#higher outsource

[360infotechreview]

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>>Also Read: Why Outsourcing Your SEO to a White Label SEO Agency is a Smart Business Move?

[hireanydomain]

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[xbsoftware]

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[wseinfratech]

Manual and Automation QA Plan | Get a Quote | WSE Infratech

Manual or Automated Quality Assurance is a clearly defined procedure for identifying bugs to be rectified from the end product. A typical quality assurance process in development involves testing the product for performance, functionality, compatibility, and usability. However, the impact of QA goes much beyond that!

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[fozmeadows]

there is no ethical consumption under capitalism

Years ago now, I remember seeing the rape prevention advice so frequently given to young women - things like dressing sensibly, not going out late, never being alone, always watching your drink - reframed as meaning, essentially, "make sure he rapes the other girl." This struck a powerful chord with me, because it cuts right to the heart of the matter: that telling someone how to lower their own chances of victimhood doesn't stop perpetrators from existing. Instead, it treats the existence of perpetrators as a foregone conclusion, such that the only thing anyone can do is try, by their own actions, to be a less appealing or more difficult victim.

And the thing is, ever since the assassination of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, I've kept on thinking about how, in this day and age, CEOs of big companies often have an equal or greater impact on the day to day lives of regular people than our elected officials, and yet we have almost no legal way to redress any grievances against them - even when their actions, as in the case of Thompson's stewardship of UHC, arguably see them perpetrating manslaughter at scale through tactics like claims denial. That this is a real, recurring thing that happens makes the American healthcare insurance industry a particularly pernicious example, but it's far from being the only one. Because the original premise of the free market - the idea that we effectively "vote" for or against businesses with our dollars, thereby causing them to sink or swim on their individual merits - is utterly broken, and has been for decades, assuming it was ever true at all. In this age of megacorporations and global supply chains, the vast majority of people are dependent on corporations for necessities such as gas, electricity, internet access, water, food, housing and medical care, which means the consumer base is, to all intents and purposes, a captive market. We might not have to buy a specific brand, but we have to buy a brand, and as businesses are constantly competing with one another to bring in profits, not just for the company and its workers, but for C-suites and shareholders - profits that increasingly come at the expense of workers and consumers alike - the greediest, most inhumane corporations set the financial yardstick against which all others are then, of necessity, measured. Which means that, while businesses are not obliged to be greedy and inhumane in order to exist, overwhelmingly, they become greedy and humane in order to compete, because capitalism encourages it, and because there are precious few legal restrictions to stop them from doing so. At the same time, a handful of megacorporations own so many market-dominating brands that, without both significant personal wealth and the time and resources to find viable alternatives, it's all but impossible to avoid them, while the ubiquity of the global supply chain means that, even if you can keep track of which company owns which brand, it's much, much harder to establish which suppliers provide the components that are used in the products bearing their labels. Consider, for instance, how many mainstream American brands are functionally run on sweatshop labour in other parts of the world: places where these big corporations have outsourced their workforce to skirt the already minimal labour and wage protections they'd be obliged to adhere to in the US, all to produce (say) electronics whose elevated sticker price passes a profit on to the company, but without resulting in higher wages for either the sweatshop workers overseas or the American employees selling the products in branded US stores.

When basically every major electronics corporation is engaged in similar business practices, there is no "vote" our money can bring that causes the industry itself to be better regulated - and as wealthy, powerful lobbyists from these industries continue to pay exorbitant sums of money to politicians to keep government regulation at a minimum, even our actual votes can do little to effect any sort of change. But even in those rare instances where new regulations are passed, for multinational corporations, laws passed in one country overwhelmingly don't prevent them from acting abusively overseas, exploiting more desperate populations and cash-poor governments to the same greedy, inhumane ends. And where the ultimate legal penalty for proven transgressions is, more often than not, a fine - which is to say, a fee; which is to say, an amount which, while astronomical by the standards of regular people, still frequently costs the company less than the profits earned through their unethical practices, and which is paid from corporate coffers rather than the bank accounts of the CEOs who made the decisions - big corporations are, in essence, free to act as badly as they can afford to; which is to say, very. Contrary to the promise of the free market, therefore, we as consumers cannot meaningfully "vote" with our dollars in a way that causes "good" businesses to rise to the top, because everything is too interconnected. Our choices under global capitalism are meaningless, because there is no other system we can financially support that stands in opposition to it, and while there are still small businesses and companies who try to operate ethically, both their comparative smallness and their interdependent reliance on the global supply chain means that, even if we feel better about our choices, we're not exerting any meaningful pressure on the system we're trying to change. Which means that, under the free market, trying to be an ethical consumer is functionally equivalent to a young woman dressing modestly, not going out alone and minding her drink at parties in order to avoid being raped. We're not preventing corporate predation or sending a message to corporate predators: we're just making sure they screw other worker, the other consumer, the other guy.

All of which is to say: while I'd prefer not to live in a world where shooting someone dead in the street is considered a valid means of redressing grievances, what the murder of Brian Thompson has shown is that, if you provide no meaningful recourse for justice against abusive, exploitative members of the 1%, then violence done to those people will have the feel of justice, because it fills the void left by the lack of consequences for their actions. It's the same reason why people had little sympathy for the jackass OceanGate CEO who killed himself in his imploding sub, or anyone whose yacht has been attacked by orcas - it's just intensified here, because where the OceanGate CEO was felled by hubris and the yachts were random casualties, whoever killed Thomspon did so deliberately, because of what he did. It was direct action against a man whose policies very arguably constituted manslaughter at scale; a crime which ought to be a crime, but which has, to date, been permitted under the law. And if the law wouldn't stop him, can anyone be surprised that someone might act outside the law in retaliation - or that regular people would cheer for them when they did?

[vilesbian]

I've got a hot take but idk so I'm putting in the tags.

[red-archivist]

with the caveat that its only ep 4 and characters are still being developed;

im surprised at how cautious alice is

from ep 1 and 2, she comes across as a jokester, as lackadaisical, self-described as 'your cool older sister'- so i didn't expect her to be the one telling Sam to stop poking his nose into things

its not so much a respect for authority (calling lena an 'emotionally distant mother' in ep 1 was just as disrespectful as anything gwen said imo) but there is a fierce undercurrent to all her actions to Stay Out Of Trouble

she is delighted Lena hasn't said more than ten words to her in a year bc it means she is flying under the radar

she wants central IT to look at FR3-d1 but tries to outsource actually asking for it to avoid Colin getting upset with her

she compartmentalises all the weird, spooky and awful things she reads about, she walks away from the cases that are spoken out loud, she does everything in her power to not engage with the work while still doing her job

we don't know (yet) how long Alice has been working in the OIAR, but it is long enough that she knew the 'old guard', it is long enough that she has seen people 'go weird'

either Alice has witnessed or actively been a part of something going wrong or someone digging too deep and being punished for it

ALICE This is not something you go poking around in. Not if you want to keep your job… or your neck.

and now the stakes are even higher for her because the person who could get in trouble here isn't just another co-worker, it's Sam- it's her friend that she got into this job in the first place, and she wants him to stay safe

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k

Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

[umbrellajam]

Saw a post where someone wasn't sure if Tim being good at computers was a fanon thing or not and friend I am happy to inform you that he's been a computer/tech guy from some of his earliest appearances in the comics.

Detective Comics (Vol. 1) #620 (Rite of Passage part 4) - immersed in the ~web~

Robin II: The Joker's Wild #3 - tabletop roleplaying games and spending hours in the basement on the computer - not beating the geek allegations on these fronts, Timmy

Detective Comics (Vol. 1) #676 - Dick was more into traditional detective work and tended to outsource the computer stuff in these days

Batman (Vol. 1) #514 (Prodigal part 10) - hackin' through all the garbage and garble

Robin (1993) #33 - Robin sneaking in and connecting Oracle with the baddies' mainframe so she can do her thing and steal all their data >:)

Nightwing (1996) #6 - "no you're really talented and well suited to be Robin." "no, you." "no, YOU!"

Tim is definitely not as good as Babs/Oracle, but he's certainly her back-up for computer work in the 90's batfam. They're tech buddies and Robin!Tim is her little assistant sometimes, it's super cute:

Birds of Prey (1999) #19 - happy to play with big sister's fancy high-powered toys

Legends of the Dark Knight (1989) #125 - real cute kid

And Dick will hand off computer jobs to his little brother when he doesn't want to bother Babs 😂 (that outsourcing I mentioned):

Nightwing (1996) #68 - examine them pixel by pixel, eh? welp, sounds like a job only you can do, Timbo, you got this buddy, byyyyeeeee

And then when he'd grown up and been doing this for years, he leveled up accordingly, and did stuff like use his access to the League of Assassins computers to overload the generators in every base he could find, etc. etc.

Red Robin (2009) #8 - yeah that was pretty dumb of you Ra's :)

So yeah, it was a bit of a specialty of Tim's, in large part because he was introduced just at the turn into the 90's, when personal computers were really starting to take off and become widespread. (Robins gotta be cutting edge and all)

Of course, by no means does it follow that the other Bats suck at computers (there is no 'smart one' they are all incredibly smart and capable). This is especially true as reboots and the sliding timescale of comics have moved the DC characters into modern times, where computers run the world and everyone grows up with one in their pocket. The baseline familiarity and expertise that everyone can be expected to have is just much, much higher these days.

It gets exaggerated in fanon as all character traits do, but computer guy Tim is definitely not something just made up out of whole cloth :)b

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Working class Dems who campaign on economics beat Trumpists in elections

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me FRIDAY NIGHT (Mar 22) in TORONTO, then SUNDAY (Mar 24) with LAURA POITRAS in NYC, then Anaheim, and more!

The Democratic Party Pizzaburger Theory of Electioneering is: half the electorate wants a pizza, the other half wants a burger, so we'll give them all a pizzaburger and make them all equally dissatisfied, thus winning the election:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

But no one wants a pizzaburger. The Biden administration's approach of letting the Warren/Sanders wing pick the antitrust enforcers while keeping judicial appointments in the Manchin-Synematic universe is a catastrophe in which progressive Dem regulators (who serve one term) are thwarted by corporatist Dem judges (who serve for life):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

The Democrats – like all parties in two-party systems – are a coalition; in this case, a "progressive" liberal-left coalition with liberals serving as senior partners, steering the party and setting its policies. These corporate dems like to color themselves as "neutral" technocrats with "realistic, apolitical" policies that represent what's best for the country:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

This sets up the left wing of the party as the starry-eyed, unrealistic radicals whose policies are unpopular and will lose elections. But for a decade, grassroots-funded primary challenges have made it possible to test this theory, by putting leftist politicians on the ballot in front of voters, especially in tight races with far-right Republicans (that is, exactly the kinds of races that the corporate wing of the party says we can't afford to take chances on).

The 2022 midterms included enough races to start testing these theories – and, unlike traditional midterms, these races enjoyed high voter turnout, thanks to the unpopularity of GOP positions like abortion bans, book bans and anti-trans laws. Jacobin teamed up with the Center for Working-Class Politics, Yougov and the Center for Work and Democracy at ASU and analyzed those races:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/11134429/CWCP-Report-2024.pdf

Their conclusion: candidates from working-class backgrounds who campaigned on economic policies like high-quality jobs, higher minimum wages, a jobs guarantee, ending offshoring and outsourcing, building infrastructure and bringing manufacturing back to the US won with a 50% share of the vote in rural and working-class districts. Dems who didn't lost with a 35% share of the vote:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-03-18-how-actually-existing-democrats-run-for-office/

In other words, in the kinds of districts where Trumpist politicians are beating Democrats, running on "left populist" policies beats Trumpist politicians.

That's the good news: if Dems recruit leftist, working class politicians and put them up for office on policies that address the material reality of voters' lives, they can beat fascist GOP candidates.

Now for the bad news: the Democratic establishment has no interest in getting these candidates onto the ballot. Working-class candidates, by definition, lack the networks of deep-pocketed cronies who can fund their primary campaigns. Only 2.3% of Dem candidates come from blue-collar backgrounds (if you include "pink-collar" professions like nursing and teaching, the number goes up to 5.9%):

https://jacobin.com/2024/03/left-populists-working-class-voters

All of this confirms the findings of Trump's Kryoptonite, an earlier Jacobin/CWCP research project that polled working-class voters on preferences for hypothetical candidates, finding that working-class candidates with economically progressive policies handily beat out Republicans, including MAGA Republicans:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/08125102/TrumpsKryptonite_Final_June2023.pdf

Since the Clinton-Blair years, "progressives" have abandoned economic populism ("It's not a burning ambition for me to make sure that David Beckham earns less money" -T. Blair) and pursued a "third way" that seeks to replace half the world's of supply white, male oligarchs with diverse oligarchs from a variety of backgrounds and genders. We were told that this was done in the name of winning elections with "modern" policies that replaced old-fashioned ideas about decent pay, decent jobs, and worker power.

These policies have delivered a genocide-riven world on the brink of several kinds of existential catastrophe. They're a failure. The pizzaburger party didn't deliver safety, nor prosperity – and it also can't deliver elections.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/20/actual-material-conditions/#bread-and-butter

[fanfic-obsessed]

For the Republic

Here’s an order 66 fix it that is the confluence of several coincidental misunderstandings. Also why outsourcing your brainwashing is overall a bad idea. 

Let's set the stage, ok?

The first misunderstanding is relatively simple, near the beginning of the war.  A case of similar words causing confusions that is never cleared up.  In this case a series of conversations between various clones and their Jedi about the Jedi’s relationship with the Republic. These conversations leave the Clones, all of them, convinced that the Jedi Order belongs to the Republic, instead of being part of the Republic. You know, in the same way that the Clones belong to the Republic (No matter which side you argue is true, this was not what the Jedi meant). This confusion is so deep that when Slick betrays them all to Ventress, his rants are specifically toward the Republic, and do not mention the Jedi Order at all.   

The second misunderstanding is a bit more complex. It starts with the earliest flash training for the clones, the basics that are pushed so deep that none of the clones have any conscious memory of them, but are buried in the subconscious. Along with the Orders that would be enforced by the chips, there was the phrase ‘Jedi have Power’.  There are other trainings that get layered on top of it, but in the deepest part of the Clone psyche the most basic definition that they have for Jedi is ‘Jedi have Power’. But Power, as a term, is an abstract that can mean so many things.   And though they never realized it, the Trainers and Jango Fett and the Kaminoans taught the Clones a very specific definition of Power.  Power cannot be had by someone who belongs to the Republic and Power only belongs to those who use it (specifically those who use it to abuse others). 

By that definition their Generals and their Padawan Commanders and what is known as the Jedi Order are not Jedi. Instead the Clones view these beings as brothers (having very little grasp of gender) of a higher rank. Again this knowledge is buried so deep the Clones do not realize they think this.  It is instinct. Frankly the distinction is somewhat subtle, and is closer to how the Jedi wish to be treated (without the higher rank part) so no one notices the shift.

When Umbara happens the anger that the clones feel toward Krell is not the disbelieving anger of an idol's pedestal crumbling, but the same anger felt for Slick’s betrayal. 

When Order 66 happens, the Jedi become traitors. Except…the people that Palpatine intended to be killed were not considered to be Jedi. For Jedi had to have Power, and Power only belonged to those who were free, and only those who showed their Power. 

The way that many of the Natborn officers did. 

So the Clones immediately turned their weapons on the Naval officers who had been abusive, primarily to Clones or Jedi, but also some instances of civilian abuse as well. 

On Coruscant, Anakin begins to lead the 501st to march on the temple. Only, as soon as they realized where they were headed, they stopped their general, confused. There are no Jedi there, they say.   Anakin says something about Palpatine having the Power to save Padme. This leads Appo to the conclusion that Palpatine is a Jedi Traitor, who has done something to their General (which yes, but also no). The 501st stuns Anakin, with some taking him to the temple for deprogramming, or whatever needs to be done to counteract whatever the Jedi Traitors did. 

The rest march back into the Rotunda to hunt the Jedi Traitor Palpatine. They are met by Fox, who shrugs and goes with them (with his own platoon of CG) without argument when Appo says that Palpatine is a Jedi.  The active chips do muffle the Clones in the Force, a deliberate feature that Palpatine never thought could be used against him. 

So Palpatine, the shiny new Emperor, is Emperor for about 20 minutes before he is shot through with so many bolts that he is basically left a goo on the floor. This bypasses every single one of his backup plans, many of which could not be fully put in place until he was Emperor, so there is no ‘Palpatine returns’.

 At the temple roughly a dozen members of the 501st enter the Healing Halls, carrying a stunned Anakin Skywalker. Even stunned the healers can tell he is in some kind of mental breakdown. The healers (who do filter out anything that is not helpful o figuring out what is wrong with their patients, so ignore the whole ‘Palpatine the Jedi traitor’ thing) take from what the troopers have to say that they believe that Anakin may be possessed by something and that he is worrying about Padme Amidala’s health, both of which are causing the breakdown.  

So Padme is collected by the rest of the 501st and brought to the healing halls, and it is decided that Anakin will be kept unconscious until his former Master, Obi WAn,  is back on planet (if he is possessed then having his loved ones there is the best bet for breaking through and of Anakin’s loved one Obi wan would be the best equipped to not be killed). The healers, upon seeing Padme’s pregnancy, insist on a full exam. During this exam it is discovered that, due to a growth on her pelvic bone, a natural birth would likely be fatal to her and possibly the children (I do love the idea that Palpatine was feeding Anakin those visions, or that the visions were caused by Palpatine or Anakin causing Padme’s death, but it is also interesting to think that the visions were legitimate and the cause was something natural). Padme is scolded for not seeking out proper prenatal care, which would have noted the problem. The healers schedule her for an induced c section closer to her due date and ask that she check in daily (or sooner if she starts feeling anything weird) to make sure there is nothing else.

 The Coruscant Guard continues to hunt through the Senate for ‘Jedi’, of which there is less than you would think. Yes a couple of hundred who meet the clone definition, but that is out of more that 100,000 beings in the building at any one time (with almost 25,000 systems represented, if  assume an average of 2 senators per system, that is 50,000 senators. With a retinue of aids, guards, interns, and others that easily clears into 100,000). 

And there is just…so much confusion (I find that I love pairing ‘Order 66 happened differently’ with ‘and everyone is confused’, it gives me great joy). 

 From the point of view of the Jedi, between on moment and the next the clones decided it was time to mutiny and the only explanation that is given is ‘The Jedi are traitors, we must kill the traitors’ as the clones continuously fail to shoot any Jedi (Like even the stormtroopers of canon do not fail to hit their stated targets this badly), though the clones have shot many people.  

From the point of view of the Senate, between one moment and the next the Clones chose high treason with no explanation (Because no one conscious on Coruscant knew that Palpatine was a Sith and the beings that knew about the chips and Order 66 ended up pretty high on the ‘Traitor Jedi’ list and killed).   

In the Force, and the Manda, respectively, Palpatine and Jango Fett were watching this happening with their own confusion. This was not the plan. 

 The Generals do eventually get an order to the clones to capture instead of kill the ‘Jedi traitors’.  By this point the Coruscant Guard had cleared the Senate and were just starting to descend levels of Coruscant in search of Jedi traitors. It is not too long after this that Mace Windu is found and brought back to the Temple, near death.  They also figure out why the Clones do not consider the Jedi, Jedi. It is decided that they cannot correct the Jedi definition issue until they figure out the ‘shoot the Jedi’ issue. 

In this version the chips do not do anything to the personalities or memories of the clones, they simply reinforce the flash training for the Orders and remove any ability to disobey. 

With the 212th, Obi Wan had spent a decent amount of time over the course of the war finding excuses to get rid of nat born officers that treated the clones as less than sentient. With his mindset of ‘a certain point of view’ he was pretty successful. There were still a handful in the higher command (the higher the officer was in the command structure, the harder it was to get rid of them) but none of the natborn officers that would be on the ground, or even in communication with the forces on Utapau.  Though the activation of the chips and the death that followed caused a bit of a shiver in the Force, it was not the screaming darkness of Canon and was lost in the madness of battle.  

So it was not until they were being transported back to the Resolute that Cody, quite proudly, announced that the Jedi traitors had been routed from the 212th.  Obi Wan had questions.  Cody answered with things that explained nothing 

Obi Wan: Jedi…Traitors?

Cody (nodding): The Jedi have been discovered as traitors to the Republic, Sir,  a kill on sight order is now in effect.

Obi Wan: I don’t remember anyone trying to kill me?

Boil (Visibly offended, even through his bucket): You’re no Jedi, general.

Obi Wan: I’m…I’m not?

Every Trooper on the ship in unison: Jedi have Power.

Obi Wan (Internally):What does that mean? WHAT DOES that mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Cody (Now looking a little concerned): Sir, you've gone really pale. Do you need a medic? 

They head back for Coruscant.  On the way Obi Wan receives a series of messages.  First, there are no high council members currently conscious on Coruscant. There should have been five. Anakin had been stunned by his own trooper, is possibly possessed, and is being held unconscious just in case. Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Kit Fisto have simply vanished. Mace Windu had been missing but was found and is now in Bacta with extensive injuries sans one hand. 

No one had been told that those four members had been going to confront Palpatine and as soon as Palpatine had been killed (in a hallway), his office had been automatically locked down. So no one knows that behind the shielding are the bodies of three Jedi Masters. 

Second, not only was the 212th not the only battalion to commit some form of mutiny, the 501st and the Coruscant Guard had apparently abruptly decided that high treason was a reasonable action. All the while claiming that they are hunting Jedi Traitors (with not a single person they shot being a Jedi).  The senate had also apparently realized that without the Coruscant Guard, there is not enough manpower to stop the Clones from killing whomever they wished (Much of the Senate had been so proud of the cost cutting measure of reducing the non clone security forces).

Third, since the remaining members of the council were spread throughout the galaxy (with Obi Wan being the closest), as soon as he arrived on Coruscant Obi Wan would be in charge of figuring out what was going on with the Clones, before the Senate found enough people to capture them. Then deal with the political clusterfuck of mutiny and high treason (as the Clones were considered part of the Order). Find time to help Anakin. 

Killing Grievous was supposed to give Obi Wan less to do, not more.  With the knowledge that there is something wrong with the Clones, he cannot even flirt with Cody (They had an understanding about exploring a romantic relationship after the war ended, but as stress relief both would flirt back and forth and see how explicit they can get before someone called them on it-The only reason no one had yet is because the 212th had a bet going on CodyWan admitting they are together and no one wants to be disqualified by influencing the results).  

It should be made clear, Obi Wan still does not know at this point that Palpatine is the Sith. He does not know that there are chips in the clones. He has no idea that Anakin had chosen to fall (though it did not really go anywhere) and is likely going to wake up half willing to slaughter everyone. He doesn’t even really know that Padme is a week away from being induced (still early but the healers do not want to wait any longer).

So even as he is contemplating everything on his plate, Obi Wan does not even know the half of it. 

By the time Shaak Ti, who had to corral Kamino (in which roughly half the Kaminoans in Tipoca city and a third of the remaining trainers were accused of being Jedi by both the battalion stationed there and the cadets), is back in contact, the bodies of the missing Masters were found.  She is the one to float the idea of a malfunction to the chips (the report about Tup and Fives was still in the ‘to be reviewed’ queue for the Jedi Council-The Council is about 12-18 months behind on reviewing mission reports).  

The news of the chips…does not make things better.

[bump-inthe-night]

Spindlehorse is no longer an indie studio because it’s outsourcing animation from ToonCity and Chaos Studios. Mainstream studios engage in this practice to cut animation costs and save money.

Vivziepop is outsourcing so she can continue attending Broadway shows, traveling, and paying her so-called "friends" higher wages than the rest of her employees. She wants to be able to continue indulging herself, and if she's got to cut animation costs, then so be it.

Vivziepop is also outsourcing due to her studio's high employee turnover rate. Spindlehorse is frequently advertising open positions on Twitter because they're heavily burning through employees. Instead of treating and paying her employees better, Vivziepop chooses to outsource since it's the cheaper option.

Vivziepop and her fans will continue claiming Spindlehorse is indie, but it isn’t anymore, and it hasn't been for a while.

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[peppermintquartz]

☑️ I voted early!!

Crash

Even though they joke about a lot of things, neither of them ever joked about Tommy crashing. It is an unspoken rule between them that sprang up organically: Tommy needs to put all thoughts of potential accidents out of his mind so he won't be distracted by "what-ifs" while flying, and Buck is terrified of it actually happening, because he won't know how he'll respond.

Today he learns how he responds to a helicopter crash which has Tommy on board:

He obeys Bobby's injunction to stay back

He runs as fast as he can delivering tools and equipment

He fights the fire engulfing the chopper

He does not speak

He does not look at Eddie, Hen and Chimney extricating the crash victims from the broken bushes and tree branches

He does not feel his extremities

He grips Bobby's hands when the three medics call out that they've lost the pulse

He falls to his knees when they get the pulse back

Tommy was senior pilot and a new member to the 217 A Shift was flying the craft. They both survive the crash, because she was able to bring it down low enough for them to jump out of it once it was clear something had gone wrong with the rotors.

But Tommy is the one who ends up with a stick the diameter of his thumb impaling right through his abdomen, along with two broken legs and a bad concussion. The doctors are worried about swelling in the brain.

Buck finds himself alternating between anxiety over Tommy's condition and fury at the chopper manufacturers LAFD bought the bird from. He outsources the fury to Tommy's captain and to Bobby, who both go digging through a network of contacts with the higher-ups. The anxiety he keeps for himself, not leaving Tommy's bedside other than when he needs the restroom.

Not that his and Tommy's friends don't keep him company when they can. Not that Maddie doesn't make him have at least one hot meal a day and that he goes home every two days to shower and shave and maybe take a nap on a proper bed.

They shave part of Tommy's head to drain fluids. They tell Buck that Tommy will be okay. Somehow Tommy's dad finds out and he even comes to the hospital, and the screaming match he gets into with Buck requires six male nurses to intervene. Buck is listed as emergency contact and he also has power of attorney. He tells the hospital in no uncertain terms that Charles Kinard is not allowed anywhere near Tommy Kinard.

It takes twenty four days since he's brought in for Tommy's fingers to twitch in Buck's hand, and those twitches become a weak grip, and eyes that have been closed flutter open briefly. It takes six cycles of this before Tommy says his first word since the crash, which is (to no one's surprise) "Ev'n."

Hearing Tommy's voice, Buck cries for the first time in twenty-four days. Then he kisses Tommy's forehead and says, "Welcome home."

--

Vote & prompt

[wseinfratech]

Unfolding Quality Assurance and its processes This blog discusses the QA process, how it is different from Quality Control and its 6 stages in a product development.

[fortunelowtier]

I was gonna reblog my original post but I didn't wanna spam people with a long ass post (this post is already long enough) so instead I'll just link the previous post here and if yall wanna go look at it you can, but the short version is that a few days ago I made a post talking about HBs incredibly high turnover rate, and apparently within a few days it got enough traction to where it started spreading to the higher-ups of Spindlehorse, including Viv herself. I decided to make this update post just as a way to debunk what I can and as clearly as I can. 

First tweet:

So for starters, they say this as if IMDB's numbers aren't publically available, it's not like I pulled these numbers out of my ass without merit, these are numbers I got off of IMDB. And I know some people might pull the high school English teacher card of “Anyone can edit that!!” and to be honest I dont feel like going into the semantics of one of the most non-arguments you can possibly use so all I’ll say is that the process of editing a Wikipedia or IMDB page is not as easy as your English teachers taught you to think it is. Sure you can edit it but it's another story if the edit will be saved. There's moderation, it's not a free-for-all.

Also, I find it interesting how this tweet was made (and subsequently deleted) mere days after their promotion to Animation Director, and if there's anything I've learned from Spindlehorse controversies it is that if someone is in any real position at the top of the companies proverbial food chain they shouldn't be allowed to speak for the experiences of employees lower on the ladder than them, especially when a lot of them seem to have a habit of denying certain claims despite the public availability of numerous pieces of evidence pointing toward the contrary

It's like if you visited a bunch of former employees of a restaurant with a high turnover rate with proof that they had worked there and for exactly how long they worked there and then the manager comes along and tries to basically say “NUH UH” despite information proving the contrary being publicly available (maybe not the best analogy but you get what I mean)

—

Ok now onto the second one by Viv herself:

There’s a lot to dissect here so I’m gonna break it down bit by bit.

Firstly:

"They’re listing every single credited person in EVERY art department"

So the way I got my numbers was by going to the Series Animation Department section of HB's IMDB, highlighting every name from the beginning of the section to the end, and then pasting them into this website which gave me the line count of 444. Was that the most optimal way of doing so? No, especially after I learned after the fact that there's a way to just see the numbers straight up, but that hardly matters considering the fact that there are allegedly more people in the animation dept who were uncredited, however, I'm still waiting on some more info from my source as to the validity and the scale of these claims (How many people were uncredited, how little were they paid for their work, etc etc) to make a proper post about it, so until then ill just leave it at that as to not make accusations without merit.

So, humoring Viv, I added up the total IMDB credits for the Art Dept and Visual Effects Dept, as well as the Sound Dept since I qualify sound as a form of art and because I wanted to give Viv as fair a chance as possible and actually tally the total credits of “every art department” as Viv claims I did, and it still only equals 155 total credits, a little over a third of the credits in the Animation Dept

Secondly:

“That includes the TC and Chaos credits”

So these are in reference to Toon City and Chaos Emporium, 2 companies known as a source for outsourcing animation, and just to humor Viv I decided to go onto IMDB and tally up all of the Chaos and TC credits since according to her that's where I got most of my final number.

After doing so, Chaos Emporium had a total of 15 credits, and Toon City had a total of 45

So Viv is making it seem like the TC and CE credits make up a large majority of them, which is why I got the number I did, when in reality when combined they only equal 60 credits. 14% of the total (technically it’s 13.5% but I’m rounding to the nearest whole for the sake of convenience)

Thirdly:

“We dont even have 400 people. Simply Misinformation.”

You’re right Viv, you dont have 400 people, because I never said you did, nor did I imply you did. I said you've had 400. Of course you dont have 400 current employees, your company burns through them like paper because you underpay them while you go burning your Amazon and merch money on cruises and vacations and continuously post photos of you buying from zionist companies knowing full well that they're part of an active boycott.

—

So yeah, that's my 2 cents. Sorry if this sounded like some shit you'd see on a Twitlonger but after Viv was made aware of the posts I made about the turnover rate (and subsequently blocked me within the hour after seeing it) I knew that it wasn't gonna be long before I had people DMing me about how wrong I was because “Viv said it was wrong so it must be wrong”. 

One more thing I wanna add because I've gotten a lot of angry messages/asks about this, a lot of Viv stans seem to think I have this bizarre hate boner for Viv when I really don’t. I don’t hate Viv, I hate what she’s become. I hate how ever since the HH pilot she’s become a bully who can’t take criticism. And not just on the surface level of “criticism makes her upset”, because yea no shit, criticism makes everyone upset at least a little, and it's why I hate it when people see someone being upset at criticism and going “ERMM, CANT TAKE CRITICISM?”

When I say “Viv can’t take criticism” I mean she actively tries to shut down any convo about it without trying to learn from it. She blocks anyone who talks poorly about her or her company and makes baseless claims knowing full well her fans will follow her to the ends of Hell regardless of whether or not what she’s saying is even correct.

That’s all I got for now