#lindi is so considerate and kind

[tempestaslokni]

Rather than being put off, Lokni was intrigued. "I didn't know that about axolotyls, that's really interesting. Do you study wildlife?" he asked before addressing her inquiry about the bracelet, "to answer your question though, it feels kinda' like that. Like an extension of me. I don't need it to survive, but I feel that I'll need it eventually." He hoped that his explanation made sense, because to be honest, he wasn't sure that he quite understood it himself. Even though Lindi was driving a hard bargain with the bungalows and their usefulness, Lokni still felt that being off the grid was better for everyone. Lokni had met quite a lot of people, but that didn't mean that he trusted all of them. Most people had a bad side to them, even Lokni, maybe even this kind, energetic woman that he was conversing with. "I appreciate your offer, really, but I think it's best for everyone if I'm on my own. I want to help out, but I don't need to live in a bungalow to do that." The image of him making one of those bungalows his home was... strange. Reminded him of the rez dogs curled up in some ramshackle doghouse. They were all tethered to this island, but that didn't mean that Lokni had to accept it. There was a defiant seed rooted deeply within his heart. He wasn't going to roll over that easy.

Lokni's interest was piqued at her mention of Darcy. "Oh, you mean Miss Palmer? She's really nice, helped me get off of the ship. Are her theories about the island really that strange?" Lokni asked, holding aside a curtain of vines for Lindi to pass through. He was a little surprised at the tone that Lindi took on when discussing Miss Palmer. Had things gone sideways with the two of them? Her probing about his work made him a little curious. Did she really wanna' hear about all of that? "Well, I mainly herd cattle and dig holes for fence posts. Rodeos were for when I was a younger buck. At this age, if I took a tumble off a bull it could cost thousands in medical bills. I did some bull riding back in my day. Did a little bulldogging, reining, roping, but I don't think anything will top the races I did in Calgary. There's this event held in Alberta called 'Indigenous Relay Races.' I was gonna' go this year as well, I had gotten more confident in my horsemanship and wanted to give it another go." Lokni realized that his voice had taken on a lilt, his excitement at recalling the adrenaline he had felt at that time causing him to talk a lot more animatedly. "Enough about me though, what is the horseback riding scene like where you're from?" he asked, taking a moment to stretch, the phantom pains of old injuries ghosting around his ribcage. "Sounds like you really know how to give back to your community. That's really great, you know. I wish that we had had more people like you around on the rez. With the lack of infrastructure and all, we could use more help." He said, his strides in no hurry to get anywhere. It was true, a lot of reservations didn't even have paved roads. Memories of Lokni's poor attendance in school flashed through his mind. Teachers should've been better informed about how hard it was for Indigenous kids to get to school, but a lot of them were too preoccupied with paperwork to study up on reservation issues. When she mentioned her daughter, Lokni gave pause, he hadn't pictured her to be a mother, all smiles and energy. Compared to his own mother, she radiated health and exuberance. What made them so different? He wondered. Regardless, he was curious, "what's your daughter's name? Secondary school... so she's finishing high school, right? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with systems outside of The States." He didn't know how to respond to hearing how she was divorced, but knowing what his mother and father's situation had been, he just assumed that it was for the best and that he shouldn't pry.

"Zaid's a damn good cook. You gotta' hand it to someone who can make a dish when there's hardly any ingredients available. The crab he cooked for us was great. I don't think I'll ever be able to turn down an invitation in the future. Dangerous man, that Zaid is." Lokni joked, waggling his eyebrows at Lindi in a playful manner. "Do you cook a lot at home? How do you prefer to do things?" At this point, he was bantering, but maybe that was an American trait. Awkward silences made him feel like things weren't right between them, and that he needed to fill it with something. "The fact that there are no cameras out here is why I want to stay away from the bungalows. I don't like it. I prefer my privacy where I'm able to get it." Lokni reiterated. Though, he couldn't expect everyone to understand that sentiment. After all, he had grown up in a place that couldn't afford cameras. Maybe it was just something that he had grown accustomed to. Regardless, he didn't want to just brush off what Lindi was saying, and he appreciated her seeing things from his perspective. It really meant a lot to him. More than he could iterate in his own words. "In all honesty Miss, I think that being "perceived" as a new age hippie here is the least of your worries. If resources start to run dry, it may turn into something much more than just a mission to get home. People can turn on each other in the blink of an eye in times of need." He said cautiously. It wasn't his intention to make the conversation so solemn, but he didn't want Lindi to fall into a false sense of security either. Despite this, Lokni knew that he needed to keep a close eye on the plants around and experiment with how long it took them to replenish their fruit and nutrient-packed roots. "What if we tried to make a community garden? I've collected some seeds from the fruits and vegetables I've been eating. We could probably help a lot of people out that way." Lokni said, looking up with his hands in his pockets. Shooting ideas out wasn't really his forte, but Miss Lindi did have experience with working in communal settings. Judging from the weather here, her wouldn't be surprised if the growing period was year-round, unlike America. They should use that to their advantage. If he did the muscle work, maybe they could make something really nice, for everyone. If they could get the other islanders in on it, they might be able to make a renewable source of food. It would also stave off potential conflict. "Speaking of strange things that have happened, so far aside from what happened with Maria, the strangest thing is me waking up here. I keep having people tell me of strange happenings, but I've not experienced anything too out of the ordinary aside from coming to on the ship." Lokni explained as honestly as he could. Was there something that everyone else was seeing that he wasn't? Lokni almost felt like there was some sort of barrier between him and everyone else. Again. The feeling ate away at him like an infection. Lokni didn't like that one bit.

Lindi did her best to listen as Lokni explained how his own bracelet felt strange, like an extra limb. "Like having a tail? The kind that can detach, like a lizard?" Or a newt. "Do you know axolotls can regrow their limbs and organs?" she piped up, and then sheepishly grimaced. She was dangerously close to descending into amphibian adjacent nerdery. It was a topic that often made her conversation partners' eyes glaze over with pure indifference, she wouldn't subject Lokni to that.

Somehow, Lindi had made a good go of convincing Lokni about the bungalows. Maybe Janice was right, maybe dipping her toes into real estate would have been the way to go. She could see Lokni turning over her points in favour of the bungalows over in his head, his aura a pleasing, steady glow with a slight shimmer. "There are plenty of bungalows available if you change your mind," she said, sounding like she was right out of the catalogue. God, she was wasting her talents on the PTA.

"I get along with most people," Lindi said, which was true enough. She should be the bigger person, refuse to engage in all of the nasty lowbrow rumour mongering. It was easier when she had Steve by her side, he would take every chance to stoop low and gossip and Lindi could stay within earshot and have the high ground. But he wasn't here (which was good, she didn't want him here, didn't want to subject anyone more to this even if she missed him). "Have you met Darcy?" she asked, aware she was being catty, bitchy… Whatever, sometimes it was nice to get it out. "I strongly disagree with her harebrained theories."

A much more pleasant turn in conversation was Lokni calling himself a ranchhand, which sounded like the non-chalant way of calling yourself a cowboy. A cowboy without the connotations and all of that. Did he still wear the hat? "I used to love horses, as a kid. Wanted a pony, the whole deal," Lindi said, trying not to gush about actually meeting a real life cowboy. "What sort of work do you do as a ranchhand?" she asked. "Like… rodeo sort of work?" she ventured, fishing but not fishing to see if he was more cowboy than not.

Lokni was so charming as he asked her how she filled her day, that she forgot to have her own internal angst and disappointment with herself over her answer. "I do a lot of volunteering, community boards, PTA, council meetings, that sort of thing," Lindi said, sidestepping the way of how she made money in a way that insinuated that money was not a problem for her. Well, now with her divorce, it was steadily becoming an issue. "I was on my way home from a job interview when all of this happened. I had a career break after my daughter," she explained, as if it was a short period without work, as opposed to nearly two decades.

Home, her job interview, her mortgage. All of that was up in the air, more and more uncertain with each day that passed. Lindi worried her bottom lip, humming emphatically as Lokni spoke about getting home as soon as possible, family worrying about him. It was almost too painful to think about, like his words had come and speared her through the chest. Even his aura had changed, wavering and dull with the weight of… his thoughts? Sadness?

His abrupt change to flirtation pleasantly shocked Lindi out of her malaise. Lindi blushed, and waved her hand at Lokni's prompting, giving an airy chuckle. It was easier to lean into the ease of flattery than to linger in her own sadness. "Well I'm divorced. Two months official and everything," she said, with a brave, bossbabe smile. "My daughter is just finishing secondary school…" Lindi trailed off, all of her ease and flippancy disappearing for a moment as she lingered on Paige. She needed to get back for her.

Lindi swallowed, blinking as she took a second to push thoughts of Paige out of the way. She smiled tightly, switching instead to discussion of crabs and cooking. "No, no, he had an utterly fantastic place in Soho," Lindi said, which made her sound like a rich prick, which she was, so that was fair.

"A lot about this whole situation doesn't sit right with me," Lindi said, parroting Lokni's words back to him. He had a wonderful way of putting things. "Normally I'm not too bothered by CCTV, but that's when I'm in London. Here it's almost… nefarious. Why keep tabs on us?" she asked. "At least out here there aren't many cameras. I can see why you want to stay in the forest."

Lindi knew that as soon as she started speaking about outlines and sparkles that she was going to sound insane. This whole place was insane. Selin changing sizes, teleportation, all tied back to the horrible noise on the speakers and Maria's explosion. "No, it's… refreshing to know I'll be believed," she admitted. "I don't know quite what to make of everything, really. I don't want everyone to think I'm some new age hippie. Not that there's anything wrong with that." The smell of incense gave her migraines. "Can I ask what strange things have happened to you?"

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Stranded - Part 2

Steven Hyde x Reader

Summary: You are a time traveler from 2020 and you’ve been stranded in 1978 by your awful ex-boyfriend. It’s not all bad, though. With the group of friends you’ve landed in, you’re sure it’ll be just fine.

Note: There’s actually more fanfic for Hyde than I thought there was, so that’s spectacular. I’m glad we’re all in agreement that he’s a total dreamboat.

Warnings: drug mention/use, language.

Word Count: 2.6k

1 – 2

*Eric Forman’s Basement – 9:00 am*

It had been approximately thirty-six hours since you’d landed in 1978 and already, sleeping on an air mattress from the 70’s had not been kind to your back. You sat up and stretched, groaning as every joint you possessed cracked and popped back into place.

Hyde’s bed was empty, which meant he was probably already upstairs. That, or he was in the bathroom. You didn’t have much going for you, but at least his shirt was warm and soft. It was a little big on you, but in a cozy way.

You reached over to check your phone, but stopped when you remembered the circumstances. You doubted there would be any notifications that mattered. Or any notifications at all. So, you stood up and walked up the stairs.

As you suspected, Hyde was sitting at the table, drinking his coffee. He looked up at you through his rose-tinted shades the moment you emerged and then pretended he hadn’t. Thankfully, his sunglasses gave him some cover, but that didn’t stop Red from noticing. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” you greeted, smiling. “Do you need any help with breakfast, Mrs. Forman?”

“I’m all set, Y/N, but thank you for the offer.” She looked at Eric and motioned to you. “Where’d you find one this helpful?”

“The backyard.” He quipped, nearly making Hyde choke on his coffee.

You laughed and crossed the room, sitting in the empty chair beside Hyde.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty alright. You?”

“Pretty alright.” He replied. His outfit today was very 70’s. A floral button-down, some corduroys, and a brown vest. You grinned and he chuckled. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Hyde shook his head, figuring he’d have to ask you about it later.

“Oh!” You remembered, snapping your fingers and looking at Eric. “Eric, you’re a nerd. Do you have a whiteboard I can borrow?”

“Hey, I’m not—”

“Answer the question, poindexter.” Hyde leaned back in his chair, smirking.

“I don’t, no. Sorry.”

“We can find one if you need one.” Hyde said, reaching forward to grab his glass of orange juice. “Or a chalkboard or something.”

“Chalkboard…Mrs. Forman, do you have any chalk?”

“I think there’s some in the garage. Eric can show you after breakfast.”

“Awesome. Thank you. Good thinking, Steven.”

He tried not to puff out his chest at that, but he couldn’t help but be a little proud of himself. Once breakfast was over and you’d moved all of the dishes to the counter so Mrs. Forman wouldn’t have to (although she wouldn’t let you wash them when she offered), Eric grabbed the chalk out of the garage and handed it to you. With Red’s car in the garage, that gave you the whole driveway to work with.

Thinking for a second, you started jotting down numbers and variables, plugging things into equations. You sat back on your knees on the sidewalk, admiring your work, scanning over the numbers.

Hyde was sitting over on a chair he’d dragged to the edge of the sidewalk.

He whistled. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Yeah, kind of. Would you do me a favor and grab me my bag from downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course.” He got up and walked to the door to the basement.

It was in that moment that you noticed the shadows of two girls standing over your equations. You looked up and they were looking down at you. The taller of the two had red hair, and the shorter one had feathered dark brown hair.

“Since when do we have friends that do math?” the brunette asked.

“Willingly,” the redhead added.

“Oh, hi, I’m Y/N. I’m new in town.” You introduced, standing up and clapping the chalk off of your hands.

“Is that Hyde’s shirt?” the redhead asked raised an eyebrow.

“Here’s your bag.” Hyde held out your messenger bag, his other hand jammed in his pocket.

“Well, it’s about time we had another girl around here. I’m Donna, by the way.”

“I’m Jackie.” The short brunette introduced, smiling. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you something…” she eyed your outfit, “cuter to wear.”

And then they walked off towards the basement.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about. You look great.” Hyde smirked and sat back down in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“Oh for sure.” You held out the corners of the shirt, looking down at your outfit. “I think it suits me.”

“I can’t help but agree.” He motioned to the chalk you’d scrawled on the sidewalk. “How’s your, uh…math going?”

“It’s tricky stuff. 5th dimensional travel. I’ve gotta slingshot myself forward in time with…well, with whatever 1970’s technology I can scrape together.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Incredibly so.” You fished around in your bag for your shiny silver notebook and a pen and started jotting it all down, working through a few more equations as you did. “I think…well, actually I don’t know.” You sighed, shaking your head as your pen danced across the paper. “I don’t know how I’m gonna make this work…”

Hyde stood up from his chair so he could get a better look at the numbers you’d written all over the Formans’ driveway. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath. “Yeah, I’m not sure either…”

“Well…” You thought for a long moment, tapping your pen against the notebook a few times before it clicked. “I mean, if I can get a signal across the fifth dimension, then I wouldn’t have to make the jump myself. I could just signal the station…Have someone pick me up.”

“That could work.” Hyde shrugged, pretending everything you said wasn’t going right over his head. “Do you need anything?”

“I mean, ideally, a new temporal chip, but that’s not going to happen.” You bit your lip. “I’m gonna have to think about it for a while. Figure out how to…do this.” You exhaled a long sigh, shaking your head.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Hyde took a step closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder, unsure of how else to comfort you. “Let’s just, uh, go down to the basement with the others. Maybe something will click.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Okay.”

He led you down the stairs and into the basement, a gentlemanly hand on your lower back. He settled into his usual seat, but it became evident very quickly that there weren’t any open seats. Hyde looked around the room and then up at you and then said, “Oh. Here, you can have my chair.”

“No, that’s okay. I think better on the floor.” You shook your head and sat cross-legged on the floor next to him.

“So New Girl is staying?” Kelso asked, munching on a popsicle.

“For the time being.” You replied. “And New Girl has a name.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember it.”

“It’s Y/N.” Hyde provided, his arms crossed. “Girl falls from the sky, you think you’d remember her name.”

“To be fair, we were pretty high when she turned up.” Eric rationalized.

“I mean, that’s fine. My friends back at the station—” You stopped yourself. “At the, uh, train station where I used to work, used to call me Blue before they remembered my name. I mean, even after that, it kind of became a thing.”

Hyde raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Blue sounds badass.”

“Yeah?” You asked, laughing a little.

“Hell yeah, man.” He nodded.

“Are we gonna do anything today? I kind of want to do something today.” Jackie sat up in her chair.

“Like what?” Fez asked. He gasped. “There’s a new candy store on—”

“Nononono, we should do something fun! Like…taking Y/N shopping for something other than Hyde’s old Zeppelin shirts.”

“I’m down.” Donna piped up. “Girl trip?”

“I mean, sure. Why not.” You smiled. If you were stranded in a decade you weren’t familiar with, you may as well make the best of it. Maybe a girls’ trip was just what you needed to get things to click into place.

“Well you know what that means, fellas.” Hyde stood up from his chair and started setting up the Circle.

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Jackie winked at Kelso. “Don’t miss us too much.”

Hyde smirked. “Don’t worry. We won’t.”

***

“We just have to find your style is all.” Jackie flipped through the racks of clothes. She wanted to take you to an upscale place, but with the help of Donna, you’d gotten her to agree to a second-hand shop. There were a lot of things here that you could choose from, and you didn’t really have a preference so long as you had a couple of outfits you could wear to blend in. “We also have to take the blue hair into consideration. You don’t want to clash.

“What do you like, Y/N? Jeans, dresses, vests?”

“I’m really fine with whatever. Maybe some variety, I don’t know. But I do know from experience that the best colors for me are rose pink, black and white, and purple sometimes. Silver also works.”

“Okay good. We’ve got a color scheme.” Jackie handed you a flowy floral pink dress and a white knitted vest thing. “Try this one on.”

“And these.” Donna handed over a pair of round rose-tinted sunglasses. She wiggled her eyebrows. “So you can match Hyde.”

“Oh no.” You laughed. “Hyde is great, but—”

“We’re just teasing. You two are cute, though,” Donna said. “Do you like him?”

“I got here like two days ago.” You laughed. “Do things move that fast around here?”

“Sometimes.” Jackie shrugged. “We also need to get you an outfit for the disco. Do you dance?”

“Yeah, actually.” Given that your previous mission had sent you to the 1940’s post WWII, you’d picked up some Swing and Lindy Hop. Disco, you weren’t so sure about, but you could probably figure it out. “I’ve kind of always wanted to go to a disco.”

“Well then we definitely have to go.”

“Sweet.”

“Alright, go try that on and in the meantime, I will find you something totally groovy to sweep Hyde off of his feet.”

“Again, not sure that is the goal.” You shook your head and walked into the dressing room, emerging a few minutes later. You spun around for the girls, letting them take it all in.

“That is cute! Look at you! I love that!” Jackie squealed excitedly. “Let’s get a few more just to be sure you have things to wear, but we’re headed in the right direction.”

“I look like a hippie.” You admired your reflection, spinning to see how the skirt moved.

“It’s a good look for you.” Donna crossed her arms and nodded, smiling.

You put on the round shades, tilting your head. You kind of loved it, and you found the little voice in the back of your head hoping that Hyde would like it too…

***

“Successful trip ladies? Find everything you—” Hyde stopped midsentence, staring at you over the top of his shades. “Wow.”

“Did we do a good job?” Jackie asked, spinning you around. You giggled, smiling. You had to admit you liked it at least a little bit. And besides, now you’d blend in.

Hyde didn’t respond, staring at you with wide eyes until Kelso elbowed him in the chest. “You look great. Uh, good job.”

“Yeah, good job. You look smokin’, hippie girl.” Fez winked. “There’s a seat over here by me if you wanna come get psychedelic…”

“I’m alright, but thanks.”

“We were thinking about heading out to the water tower.” Kelso said. “You know, gotta show Blue all the sights.”

“Water tower, huh? Sounds dangerous,” you joked.

“I mean, Kelso’s fallen off of it like three times.” Eric shrugged and laughed. “So yeah.”

“Sounds pretty historic to me.” You shrugged. “We should go check it out.”

And so, the gang all piled into Kelso’s Volkswagen. By some miracle of the fates (or the meddling of Jackie and Donna, you’d never be sure) you’d ended up squished into Hyde’s side. He just chuckled and scooted over a bit, giving you some space, but with the seven of you crammed in there, there wasn’t all that much space. Not that you minded. It was chilly out and he was warm.

You got to the water tower after a short drive to the edge of town. You got out of the van and followed the others to the skinny little haphazard ladder on the side of the tower. You’d been partially joking earlier when you’d said something about it being dangerous, but when you looked up at that thing, it looked a little worse for wear.

“You scared?” Hyde had crept right up behind you and you jumped at the sound of his voice so close.

“What? No. I’ve…seen worse, believe me.”

“Here, I’ll go first.” He gently nudged you out of the way and started up the ladder.

You let out a breath before shaking your head and climbing up behind him. When you cleared the top of the platform, he held out his large hand for you to take, which you did gladly, grasping onto it tightly, your arms shaking.

Once your feet were on the metal platform, you looked down and immediately regretted it, your head spinning.

“Woah there.” Hyde hastily grabbed onto your hips, steadying you in place and preventing you from falling over the railing like he’d seen his friends do so many times. “Careful, Blue.”

Something about the soft way he said ‘Blue’ sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “T-thanks.”

“No problem.”

“See that circle? All me, baby.” Fez grinned, proudly pointing to the black circle spray painted over one half of a giant green pot leaf. You didn’t even need to guess who had painted that there.

“Wow. Um…it’s a nice circle, Fez.” You chuckled. “Good job.”

“Thank you.” The foreign exchange student puffed out his chest, beaming at the compliment.

You all stood up there for a while, looking out into the trees until finally, it was time to go back down. You and Hyde lingered at the top for just a little while longer. You looked up at the stars, studying the patterns. The sky was so clear, the little bursts of starlight so bright and clear. It almost made you miss the space station. Almost.

“You fit in just fine now.” He said quietly. “The girls did a good job with that.”

“Do I play the part well?” You laughed. “Not too much of a fish out of water?”

“You wanna see a fish out of water, look at Fez.” Hyde shook his head, taking a step closer to you. “No, you’re doing great. And if anything slips while I’m around, I can cover for you.”

“I appreciate it.” You sighed, blowing blue hairs out of the front of your face. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell Jackie. She can’t keep that big mouth of hers shut.”

“I picked up on that, yeah.” You looked down at the rest of the gang, messing around outside the van. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one I can trust with this. The others…They’re nice. They’re so nice, but—”

“But they can’t keep a secret. Believe me. I’d know.” Hyde tilted his head and reached up, one of his warm hands reaching up to brush the hair out of your face before he promised quietly, “I’ll keep you safe, Future Girl.”

Tagged:  @daddystevee​, @random-thoughts-003​, @curvydolleros​, @honig-bienchen​, @lemonypink​, @must-love-yourself-first​, @danadeacon​, @sassyscribbler​

[onmywaytobe]

Dissidia Writeblr March 2021 – Week 4

yes i am ashamed this is so late and so long but thanks to @kiljoytrout i didn't have to come up with like half of this stuff! thanks for taking my boyo and bringing him out of his shell and writing your piece for both of us. as always thank you to @dissidia-writeblr for putting on this event!!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

When Leo opens his eyes, he finds Zeph smiling at him serenely. The amount of oxygen in his lungs is dizzying. He’s barely conscious as Zeph pulls out heavy black chains and binds his hands together. “These won’t hurt at all,” she says, her pasted-on smile some semblance of reassuring. “They’re just a precaution to nullify any magic or advanced tech you might have.” When Leo doesn’t resist, she adds, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

As if he could fight someone like her. With those wings, and her magic, he’d be ended in an instant. And he doesn’t want to fight back. What kind of thanks would that be for what they’ve done for him? The new sensations in his body are overwhelming, but there is no doubt in Leo’s mind that he has been healed.

He’s never felt like this before. Clear lungs, free of the constant phlegm that plagued him his entire life. No shooting stomach pains, no cramps, nothing like the variety of symptoms he was used to telling him that one of his organs was malfunctioning. He is now at the peak of health. It would take a little getting used to.

Leo barely notices as Zeph leads him into a cell and leaves him there. Leo is glad of the chance to rest, but after an hour or so passes he begins to get antsy. There is so much energy coursing through his body and he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He satisfies himself by looking around the room. There’s nothing to see besides the uncomfortable chair he sits on, its twin across from him, and a bucket in the corner. His nose wrinkles at the sight, but he knows he won’t be in there long enough to need the makeshift toilet. He’s a little hurt that the Chikara would heal him only to dump him in a holding cell, but Zeph said it was all just a precaution.

Precaution or no, Leo wants to make sure he can get out if things go sideways. The chair’s frame is rusty enough that he is able to tug some of the spokes free from the underside. The long pieces of metal are a little on the thick side for what he wants, but they’ll have to do. He examines the lock on his chains, allowing himself a small grin. He needn’t have worried. This would only take him a moment to remove.

Content to wait, Leo twiddles his thumbs until the door to the cell slams open, most unexpectedly. A woman with short, blond hair and dark green eyes runs in, and she’s wearing a soldier’s uniform. Leo raises an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion. “My name is Tess, and I’m here to help you escape.” She unlocks his chains. “Do you trust me?”

Leo doesn’t get the chance to tell her no. The door to the room opens again, and two Chikara walk in with another man, also wearing the black chains. Tess curses under her breath, and golden light starts dancing along her skin like fire. This is enough of a surprise to the Chikara that she is able to pull the stranger away from them and try to take his chains off too. Leo still hasn’t moved from his seat, despite his hands being freed. He’s not a fighter.

The Chikara are still coming for them, and at that moment Tidis arrives. He smirks when his eyes land on Tess. “And one of the rebels returns. Today is my lucky day.” Light and darkness start swirling on his skin.

Tess curses again and pushes Leo and the stranger to the door on the other side of the room. “Leo, Lindy, find Wayne. He’s rescued Warren. He should be going to the hangar where they keep their ships,” she hisses under her breath at them. She pushes them through the door and locks it from the inside.

Leo immediately turns to his companion. “Were you also summoned?” he asks. He would need to know as much as he could about his new ally if they ran into any more trouble. “How do you know-”

The guy gives Leo a cold look, and Leo quiets, falling into step alongside his new friend as he stalks off. Leo is quite shaken by his removal from the cell, and still adjusting to his new body. It made him bold enough to join this stranger on whatever mission he was so intent on. Besides, anything that took him further away from the magic battle was all right with Leo.

The stranger is observing the space around them, taking it in with what Leo could only describe as awe. Perhaps he was familiar with these sorts of things. It would be helpful for someone who knew what was going on to be on Leo’s side. He grimaces, rattling the heavy chains still locked around his arms. Leo notices, patting his pockets for the makeshift lockpick he’d fashioned earlier, and finds it missing. Must have dropped it in all the commotion. He spots an antenna on the wall that would be much better suited and twists it off, making a move to unlock his companion’s chains.

Leo hadn’t said anything, since the other guy (Lindy? Was that his name that Tess had shouted at them?) didn’t want to talk, and now found himself being smacked into the side of the corridor. “What the hell, man!” Leo sputters. “I was just trying to pick the lock on your chains.” He definitely should have explained first. That’s what he gets for trying to be considerate.

“Oh.” Lindy doesn’t apologize, but helps up Leo from the floor and wordlessly stretches out his arm for Leo to have easier access to the lock. After a few twists, the chains slip off easily. Leo keeps the antenna, and grabs one of the locks as well. Never know when these things could come in handy.

They continue walking, and the echo of their footsteps in the silence makes Leo lonely. He misses the comforting presence of Warren. They had been a much more agreeable companion than this Lindy fellow. At least Lindy seemed to know where he was going, his pace measured and sure, never hesitating at crossroads. Leo wondered how he knew, and how Lindy had ended up in the same chains as himself if he was so familiar with the way the Chikara lived.

“Who is Warren?” Lindy asks suddenly.

For a second, Leo wonders whether Lindy can read his mind. If he wasn’t already convinced that this was a dream, he was considering the possibility again. But after his moment of shock, he’s more surprised that Lindy’s even said anything at all, considering they’ve spent the last few hours in complete silence.

“Why do you want to know?” Leo replies pointedly. Why not ask about this Wayne, for instance?

Lindy doesn’t answer, only pausing to shoot Leo a sideways glance. It looks a little too close to sympathy for Leo’s liking. Leo narrows his eyes at Lindy, who of course doesn’t notice.

After another few moments of uncomfortable silence, Leo sighs. He might as well talk to this Lindy person, if only to get him to stop looking at him with such pity. “They were one of the first normal people I met when I got summoned to this place. Got to know them pretty well. We were separated a little while ago though.”

“Oh.”

Leo rolls his eyes. That seemed to be half of this guy’s vocabulary. He was so glad he’d made such an effort. Clearly Lindy thought the conversation would be of some benefit to Leo, but Leo would have been just as content with silence.

They walk on in silence for a few more minutes when Lindy comes to a stop. Leo stares at him curiously as he starts to tap his finger against a sheet of metal on the wall.

“This shouldn’t be here,” Lindy says thoughtfully.

Leo is in no mood to be civil. Apparently this sheet of metal meant more than a human conversation. “Well, it obviously is there, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Lindy just stares at Leo for one beat with those watery blue eyes, and it’s as good as any death glare; the hair on Leo’s neck prickles. “What I mean is that there should be an entrance here to the hangars, but it seems that they’ve blocked this one up.”

“We just have to take it down then,” Leo says nonchalantly. “It’s just flimsy sheet metal.” He kicks at the metal covering and immediately regrets it. Pain radiates through his bones like an alarm blaring, and he falls to the floor. Lindy looks down at him, expressionless, while Leo groans. “Oww.”

“It’s not sheet metal,” Lindy explains. “It’s probably either titanium reinforced Kevlar, or some otherworld material. You can tell from the lack of sheen that it’s durable.”

Through gritted teeth, Leo manages, “Why didn’t you tell me that before I kicked it?”

Still staring down at him, Lindy replies, “You didn’t ask.”

Eyes watering, Leo takes the hand that Lindy offers with more than a hint of irritation. It was becoming apparent that Lindy did not care one whit for Leo.

Lindy, paying him no mind, is surveying their surroundings. “Give me a leg up,” Lindy says, nodding to a panel he’s noticed above their heads. Leo follows his gaze and understands immediately. He boosts Lindy up on his shoulders. Besides the painful protesting of his ankle, it’s not too bad. Maybe the healing process had made him stronger.

After a bit of tinkering, Leo hears a creak from up above, the weight on his shoulders vanishes, and Lindy’s hand extends from up above to help him up.

“Are you sure that’s stable?” Leo calls, but he’s already taking Lindy’s hand, so he’ll find out one way or another. Lindy doesn’t respond anyway.

Leo cranes his neck around the cramped ventilation shaft, in which both of them are crouching down as low as they can. By the soft indentation in the metal, grooves caused by the unmistakable impressions of knees and hands and occasional banged heads, he can tell that this is certainly more than your run-of-the-mill ventilation shaft.

“This way,” Lindy says, motioning to the left of their loose panel. Leo falls back behind him and the two crawl down the seemingly endless shaft. It only occasionally quivers in a way that makes Leo nervous that it can’t support their weight.

Leo finds himself yawning as they go along. He never thought that getting summoned to another universe would be so tiring, or so dull. Almost in response to his thoughts, he hears a huge bang from the other side of the tunnel.

They both freeze.

“What does that mean?” whispers Leo.

After a beat of silence, the banging starts to get closer. Lindy turns pale.

“It means that someone’s in here with us.”

[ppersonna]

Hi Lindy! I'm breaking out of my shyness bubble to send you some love. For what it's worth, I've always looked up to your blog as a fun, safe, positive space run by someone who I think is insanely smart and a very good role model and educator. I enjoy how you are so respectful and considerate of everyone, and I learn something new here every week. Sending you lots of love! Please take any time you need to process these feelings, and know that I appreciate you immensely! 💖

thank you for coming over and saying hi and for your sweet words. it means so much to me that you’re here. i appreciate your kindness too. it’s really warmed my heart and helped me feel less shitty about the situation knowing i’ve helped others and provided a safe place. thank you thank you thank you 💖

[phroyd]

We lost a Great Journalist today, and there are very few, if any, working today, who could fill her shoes!  We will miss you Cokie, and we wish there were more who could live up to your bar! - Phroyd.

Cokie Roberts, who drew on her upbringing in a powerful political family to fashion a career as a leading Washington journalist for NPR and ABC News, bringing a tough, knowledgeable voice to the rough-and-tumble political arena at a time when few women had national profiles in the news business, died on Tuesday in Washington. She was 75.

ABC News, in a posting on its website Tuesday morning, said the cause was breast cancer.

Ms. Roberts was known to millions for both her reporting and her commentaries, moving easily among radio, television and print to explain the impact of world events and the intricacies of policy debates. And in books like “Ladies of Liberty: The Women Who Shaped Our Nation” (2008) and “Capital Dames: The Civil War and the Women of Washington, 1848-1868” (2015) she highlighted the often overlooked role of women in history, especially political history.

“Cokie Roberts was a trailblazer,” Nancy Pelosi, the speaker of the House, said on Twitter, “who transformed the role of women in the newsroom & our history books as she told the stories of the unsung women who built our nation.”

Ms. Roberts, who joined NPR in the late 1970s and ABC News in 1988, carved out a career that served as an example to later generations of women in journalism.

“I’m proud as hell — proud as hell — to work at a news organization that has ‘Founding Mothers’ whom we all look up to,” Danielle Kurtzleben, an NPR reporter, said on Twitter. “God bless Cokie Roberts.”

In a statement, former President Barack Obama and the former first lady Michelle Obama called Ms. Roberts “a role model to young women at a time when the profession was still dominated by men; a constant over 40 years of a shifting media landscape and changing world, informing voters about the issues of our time and mentoring young journalists every step of the way.”

And President Trump, speaking to reporters on Air Force One en route to California from New Mexico, said of Ms. Roberts: “I never met her. She never treated me nicely. But I would like to wish her family well. She was a professional and I respect professionals. I respect you guys a lot, you people a lot. She was a real professional. Never treated me well, but I certainly respect her as a professional.”

If Ms. Roberts brought keen insight to her work, that was in part because she was a child of politicians, one who first walked the halls of Congress as a girl. Her father was Hale Boggs, a longtime Democratic representative from Louisiana who in the early 1970s was House majority leader. After he died in a plane crash in 1972, his wife and Ms. Roberts’s mother, Lindy Boggs, was elected to fill his seat. She served until 1991 and later became United States ambassador to the Vatican.

Ms. Roberts’s background gave her a deep respect for the government institutions she covered, and she didn’t hold herself or her journalism colleagues blameless for the problems of government. “We are quick to criticize and slow to praise,” she said in a commencement address at Boston College in 1994.

“But,” she told the crowd, “it’s also your fault.” Constituents, she said, needed to allow members of Congress to make the tough votes and “let that person live to fight another day.”

In an oral history recorded for the House of Representatives in 2007 and 2008, she expanded on the impact her childhood experiences had in shaping her views about America.

“Because I spent time in the Capitol and particularly in the House of Representatives, I became deeply committed to the American system,” she said. “And as close up and as personally as I saw it and saw all of the flaws, I understood all of the glories of it.”

“Here we are, so different from each other,” she added, “with no common history or religion or ethnicity or even language these days, and what brings us together is the Constitution and the institutions that it created. And the first among those is Congress. The very word means coming together. And the fact that messily and humorously and all of that, it happens — it doesn’t happen all the time, and it doesn’t always happen well, but it happens — is a miracle.”

Mary Martha Corinne Morrison Claiborne Boggs was born on Dec. 27, 1943, in New Orleans. She said that her brother, Tommy, invented her nickname because he couldn’t say “Corinne.”

She, her brother and her sister, Barbara, were immersed in political life, accompanying their father on campaign trips, attending ceremonial functions and listening to the dinner-table discussions that ensued when other political leaders visited the home.

“Our parents did not have the children go away when the grown-ups came,” Ms. Roberts said. “In retrospect, I’ve sometimes wondered, ‘What did those people think to have all these children around all the time?’ But we were around, and it was great for us.”

Although her father had considerable influence on her, so did her mother, who was active in furthering her father’s career, along with other women she came to know, like Lady Bird Johnson.

“I was very well aware of the influence of these women,” she said, adding, “I very much grew up with a sense, from them, that women could do anything, and that they could sort of do a whole lot of things at the same time.”

It was a theme she teased out in her 1998 book, “We Are Our Mothers’ Daughters.”

“For years my mother kept telling me that it’s nothing new to have women as soldiers, as diplomats, as politicians, as revolutionaries, as explorers, as founders of large institutions, as leaders in business; that the women of my generation did not invent the wheel,” she wrote. “In the past women might not have had the titles, she painstakingly and patiently explained, but they did the jobs that fit those descriptions.”

Ms. Roberts attended Catholic schools in New Orleans and Bethesda, Md., and graduated from Wellesley College in Massachusetts in 1964 with a degree in political science. In 1966 she married Steven V. Roberts, who was a correspondent then for The New York Times. Journalism was a largely male world at the time, something driven home to her when she went job hunting.

“In 1966 I left an on-air anchor television job in Washington, D.C., to get married,” she told The Times in 1994. “My husband was at The New York Times. For eight months I job-hunted at various New York magazines and television stations, and wherever I went I was asked how many words I could type.”

She eventually became a radio correspondent for CBS before joining NPR in 1978. (Sources give both 1977 and 1978 as her start year at NPR.) With her fellow newswomen Nina Totenberg and Linda Wertheimer, she began to change the journalistic landscape.

“As a troika they have succeeded in revolutionizing political reporting,” The Times wrote in that 1994 article. “Twenty years ago Washington journalism was pretty much a male game, like football and foreign policy. But along came demure Linda, delicately crashing onto the presidential campaign press bus; then entered bulldozer Nina, with major scoops on Douglas Ginsburg and Anita Hill; and in came tart-tongued Cokie with her savvy Congressional reporting. A new kind of female punditry was born.”

Ms. Roberts wrote a syndicated political column with her husband for many years. They lived in Europe for a time in the 1970s, and over the years she covered international stories, but Washington was her main turf. She covered Congress at a time when her mother was an increasingly important member of it, though that proved to be not as big a benefit to her professionally as it might have seemed, Ms Roberts said.

“She would never tell me anything,” she said in the oral history. “She was disgustingly discreet.”

Ms. Boggs died in 2013.

Ms. Roberts continued to provide segments for NPR even after joining ABC. The difference between the two, she said, was partly a matter of airtime.

“My average piece from the Hill for NPR would be four and a half minutes,” she said, “and my average piece for ABC would be a minute 15.”

At NPR, one of her regular segments was “Ask Cokie,” in which she used her vast knowledge of Washington, politics and history to answer listeners’ question on matters major, minor and obscure. One asked whether nuclear weapons could be launched by executive order only, absent Congressional authorization. One wanted to know where the phrase “lame duck session” came from.

In a recent installment pegged to the 100th anniversary of the House vote to approve the 19th Amendment, Steve Inskeep, the host, found himself interrupted by Ms. Roberts when he used the phrase “granting women the right to vote” to introduce the segment.

“No, no, no, no, no granting — no granting,” Ms. Roberts said in her characteristically emphatic style. “We had the right to vote as American citizens. We didn’t have to be granted it by some bunch of guys.”

She is survived by her husband; her two children, Lee and Rebecca Roberts; and six grandchildren.

Ms. Roberts received numerous honors, including sharing in several Emmy Awards. In 2008, the Library of Congress named her as a recipient of one of its “Living Legends” awards.

Ms. Roberts long had a front-row seat to history. In a 2017 interview with Kentucky Educational Television, she recalled a moment when she had to remind herself not to become jaded by that proximity. It was March 2013, and she was waiting in a cold rain for the Vatican smoke signal that would soon announce the selection of Pope Francis.

“Hundreds of thousands of people are pouring into St. Peter’s Square with the rain deluging them,” she said. “And my first reaction was: ‘Who are these people? What are they doing? That is crazy.’ And then I thought, ‘You jerk,’ to myself. ‘You are really not getting it. This is a moment in history that will be maybe the only time in all of these people’s lives that they have this front seat to history, and you’re so privileged you get it all the time.’”

But, she also reflected, big-stage moments give journalists only one part of the larger picture of their times.

“The individual interview with someone who is a mom in a shopping mall,” she said, “can tell you more about what’s going on in the world and how people feel about it than any of those grand things.”

Peter Baker contributed reporting from aboard Air Force One.

Correction: Sept. 17, 2019

An earlier version of a digital summary with this obituary misstated the sequence of Ms. Roberts's career. As the obituary correctly states, she was at NPR before she was at ABC, not after.

Phroyd

[theshatteredrose]

A Gathering of Guardians: Prologue (Epilogue) - Etrian Odyssey Nexus Fanfiction

AN: Hmmm, the epilogue to a prologue. Not sure how that works, but here we are! And we’ve reached the end to the prologue. Finally done! Longer than I had originally anticipated, yet it could have been longer if I added all the cute interactions I initially wanted to :’D Well, let me know what you think!

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Epilogue:

The previous few days had been rather stressful. The weather outside had been absolutely dreadful; thunder, lightning, torrential rain, and high winds. The atmosphere was tense, electric, and the walls around them, the ground beneath their feet would shake and shudder sporadically.

As the city of Maginia took flight toward the island of Lemuria, the residents had been confined to the sturdy buildings of their new community. The weather and seas around Lemuria were notoriously dangerous and violent.

Lynus and his fellow healers and caretakers had been working overtime over the last few days ensuring the comfort of others. Many were nervous, the youngsters especially. Calming teas, tonics that elevated nervousness, or simply speaking with another to combat their fears. Lynus had been rather busy.

In a way, it was a good thing he was. If he wasn’t busy looking after others, he’d likely be just as nervous as everyone else!

Thankfully, the loud rumbling and the shuddering of everything around them soon smoothed out. Much to relief of everyone. The thunder and lightning dissipated. The rain ceased. The sun’s rays peaked through the clouds, and finally through the windows of their residence.

It wasn’t until they heard the loud wailing of the siren indicating that everyone was to prepare for landing did the realisation that they had finally reached their destination overcame them.

Lemuria.

They had finally reached the beaches of Lemuria.

They had arrived.

As the city itself readied to finally moor upon (hopefully) solid ground, Villard ordered everyone to move to the dining.

Yes, everyone. Everyone that Villard had gathered from the five cities. All guilds, honorary members and all. Children, animals, bar-keeps and doctors, guildmasters and city officials.

Everyone.

As everyone filed into the hall, either taking seats at the tables or standing with their backs against the back wall, Villard moved to stand before everyone. He waited for his audience to become settled in their seats or positions, waiting for the excited murmuring to quieten down.

Finally, as the chattering became quiet, he stepped forward. Placing himself squarely at the centre of attention.

“Let’s get straight to it, shall we?” he opened. “I am pleased to announce that we have arrived to the island of Lemuria safely and in one piece.”

That received a cheer from his audience, along with a few murmurings of “about time” and “thank goodness” from others. Relief was palpable from everyone. As was the sense of anticipation and of excitement.

“I do have a rather thrilling speech to make for this grand occasion,” Villard announced, which earned him a few playful groans from those who knew him quite well. A response he dismissed just as good-humouredly with a wave of his hand. “Now now, I've been practicing, so hush up, the lot of you.”

There was a few murmurings and muffled chuckles, but for the most part everyone fell silent.

“I should start by making a confession to many of you; the fact that I purposely omitted my invitation, saving it for the last minute, was done on purpose.” He paused and gave a deep frown in Highland Count’s direction, his shoulders hunched forward in a disgruntled manner. “And, no, I am certainly not back-peddling now.”

There was muffled laughter that soon fell silent. Especially when Villard straightened his posture and turned to regard everyone once more.

“Why would I do such a thing? Why would I wait until virtually the last minute? Simple; it would garner the most truthful responses.”

“Your immediate responses are usually the most honest. Surprise followed by interest and intrigue. Had I given you time to ponder the decision, I would have given time to allow doubt to set in. That little voice to speak up, dissuading you from making an honest decision. You all know of the voice I speak of. The quiet one of doubt. The quiet one of guilt. The quiet one that tries to convince you that there is nothing more for you to see. Nothing more for you to do. Nothing for you to offer.”

Villard began to pace the front stage, as it were. Pacing before the tables, pausing once in a while to catch someone’s gaze and hold it with a knowing, empathetic smile.

“Not only that inner voice, but the voice of cynics. Those who purposely place doubt. The gossip-mongers who are jealous. Those with fragile egos who loathe those who have the audacity to live their own lives. We all know someone of that nature. And though we know that their words are of spite, they still strike a chord with us.”

“You're too young and inexperienced to be of use. You're too old so step aside and yet the young take your place. You have children now, so you must settle down. You have responsibilities now, so you must act accordingly. You've already conquered one labyrinth; you have nothing left to learn. You have health concerns, so be still and fragile always.”

“It's a strange world we live in, isn't it? When another believes they have the moral and divine right to dictate how others should live their lives. When you reach a certain age that you are no longer allowed to enjoy the things you do. There is also much pressure on the youth to have immediate knowledge and experience. To do everything right the first time just because of who or what they are.”

Lynus felt the winces from those around him. The slight pain at their own past experiences. He, too, couldn’t prevent a wince. Though, he tried not to dwell on it by taking Axel’s hand in his and focusing his effort on simply listening.

“I'm quite the worldly traveller, you could say. And I have seen and learn that in many cultures, youth is worshipped and aged ones are hidden, considered to be no longer useful. Old. Senile. Weak. Yet, in other cultures, the older a person becomes, the greater not only their wisdom, but their beauty.”

Villard then paused and dramatically flicked a strand of his hair from his forehead. “I am strikingly beautiful, as I'm sure you all know.”

Honest chuckles followed that remark, momentarily breaking the tension that hung in the air from the truthfulness of Villard’s words. Something Villard seemed to have done on purpose as he nodded his head in acceptance before he went back to his pacing.

“As we grow older, we are pressured into feeling as though we must step aside and wither, our glory days over. And in our place steps the youth. Some willingly, others are not. Pressured by the large footprints before them. To follow their predecessors exactly. To be precisely like those before them, squashing their own desires and beliefs.”

He, however, paused again and placed his hands on his hips in a purely disgruntled manner. “That is an abysmal way to live. And I know that you all feel the same.”

Immediately agreement from many members of the audience. Even a “hell yeah” from someone from the back of the hall.

“You're all here for a reason,” Villard continued. “And those reasons are your own. You're here out of duty. You're here out of interest. You're here out of restlessness. You're here to support others. Or you’re here just to raise hell and have fun. Many reasons. And they are all valid.”

“You have this need to live your lives to the fullest. To dance into your elder years doing what you love. What you want. You're also here because you all know that there is so much left to learn.”

“Learn how to help and be helped. To teach and be taught. To guide and to seek guidance. To stand independently but find comfort in company.”

“Each guild and comrade I asked to join on this expedition was chosen for a special reason. You have your unique specialities.”

Villard walked to the left side of the room and stood before the first table, where Lindis and his guild sat on one side, while Lynus and his guild sat on the other. Villard paused before Lindis and held his gaze for a moment. “To seek the truth, regardless of who or what stands in your way.”

Before Lindis could form any kind of response, Villard walked to the other side of the table and stood before Lynus himself, also holding his gaze. “To protect others and to help them to understand that everyone deserves to live life pain free.”

He quickly paced over to the second table where Oracle and many of his guildmates sat together. “To rebel against social formalities and to stand up for those who are isolated and ostracized for being different.”

To the next table and stood before Roxbury, who just like the previous guild leaders before him, sat with his guildmates. “To learn from all your experiences, no matter how painful they were at the time.”

Finally, he walked over to the fourth table where Drayce sat with his grandfather and his brother. “And to never stop looking for what is important to you or to others, especially if that very thing is a person you love so much.”

There was no need to formulate a response to that. Villard and understood them all. Their motives and reasons.

“We do, however, have one thing in common that ties us all - we want to continue to live. To actually live.”

Villard moved to the centre of the stage again, well aware that he was the centre of attention. The centre of awe. His words were indeed inspiring as they were comforting. He was…a very considerate man.

“So, I welcome you all to the island of Lemuria. Where we all will dance into the elder years. Every day, we grow older. Every day is a chance to nurture ourselves and to learn. Finding partnerships, beginning new projects, learning new stories, allowing our true selves and eccentricities to become more and more clear. Living our lives daringly and actively, so that we inspire others to do the same.”

“Speak to people. Venture out. Rebel against those who urge you to behave in ways that are not true to yourself. Help those who are lost. Bring comfort to those who are scared. Bring closure to those who are alone. Continue to thrive, grow older, and dance. There is nothing that you cannot be, do, or have.”

“Go forth on this day knowing that your real work is to decide what you want - and then focus upon that. Lemuria is your playground.”

“So, play and dance to your heart’s content.”

He finished his speech with a low-sweeping bow, to the applause and cheers of everyone.

Nothing more was needed to be said. Their lives exploring Lemuria had just begun. Who knew what awaited them out there? But they weren’t afraid. Not when they had everyone to support and comfort. Not when they were all together.

And they would be together. Through everything.

[dispatchvampire]

Jump, Jive, & Wail (Bucky x OC)

Pairing:  Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Death by fluff, casual swearing, smut in later chapters 

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated  of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Grace. For a woman who’s more spice than sugar, she’s awfully sweet on him. 

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has the worst kept secret crush in the history of ever on the cute, new, tattooed teammate. Grace is shy but definitely interested, and just waiting on the right dance partner. 

Playlist: I made a playlist as I wrote this in case you’d like a soundtrack as you read. 

Ch1: Rock This Town

The gym late at night in the tower was his sanctuary. Bucky lived for the late nights when he could beat the bags to hell, work his heart and lungs to their maximum and otherwise chase the demon of insomnia with the sword of sheer fucking exhaustion. He liked being by himself and away from Steve’s well-intentioned smothering and the curious/wary looks of the other Avengers. Well, not all of them. 

Grace never looked at him like he was a hand grenade with the pin missing. His cheeks heated as he thought of her shy smile when they met, and how he’d catch her watching him every now and then. Pretty smile, sweet face, and the kind of body that made him actively fight inappropriate thoughts. She was powered, something about warping space-time, and she always seemed so light and bubbly and full of energy, even if she was on the shy side. She didn’t approach, but then, neither did he. If neither of them were ready, that’s just how that was gonna go, and damn Stevie’s thoughts on the matter. 

Steve, bless him, heard all about his crush, like he was a pressure valve that kept it under control and well-hidden, except… well, Steven Grant ‘I’m Waiting For the Right Partner’ Rogers believed he should go and see about asking her out. Yeah, not so much. He wasn’t ready, she was too sweet to have anything to do with the likes of him and he’d just as soon not let his darkness color her world. 

Buck wrapped his hands as he headed down the long corridor to the gym, shaking his limbs out and tying up his black shorts again just to make sure they stayed up, narrow hips and all. He was a little confused to find the hallway lit like it would be for daytime, and for growing strains of  music to be floating past him. Not that there wasn’t music normally playing in the gym, or at least what passed for music today, but this was… Fast beat, swinging horn section, blazing hot piano and an upright bass, this was music and someone was absolutely going to town in the gym when he would normally be there alone. 

He didn’t recognize the song as he came through the door, but the dancing. Holy shit, the dancing. Eighty years stripped away and he was transported to a darkened dance hall with an ten piece band onstage and couples tearing it up on the floor. 

In a tight black tank top that showed off the cheerfully colorful sleeves of tattoos up her arms and showcased the rack he absolutely had not thought about in loving detail, some grey workout pants that tied off at her knees and perfectly framed each and every luscious curve, and her hair tied up in a black and purple polka dot kerchief, Gracie was cutting quite the rug in the hardwood area usually reserved for Tasha’s ballet. And her partner Barton wasn’t doing too terribly, either.

Bucky wasn’t jealous. Really. He meant that.  

He watched as they danced and shifted around each other, occasional leaps and slides over and around and looking like they were having the time of their lives. Buck watched as he leaned against the wall just beyond the mirror and barre, taking in the beautiful fluidity and unadulterated joy of her movements. Sinuous hips, light on her feet, with impeccable timing, she was incandescent to watch, and when the song ended, he couldn’t help but whistle and clap his praise. 

Barton’s eyes lit up as he headed to the barre to collect his towel and wipe off his ruddy face. His formerly black sleeveless shirt looked almost soaked through with sweat he was sweating like a priest in a brothel.  “Thank God you’re here.” 

Grace frowned and snatched up a bottle of water from the floor by the mirror. “Oh hush, ya big baby. It’s only been three songs.” 

“Five, and she’s a menace. She’s been slowly but surely dancing me to death and I need a break.” Barton made a show of panting and downing his own bottle of water as quickly as possible. 

“Nothing slow about that music,” Buck replied, winking at her and pleased when she giggled. “You need me to step in and show you how it’s done?”

Barton smirked. “It’s your type of music, Grampa. Let’s see you do it.” 

“Grampa my ass.” Challenge issued, Buck stepped to Grace’s side and offered her his hand. “May I have this dance?” Her big dark eyes rounded in what appeared to be shock, so he teased, “Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart. Best dance of your life, I swear.” 

Her full red lips now grinning broadly, she nodded and took his hand. “J, hit it.”

‘Jump, Jive, and Wail’ leapt out of the speakers in all its full-brass glory, and he grinned wickedly. This, he remembered. It may not have been Louis Prima, but he could work with this. Leading her through the steps, they stopped every now and then for a shift or turn, and even the occasional toss. He laughed as she twisted in the air and came down in a slide between his legs before coming up dancing. Barton was right, she was a demon in the best sense and he loved it. It was perfect, this tiny moment between them, where their mutual shyness was put aside and they could just be, both in their element and having a good time. 

Barton caught his eye as he vacated the premises between songs, mouthing “You’re welcome” with a sly grin as he scooted out the door. Maybe his crush hadn’t been so surreptitious afterall. 

He didn’t have time to ponder that, though, as another song came on, this one even faster than before. It was a breakneck speed and Bucky was here for all of it. She weighed next to nothing as he tossed her in the air, catching her and jumping right into a Lindy Hop-Charleston combo that was incredibly athletic, even by his own memory’s standards. 

The music wasn’t anything he recognized, though it was clear the band was fantastic and so long as the music played, he was more than happy to keep dancing with her. Three more songs played through, including Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ and even Buck was feeling the heat. 

“Hold up, J,” Grace panted as she headed back to her water bottle, and the music died just as quickly as it started. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Miss.” 

For a hot second the only sound in the room was their mutually labored breathing as they stared at each other. She was positively glowing, a sheen of perspiration lighting up her butterscotch brown skin and making her smile that much more luminous. He felt like a limp rag, wrung out and still wet, and he couldn’t believe he luck. They started giggling at the same time, likely fed by endorphins and what have you, and she had the best laugh, like music and raindrops and he was so far gone over her, he’d set fire to his map. 

“Head’s up,” she called as she went to the cooler and threw a bottle at him with alarming accuracy. He caught it easily and nodded his thanks. 

“You’re pretty great at that,” he told her as she came back to the dancefloor, cheeks flushed, this time not from exertion. 

“You are, too. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that with you.” Her eyes grew huge as she realized what she’d admitted to, and covered her mouth for good measure. “I… I’m sorry. That should have… I mean… Dammit.” 

He couldn’t let her stammer her way into walking back the words, not when they were everything he’d wanted to hear. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.” He offered her his shyest and most disarming grin, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he awaited her response. 

Grace brightened considerably, straightening up and taking a couple tentative steps in his direction. The way she licked her lips nervously made her lush mouth look that much more kissable. “Oh yeah?”

Taking a chance, Buck slid up right next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, praying he was getting this right. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Now work for you?” The way she stepped into him and gazed up at him, all flushed cheeks and parted lips, he did everything he could to convince himself the warmth in his chest was heartburn and not at all a reaction to the fire within her. Either that or he would be kissing her off her feet. 

“Any chance I could get next?” 

And just like that, the moment was broken by little Stevie Rogers. Again. Buck dropped his head as he exhaled deeply with his eyes closed, flashing back to their childhood back in Brooklyn. They popped open immediately, though, when he heard her giggle and felt her little hand patting his chest, burning a hole into his skin through the fabric of his shirt as surely as a blowtorch. 

Turning to face him, he found his best friend in grey workout shorts and a black tank top, leaning where he had been when he’d watched her with Barton. His smug little grin made Buck want to pop him in the mouth, but given the mixed company, he refrained, but only just. Instead, he just smiled proudly and replied,  “Stevie, I love you, but this right here is way too much car for you.” 

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 80 - NSH - Didn’t Suck

John Vogl of the Athletic wrote an article last week called “How a Tuesday Night in December set a fateful tone for the rest of the Sabres’ Season”. It’s another excellent work by one of the better elder statesman of Buffalo Hockey media but more importantly it helps one in having an honest conversation about what this season is, was, and will be remembered as. One might look back on February 20th as some kind of turning point this season as well when Jason Botterill said he supported Coach Housley and a coaching change was not imminent. The post-vote of confidence part of the season, roughly Game 60 on (Buffalo has been 3-14-3 in that time), has been so bad it’s forced even optimists like me to swim in the deep ocean of miserable Sabres takes. I hate doing that if that hasn’t been clear and I was the kind of guy who didn’t think their playoff chances were really dead until that four-game losing streak earlier in February. I’m rehashing all these turning points for a couple reasons. For one, I’ve already spent one of these blogs covering an Amerks game and another entirely on coaching. I’m running out of shticks and there are still two games left. The other reason is that facing Nashville tonight got me thinking about turning points. The only other time the Sabres faced the Preds this season was an early December loss three games removed from the end of the winning streak. At that point we all knew nothing except for joy and happiness; I was strung like a loaded coil to go to the first Leafs game in Buffalo. I recall the other Nashville game clearly: it was a neutral zone battle that made me proud to be a Sabres fan, but it ended 2-1 in favor of Nashville. I was still so pompous at the time I was prepared to make a sign for the Leafs game to follow that referenced there almost being a team in Hamilton, Ontario! What a different time that was. This whole trip down memory lane I just took would’ve been a little monotonous and stupid, kind of like the Sabres season at this point, if I didn’t lead off with a bump for John Vogl. He is worth your time and money so go subscribe to the Athletic Buffalo. I guess I have to talk about the game we had tonight now… ugh, okay: The Sabres lost again. This time they didn’t seem completely lost.

The Nashville Predators have been the subject of some discussions of playoff readiness. The defensive juggernaut that isn’t too bad on offense either has been just ok lately. The 2017 Stanley Cup Finalists have been outmaneuvered or outright smashed in several games in March resulting in some upset fears going into spring. The Buffalo Sabres playing with Nashville as close as they did, particularly for the first two periods of this game, is in some degree attributable to this sagging Preds team. Nashville’s Craig Smith opened up the scoring in the first frame at a little under 9 minutes into the game. As the game continued the play of both teams opened up a bit; chances became more plentiful for both as each team kind of tripped over their own defensive schemes. It was the Preds defense struggling to get into to position that allowed for a tic tac toe pass play in the offensive zone for the Sabres. Kyle Okposo ended up getting the puck behind Pekka Rinne and tapped it in. It was 1-1 through the first intermission but that changed awfully quickly in the second period. P.K. Subban got out all alone against Carter Hutton and shot it past the former Predator in net. It was practically off the faceoff. It was 2-1 for a very brief time again before Conor Sheary thought he evened it up about three minutes into the middle period. The ref said it did not count. Before we go on it’s worth mentioning this was probably the best effort the Sabres have completed in several weeks. Jack Eichel, Sam Reinhart, Casey Mittelstadt, really all the guys, even the ones who aren’t big names did good tonight. The key follow-up there is they didn’t win. You guys got to figure out how to do that more consistently. Nonetheless, it felt nice to not watch another skating clinic.

Jeff Skinner evened up the game at 2 after gathering a nice rebound off the back boards with mere seconds left in the second period. I tuned into the third period full of hope Buffalo would make a real game out of it. They did but Ryan Johansen snuck a puck high on Hutton: it was one of those bounce in bounce out goals that gives Philadelphia Flyers flashbacks to the 2010 Stanley Cup Final. I built that up like it was a momentous play, but it was just a goal and it put Nashville up 3-2 where the game would end. The boys in blue and gold put up a good late effort to tie it, but the third equalizer never came and this one will look like just another regulation loss in the history of this season. This game didn’t suck and that maybe the summation of the only things that make this game watchable. It was so refreshing to see Jeff Skinner scored again that I wear a smile thinking about this game; maybe that’s a sign of just how far we’ve fallen. The Skin Man Skinner is now being treated as a departing hero by some and free agency seems like an inevitability with him at this point but silly optimists like me will continue to concoct ways he stays. The rumor mill has been so silent on him lately it feels like no one will even tolerate us being hopeful about the situation. On the other hand, I heard a theory Skinner is waiting for Phil Housley to be fired to sign. That’s probably some smelly bullshit but if that were true how quickly would Jason Botterill drop Housley? Immediately? That leads me to the considerations of everyone’s favorite weekly hockey column: 31 Thoughts by Elliotte Friedman.

This time we look at Friedman’s writings with a little skepticism. He states in thought number 8 that Jason Botterill doesn’t want to do a coaching change because there have been five coaches of the Sabres since Lindy Ruff left back in 2013. That doesn’t meet the smell test by way of the simple fact Botterill has only been here for one coach. If he has been indoctrinated with the concerns of ownership that’s another story but I don’t see him worrying about past bench bosses. The other half of the thought is that if the Sabres can’t get one of the big names this offseason following firing Housley (cough Joel Quenneville cough) than it makes since given Jason Botterill’s history in the Pittsburgh Penguins organization that he’ll promote Chris Taylor. Firstly, I want to point out I called it and have now been vindicated by Elliotte Friedman and second, why not? There is a glut of good AHL coaches and NHL assistants soon to be finding new jobs. Imagine this: The Rochester Americans win the Calder Cup after a hard-fought season and as reward Chris Taylor is announced as the replacement for the vacancy in Buffalo (because we know they’re firing Housley, right?). This allows you to hire one of half a dozen great AHL coaches to fill that void instead of taking another risk with an unproven guy for the NHL job. I will continue building this case until it comes to fruition. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

You know what to do: like, comment and share this blog around with friends and family. There is a certain dark-side of Sabres fandom that has reared its head in recent days that I have relegated to the P.S. of today’s blog. Instead of talking about that stupidity with any degree of credence we’re going to have a little talk about women’s hockey. I am an asshole, or at least I feel like one. I have only really mentioned the Buffalo Beauts or women’s hockey in passing this season and that’s not great considering the real titan of a team we had in Harbor Center this year. Now with the sudden folding of the Canadian Women’s Hockey League (CWHL) the whole professional outfit of women’s hockey in North America has suddenly gone into crisis mode. NWHL looks to be expanding to Toronto and Montreal to help the cause but this is really an issue all hockey fans should be screaming from the rooftops about. I waited far too long to do so myself. So that’s all for tonight folks, we only got two more of these Sabres games left! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. He is everything and definitively not the problem. Stop. If you bring up the Eichel-hater discussion going on right now in the Sabres Noise-o-sphere I am going to block you immediately. Just an fyi.

[giancarlonicoli]

Why do experts, CEOs, politicians, and other apparently highly capable people make such terrible decisions so often? Is because they’re ill-intentioned? Or because, despite appearances, they’re actually stupid? Nassim Nicholas Taleb, philosopher, businessman, perpetual troublemaker, and author of, among other works, the groundbreaking Fooled by Randomness, says it’s neither.

It’s because these authorities face the wrong incentives.

They are rewarded according to whether they look good to their superiors, not according to whether they are effective. They have no skin in the game.

Seasoned readers of Taleb will be pleased to see the so-called “experts problem” pop up in living color in Skin in the Game: Hidden Asymmetries in Daily Life, Taleb’s latest collection of essays on risk, rationality, and randomness. According to Taleb, dentists, pilots, plumbers, structural engineers, and “scholars of Portuguese irregular verbs” are real experts; sociologists, policy analysts, “management theorist[s], publishing executive[s], and macroeconomist[s]” are not.

The difference is that, when people from the first list are wrong about something, it’s obvious from the results and they suffer; they have skin in the game. Bad teeth, crashed planes, and leaky pipes are bad for business. People from the second list rationalize by substituting a different theory. They were not really wrong but just early, and, if they’re lucky, which is to say skillful at apple-polishing, earn promotion after promotion by not failing utterly. (Financial advisors can argue that the fiduciary standard is the most powerful tool for putting them in the first list.) Skin in the Game is full of insights like this, some recycled from his earlier work but many of them new. It is well worth the relatively quick read.

Despite the many good qualities of Skin in the Game, Taleb’s work, including the present volume, is often infuriating. He is too sure of himself, too unkind to his enemies, too full of bluster and obscure humor. Acting on his belief that some kinds of experts are worthless, he has populated the book’s dust jacket with anonymous tweets instead of celebrity testimonials. Here’s the first tweet: “The problem with Taleb is not that he’s an ass— (spelled out in full on the jacket). He is an ass—. The problem with Taleb is that he is right.” I agree.

Asymmetry, or why we are ruled by the most easily offended

In chapter two of Skin in the Game, entitled “The Most Intolerant Wins,” Taleb asks why we seem to be governed by the most easily offended. You have to refrain from smoking in the non-smoking section, but you don’t have to smoke (that is, refrain from not smoking) in the smoking section, which, by the way, is much smaller. Few people really care whether you say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, but the latter has become de rigueur in some circles. Almost all soft drinks are kosher.

The reason, Taleb explains, is that, for any given issue, there are a few people who care deeply about it and a great many people who do not. Those who care are spurred to action, even violent action in the case of religious or political passions. The rest of us, wishing to be left alone, rarely fight back with equal vigor. The results of this process include the increasing domination of Taleb’s beloved, multi-religious Lebanon by Muslims, for whom conversion to Islam is irreversible. Conversion away from Islam is at least theoretically punishable by death; Christians and Jews don’t much care if you leave the faith.1

In ancient Roman times, Taleb explains, Christians were the intolerant minority that pushed their views on the Roman majority. That’s how Christianity eventually became the official religion of the empire in 323 A.D. Times and players change but the principles of human nature remain the same.

Almost all soft drinks are kosher because it’s relatively easy to make a drink kosher. So manufacturers put forth this small effort rather than have two kinds of each drink, one for observant Jews – a fraction of a percent of the total population – and one for everybody else.

If this argument sounds familiar, it’s recycled in much more general form from Frédéric Bastiat, the great 19th century French economist. Bastiat wrote that, for any given government action, such as a tax levied to subsidize some activity, there are a few people who will benefit greatly by it and they will work day and night to see it enacted. The great many who stand to lose will typically only lose a few pennies and will put forth little or no effort to prevent it. Thus the number of rules, regulations, taxes, handouts, and special favors granted by government grows exponentially with very little acting to restrain the growth.

These are just a few of the asymmetries of daily life to which Taleb’s subtitle refers. Once you understand the principle, you’ll see it in everything.

Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup

The New York deli called Lindy’s is famous for its clientele of Broadway actors and comedians, and for having food so bad that it has inspired a bevy of jokes including the one that starts with, “Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.” But, Taleb tells us, it is also well-known among mathematicians and other scholars as the place where the Lindy effect was first observed. This is the idea that the age of an inanimate object is a good indicator of its future longevity:

Broadway shows that lasted for, say, one hundred days, had a future life expectancy of a hundred more. For those that lasted two hundred days, two hundred more. The heuristic became known as the Lindy effect.

Likewise, Judaism, 3,500 years old, will probably last another 3,500; Scientology will be lucky to get another 60. Shakespeare will last longer than Stephen King. Even living things that do not age on a particular schedule, like trees, tend to follow this rule. It could be because the old ones, having survived, are anti-fragile, a concept from Taleb’s earlier book by that title; they are not just robust, but gain further robustness from exposure to stresses. Or maybe, like Shakespeare, they’re just better.

This principle is very powerful and Taleb applies it to many topics, with the Lindy theme running through the whole book. Academia, for example, sometimes resembles an athletic contest in which the hardest-working or most aggressive participants appear to win. It should not. “The winner is the one who finishes last,” said the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein; that is, the academic whose theories are least easily overturned, most enduring, had the best theories.

Investors would do well to understand the application of the Lindy principle to their enterprise. Indexing as a concept is about 75 years old; value investing is even older.2 These great ideas are unlikely to be overturned any time soon. Instead, improvements around the edges are the best we can expect. The latest idea for earning alpha, whatever it is at the moment, will almost certainly turn out to be a flash in the pan, easily arbitraged away by the time it can be widely implemented.

Why are there so many employees?

To illustrate how the principle of skin in the game applies to labor contracting, Taleb compares the behavior of two private jet pilots. Bob is a freelance contract pilot who is sometimes useful to your little airline but is at other times too busy hauling Saudi princes to fancy resorts to do the work you need done. The result, an occasional stranded planeload of people, is disastrous for your business.

The other, a pilot-employee – I’ll call him Bill – does more or less what you want, including working overtime in a pinch. Why the difference? Taleb writes,

People you find in employment love the regularity of the payroll, with that special envelope on their desk the last day of the month, and without which they would act as a baby deprived of mother’s milk… [H]ad Bob been an employee rather than something that appeared to be cheaper, that contractor thing, then you wouldn’t be having so much trouble.

Economics dictates that employment is just one of many ways to contract for labor, and a particularly inflexible one that requires you to pay the employee whether you can keep them busy or not. You’ve probably considered replacing employees with contractors in whatever business you operate or work. Yet there are a lot of employees! Taleb’s tale provides a clue to why: “Every organization wants a certain number of people associated with it to be deprived of a certain share of their freedom.” Employment is the only legal way to achieve that sort of dependent relationship.

What’s the connection to skin in the game? We tend to think of freelancers and entrepreneurs, such as Bob the pilot-contractor, as risk takers, skin-in-the-game players. And they are. But, as Taleb reminds us, “skin in the game is not [about] incentives, but disincentives.” You don’t want the employee to do what is best for himself in the short run – that’s what contractors do – so you set up an alignment of interest between his long-run welfare and yours. As an employee with a family and a mortgage, and considerable costs if he has to get another job and relocate, he has skin in your game.

That’s why we have so many employees.

Two very different kinds of risk

Since investing is applied philosophy, Taleb’s whole book is relevant to investors, but the most directly applicable part is Chapter 19, “The Logic of Risk Taking.” He draws the distinction, fundamental but rarely fully understood, between ensemble probability and time probability. (Like double-entry bookkeeping, this is one of those wonderful ideas that’s obvious once you’ve heard it; less so in advance.) Ensemble probability involves a risk faced by a population at a given point in time, such as that of a hundred people visiting a casino once, where each person can make a one-time, double-or-nothing bet involving his or her entire fortune. In that single visit, about half of them will be ruined. The other half, having doubled their money, will be perfectly fine.

Time probability, in contrast, involves an ongoing risk faced by an individual over time. Consider someone visiting a casino 100 times in succession, also making a double-or-nothing bet involving his entire fortune. In 100 visits, that person will be ruined; usually ruin will occur after just a few visits. No one who behaves this way will ever be fine.3

With ensemble probability, then, as Taleb explains, “the ruin of one does not affect the ruin of others.” With time probability it’s the opposite: once you get a sufficiently bad outcome, the game is over and you cannot become un-ruined.4

This distinction is relevant to investing because the risks investors face involve time probability, not ensemble probability. In most aspects of life, we are accustomed to thinking about risk in the ensemble sense: a football team has a 2-in-3 chance of winning a game, a disease has a 10% mortality rate. So we are familiar with that kind of risk, and comfortable extending the concept to other aspects of life.

But, in investing, the state of a person’s wealth at any point in time is contingent on her wealth at the previous point in time; returns are cumulative; investing exposes us to time risk, cumulative risk. We are not typically able to do the mental approximations needed to think about that – if the risk of getting in a car accident on the way to work is one in 10,000, what is the risk of driving to work 10,000 times? (It’s not 100%, nor is it insignificant; it’s 64%. You should go to work anyway.5)

Thus, we need to be very careful when relying on intuition to tell us about investment risk. Investing involves more risk than you think. We also need to be wary of extrapolating from the past (and avoid the temptation that comes from the fact that it’s so readily accessible). Paul Samuelson famously said that “we have only one sample of the past,” meaning that far more things could have happened than did happen; there’s only so much you can learn from studying history. But it’s just as important that we will get only one sample of the future! The return pattern that we will experience is just one of the infinitely many possible ones, and it will not be the one that we “expect” statistically; it will be something different, possibly very different.6

Are you an IYI? I hope not

Consistent with his famously combative persona, Taleb takes pot shots – frequent and vigorous ones – at intellectuals, or, in his acronym, IYI. An intellectual yet idiot (IYI) is someone who is beloved by the public for his or her knowledgeable airs but who is actually full of baloney, having no practical sense. Taleb considers Steven Pinker, author of Enlightenment Now and a current darling, to be an example, and calls him a “journalistic professor,” not the psychologist and linguist that he obviously is. (I’m reviewing Pinker’s book, favorably, in an upcoming Advisor Perspectives.)

When one gets past the gratuitous insult, however – Taleb doesn’t think much of journalists or professors – he has a point. When a real expert strays from his own field, he is susceptible to making the foolish mistakes of an amateur, except that an amateur is likely to be humbler.

Taleb has not convinced me that Pinker is a wandering amateur; maybe it’s Taleb, not Pinker, who is wandering too far from the core of his knowledge. Intellectuals, whether or not IYI, must, when turning against their kind, be on guard against becoming AIYA: anti-intellectual yet ass­­­­—. (Pardon my French; Taleb inspires it.) At 16, I fit the description; I do not think Pinker does.

Dedicated to the one I love?

Book dedications are rarely interesting; they usually feature one’s parent, spouse, or teacher. But, in an odd twist that allows us to see (a little) into Nassim Taleb’s mind, he dedicates Skin in the Game to two well-known people whom I would have praised less lavishly. First, Ron Paul, “a Roman among Greeks”; second, Ralph Nader, “a Greco-Phoenician saint.”

In a self-referential joke, Taleb’s comment about Ron Paul reverses the dedication of his earlier book, The Black Swan, to the great mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, “a Greek among Romans.” It took me a bit of effort to find out, by searching through Taleb’s tweets, that he admires the Romans’ practicality:

As I came to realize...[,] the Romans were no-B.S. Fat Tonys; they resented grand theories and favored prudent and progressive tinkering. Much of what they built, from constitution, to Roman law, to bridges, to low income housing, to their literature, to their imperial administration (still around in the structure of the Catholic church), has survived 2000 years.7

Paul, a doctor and former congressman from Texas, is an honorable man who often stands alone in objecting to his colleagues’ expedient political follies. I’m not sure (and Taleb doesn’t say) why that makes him a Roman, but maybe an encomium is deserved; I would not have singled him out.

But Ralph Nader a saint? He certainly sacrificed personal income, and subjected himself to harassment, when making the case that U.S. auto companies were making dangerous cars; he had skin in that game. But Nader has a dark side. Despite having taken a poverty vow and very publicly living like a monk, he revealed a personal fortune of $3.8 million in his 2000 presidential election filing – not a large fortune but not monkish either. He has also founded nonprofit organizations that do research of dubious quality, and his latest crusade is a meaningless fight against share buybacks (an important mechanism for enabling investors to get cash flow out of their portfolios). Nader is an odd choice for sainthood.

Skin in the game everywhere

Like many authors who’ve discovered a principle that they believe applies in many aspects of life, Taleb isn’t shy about discussing every aspect he can identify. They include the role of looks in choosing a surgeon: don’t choose a dignified, handsome one – one who looks more like a butcher “had to have much to overcome in terms of perception.” Military interventionism? He’s against it, arguing that policy analysts who make war from comfortable offices don’t know what it’s really like on the ground and have no personal stake in the consequences. Religions, at least at first, demand extreme sacrifices from their adherents because their leaders know they can only hold the tribe together if its members can see that fellow members have sacrificed too: “The strength of a creed,” Taleb writes, “did not rest on ‘evidence’ of the powers of its gods, but evidence of the skin in the game on the part of its worshippers.”

This campfire-style storytelling makes the book seem, in places, more like a collection of loosely related essays, as I referred to it at the outset, than a coherent book. This approach has an upside and a downside. It’s easy to read parts of the book without losing the train of thought, since many of the parts were written as magazine articles and stand well on their own.8 The downside is that, if you try to read the book as a coherent whole, you’ll find it too full of interruptions and asides.

Conclusion

Taleb’s writing is nothing if not lively. What other philosopher, let alone investment writer, creates characters like Fat Tony, a worldly-wise trader who cares little for book learning; Yevgenia Nikolayevna Krasnova, a neuroscientist with three philosopher ex-husbands who writes a runaway best-seller called A Story of Recursion; and Nero Tulip, a thinly disguised version of Taleb himself? Taleb entertains, educates, and infuriates all at once, a heady combination for readers who score high on curiosity but frustrating for those who are just in a hurry to gather information and get on with it. This is Sunday afternoon, not Monday morning, reading.

Mercifully, Skin in the Game is also relatively short, unlike Taleb’s previous book, Antifragile. It can be consumed effectively by a casual reader and does not require sustained attention.

Skin in the Game is not Taleb’s best book – that’s Fooled by Randomness – but it’s his most accessible. I highly recommend it.

Laurence B. Siegel is the Gary P. Brinson Director of Research at the CFA Institute Research Foundation and an independent consultant. He may be reached at lbsiegel@uchicago.edu.

1 Some Jews say a prayer for the dead upon learning that a fellow Jew, especially a family member, has left the faith; this “punishment” has not done much to stem the rate of intermarriage or the decline in Jewish religious fervor.

2 Index funds, as a concept, started with Jack Bogle’s senior thesis at Princeton in 1951. Value investing traces its origins to Graham and Dodd [1934]. Graham, Benjamin F., and David L. Dodd. 1934. Security Analysis (first edition), New York: Whittlesey House/McGraw Hill.

3 The probability of surviving 100 successive double-or-nothing fair bets with one’s fortune intact is about 1 in 1030, the latter representing a number far larger than the number of seconds since the universe began.

4 I’ve further simplified Taleb’s already simple example by making the bet double-or-nothing and the odds 1:1 (that is, a 50% chance of winning, a fair bet). Taleb’s example involves smaller losses.

5 The right way to think about this is to start with the probability of not getting into an accident, which is .9999. One then takes this number to the 10,000th power, for a result of a (rounding) 36% chance of not getting into an accident in any of 10,000 trials. Thus the probability of getting into an accident is .

6 This is also the point of my article with Barton Waring, “What Investment Risk Really Is, Illustrated,”.

7 Taleb’s Facebook post of August 21, 2015, https://www.facebook.com/nntaleb/posts/10153269370143375. I’ve corrected a number of typos.

8 Or chapters of the forthcoming book were serialized in magazines – it’s hard to tell which.

[viral-now-co]

NASA Have Fast-Tracked Mission To Asteroid Worth £8,000,000,000,000,000,000

Remember in school when you’d become immediately bored and take a seat in a science lesson, but the teacher would whack the Bunsen burners out and things would get fucking? Was bloody great that, was not it?

Well, this is nothing like that, sorry.

What it really is, is some thing that seen as fascinating by another third will be perceived as boring by a third of individuals and seen as completely insignificant by the closing third.

It is about an asteroid. * Oooooooooooh*

Not only any asteroid, however. One that includes metal that it is worth a lot. £8,000 quadrillion, in fact, which, if you were to put on scales, would weigh ‘a fuck ton’.

There is so much iron and nickel on it that it would crash Earth’s market immediately, Metro reports.

It is known as 16 Psyche and certainly will be the goal -tracked to be found in 2022, and certainly will arrive in 2026. Meanwhile Resource businesses intend to send vehicles to attempt to recover the precious metals and bring them back to Earth, based on Metro.

“This is a chance to investigate a fresh form of planet – not one of stone or ice, but of metal,” Soul Principal Investigator Lindy Elkins-Tanton said.

“16 Psyche is the sole known thing of its own type in the solar system, and here is the sole way people will ever go to a center. We learn about internal space by seeing outer space.”

Credit: Arizona State University

16 Psyche is considered to be 130 miles in diameter, made up largely (90 percent) of metals like iron and nickel, much like Earth’s center. Metro report that scientists are theorizing whether it is an open center of an early planet, falsified over the years thanks to quite a few crashes.

The mission in 2022 will help them comprehend the layers of asteroids and planets.

Yet it is not only scientists interested in investigating the asteroid. Asteroids were described by American business Planetary Resources of our solar system’ as ‘the low-hanging fruit and say that ‘a single 500-metre platinum-rich asteroid includes more platinum than has been mined in the history of mankind’.

While this could possibly be accurate, if we could bring it back it’d mean its worth of £8,000 quadrillion would be considerably more than the international market’s worth of around £60 trillion, efficiently crashing the market, Futurism reports.

“Even if we could catch a large metal section and pull it back here … what would you do?,” Lindy Elkins-Tanton said.

“Could you kind of sit on it and conceal it and command the worldwide resource – kind of like diamonds are commanded corporately – and shield your marketplace? What will happen if you decided you were only going to solve the metal resource issues of mankind for a great many time and you were planning to bring it back? This really is outrageous guess obviously.”

It is great, but it is not a Bunsen burner, is it?

Featured Picture Credit: NASA

Mon May 29 2017 18:03:59 GMT+0100 (BST)Mon May 29 2017 18:03:59 GMT+0100 (BST)

Mark McGowan in 

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