabetic again?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay!”

“Sorry, I know. Thank you for caring so much about me.”

“Of course.”

Carol Danvers: 

You go low while on Carol’s ship once, and she gives you juice from an alien planet and it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted

She finds out how much you like it and goes back to the planet just to buy it for you so she always has some on her ship

Forget a phone app, Carol has low glucose alerts hooked up to all of her tech no matter what technology you use

She somehow managed to get your finger stick connected to her suit and her ship

If she happens to be off-world and she gets an alert about you going low, she stops what she’s doing to text you

But if she’s “close,” no matter where she is on Earth (or near it) when you go low she will use her super speed to get to you, even if you assure her your fine

“Carol, you really didn’t have to leave your meeting with Fury for this. I have my own snacks.”

“I know, but I’m planetside and I have that juice you like.”

“Thanks for always taking care of me.”

“Of course, I’ll always be here when you need me.”

[cthulhusstepmom]

Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #702 (August 1994)

Bloodsport (not the black one, the anti-black one) returns, which means this is gonna be another distressingly violent issue, but hey, at least we get to see Superman hit a Nazi! Right off the bat, we start with Bloodsport mowing down a nice black family because he wants to, as he puts it, "Keep Metropolis Clean." After the "Fall of Metropolis" storyline, the place is pretty messy, so I guess what he actually wants to do is Make It Clean Again, but I digress.

Meanwhile, Ron Troupe, who helped get rid of Bloodsport the last time he popped up, is working on an article in Lois Lane's borrowed laptop, which is apparently the only working computer in Metropolis right now. When they hear about Bloodsport shooting people up on a bridge, Lois and Ron rush there and arrive right in time to watch Superman get owned by pink goo. Racist pink goo.

(New writer David Michelinie sure loves covering guys in goo, huh?)

Bloodsport recognizes Ron (so he can tell black people apart), who once again has a chance to shoot him but can't bring himself to do it. Bloodsport is like "thanks, now I'll kill you anyway" and shoots at Ron but ends up killing a police officer instead. She looked Latina, though, so I guess that's still a win for him.

By the time Superman has freed himself from The Nazi Goo™, Bloodsport has left for "the largest African-American neighborhood in Metropolis," and not precisely to experience the rich culture and cuisine. Once Superman gets there, Bloodsport teleports a bunch of automated guns all around him, which don't look terribly intimidating to someone with bulletproof skin... until Bloodsport points them outwards, targeting random people in the neighborhood to keep Supes distracted while he goes off to do more hate crimes. I regret to inform you that this makes this racist asshole smarter than 90% of criminals Superman has fought.

While Superman deals with that, Ron, feeling guilty because that cop lady died due to his inability shoot guns, decides to fight Bloodsport through something he's actually good at: journalism. And also by logging into Lois' notebook without permission, but I'm pretty sure she'd understand (you'd think she would have gotten stronger passwords after Lex Luthor hacked her, though). Ron uses his own reporting and the dirt Lois recently dug up on Luthor to find out that all those guns Bloodsport can teleport on demand are currently being stored at the LexCorp tower. Luckily, it's much easier to sneak in there since half the place got blown to shit.

The next time Bloodsport tries to teleport a gun to his hand, he gets something else: a handful of molten metal, courtesy of Ron. Turns out Ron can't pull a trigger, but he's perfectly capable of pulling the pin on a grenade.

Without his teleporting guns, Bloodsport is just a regular bigot in a silly costume. Superman doesn't even deign himself to punch this worthless scum with his whole hand, since a finger will do.

Later, Clark compliments Ron on his bravery, but Ron says the real hero is everyone who goes through their day not being a racist asshole. Pretty low bar, Ron, but a nice sentiment.

NEXT: Zero Hour! Finally!

Creator-Watch:

As mentioned, this is the first issue written by Roger Stern's replacement, David Michelinie, fresh off his long run in Spider-Man comics where, among other things, he co-created Venom, the character who still keeps him infrequently employed at Marvel. This is a bit more violent and darker than I like my Superman comics to be (not surprising from the guy who introduced Iron Man's alcoholism and killed Aquaman's Aquababy) -- I'm not sure I like Clark smiling at the end when so many people died in the issue, including a little girl. At least he didn't wink this time!

But, other than that, I think this is a solid done-in-one story and I appreciate having Ron actually contribute to the plot in a meaningful way. Michelinie clearly did his homework in regards to the continuity and seems to have a good handle on the characters, particularly Lois and Clark. Their interaction in this issue is kinda hokey, but come on, it's Lois and Clark. They're allowed to be hokey.

However, I do remember having one serious complaint about Michelinie's run the first time I read it: an almost complete lack of Bibbo, which is unforgivable. We'll see how accurate that impression is.

Plotline-Watch:

Bloodsport says he survived the explosion in his last appearance because the circuitry in his weapon teleporter got "jangled" and teleported him away. Wait, so he suffered a teleporter malfunction in a comic and didn't become fused with his guns or something? Missed opportunity, if you ask me. At the very least he could have gained the ability to teleport at will, like a racist Nightcrawler. Maybe he could have inexplicably gained a German accent too.

Jimmy Olsen, who's apparently been looking for Lucy Lane since he ditched her with some wannabe rocker girls during the Massacre storyline (that had to be days ago, right?), finally finds her with those same girls, but it's okay because they're friends now. Lucy tells tells Jimmy that the Riot Grrrls invited her to that charity concert for rebuilding Metropolis we've been hearing about lately, the mere mention of which seems to offend Jimmy. Don Sparrow says: "I want to believe Jimmy’s 'whatchoo talkin' bout Willis' expression is due to his shared (with me) hatred of Jeb Friedman, the concern organizer." That, or he remembered that the concert headliner, his old friend Babe, owes him $5.

I've been reading several DC comics published in August 1994 and this is one of the few that didn't include any teasers for Zero Hour whatsoever (stuff like the future city in Green Lantern #54 or the dinosaurs in the latest issues of Guy Gardner: Warrior). At the time, some might have thought that having a full-on Nazi running around in the present could count as an anachronism but, uh, I think we've established by now that that's sadly not the case...

Plug-Watch:

On the subject of Superman punching Nazis, I fully recommend our old pal Patrick Ryall's "Superman vs. Bigots" column at The Avocado, where he goes over instances of Superman Family characters facing bigots across the ages, from the time Supes arrested Hitler in the '40s to the "Perry White vs. the Ku Klux Klan" issue from this era (which we haven't covered yet, so spoilers). Good stuff!

Now a self-plug: as mentioned in our post for the time-displaced Action #642, I've been putting together a sort of Superman '86 to '99 reading guide at my fav'rit current social media site (sorry, BlueSky), League of Comic Geeks, where I'm writing a short blurb about every issue from this era mentioning what's special, noteworthy, or weird/funny about it. At first I was just copying a paragraph or two from our old posts and throwing in a "read more" link, hoping to drive more readers to the newsletter, but I've started rewriting them to be more like something you'd see in an episode guide or a book about the '86-'99 period... which is an intriguing idea. Anyway, here's that reading guide link again, because this paragraph doesn't have enough clickable words in it already: https://leagueofcomicgeeks.com/profile/mrmxy/lists/58097/superman-86-to-99-checklist-wip

Shouts Outs-Watch:

Nazi-punching shout outs to our supporters, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, Dave Shevlin, and Dave Blosser! Join them (and get extra non-continuity articles; we've got some cartoon-related ones lined up) via Patreon or our newsletter's "pay what you want" mode!

To see more of Don's take on this issue, including his thoughts on Jimmy's physique, keep reading!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it keeps the tradition of other Bloodsport covers where Bloodsport is firing a ridiculously high-calibre weapon.  I know the cover text (which generally I dislike) is ironic in this context, but it still bugs me slightly—Bloodsport’s views are so poisonous, even as a villain I hate seeing them represented. But buckle up, because there’s a whoooooole lot of that in this issue.

Lucky for me I’m mostly here to focus on the art, and it’s good throughout, as upsetting and violent as some of the visuals are.  The doomed, completely innocent family who are mowed down by gunfire on page 3 are very well drawn—and coloured—I love rim-lighting, and it’s rarely rendered in orange.

An odd thing happens on page 5, which you sometimes see—artists get so used to drawing everyone with superheroic proportions that even civilians get He-Man action figure physiques—this happens with Jimmy Olsen in that first panel (yes, another Superman song reference on a Jimmy Olsen t-shirt, this time it’s Crash Test Dummies being given a shout-out) looking pretty ‘roided out complete with obliques visible through his shirt.  Not to say that I don’t think Jimmy’s in good shape, but typically he’s a bit more average in build, or so it seems in this suggestive pin-up by Jerry Ordway in 1988…

[Max: You have no idea the amount of research Don did to find that pin-up, which both of us remembered but couldn't place (it turned out to be in the incredible Modern Masters: Jerry Ordway book by TwoMorrows), but it was 100% worth the effort.]

Moving on, the upside down takeoff on page 13 is well done.  Jackson Guice’s Superman always seems to have slightly longer hair than how the other artists draw him, but it’s a consistent thing, so I can’t complain too much.  There’s an unfortunately Michael Jackson-looking Superman grimace on page 18 (shamone), but by the end of the story, Superman’s extremely ticked face is a great panel.

SPEEDING BULLETS:

The Daily Planet offices are, apparently, very near Boring Plaza, named after longtime Superman great, Wayne Boring.

GODWATCH: Dig the beat cop, Marcy, characterizing Superman as an answer to prayer on page 8.  As things go wrong in other places in the book, both Ron Troupe and Superman invoke the almighty in frustration or despair.  Lastly, as Clark and Ron bond in their agreement that racism is gross and wrong, and share an amen.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bloodsport does not support the then-current Democratic President, Bill Clinton. 

Same as the last time this Alexander Trent version of Bloodsport popped up, I find this an extremely troubling issue.  I get that Bloodsport is a villain, and a dastardly one at that. But even so, I hate some of the words and views he’s sharing—words I don’t even want to type to repeat here—appearing in a Superman comic at all.  With characters this heinous, we almost need an editorial box disclaiming Trent’s statements, as they go unchallenged in the narrative as the character monologues to himself.  Similar to the last issue with Bloodsport, there’s an awful lot of carnage and innocent death for a comics code book, and it’s something I think the better Superman stories steer away from.  It’s hard not to be bothered by the juxtaposition of a black family being gunned down discriminately against Lois and Clark comfortably flirting.

Kudos to Ron for figuring out where Bloodsport’s weapons cache was, but, like in the last appearance of this Bloodsport, I can’t help but wonder why Superman doesn’t try to ionize the air around Bloodsport using his heat vision, since it was so effective the first time he faced this kind of teleporter tactic.  A single line of dialogue could have hand-waved it away, but it seems like a missed opportunity. [Max: True. I would have even taken a "Drat, can't do that since I already did it in another issue! Gotta mix it up!"]

Some small irony that it was a clone war that reduced Metropolis to rubble in this issue, in the first issue from new Action Comics writer David Michelinie, who slinked away after kicking off the wildly controversial Clone Saga over in Spider-Man before joining DC Comics.

Any serviceman’s death in the line of duty is a tragedy, but this Carroll O’Connor looking sergeant must have been pretty close to his pension as it was, no? [Max: I think Bloodsport spared him, though... probably because he loves Archie Bunker so much.]

Missed an issue? Looking for an old storyline? Check out our new chronological issue index!

[tododeku-or-bust]

"Similarly, the National Journal reporter that between January 1997 and October 1999, the agency handled 3.4 million orders of Pentagon equipment from over eleven thousand domestic police agencies in all fifty states. Included in the bounty were "253 aircraft... UH-60 Blackhawk and UH-1 Huey helicopters, 7,856 M-16 rifles, 181 grenade launcher, 8,131 bulletproof helmets, and 1,161 pairs of night-vision goggles." A retired police chief in New Haven, Connecticut told The New York Times, "I was offered ranks, bazookas, anything I wanted."

The New Jim Crow, on how the Pentagon encourages police agencies to participate in the federally pushed War on Drugs with money and weaponry.

[msbarrybeeson]

Before You Go | Future Donnie & April Insight (Part VI)

(Reader Included)

A/N: Any constructive criticism is appreciated. Reader comments and feedback are also welcomed a lot. 

I have been gone for a long time. Just occupied with my studies! No fan fiction author curse or anything (yet).

Summary: You’re both adopting-parents of Casey. The story follows the perspective of Donatello and April O’Neil during the Kraang apocalypse. You and Leonardo decided to ask them to watch over thirteen-year-old Casey.

In other words, familial interactions between April, Donnie, and Casey Jr.

Reader: Gender-neutral pronouns are used, except the terms “(Mom / Dad)” are also used. Second POV.

Pairing: Rise! Future! Leonardo X Reader

Warnings: Bittersweet.

Word Count:  ~3490

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / ...

~

Donnie knew how much of a genius he was.

It was no surprise after all. In his late teens, he improved NASA’s satellites to communicate with planets light centuries away. He cured breast cancer through the use of protons in radiation therapy to target specific cells, rather than affecting the harmless. Hell, he even managed to discover a new type of radioactive particles: mutons. By that point, he—.

“—should have been given a Nobel Prize in Medicine and in Chemistry.” Donnie cursed under his breath. He strolled over to his lab bench, equipping his goggles.

Squeeeak. 

April– who was found seated on Donnie’s roughed-up, spinning gaming chair– raised an eyebrow. Her hair had grown out and was left unbounded. Faint wrinkles and eye bags on her features displayed maturity, in contrast to a couple of years ago. However, everyone was well aware that time was not the only factor. 

“Whatcha going on about now, Donnie?”

The softshell huffed. “Recall when I wrote a report about my experimental findings with an invention meant to revive a deceased human being?”

“...You mean the one where you thought it was a good idea to open up Curie’s tomb? Even gone as far as to ask for my help?” April grimaced. “Who’d ever forget that.”

She proceeded to massage her temples. 

“God. You were in all kinds of messed up for that, Don.”

Lightning-like yellow sparks flickered as Donnie had his robotic hands occupied with a butane torch. His goggles were sealed tight around his eyes as he built a oval-looking device on his lab bench. Titanium outer-layer over a seriously complex circuit-board; appearing as if Samsung marketed grenades.

He scoffed. “Oh please. It wasn’t as if I’d taken long to understand how Marie Curie deserves her rest for her great contributions to radiation. Thus is why–.”

“–You decided to take a poor random husband of an old wife,” April interjected.

“Ahem.” Donnie pronounced. “The poor woman was begging me for her husband to be alive again. I was simply gracious and generous enough to not charge her for the process.” He set aside the butane torch. “At least it progressed well; he stayed alive for an additional two years. It gave his wife psychological comfort, and I was able to submit my paper to the N.S.F..” 

He picked up a screwdriver. “Except....” 

April could tell her friend’s eye was twitching. 

“They rejected my findings, nearly had me detained, and claimed it was far too ‘unethical.’” Donnie raised his volume. “Scoff! As if those researchers weren’t committing the crime themselves! Taking bodies away from families and claiming them as scientific property without permission.

If I could go back in time and shove my documents in their jaws, you bet I would.”

April smirked. “Well, I have my regrets too, Donnie.”

“You sound rather amused, April. Is that so surprising? And here I never thought you would regret your part-time job at Albearto’s. Or the fact you wasted money to switch to journalism in university.”

WHACK!

April threw her bat at Donnie’s head, flying back to her hand like a boomerang.

“Watch your mouth, mister. I may have regretted Albearto’s, but not a single moment in my life did I ever regret my journalism passion.” She stood up.

“Ouch.” The softshell vocalized, squinting his eyes toward her. His robotic clampers paused, setting aside the torch and taking off his goggles. 

“Mind yourself, April. Horse-playing is forbidden in the laboratory. I am not consenting to having yet another silver-titanium apparatus get scratched because of you.” Donnie gritted his teeth. “Can you hear the negative connotation?”

“Seriously, Donnie? Where’d that come from? Not only was that years ago but it ain’t anything except a simple accident.” 

“‘Simple accident?’” the softshell repeated with dramatic offense. “An accident, like many others in science labs, which could have caused severe damage! Remember the incident when your teacher dumped bleach and vinegar into the trash bin?

You know, if you had paid any attention in your chemistry class, those two would make mustard gas?” Donnie side-eyed his friend. “Simple accidents can have serious consequences, O’Neil.”

A hand crept up the lab bench.

“Uh-huh, and I’m supposed to believe an instance of me knocking over your phone and books would kill somebody?” April crossed her arms. “If anything, the blame’s yours for not organizing your desk when you got drunk on coffee.”

The hand took ahold of the butane torch.

“Donatello? Disorganized? Sounds cheap coming from you, a student majoring in Journalism.”

April pulled up her coat’s sleeves. “Oh boy, you’re about to get it—.”

Squeeeak!

Heads spun and found a 13-year old boy, replacing April’s spot on Donnie’s chair. Casey eyed the torch with a great yet concerning amount of curiosity.

“Yo, what’s this for, Uncle Don?”

At lightning speed, while April ran to move the gaming chair away further from the workbench, Donnie snatched the tool from his hands. “Child. Casey. Young man.” The softshell heaved loudly. “I must inform you this is NOT meant to be handled with such casual ease. How in Hawking did you even—.”

“Don’t your lab have a passcode or something?” 

“–Is what I am wondering myself, O’Neil. I refuse to believe this child remembers the beginning thirty numbers of π–.”

“Nope, only us.” April and Donnie lifted their gazes to his lab entrance. You leaned on the frame while a dear red-eared slider stood just behind. A couple of steps inside, and the metallic lab door shut close. 

Donnie– strangely– was quick to hide his device-in-progress off to the side.

“You’re back!” April grinned. “Hell, you would not believe the convo Donnie and I were having a minute ago.” She hurried to hug you.

“Figures,” Leo remarked. “We could practically hear you yards off.”

“Sounds like things never get old.” You smiled.

There was a side-eye between Donnie and April, before the Commander proceeded to inquire, coughing: “Anyhow.. care to explain the occasion? You two don’t seem to be in a hurry.”

“The only times you ever visit my laboratory are to prepare for immediate combat engagement, and you look awfully collected.” The softshell furrowed his brows.

“No, no.” You waved your hands, shaking your head. “Thank God no. We came here to ask if you two could take care of our Casey here while we head out.” The other turtle scrunched his in-quote eyebrows. “You— You came here to request us to... babysit him?”

April jabbed him in his plastron.

“You see? Just like I said.” Leo turned to you. “I know my brother, love. Don’s not the kind of guy to take responsibility for a kid. Or anyone, really.”

“Hold on.” Donnie narrowed his eyes. “I never said I refused, Leo.”

“Don’t know, it sounds like it to me.”

“Well, my misinformed brother, contrary to your belief, I am perfectly capable of handling a child.”

You huffed with amusement. Your husband only winked back.

“If you say so, Don.”

“Where are you two heading off for if you needed us to watch over him?” April inquired. “Wondering, ‘cause this never happened even when you two leave for patrol.”

“Just finding some time for ourselves.”

April exclaimed, “As in a honeymoon? Why not just say so? We’ll leave you two alone–.”

“–In this economy and climate?” Donnie interjected. “Has it also not been six years since your yet-to-be-legal marriage?”

“Alright, alright,” Leonardo chuckled. “Cut us some slack, bro. Finding time wasn’t easy when there’s Kraang above our necks.”

“Right, and you’re going on a honeymoon, how?” The softshell crossed his arms. “Simply because you’re the leader does not equate to you making wise decisions, Leo.”

“His ōdachi can teleport anyone to anyplace, we have some hope we can easily teleport to a remote area,” you answered. “One without Kraang infestation. It’ll be hard, but we may as well try.”

“Bonus points if we find clear skies and an ocean.” The red-eared turtle grinned, wrapping his arm over your shoulders.

“What’s a honeymoon, (Mom / Dad)?”

Your hand went to caress Casey’s cheek. “Parent quality time. It just means you get to handle yourself like the responsible grown-up you’ll become one day. Just promise me you’ll be on your best behavior around Uncle Don and Auntie April?”

“I promise, (Mom / Dad)!”

“Good boy,” Leo laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair.

“You didn’t ask Mikey and Raph to help out too, or?”

“Between you and me, I think you guys are better of making sure Casey doesn’t get into any chaos,” you whispered to April. “Don’t tell them that, though.”

She laughed. “Okay, I see how it is. You both have fun.” 

Donnie bit his lip. Right as Leonardo and (Name) turn to exit the laboratory, he extended his arm out to them.

“Leo, (Name).”

You two faced back to him once more.

“Don’t kill yourselves out there.”

Everyone’s eyes widened– April, you, and Leonardo himself. But the brother in blue snickered, holding a smile that reached his eyes. “So you do also care for me, Don. And all this time I thought you were plotting to put me in my grave or something.”

“We won’t.” Leo placed a hand on your shoulder. “You got my word.”

“Bye (Mom / Dad)! Bye Papa!”

“We’ll be back soon, Casey!”

Donnie stood in silence as you finally left, leaving himself with none other than his best friend and his nephew. “I refuse to believe this is the future we have to deal with.”

“Times changed all of us, didn’t they?” April spoke. “One day we wish each other a good one, and the next, we hope we just don’t die. I could’ve been a famous news anchor by now, make my mother happy, fight crime without worrying about dying the next second.

..I wonder if there’s anyone else out there besides the small number of us down here.”

“..I doubt it.”

Donnie pulled himself together and walked back to his workbench, operating his clampers to work once again. He put on his goggles. Casey, being a young teenager of enthusiasm, peeked over.

“Watch yourself, boy,” April warned.

“Don’t worry about me, Auntie. I’m only standing over here.” Casey narrowed his eyes upon the glowing and metal-like ball his uncle had his tools on. “What are you working on, Uncle Don?”

“A sphere.”

“A sphere?”

“You heard correctly.”

“That sounds kind of boring.”

Donnie had to hold himself back from remarking with: ‘That is exactly what every child whose intellect is doomed would say.’

“I’m sure your mother would find it rather moving.”

“(Mom / Dad)? I don’t understand what’s emotional about a ball, though.”

“Hey Casey.” April coughed. “Why not tell us about your mask here? Haven’t taken a good look at it before. Maybe Uncle Don would like to hear it too.”

“You actually want me to talk about my mask?”

“Ain’t a problem, is it?”

“No.” He fidgeted with his fingers a bit. “You don’t have anything else to do?”

“We were just told to watch over you, kid.”

“Yeah, but everyone I know is always busy with the Kraang or supplying weapons. I never really get chances to hang out.”

There was a brief pause in the butane torch’s flame.

April’s expression softened. Her hand came up to brush his black hair. “Things have gotten calmer up there. So you’ve got plenty of time with us now.”

Casey smiled.

“So your mask?” 

The boy alternated between covering his face and removing it. “(Mom / Dad) gave it to me. She told me it is based on the one worn by my biological mother. (Mom / Dad) also said that my birth mother was kind of crazy-funny and likes to be loud. She would have a stick to play– what was it– hockey?

I don’t know what kind of game hockey is supposed to be, but I guess it’s nice to know how life was like before all the Kraang.”

A sad smile crept on April’s lips. 

“Anyways, I thought the mask looked kind of plain, so I decided to draw red marks on it. See?” Casey showed his mask off, fingers tapping the surface. “Guess who it looks like!”

There were two bold and thick streaks of red. Each one ran through one eye, truly a defining characteristic. The Commander chuckled, already imagining how much pride her friend in blue would feel from the fact a kid– let alone one he had been parenting– looked up to him so much.

“You know, I am seeing someone familiar here.” April hummed as she put on a thoughtful facade. Fingers holding her chin and everything. “Got to be Uncle Don.”

Named turtle paused for a moment and raised a brow.

“Seriously, Auntie April?” On the other hand, Casey gave her an incredulous look and shook his head. “You probably want to get your eyes checked out, ‘cause Uncle Don doesn’t have any red stripes.” Off to the side. “And even if he did, he won’t look as cool as Dad.”

April snickered behind her palm as Donnie eyed the boy from behind his goggles.

“You’re right, you’re right. Just messing with you, kid.” Her hand ruffled his hair once more. “Sounds like you really admire your Papa, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Dad has an awesome sword that opens up portals. He always moves so quickly whenever he’s fighting. Bam! And the Kraang’s gone!” The teenager stretched his arm for emphasis. “Even as the leader, Papa knows when to get serious and when to make people laugh. He also cares a lot about me, (Mom / Dad), you guys, and everyone!”

It made even Donnie himself smile. 

However, the way Casey’s enthusiasm died down had not gone unnoticed. “I’ve always wanted to help out though.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I want to fight the Kraang right by his and (Mom / Dad)’s side. Except I barely get the chance to, because they keep telling me to stay close to base and hide behind a giant rock.”

April crossed her arms and went quiet. His feelings were nothing new. In fact, she experienced the same thing herself, seeing she had always been a human. It was like that until–.

“Have no hard feelings,” Donnie spoke up, his hands and eyes remained on his spheric gadget. The sparks were flying. “Your parents are merely worried about your well-being.”

“I know, I know. They won’t have to though, if I can have enough training or something.” Casey sighed. “Then again, I also know I’m only a normal sensitive human.

...Why can’t I be a mutant instead?”

“Ahem. You are classified as a human. That is a true statement and one you cannot change.” Donnie hummed. “However, that does not mean you cannot be strong and capable in other ways.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been in my place before?”

“Perhaps I did. Did you truly think being a soft-shell turtle is easy? I happened to be born as one of the only Testudines species whose outer shell cannot protect.” Donnie remarked. “Casey, your mask.” His hand signaled.

“What about my mask?”

“I merely want to add something.”

Confused, he hopped off the chair and handed the mask over. “Hmm. As long as you don’t mess with the stripes, Uncle Don.”

“Who says I won’t?”

Casey kicked Donnie’s leg.

“‘Ow,’ I say sarcastically without feeling physical pain.”

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Such as?”

“You say those action verbs, even when you’re already doing them.”

April snorted. “Just his thing, kid. Uncle Don’s got his special quirks.”

“Do you have a quirk?”

“Picking unnecessary fights for one,” Donnie commented.

“You only call them ‘unnecessary,’ because you never want to fix the problem.”

He rolled his eyes. “My solution would’ve been ten times more efficient if you had allowed my technology and I to do the work.”

Casey wondered. “Does your tech ever go haywire, Uncle Don?”

“No.”

“Oh man,” April began, “you should’ve been there for this one time. Your Uncle Don was building some kind of overprotective bed to keep your late Gramps from waking up from his beauty sleep.”

“Gramps likes to sleep?”

“You’d be surprised to hear that he sure does.”

“Then what happened?”

“Uncle Don asked your Dad, Uncle Mikey, and Uncle Raph to try punching, slicing, throwing whatever they could on the bed. They were attacking it like crazy!”

“And then?” 

“And the bed was even more insane, ‘cause there were actual missiles shooting out! They went straight for his brothers. At some point, it got overboard, so Uncle Don tried to command it to stop.”

“I’m hearing a ���but’ coming.”

“But it malfunctioned and thought Uncle Don was the enemy!”

“However!” Donnie pointed his finger up, interrupting the story-telling. “It did not take long for my creation to recognize his master.”

“Still went haywire in my book,” April remarked. 

“Ignoring that.” His robotic hand tapped the edge of his workbench, grabbing Casey’s attention. “Come here, young man.” He slid back the mask, except in his hands, it felt as if the frame had thicken.

“It looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same?”

“Try wearing it over your face.”

The boy did as told. All of a sudden, a bunch of green rectangles and words appeared in his vision. He gasped in awe. He spun around slowly, watching the rectangle focus on a figure through the wall.

“Yes yes, I know. I am well aware of how amazing I am.” Donnie huffed in pride. “I have opted to construct an interface with your mask. I cannot see why you shouldn’t have something to defend yourself with,” he reasoned. “I have other updates in mind later on. As of now, however, your mask will help you detect life forms across other rooms or through other objects.” 

“That’s so cool!” The boy hesitated though. “But I don’t want to break it or anything.”

“Hey.” April rested her hand on Casey’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “Our resources are already scarce. Using then losing them is better than nothing. You better make the most of our tech. Understood, soldier?”

Casey grinned underneath his mask. He fixed his posture up and saluted. “Gotcha–! Understood, Commander!” 

He faced the inventor, whose hands were already back to being occupied with the “sphere.” “Thanks so much, Uncle Don!” Casey exclaimed, leaping towards the turtle to give a tight hug. “You’re the best!” 

Upon contact, Donnie stiffened up, but his lack of experience with physical touch did not prevent a smile forming on his face. He extended a robotic arm, patting Casey’s back. 

The boy then scanned around curiously with his mask. “Hey! Think I spot Uncle Mikey and Uncle Raph two floors down! They’re holding hands over a table or something. Why are so many people circling around them?”

April rolled her eyes. “Sounds like another arm-wrestling match between the our youngest and oldest brother.” 

Just like that, Casey booked it out of the laboratory so quickly, it reminded her of a certain red-eared slider. “What the–! Casey!” April groaned. “And here I thought we don’t have to deal with runaway kids. I better catch up to him.” 

“Would not worry about him too much,” Donnie commented. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Considering we will not always be alive to protect him... the sooner we leave him to himself, the easier it will be for him to survive alone.” 

“Hey. Come on now.” April walked to her best friend’s side. “Don’t you say things like that. We’re all going to survive this together–.”

“April.” Slight pain wavered in his voice. “You know as well as I do how our current reality is. It is only a matter of time before the Kraang finds everyone.” 

“Yet you’re still here trying.”

No response.

“It’s all because of the kid, isn’t it?” April affirmed. “He ain’t any genius prodigy you were expecting long ago. But he gave you a reason to try– he became someone worth fighting for.”

“I would not put it as simply as that.”

She shrugged. “That’s how I’d say it. You know you’re not the only one whose life changed because of Casey.”

Donnie paused his work, turning off the butane torch and finally pulling his goggles off his eyes again. “...Casey reminds me of when we were young, being rash and immature teenagers like any other. I hate admitting to such thing, but I was one too. And I hate admitting much more how much I missed those times.

The child has known nothing of the trouble we’ve experienced outside, April: when Cassandra was killed, when Draxum was torn apart, when Dad decided to sacrifice himself despite the slim odds.” His hands clenched into fists.

“Do not expect me to have any false hope for our future, but do not assume I would want Casey to feel the same way. For as long as he can, I want him to hold onto that false hope.”

“...” April had her arms crossed. Her eyes slowly came to linger on the workbench. “Is that ‘sphere’ his false hope?”

“..No. Not his.” Donnie traced his thumb over his contraption. “It’s for (Name).”

[lizzieraindrops]

BRING ME PINS FOR MY RED STRING BOARD

Eris looked to the last card. The Wish puzzled her. A wish is desire, the greatest power in this universe. Eris had wished before. It had led her here. Would she be asked to wish again? What else would her desire wrought? Turning away, Eris left the cards on the table and took her questions with her.

From the Ex Diris exotic grenade launcher lore. This will obviously be highly relevant to the resolution of Season of the Witch. What does Eris really want??

guiding others down the same path that saved me. But... I might allow myself to want more than peace. What, I am not certain. Is joy the word? Might I find that again?

From Eris' last radio message in Season of the Haunted. Once resigned to misery, Eris now wants something more than the peace she has gained helping others process and survive trauma like hers. She even entertains the once-impossible idea of seeking joy in her life.

"Hey," Drifter said. "You find that joy yet?" "Soon," Eris answered. "Joy is built... but I have taken the first step."

From the IV. Tether in the Purpose lorebook from Season of the Deep. She's seeking the joy, folks! But still, what does she want?

I am lost in these lunar tunnels. Out of ammo. Short on Light. I am out of moves, save one. I clutch an Ahamkara bone in one hand, and my dead Ghost in the other. I hear a whisper. My vision is gone. My face itches from the viscous flow from my eyes. Though I can't see, I find that I suddenly know the way out.

From the Cloak of the Great Hunt lore all the way back in Forsaken. She wants what she's always wanted, what she originally wished upon an Ahamkara bone for. A way out. Of the Hellmouth, of her personal misery, of the Sword Logic and the greater horrific positive feedback loop of violence that the Hive have been enacting upon the universe for billenia.

Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. and when your mother told your father that story...the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must... and the way it must go is struggle." "Aiat." Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. "But Caiatl means something else." "Yes. 'It may not always go as it needs to go.' A good name for a soldier." (emphases mine)

From Caiatl's journal in the Lightfall Collector's edition. A way out!!! It keeps coming up in the lore again and again. Ending vicious cycles and finding out what's beyond them, even the Hive's unstoppable AIAT.

Recovery is a spiral, not a circle. You may return to the same patterns, but you will break free." —Eris Morn

From the Refashioned Shapes (!!!) ship from Shadowkeep. Perhaps the most iconic Eris line in the game. This is who she has always been! This is what she has always sought. By finally fully embracing and claiming the way the Hive have affected her, she is going to paradoxically END THE HIVE'S CYCLE OF VIOLENCE. The HIVE!!! She is going to FREE HERSELF and in doing so FREE THE HIVE FROM THE SWORD LOGIC!!!!!

[mariacallous]

How do you solve a problem like the Houthis?

The U.S. Navy has certainly tried. It’s fired missiles at the militia’s facilities in Yemen. Together with the British Royal Navy, it has intercepted Houthi missiles being fired at ships in the Red Sea. All sorts of Western navies are conducting patrols in the troubled waters. But the Houthis are not relenting. On the contrary, they have asked the world’s most notorious arms dealer for more weapons. And the arrival of Russia’s Viktor Bout in the Red Sea is bad news for global shipping.

The Houthis are unlike any other adversary that Western militaries have faced in the past few decades. They’re not traditional armed forces. They’re not a Taliban-like insurgency outfit whose only objective is to seize territorial power. And they’re definitely not a mere criminal gang, like Somalia’s pirates.

Instead, the group is a powerful militia that has discovered that it can attack ships to get global attention, and it uses weapons ordinarily reserved for official armed forces.

Not even Hezbollah has such capabilities—or at least, it doesn’t use them, perhaps because Lebanon depends on shipping for its survival. Since the Houthis launched their campaign against Western-linked vessels, they’ve certainly been getting the attention they crave, and they’ve been demonstrating that they have access to highly sophisticated weaponry.

On Oct. 10, for example, the Yemeni outfit struck a Liberian-flagged ship with drones and missiles, and less than a month before that, they fired a missile that reached central Israel before being disabled by an Israeli interceptor.

The Houthis claimed the missile they directed at Israel was hypersonic, which has not been confirmed and is unlikely, but they like to brag. Their attacks seem designed to keep the global public in a state of fear over what might come next. And now, the Wall Street Journal reports, the group is in talks with Viktor Bout over the delivery of additional weapons.

Bout, you may remember, is the world’s most notorious arms dealer. The Russian merchant—who is known as the “merchant of death” and has also worked for Russia’s GRU intelligence service—spent nearly two decades selling weapons to armed groups around the world. Death and destruction followed wherever his weapons went.

But in 2008, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) managed to get him arrested in a sting operation in Thailand. He was subsequently extradited to the United States and sentenced to 25 years in prison on several counts, including conspiracy to kill Americans.

“He’s one of the most dangerous men on the face of the earth,” Michael Braun—the DEA’s chief of operations until 2008—told CBS’s 60 Minutes in 2010.

But two years ago, the United States decided to trade Bout for an American citizen imprisoned in Russia, basketballer Brittney Griner. Former DEA officials were aghast. So were U.S. military personnel, who had seen the immense harm that Bout’s weapons were doing.

Writing in Foreign Policy, Braun strongly advised against the exchange, noting that Bout remained close to the Kremlin: “Even after formally leaving the GRU, Bout enjoyed the backing of—and at times took assignments from—his former employer.” But the Biden administration believed, or wanted to believe, that the Bout of 2022 was much less dangerous than the Bout of 2008.

And now the Houthis have turned to the wily arms dealer. Before his arrest one-and-a-half decades ago, he specialized AK-47s and grenade launchers, but he seems to be able to deliver whatever his clients need.

In 2008, he offered two FARC guerrillas who’d arranged to meet him in Thailand 30,000 AK-47s, “10 million rounds of ammunition, or more, five tons of C-4 plastic explosives, ultralight airplanes outfitted with grenade launchers, mortars, unmanned aerial vehicles, Dragunov sniper rifles with night vision, vehicle-mounted anti-aircraft cannons that could take down an airliner,” not to mention some 700 to 800 MANPADs (man-portable air-defense systems), as Politico subsequently reported. (Alas for Bout, the guerillas had been turned by the DEA, and Bout was arrested.)

That means that Western navies and shipping companies have to prepare for the potential arrival of new weaponry in the Red Sea. The first two deliveries facilitated by Bout, expected as early as this month, “will be mostly AK-74s, an upgraded version of the AK-47 assault rifle,” the Wall Street Journal reported in early October. Bout and the Houthis have also discussed Kornet anti-tank missiles and anti-aircraft weapons.

The Houthis may well need automatic assault rifles in their armed conflict against Yemen’s official government, but it’s the larger weapons that Western countries should worry most about. If Bout’s relationship with the Houthis takes off, anti-ship weapons could well follow. Thanks to Iran, the Houthis already have access to drones and missiles, but Iran is weakened and may not be able to focus much on the Houthis. That’s where Bout could be useful.

And the arms dealer’s talks with the Houthis are hardly a freelance venture. Since his return from a U.S. prison, Bout—hailed as a hero by Russian state media—has entered the warm embrace of the Russian state, and in last year’s regional elections, he was elected a member of the Ulyanovsk state parliament. If he procures weapons for the Houthis, it will be with the knowledge or even assistance of the Kremlin.

The Kremlin has already shown a desire to help the Houthis. Iran is brokering talks between Russia and the militia that would see Russian P-800 Oniks anti-ship missiles delivered to the Houthis, Reuters reported in September.

The powerful missiles, which have a range of 300 kilometers (186 miles) and carry a 200-kilogram (440 pound) high-explosive warhead, would significantly increase the risk for merchant vessels in the Red Sea—and even for the Western naval vessels there to protect them. Indeed, the arrival of the nasty P-800 Oniks would trigger the departure of the remaining few shipping companies still sending their vessels through the Red Sea.

“The very notion of the high seas is now challenged, and once state and/or nonstate actors, especially proxies, discover a new approach that has strategic, operational, and tactical impact, it will only be mimicked by others,” retired Vice Adm. Duncan Potts, who commanded the European Union’s counter-piracy operation in the Indian Ocean at the height of the piracy resurgence there in the early 2010s, told Foreign Policy. “I fear this is a game-changer,” he added. “Defending against complex weapons needs complex weapons, and there are relatively few navies who have the capability, number of platforms, and will to do anything about it.”

It’s also about the dividing world. Ever since launching its campaign against shipping last November, the Yemeni militia has spared Russian and Chinese vessels. The two powers have shown their appreciation by not pressuring the Houthis to end their campaign and—unlike earlier operations against Red Sea pirates, where China participated—by not taking part in escort plans. (Western countries are conducting the escorts and fighting of Houthi attacks regardless of what flag ships fly and in which country they’re owned.)

The fact that Moscow appears so willing to fund an assault on Western vessels shows that global shipping is splitting in two—and a divided ocean will be a far riskier and more costly place.

[feminerds]

17 FEB 2024

The MCR that exists inside the minds of obsessives (me) is kind of like the holy mother (Mary) -- it's not the thing or even a representation of that thing anymore. It's not even a simulacra (? I might be pushing it with this - because upon reflection I think I might be describing a simulacra quite accurately actually - haha)

it no longer bears a likeness, really at all. An idol is what the k-pop darlings call it, and that makes sense to me. I feel it's closest to an effigy. An item that has had so much projected upon it, it becomes holy*.

Wholly unrecognisable

GIMME ALL THAT PAIN

That Gucci Scent - The Last Day of Summer

*Holy - to the holder, and item of ultimate projection. Like close reading. Like for what you really collect is always yourself**. Like all fan art, is just art, is just a reflection of self and now. A light bent through the body.

**Baudrillard, The System of Objects

I also saw this 30 day song challenge, the other day and I'm thinking I might do it.

God help me, do I have an artists' practice at all? Or is my artists practice just hanging out and participating in the goofy little teenage challenges and what-not. Is my artist practice just being a very online teenager for ever?!

I SAID -

IS MY ARTISTIC PRACTICE JUST BEING A VERY ONLINE TEENAGER FOREVER!?

[celestial-spectre-shuigui]

Days since last act of violence, …

I believe I missed yesterday’s journal, my apologies. It was greenjack night in the Greenhouse and I was up big. I am proud to say that-!

I lost everything, I’m actually 81 Jin in debt now, it was actually amazing how genuinely horrible I played once I started getting ambitious.

Six Dragon Ninjas, four Dragon Grenade Throwers, and a Caretaker are currently being repaired, I am unsure what happened to them. I briefly blacked out after losing my last game, waking up amidst their destroyed bodies as the Greenhouse floor below me was littered with craters and smoking divots.

Correction; I am very sure of what happened, I just wish to avoid dwelling on it.

What am I? Why can’t I stop myself?

Thankfully, no dragonsnails or dragonfrogs were nearby, I would be struggling a lot more with remaining calm now if something had happened to any of them. Though they’ve all been reported fine now, none of the Dragon Legion wishes to play greenjack with me anymore. I understand.

I’ve got nothing else to say, I am disappointed in myself. I will be meditating beneath the water if anyone needs me. Shuigui, out.

[pocket-archer]

Don’t Tap the Glass AU - notes & timeline

I'll be writing a journal entry style fic for DTTG and posting occasional comics so this is technically spoilers but posting anyway since it's been a long time coming. Feel free to read if you like 👍

internal conflict within the Shimada castle leading to the deaths of two brothers and the clan disappearing

some time after (years?) the brothers are reborn as an oni (self-inflicted curse) and minor god (revered as a tragic victim)

centuries later, Cassidy in his early hunting days is attacked by a lycan (deadlock) and to prevent the curse, dismembered his own arm (infected area)

blood loss and shock from doing this nearly kills him but one of Death’s workers (Nevermore!Reaper) notices how stubbornly he’s clinging to life and makes a deal with him (blackwatch)

Cassidy becomes an Undead, able to maintain his human form unless weak or when it’s time to do his part of the deal on the anniversary of his “death”

his deal grants him the ‘deadeye’, able to see who is marked for death and he has to bring them to the Reaper to keep extending his life

he later acquires the new arm for channelling the magic he lost when Turning, help with reaping, and is heavily enchanted to react to non-humans with a burning touch

Cassidy heavily relies on weapons more than his magic because it's not as strong as it used to be and more akin to practical effects or smaller attacks like smoke, stuns, small explosions (ei. wind effect during deadeye, flashbang/magnet grenade, etc) and feels draining to use at the same time as keeping his human appearance

Cassidy finds a way to stay away from innocents whenever the anniversary comes around, feeling more justified in his reaping if he’s taking out those who deserve it. Refusing to reap will end their deal and the Reaper will finally take Cassidy himself

at some point, Cassidy meets Genji Shimada, a traveller who he suspects is also not human, but Genji never brings it up

Cassidy is hired by a “priest” (Zenyatta) to capture the oni lurking within the abandoned Shimada castle, frightening the citizens of Hanamura

The priest warns of a horrible fate if the oni is left alone

Genji vouches for the Priest, and explains some of Hanamura’s legends to Cassidy, who figures Genji must’ve fled from there from the association with Shimada castle, or displaced when his ancestor’s clan fell apart.

bounty money was good too

Cassidy travels to Hanamura to hunt the oni, who he is able to find because the oni is peculiarly marked for death

He wonders if that means the priest will be killing the oni himself after the delivery

Cassidy wins the fight because being Undead has its perks (still hurts tho) and the Oni fought very distractedly (lack of tactic/sense)

He seals the Oni in a lantern that is covered in a variety of seals as oni are not something he hunted before, and he rarely takes jobs involving escorting a live target, so better safe than sorry. He made the seals himself

The oni in its sealed form is surprisingly chattier and snarky, as it didn’t talk during the fight. The two butt heads and bicker throughout the journey. At this point, Cassidy doesn’t consider the oni to really be a person with the rumours that this oni was born out of the tragedies in Shimada castle alone

funnee hijinks of avoiding other monsters or hunters

Vampire hunter!Brigitte encounter

Banshee!Moira encounter

The more human the oni spoke and acted, the more Cassidy questioned what it really was

The amount of detours and unexpected delays of journeying with a live target threw off Cassidy’s predicted drop-off time. The energy on maintaining the multiple seals is draining.

Both Cassidy and oni become more irritable and tired, and argue until Cassidy decides to stop talking to the oni and focus on the job

His Undeath anniversary is soon and the only person around for Cassidy to reap would be his own target

Cassidy detours again to a town to find suitable souls to reap

Oni has become significantly quieter and falling asleep more often. Getting weaker.

The Oni shares that he finally figured out what Cassidy was, through the different magic signatures that carried into the seals. He knows that Cassidy is Undead, and that it is ironic that they’re both cursed. He falls asleep once more, as Cassidy realized that the oni was also once a human.

Encounter with a disguised witch (Mercy) who took notice of his charge, tries to cast an enchantment on Cassidy to hand over the weakened oni for herself

Cassidy catches her act, burning her hand in a handshake

Village is revealed to be false, all the people in it are puppet illusions by the witch. (looks like ragdoll!echos) Cassidy cannot reap.

Time runs out, the Reaper comes for Cassidy

Oni wakes up during the confrontation, overhearing the argument, Cassidy being offered an extension if he reaps the oni whose time was long due, just like him, and overhears that Cassidy has decided not to hand off the oni to anyone

Cassidy doesn’t want to do the Reaper’s dirty work anymore,

they fight

the lantern shatters, releasing the oni

the two of them together fight until the Reaper retreats, vowing to return even before the next deadline

now freed, Cassidy offers for the oni to attack him back, in revenge for being sealed

the oni refuses, they talk instead

Cassidy finally learns that the oni’s name is Hanzo

Hanzo asks more about Cassidy's deal with the Reaper, about Deadeye, and he figured he was marked for death. He asks if he's still marked, Cassidy reluctantly admits that he is, but it's been wavering.

they decide to continue to travel together

Cassidy laments that he will not receive the bounty for turning Hanzo in. Hanzo mentions that there was abandoned wealth back at the Shimada castle. They go back for it as their first destination together.

Cassidy sent a letter back to Genji for the Priest. He will not be completing the hunt.

The Priest shakes his head at this, amused, but strangely optimistic about this development. Genji leaves to search for them instead.

Cassidy learns that Hanzo does not remember everything from when he was human. He remembers his name, yes he always had this tattoo, his family was of summoners, he did something to have been cursed to become this. He thinks he cursed himself in his final moments. He doesn’t remember what his familiars were, nor anyone in his clan

Cassidy mentions Genji as the one who told him about Hanamura’s legends, and that Genji might be one of Hanzo’s technical descendants since they share a last name. Hanzo doesn’t recognize the name Genji.

Hanzo learns that Cassidy enchanted one of his bag’s pockets for hammerspace. Cassidy uses this for multiple hats. Hanzo hates that.

Werewolf!Winston encounter. They fight until Winston turns back. They thought he would’ve turned back into a human. He didn’t.

Hanzo eventually remembers what he looked like as a human, for a supply run into town where he needed to be disguised like Cassidy

Same town has Einherjar!Zarya who is also a hunter, not an active one, but protects that town. She keeps squinting at them.

Anytime time they try to mention/question about Winston's.. condition (gorilla), something interrupts them

the witch returns, having captured the Reaper (Jack-o-Lantern!Reaper) as a servant after being denied the oni

Cassidy makes a new deal with the Reaper, that he will forget about Cassidy and Hanzo’s souls in exchange for being broken out

[more time for adventures here]

Will-o-wisp!Tracer and Satyr!Lucio “help” them through a forest

catch a ride on a ship with pirate!Torbjorn, warning from pirate!Baptiste about monsters in the water, (unseen, pirate!Ana in background talking w Genji)

Siren!Symmetra encounter

here comes the giant fist (swamp monster!doomfist)

Ana is there after they arrive, makes fun of them for getting attacked by the swamp monster

There’s a circus! (roadhog, junkrat, soldier)

Genji finally finds them. Hanzo remembers. He does not take it well.

Hanzo's death marker revealed to be referring to his humanity and identity, as being in isolation as an oni he would've eventually lost himself. Suddenly remembering what he did and being overcome with the emotions drives him out of control

Genji and Hanzo fight (reference to dragons animated short except big oni attacks), and meanwhile Cassidy recreates his seals to suppress the frenzy to help Genji's words reach Hanzo

probably some crying but 👍

Other notes/encounters

Widowmaker is a monster hunter

Sombra is another monster hunter (knows Cassidy’s secret)

Kiriko (Matsuri?) is still a shrine maiden, or helps care for it, specifically the shrine Genji is connected to. They hang out :)

Ramattra is a necromancer that puts souls in dolls and bots (haunted doll!Ashe, victorian doll!Echo, gearbot!Bastion? what a weird family...) (this means ashe technically appears twice but it's possible because the lycan attack was years ago and she could've died since then and doll!ashe isn't the same

Enchanted armour Pharah and Reinhardt if they appear

No one ever sees Zenyatta's face under the cloth, and Genji only ever describes it vaguely

Junkenstein's Revenge and Wrath of the Bride could still happen to a degree but very different dialogue/origins for the four heroes

Cassidy can't see death markers through glass so he couldn't see Hanzo's having changed during travels because of the lantern

Cassidy can safely lose and reattach limbs as an undead but can't heal/regenerate too much lost mass on his own. He cannot have his head or heart pierced, that could still kill him

Hanzo has to physically eat as well for strength so part of him getting weak over time was seals, the other was cuz he was starving. He could eat people technically, but tries to stick to animals, and magic-adjacent stuff is more filling (he got a couple birds from the fight with Reaper)

Genji's abilities as a deity are wind and weather based (swift strike no cooldowns) and he can still summon his dragon familiar from before. He still uses weapons unlike Hanzo who is more melee now as an oni (though has storm related effects like lightning)

They probably stop by the town that had Zarya and Winston every once in a while because it's actually a chill town once they get to know you

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 8 - Harmonica

You know who else cheats at cards?

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

When the sky is darkening, the fire crackling, and one is alone and missing one's ghost, the only sensible thing to do is pull out a harmonica and serenade the universe, like a whale singing its solitude out to the open sea.

Cayde-6 is doing this now.

It is the in-between time. The Witness has not yet been killed. The Vanguard is preparing for what may be its final operation. Crow is out scouting. Zavala is learning Stasis from Ikora, and Cayde has been left with his own thoughts, for however long that will last.

A Hunter's journal lies open on one of the salvaged folding chairs by the fire. It shows a map of the Blooming, sketched in a careful hand with clear labels of landmarks and concentrations of hostile troops.

The fire is spitting, a new log having recently been added. A small pot of something edible is near enough to the flames to be kept warm but not close enough to char.

And Cayde... Cayde is warding off the loneliness with a sad song. He tells himself that if Sundance is in the Traveler and the Traveler is all around him, then she can probably hear the music. So he plays for her. He plays to tell her he misses her. That he knows she misses him too.

It isn't so much a sound behind him as a feeling. A creeping feeling. The sensation that he is no longer alone. He stops playing and tilts his head, listening. Not Crow. He makes too much noise. This is someone quieter. The eerie sensation increases. It feels inexplicably... Hive.

Cayde stands and spins around, Ace drawn. Three green eyes glow in the darkness above a larger sphere of Soulfire at the other end of the path leading up to the campsite.

As his finger depresses the trigger, he hears the gunshot from a different direction. Cayde retains his grip as the barrel of his gun is knocked aside.

Solar. Different angle. Two of them.

Cayde tumbles back out of the firelight, seeking the shadows to avoid the next shot. But the next shot does not come. He rolls again and comes up on one knee with a tripwire grenade armed and blinking in one hand, his weapon readied in the other.

The Hive eyes have ducked behind a rock. He can see the faint glow. He waits a moment for the grenade timer to run down so that it will detonate as soon as it lands and prepares to toss.

"Cayde!" a voice calls out.

Feminine. Low. Familiar. Pissed off.

"Eris?" Cayde stands up. "Eris Morn?"

"Yes." She confirms with an oh-so-familiar tone of complete exasperation.

"Well I'll be damned."

Cayde tosses the tripwire grenade behind him, holstering his hand cannon as the device explodes harmlessly on the beach.

A hand holding a globe of Soulfire emerges from behind the rock, followed by the distinctive three glowing eyes. And then, as she comes closer to the fire, the tear-streaked face of Eris Morn above the outline of her chitinous pauldrons, strings of beads glinting in the firelight, becomes visible.

"Sorry," Cayde says, flippantly. He isn't very sorry. A little sorry, maybe, but not that sorry.

He steps closer to the fire, his arms out, ready for yet another hug in a long string of hugs from people he's been dead to for years.

Eris steps closer to him as he stands, his arms still out, the awkwardness of the situation increasing as he awaits an embrace that does not come.

Instead, Eris leans in and holds out her Ahamkara bone like a flashlight, peering intensely at him. Her outstretched hand hovers inches above his skin as her three green eyes bore into him, examining him as though he is a science experiment. She looks closely at one outstretched hand, up one arm, walks around behind him, peers down his other arm and finally leans up on her tiptoes to scrutinize his face.

Cayde-6 leans back slightly as her hand hovers over his faceplates. Eris steps forward and continues until her fingertips are just inches away from the tip of his horn before withdrawing her hand.

"It is you," she intones.

"Yeah, it's me." Cayde's arms are still out, waiting for a hug he is no longer certain is coming.

Eris tilts her head.

"How?" she asks.

"It's... complicated."

A shadow to the side steps into the firelight. The second shooter.

Cayde's eye-lights blink in surprise. Of all people...

"Now that's a face I didn't expect to see. How are you still here?"

The Drifter shrugs as he continues to walk toward the fire. "I might ask you the same thing, brother."

"And you," Cayde turns back to Eris, still examining him intently, his arms still out awkwardly. "I figured you'd be a Hive god by now."

"I was," Eris says nonchalantly as she makes another slow circuit around him, peering at him over her ball.

"I think he wants a hug, Moondust."

"What?" Eris pauses, giving the Drifter a confused look before looking back at Cayde again. "Oh."

Cayde raises his arms a little bit.

"Very well" Eris turns and places her Ahamkara bone on top of the open journal on the chair before clumsily reaching up to provide Cayde with the most graceless and uncomfortable hug he's ever received as he looks down in exasperation at Eris' rock on his map.

Cayde and the Drifter make eye contact. The Drifter smirks and sits down in an unoccupied chair, lounging back like he owns the place.

Cayde raises a finger, about to say something when Eris steps back and places both of her hands on his shoulders, gazing at his face intently.

"Have you been on the Moon?" she asks.

Distracted from what he was about to say, Cayde looks at her quizzically. "What? Uhmmm... you mean before or after I died?"

"After," Eris says, her voice insistent.

"The Guardian and I did go looking for a ghost there for Micah."

"No. After you died but before you returned. While you were dead. Have you been on the Moon?"

She speaks with the intensity that only Eris Morn can summon, focused on a confusing detail that means nothing to him, and it's as though all the years have dissipated and they're back in the Vanguard office and she's once again being frustratingly cryptic and weird, up to and including having her damn rock on his damn map.

It's oddly comforting, the exasperation. Like an old familiar blanket.

"No, Eris," Cayde says, with a gentleness he never had with her in the past. "I wasn't anywhere. I was... with Sundance... somewhere inside of here... before here became... whatever it is now."

"Hmmm..." Eris releases his shoulders and turns away, staring into some unidentified point in the darkness out beyond the light of the fire. "Troubling, but... not unexpected."

Yup. Same Eris.

"Someone wanna clue me in here?" Cayde asks looking to the Drifter, of all people, for clarity.

"Apparently a ghost of you... not like a guardian ghost, a ghost ghost.... has been pestering her on the Moon for years," the Drifter says, tumbling a coin across his knuckles. "She's been tryin' to figure out this whole time whether it was a pyramid phantom twisting her memories or actually you. That's one of the reasons she wanted to come see ya."

"Yes," Eris turns away from both of them and reaches out a hand in front of herself, her fingers combing empty air. "Of all the nightmares that have been sent to torment me, yours has been the most confusing."

Cayde feels a pang of guilt. "Wasn't me. I mean, I figure I tormented you enough while I was alive. Seems unfair to keep doing it after I'm gone."

"Yes," Eris intones and nods. "It did seem like far more effort than you would have troubled with."

Another pang of guilt.

"Look... Eris," Cayde steps toward her. "I don't know if you got my message after I died but um... I am sorry about your ship."

"My ship?" Eris turns back to him, confused.

Her three eyes blink slowly and then narrow. "My ship." Her mouth twists into a snarl.

"Easy, Moondust. You got a Tomb ship now. You don't need that old thing."

"She has a Tomb ship?" Cayde stares at the Drifter in disbelief.

"Yeah," the Drifter answers gleefully. "Reclaimed from the Lucent Hive. The inside is bigger than the outside. It's wild."

"You seriously have a Tomb ship?" Cayde asks her.

"Yes," Eris intones, as though it was a simple boring fact that was not remarkable at all. "Your light is... different."

She never was much of a conversationalist.  Same old Eris.

"Yeah," Cayde says. "No powers either... just the gun... And no Sundance... I don't even care that much about the powers but... I miss her... a lot..."

"Yes." Eris says, her own voice now gentle. She lays a hand on Cayde's arm.

"It hurts," Cayde says bluntly in a way he knows she will understand.

"It does," she agrees, once more staring into his eyes with her own.

"Now I know what it feels like..." He places his own hand on top of her own.

"It is not a feeling I would wish to share with anyone."

"Yeah," Cayde says quietly.

The Drifter's misshapen ghost appears over Eris's shoulder. Both Eris and Cayde look at it for a moment, and then over at the Drifter.

The coin disappears and he sits up nervously from his slumped position.

"What?" he asks them.

The Drifter's ghost bumps into Eris gently, blinking red then blue then red again, before floating away into the darkness beyond the firelight. It emits its single tone from a lighter spot a short ways away and looks back at them, its shell open and spinning.

"Hmmm...." Eris follows it. Cayde follows Eris. The Drifter shrugs, stands up, and saunters after everyone else.

The Drifter's ghost continues moving until it leads them to a crack in the ground pouring out brilliant white light. It hovers over the crack and emits its tone again.

Eris catches her breath. "Is it... one of them?" She asks, looking at Cayde.

"Cracks in the Traveller?" Cayde asks. "Yeah."

Eris walks over and kneels down next to the crack in the ground. The Drifter's ghost settles into her open hands. She tilts her head, listening.

"You know, Ikora did the same thing." Cayde says.

The Drifter stands next to her. "Eris?"

Eris's hand flies up, palm flat. "Hush."

The Drifter looks back at Cayde. Cayde shrugs.

"You just gonna sit there on the ground like that, Moondust?" His hand reaches out to touch her arm just below her pauldron.

Eris hand flies up and grips his wrist tightly.

"Be. Silent," she commands him, giving his hand a small shake with each word.

The Drifter's ghost floats up from Eris' lap and bumps into his chest, nudging him back.

He takes a step back and the ghost floats back down into Eris's open hands.

The Drifter's hands raise up, palms up in a gesture of surrender as he steps back further. "Oooookay."

"Is that your ghost?" Cayde leans over and whispers.

"I think she's gonna be a while," the Drifter whispers back, not answering the question.

"Yeah, Ikora sat there for a couple hours the first time she saw it too."

"Alright then."

Both turn and walk back to the fire.

Cayde sits down on the chair next to where Eris' Ahamkara bone is sitting on his journal. The Drifter takes a seat as well.

"So uh... are you and Eris..."

The Drifter is silent. He leans back and his coin once more starts to flip across his knuckles.

"I mean, I'm not going to pry but... I've only ever seen you look at one other person like that..."

Still silent, the Drifter shrugs.

"And you're still here," Cayde continues. "That... that really is a surprise... I figured you'd be long gone by now."

"Yeah well," the Drifter keeps his coin tumbling as he talks, "Decided I wanted to stay after all."

"Have to admit... I did not see that one coming... does make a bit of sense though."

The Drifter is silent for a few more moments as the coin walks across his knuckles and the fire licks at the logs. Then he leans forward and the coin disappears.

"How long you figure you got?"

"I don't know," Cayde says quietly. "It... doesn't feel like a long term thing."

"Might not be long term for any of us, really, depending on how this fight goes."

Cayde nods.

The Drifter shrugs. "Feel like losing at cards?"

The practised grin with a glint in his eyes is back and Cayde finds the offputting man oddly comforting in this moment, much in the way Eris being frustratingly obtuse was comforting earlier.

Shifty scheming Drifter is still shifty scheming Drifter, and that, too, feels weirdly soothing to Cayde in a world where everything else seems to have moved on without him.

"Lose?" Cayde asks, his elbows resting on his knees. "I seem to remember the last time we played I wasn't the one with no pants on."

"If you call seein' me without pants on winning, sure." The Drifter winks. "Didn't know you felt that way, brother." His eyes sparkle in the firelight.

Cayde laughs and shakes his head. Yup. Still Drifter.

"Shut up and deal."

The rogue Lightbearer reaches into his coat with a wide toothy grin and pulls out a dark glass bottle. He places it on the ground between them.

"Ooooh," Cayde reaches out, curious, and picks it up by the neck. He brushes off some dust to get a look at the label. "Ooooh," he says again, this time leaning back and nodding in appreciation. "All right, you have my attention."

A deck of cards appears in the Drifter's hands.

"Uh... hmmm..." Cayde pats at his pockets. He wasn't resurrected with any glimmer.

His hands come across a lump. It's not a question of value, but the spirit of the thing. That'll do. He pulls the object out and holds it up.

The Drifter raises one eyebrow and then nods, shuffling the deck with easy familiarity.

Cayde tosses his harmonica next to the bottle on the ground between them.

The metal instrument glints in the light of the fire as two rogues sit down to do what rogues do best: see which one can out-cheat the other at cards.

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[incorrect-murderdrones]

ANDDD WE HAVE A QUOTE MASTERPOST! ALL QUOTES BELONG TOO: @the-island-of-quotes HAVE FUN AND FOLLOW THAT PERSON :D -Mod Kai

N: This is what Victor would look like if he was doctor Seuss.

Uzi: There's a socket in my pocket, maybe this will help me fix my sprocket.

Uzi: It's not a 5, or a 6, or a 10, I have seem to have lost all of those again.

Uzi: And when it comes to wrenches, it seems all of them have disappeared off my fucking work benches.

Uzi: So even though there is a socket in my pocket I can't even use it to fix my fucking sprocket

*Next day*

Uzi: Another tool another day, I dropped some more shit in this fucking engine bay.

Uzi: But it's okay because I bought this car to get from point A to point B.

Uzi: And after one week of ownership I'm kinda hoping this thing gets crushed by a fucking tree.

Uzi: I've wanted to sell this car since week one, but nobody wants to buy it when it has every problem under the sun.

Uzi: This car will just remain broken and collect some dust, and eventually this piece of shit will start collecting rust.

Uzi: But at this point I don't really care! I have the time, nor money or energy to try and repair.

Uzi: I'm just gonna say fuck this, and sell this shit on craigslist to some guy named Chris.

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V: I now proudly present, the life and times of earnest Hemingway in aproxamently 3 and a half minutes. GO! Born in Chicago in 1899, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study Journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War I, got BLOWN up in Milan and spent 6 months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs. Fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommates' sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein. They kicked it with Pablo Picasso. He started writing in earnest, no pun intended. Moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Converted to Catholicism... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto HIS FACE! Moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason. Had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery karma! Published another book, moved to Cuba, SHOT HIMSELF IN THE LEG WHILST AIMING AT A SHARK! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Published "For Whom the Bell Tolls," sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Became the self appointed leader of a band of village Militia outside of Paris and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva Convention, and GOT AWAY WITH IT LIKE A FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba and spent most of his spare time on his boat TRACKING NAZI U-BOATS WITH A MACHINE GUN AND A PILE OF HAND GRENADES I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got CLAWED WHILE PLAYING WITH A LION... Got depressed, drank. Got fat, published a couple more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals, and barely survived two separate plane crashes in the space of 24 hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle karma! Won a Nobel Prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho, paranoid that the feds were following him WHICH THEY WERE BECAUSE HE SPENT MOST OF THE 1940S WORKING FOR THE KGB, AGAIN NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia and impotence, karma. Got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got recommitted, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favorite 12-gauge shotgun into his mouth and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF! WHAT A GUY!

______________________________________________________________

N: Welcome to applebees! What'll it be? Apples or bees? Congrats, you get bees!!!

______________________________________________________________

Doll: Now that I've added the milk to the cereal tell me, is that milk now a beverage, a broth, or a sauce? Answer carefully Khan, you're wife's life depends on it!

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true whoever is controlling my Sim I JUST WANNA TALK!!

______________________________________________________________

N: Do you think god stays in heaven because he too fears what he's created? That's a quote from Spy Kids 2 have you ever seen it it's like peak cinema.

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: Who needs sleep when you run on equal parts NyQuil and Methamphetamine?

______________________________________________________________

V: Just remember Uzi people die when they are killed!

______________________________________________________________

V: Ha! You're pointless!

Doll: Thirty nine buried.

*Gunshot*

Doll: Zero found

______________________________________________________________

N: Which one of you was gonna tell me tea tastes different if you put in hot water?

Uzi: Y- you we're putting it in cold water???????

V: N. Answer the question N!

N: Yeah??? I thought for like five years people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process, didn't realize there was an actual reason.

J: You don't have the patience to microwave water for three minutes??

Doll: Why are you. Putting it in the microwave to boil it?

J: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?

Doll: It takes less than a minute!

J: Doll is your stove powered by the fucking sun!?

Doll: How long does it take to boil a cup of water on your stove?

J: LIKE SEVEN MINUTES!

Doll: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in two minutes, less if you use a saucepan.

Lizzy: Crying your putting the whole mug on the stove??? On medium heat??? Your stove is enchanted!

Uzi: Every drone in this exoplanet is a fucking idiot.

Cyn: DO NONE OF YOU OWN A FUCKING KETTLE!?!?! REMEMBER TO FOLLOW: @the-island-of-quotes AS THEY OWN THESE QUOTES :D