#no idea how i’m cranking these out but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth i guess

[sleepytownzzz]

hot to go! // pizza delivery girl abby for @angellicbeast <3333

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Hol Horse

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

So last year I thought it was a good idea to try and review all of the enemy Stand users in Stardust Crusaders in a totally random order. The results were… mixed. Some of them I think came out okay, but others? Not so much. One of them was just an entire backhanded attack against some guy who decided to say “No one likes your analyses” because I think ProJared was a creep. It was, quite frankly, a mess, and I never bothered to revisit it and never thought I would, even though I still hadn’t covered the glorious, wonderful human being who is Hol Horse.

Well, now, after playing Heritage for the Future and All-Star Battle as well as just becoming a bit more knowledgeable on JJBA, I’ve decided to not only give Hol Horse his dues, but also at least briefly go back over or cover the other Stand users and give them a rating or an updated rating, as the case may be. So buckle in, this is gonna be a long one, and it’s all gonna start with everyone’s favorite incompetent henchman.

Hol Horse is probably one of the most amazing characters Araki has ever created. Hol Horse is in possession of a powerful Stand, The Emperor, which is literally a magical gun that fires bullets he can control the trajectory of. By all accounts, Hol Horse should be the single most dangerous foe that the Crusaders face, more than even Vanilla Ice. This guy should be able to shoot them all dead without a second thought! There’s just one tiny little caveat:

Hol Horse is a fucking moron.

This man is cowardly, incompetent, and just the punching bag of cruel misfortune as all his plans constantly go awry and he is constantly knocked on his ass. And yet, Hol Horse is still the most beloved enemy Stand User of Stardust Crusaders, and it’s not hard to see why. Because despite all of his bumbling, Hol Horse just oozes a sort of cool you just don’t see every day.

(For best results, listen to this the whole time while reading the following).

Motivation/Goals: Hol Horse is one of the few henchmen of DIO who is motivated purely by his own greed… at least, at first. Eventually he has his ass handed to him one too many times, and he decides to try and assassinate DIO. This goes about as well as you’d expect, and Hol Horse – not just part of it, the ENTIRE Horse – is so scared out of his mind that he decides, yep, loyalty to DIO is the way to go! It doesn’t work out, but hey, he tried, right?

Performance: Imami Williams gives Hol Horse that raspy, American charm he needs in the anime adaptation. With his voice and the animation combined, we get to see our favorite smarmy sharpshooter who can’t shoot for shit shoot his shot and miss every time, and it is simply glorious.

Final Fate: Hol Horse kidnaps Boingo and forces him to work with him to finally get his revenge! With the prophetic skills of Thoth and the raw damage that can be done with Emperor, there’s no way they could lose! And yet, as is always the case with Thoth, things go horrendously awry and Hol Horse, despite having the ability to control the trajectory of his bullets, ends up shooting himself and knocking him out of part 3 for good.

Best Scene: Really, just the entirety of the episodes where he teams up with Boingo, especially when he tries holding up Polnareff. Considering what comes after and what came before it, it’s just the dose of lighthearted fun needed before you watch all of your favorite characters get brutally murdered by DIO and Vanilla Ice,. 

Best Quote: There is only one line it could be, and it’s Hol Horse’s response to Thoth’s suggestion he kick a woman in the neck: “Listen, Boingo... I am the nicest man in the world. I have girlfriends everywhere. I might lie to a woman, but I'll never hit them! It doesn't matter how ugly they are! Because I respect women!”

That’s right, everyone. Hol Horse drinks Respect Women Juice.

Final Thoughts & Score: Hol Horse is simply astounding. The character is such a colossal screwup that he shouldn’t be as good as he is… yet he is. The dude is gifted with the most incredible power imaginable, and yet somehow he is never able to do a goddamn thing with that power! You control where the bullets go, dude! How can you not hit anything?! It’s interesting how his cowardice and lack of motivation makes him a perfect representation of the inverted Emperor tarot card, but hey, tarot motifs are par for the course with the Stand users.

But there’s something charming to how pathetic Hol Horse is. He’s always plying second banana, he’s a dirty coward who turns tail and runs when things aren’t looking good for him, he never wins a single battle, he didn’t even kill the one guy it seemed like he killed… but throughout it all he still has this sort of smarmy charisma to him that makes him impossible to hate. It’s no wonder this guy has girls all over the world, because he is a world-class charmer. There’s also how Hol Horse is just a character who really, really lives by his own personal philosophy – that is to say, he always likes to be #2, never going into a fight without backup. It’s kind of refreshing to see him always stick by this, even to his own detriment; it’s hard to hate a man who’s principled to that degree. And, of course, this man respects women. Good on him.

It helps that Hol Horse’s inexplicable popularity has led to him getting his time to shine in outside media. Heritage for the Future has two versions of him, his regular form and one that partners him with Boingo, and in skilled hands his Emperor finally gets to live up to its deadly potential. And he’s no slouch in his return appearance in All-Star Battle, and what’s more impressive is in that game he is part of the base roster while Joseph and Iggy, two of the main heroes, are relegated to DLC! You heard me right: the bumbling cowboy who did not win a single fight or even come close to it and spent a lot of time shooting himself managed to beat out out two iconic heroes from the same part onto the roster! Horsey Man must be doing something right.

As this video shows, Hol Horse is one of the most influential characters in the JJBA franchise, having helped to shape the franchise going forward and helped to inspire the traits that made beloved characters like Guido Mista, Gyro Zeppeli, and Yoshikage Kira as legendary as they are. Hell, Hol Horse is just so awesome he almost got to be a protagonist, but Araki decided that Horsey was too similar to my favorite big-titty Frenchman, Polnareff. This means Hol Horse never got his time to shine as a hero, and so stayed a villain til the end… but hey, can he really be that sad if he gets a 10/10 on Psycho Analysis?

Actually, maybe he wouldn’t like that. He likes to play second fiddle to others, after all. But I guess that’s just the curse with these JoJo villains who want to not stand out; they always end up being the best and most memorable characters.

Anyway, now that we’ve got the best of the best out of the way, it’s time for...

Psycho Analysis: DIO’s Other Henchmen

I’m just gonna give my brief thoughts on these guys. Most of them are pretty one-note oneshots, but there are a few who rise above that and manage to be something else entirely. These guys were a learning experience for Araki, and his enemy Stand users of the week definitely improved with later parts, with Vento Aureo really cranking it up to 11. 

But for now, we’re stuck with these guys.

Gray Fly: I actually stand by my opinion from my original review of him; he’s nothing incredibly memorable, but he’s a solid start to the adventure and he is directly responsible for diverting the journey onto the course it ended up going on. Without him, things would have likely played out far differently. A 5/10 is still a good score for him.

Fake Captain Tenille: He actually gets bumped down to a 2/10, due to my changes in how things are scored. He’s not amusing enough to be in the “So bad it’s good” category of the other 3s, he’s just really lame and forgettable, and he still somehow manages to lose when he has the advantage. What a dweeb.

Forever: If you think the monkey boat fight is dropping in score, you’re mistaken. Forever remains at an 8/10 for being such a delightfully weird curveball that helps set the tone for the franchise to follow.

Devo: One of the weirder playable character choices from Heritage for the Future, and certainly not one I like too much; he’s also a random event that is pretty useful in All-Star Battle’s online campaign, so that’s a good mark for him. If nothing else, he gave a good showing of Polnareff’s skills when under pressure, so… yeah. I think a 5/10 is good enough.

Rubber Soul: This review I regret because I was backhandedly responding to that guy who weirdly decided to bring up my distaste for ProJared in a review of Arabia Fats and Kenny G. I do mostly stand by what I said; Rubber Soul is one of the more amusing minor foes, if only because of his ridiculous performance as Kakyoin. Still, it really sucks he was just a clone character in Heritage for the Future… put he gets points for  having the iconic cherry-licking as a taunt. 6/10 is where he remains.

J. Geil: Again, my opinion hasn’t changed: J. Geil is a mountain of wasted potential, but at the very least he makes for a good antagonist for his brief appearance and hey, he’s the one who helped bring us the beautiful hunk of man that is Hol Horse, so I’d feel bad giving him less than a 7/10.

Nena: I honestly think Nena is one of the most boring Stand users of the part, which is sad because her episode gives Joseph the spotlight. She’s just really gross and uninteresting, and you’ll likely forget her after her episode is over. 2/10.

ZZ: ZZ is not particularly great, and his design is just there to be a joke, but it’s hard to totally hate a guy who manages to roll references to Christine, Duel, and the album cover for Eliminator by his namesake into one. I think he’s more of a 4/10, but probably on the higher end there. He’s not great, but he has enough going for him to keep me from hating him.

Enya: So if I thought that J. Geil was a waste of potential, I feel this even more so for his mother Enya. Despite being hyped up as this big, intimidating right-hand woman to DIO early on, she gets one appearance where her Stand is defeated by Star Platinum pulling a power out his ass and then is unceremoniously killed by Steely Dan of all people. I will give her this: her interactions with Polnareff are absolutely hilarious. But when all you have going for is some jokes, don’t be surprised when you end up with a 6/10, which you’re pretty much only getting because even despite the mountains of wasted potential you’re really not that bad.

She do be looking hot in the OVA tho.

Steely Dan: My opinion is unchanged; he’s a solid 7/10 oneshot douchebag. Nothing more, nothing less. His level in the PS1 game seriously blows, though.

Arabia Fats: I was too hard on this guy. While I meant everything I said, and his episode is boring filler, does it really make him a bottom of the barrel all-time worst villain? No. It just makes him a crappy joke character. 2/10.

Mannish Boy: I regret not getting to this guy last time, because aside from Forever he’s probably one of the most insane Stand user of the part, seeing as he is an infant. Like, he’s just an evil baby who can kill people in their dreams. And he gets defeated by being force fed his own crap. Much like Forever, it’s fun to speculate where exactly DIO found this guy; did he just go to a nursery and start jabbing babies with the Stand arrow? Did he meet this guy at a Cairo night club? What exactly is Mannish Boy’s origin? He’s just so utterly and hilariously inexplicable. He’s definitely a 7/10; he doesn’t quite have the shock factor that Forever did before him, but let’s not pretend an evil talking baby Stand user isn’t one hell of a weird twist.

Cameo: This guy really lives up to his name; his Stand is the one that gets the most screentime, with the actual Stand user being relegated to a – you guessed it – cameo appearance at the end of the fight. Thankfully, his Stand is an enjoyable take on jerkass genies and gives a pretty sad and disturbing episode that not only features my man Polnareff, but also marks the point where Avdol returns and brings “Hell 2 U!” I think he deserves at least a 7/10, even if this is mainly for Judgment. Still, a Stand is a representation of the user’s soul, so I think it works out.

Here’s the Stand:

And here’s the man behind it:

Midler: Midler is one of the single most interesting characters from the pre-Egypt half of Stardust Crusaders, and is the point where Stand users really started to get interesting. Her Stand, High Priestess, has a really funky and unique design, and her battle serves as the final roadblock before the Crusaders arrive in Egypt. Despite never appearing onscreen, with only her unconscious body being shown at the end of the fight in a way that obscures her, she got to appear in Heritage for the Future with an awesome sexy belly dancer design and a badass moveset that makes her a really fun character to play as. Taking everything into account, I think she just barely scrapes into the bottom of the 8/10 pool, though really this is mainly for her playable appearance.

N’Doul: My opinions really haven’t changed on him. He’s still an 8/10.

Oingo & Boingo: These guys are, in a word, hilarious. In between the grueling, brutal fight with N’Doul and the later fights in the part, these guys bring some much needed levity to the proceedings. Oingo gets an entire episode where he just completely bumbles about as he attempts to impersonate Jotaro to assassinate the Crusaders, failing at every turn and only managing to blow himself up in the end. Boingo fares a little better, eventually getting roped in to Hol Horse’s scheme to get some revenge, which leads to one of the funniest episodes of the entire series as Hol Horse and Oingo hold up Polnareff. I think they collectively get an 8/10 for being two of the funniest Stand users in the part. They even get their own unique end credits in the anime (with Hol Horse joining in on the fun when he teams up with Boingo)!

Anubis: Again, my opinion is unchanged, though I must say him having technically three playable appearances in Heritage for the Future does make me have at least a little more fondness for him. Black Polnareff, Chaka, and Khan are all amusing characters to play as and all have some awesome theme music. Introducing the concept of Stands being able to exist independently of their Original user is pretty neat, as well as the idea of a Stand that can switch users like it does. 7/10 is still what I’d give it, but I think that it’s pretty telling that this is probably the “weakest” character in the Egypt arcs in terms of being a villain, and yet he’s still pretty cool.

Mariah: Completely unchanged. She still deserves an 8/10, because her episode is hilarious, her playable appearance in Heritage for the Future is a blast, and she’s just really frikkin’ hot. I’m not gonna lie, she’s probably my second favorite enemy Stand user out of the Egyptian ones. I may or may not want her to step on me.

Alessi: I’m going to be honest here: Alessi is my favorite of the Egyptian Stand users. He’s an ax crazy coward with pedophile undertones who is just an utterly demented and sick individual with a seriously intriguing Stand that de-ages its victims. It’s a damn shame he never crossed paths with Joseph and de-aged him, but when he’s just such a hilarious and hateable lunatic with an incredibly fun playable appearance in Heritage for the Future (complete with awesomely creepy theme music!) it’s hard for me to give Alessi anything less than a 9/10. Attaboy!

Daniel J. D’Arby: My opinion is honestly unchanged, but I think I’d bump him down to an 8/10.

Pet Shop: Again, unchanged really. It’s hard to give a character as busted as he is in Heritage for the Future anything less than a 9/10 any way you slice it.

Telence T. D’Arby: Opinion unchanged, 8/10. I don’t have much else to say here, besides Xander Mobus rocks.

Kenny G: See Arabia Fats above. I got irrationally mad over a dumb joke character. He’s not going above a 2/10, but he’s not worth really getting mad about.

Vanilla Ice: I still think he’s the only enemy Stand user besides Hol Horse who deserves his 10/10. My opinion of him remains unchanged, but I would like to say he’s easily one of my favorite characters to play as in All-Star Battle.

Nukesaku: Ok, he’s not an enemy Stand user, he’s just some weird vampire… zombie… thing. Still, I feel he’s at least worth briefly mentioning, if only because he’s probably the only easily-defeated joke villain Araki did from the first three parts who is particularly memorable. Wired Beck and Doobie are really not all that memorable, but Nukesaku at least elicits a few chuckles – he even gets cameos in Heritage for the Future as well as getting to be a stage hazard in All-Star Battle. For what he is, I think he deserves a 5/10.

And with all these enemies taken care of, that just leaves one more Stand user to talk about.. one whose Psycho Analysis has been sitting in my drafts for a year now...

[because-im-write]

I Don’t Care About Your World Or Your Plans Anymore; I’ll Tear You All To Hell

A dramatic Levi x Reader

MANGA SPOILERS DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT UP TO CHAP. 117

Request a Levi piece and I will always oblige

This one is a little weird but just had the idea and had to write it out.

The forest of Giant-Ass trees. A popular dying destination since 845. F/N L/N let their eyes narrow as it marched itself into view. After escaping the capturing arms of the Jaegerists with fighting skills to match Levi Ackerman, following the captive Hanji Zoe to Zeke Jaeger was an unsettling task.

There’s no way I can get to Levi and warn him without being spotted. Wait.... the camp’s gone. That’s an exploded cart. What happened?! Where’s Levi.

F/N squinted harder from the saddle, spotting a steaming Titan on the other shore of the river. They whacked their 3DMG gear thoughtfully.

If I was better with this I wouldn’t need to hide. I could have rescued Hanji by now. Turning into a 20 metre walking roaring target isn’t an option either, not with that dumb smug ape around. He aims like a bitch; I’m better off small.

While matched in fighting terms, Levi was the master of the 3DMG while F/N had been blessed with a different gift. A very unique titan that passed from parent to eldest child at the unconditional age of 13. Sometimes it got a little complicated, but the power somehow always shifted itself to its rightful heir. Others died after 13 years of being a titan shifter. F/N would hold it until they became a parent or until they died. Of other causes. No one dared to mess with F/N L/N if they were wise. Zeke Jaeger just hadn’t seemed to learn the same lesson of Levi lately. Even F/N wouldn’t mess with Levi, especially not while in titan form. Levi had cut too many titans to shreds.

F/N watched Hanji hurry over to the bank of the river and squinted, urging the relaxed horse a little closer to the group. A titan steamed and hissed suddenly on the other bank when they all looked back Hanji had dove into the river. They kept squinting. Hanji had hurried over to something. There was a decision to be made, and quickly, as Zeke emerged uninjured from the steam. Try to take Zeke down here and now... or help Hanji. It was a simple choice, until movement far to the side, in the direction the current of the water flowed, caught their attention. Hanji was carefully and quietly dragging someone out of the water around a bend in the river. The person looked too familiar to ease F/N’s stomach.

Why does that look like Levi? You’re not telling me...

The horse galloped forward, skirting around Zeke and the Jaegerists. By the time F/N had crossed the river and found Hanji the group was long gone. But that didn’t matter now.

‘Hanji!’

The woman’s head whirled around. ‘F/N!’ She sounded relieved but there was a small anxiety in her voice at the identity of her new company.

F/N kept walking forward, neck cranking around to see who Hanji was tending to. Pitch black hair, short limbs and elegant hands.

No.

Hanji shuffled to the side to let F/N closer. Eyes filled with water, shock covered all features.

Hanji watched them with concern. Levi and F/N had the closest bond she’d ever seen on the earth. By fluke they’d joined the Corps at the same time. She could remember seeing F/N on the 3DMG for the first time and being amazed, then falling over in awe of Levi’s skills. On the ground they were evenly matched, in the air F/N was incredible, but Levi was in a league of his own. F/N was a better leader, a better strategist. F/N made Captain and within the hour insisted Levi be matched to her rank.

Then along came Eren and extended proximity to his titan form activated old memories of L/N ancestors. One minute F/N was racing to save Eren and Mikasa from the smiling titan, the next Eren had activated another power and they’d hit the ground flat, cutting open a leg in the process and suddenly a bright blue light ripped through the field as a forgotten titan appeared, spitting dirt from its mouth as Hanji, Erwin and Moblit stared up at it in shock. Levi had been merely amused at the news when they found him glaring at his injured leg a day later when returning to the walls.

The Bloodline Titan, as Hanji and Levi had called it, was unique. It was stronger, faster and more aero dynamic than the nine shifters from Ymir. But unlike they who could sit in the titan forever, there was a limit to the energy of the Bloodline Titan. It was unfortunate for general opponents, as F/N could deck them with all the time in the world to spare, whether in titans or not. F/N and Levi were the icons of the military, though none of that mattered now.

Levi....

‘What happened?’

‘I think Zeke blew him up after being captured. He’s in a strange state of unconsciousness. It seems he knows we’re here.’

Zeke...

‘Levi,’ F/N breathed and knelt beside the bleeding man, carefully pushing the blood away from his eyes then traced the curve of his cheekbones with her thumbs, fingertips dancing the sides of his face.

F/N looked down, and saw Levi’s other hand, blood dripping around his remaining fingers. Carefully she lifted it up. His hands were still beautiful. She rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand and held it gently, other hand still held to the side of his face.

‘Hey... don’t be worried about your looks,’ she said quietly, tracing the side of the cut on his face, ‘you’re gonna look awesome when that heals.’

Hanji waited for the moment to pass, then spoke. ‘F/N I have no idea what condition he is in.’

‘It’s impossible to tell,’ she agreed, ‘but it doesn’t look good.’

‘The invasion in Shinganshina has started and Zeke’s bound to be heading for Eren.’

I don’t give a fuck about that anymore. Paradis can die screaming for all I care.

‘Eren’s been loose for too long...-,’

Eren.

‘-... what will do if he finds Zeke.’

Zeke Jaeger. Jaeger. They did this.

‘If I can find a way to get him warm, we... hey!’

Levi had slumped completely, gone.

While F/N stared at him in shock, Hanji sighed, defeated and exhausted.

‘His Ackerman blood is probably prolonging this. What you said earlier about the clan... do you think the energy of a titan shifter could save him? But how do we get one?’

Hanji realised F/N wasn’t listening. She watched the shifter, who was staring at Levi, holding his hand. Her eyes. She wasn’t thinking, she wasn’t breathing. Hanji saw the moment F/N snapped. Her head turned, eyes blazing, wide and bloodshot in the direction of Shinganshina, burning with the fuel that was the bond.

Without a word she shoved a small box into Hanji’s hands, a titan serum, and stood up, looking taller and more terrifying than a titan. F/N L/N walked away from Hanji and Levi.

Zeke...

Eren, you brought this hellfire on us. I will tear your goals apart. I don’t care about your world anymore. I will kill you all.

She didn’t miss a stride and swept her nail tightly against her fingers, blood bursting forth. Blue lightning struck her and the Bloodline Titan stood in the sunlight.

Paradis, Marley... I’ll burn them all to the ground.

Hanji blinked in surprise at the sight. F/N picked her and Levi up carefully and turned around, eyes dead.

With a free hand F/N slid a fingernail over the nape of the Bloodline Titan’s neck. Hanji took the hint and took a blade from Levi’s gear, climbing up and cutting a line carefully.

Arms and legs still attached into the titan, F/N leant back, titan still walking.

‘When I hiss, turn Levi into a titan.’

Hanji, blinked her eyes wide, realising what F/N was planning and nodded. She stood back as the shifter disappeared into a steam as the skin of the titan reformed. Hanji clambered down next to Levi again to hold him steady as F/N sprinted for Wall Maria.

The battle was raging between the shifters and Zeke had just made his presence known when a scraping roar from the top of the wall above the inner gate made everything fall silent.

At the titan, Hanji took Levi to a safe distance before the Bloodline Titan leapt from the bricks to Shinganshina below. It stood taller than the houses; Eren and Reiner met its underarm.

The mounted gun from Marley fired first. As the cannonball raced toward the Bloodline Titan, its eyes moved to catch its approach. With a slight tilt of the head, the projectile missed.

In a blunt retaliation, the titan smashed a hand through a house as the titan walked past and caught a dozen beams from a roof. Without stopping, it swung its arm through the air and the beams moved like javelins through the air.

Atop the wall the Marley officers shrieked.

‘RUN!’

The beams hit their target.

The Bloodline Titan paved its way toward the Marley shifters. F/N reached Eren first.

Get in my way, I fucking dare you.

Eren read the expression that made him want to crouch and curl into a ball. He stood in a side street, eyeing the titan cautiously as it determined him to not be a threat and thundered past.

The dancing titan attacked first, Reiner watching in shock, trying to stop Galliard from attacking. He knew who held that titan.

It raced toward the newcomer, roaring and screeching.

Eren and Zeke watched from afar.

F/N calmly kicked out in a movement so fast no one could register it, shot a hand out, caught the dancing titan by its neck and brought another hand in to scrape the Bloodline Titan’s sharp nails through the skin, ripping the arm off and then tearing the titan in two.

It writhed and screamed, realising its mistake too late.

F/N plunged a hand through the nape, drawing out the shifter and crushed him.

Further down the same street, the admired titan made an involuntary noise in fright. The E/C eyes moved to watch him.

Nothing moved.

A second later F/N hissed and charged, sprinting for Reiner. He crouched and waited for the attack, knowing he couldn’t possibly win in a hand to hand match with F/N L/N. He had planned to dodge the first attack and use it to escape, but at the last second he remembered how Levi had caught him in the blink of an eye the last time he stood in Shinganshina. He didn’t know what happened. The titan was right there, then it rolled, he went blind and there was a howling pain in his leg, shoulder and back. Then he was cold, as he was ripped from the steaming hot titan, crushed in its other hand.

Over on the wall Hanji had injected Levi with the serum.

F/N was walking back, making the same exchange with Eren once more. Two blocks away from the wall, a roar, a lot less determined than usual, sounded from behind. The Bloodline Titan stopped, turned and blinked, unimpressed. Eren was standing in the street, challenging them.

Zeke landed between F/N and Levi, making the Bloodline Titan’s expression changed from deadpan and unimpressed to fury etched into every muscle, an expression that promised their demise that Eren and Zeke were sure they would never forget until the day they died.

They thought between them they would have a chance.

[somethinwickedthiswayrides]

If this is something you’d enjoy writing, maybe something where Sean, Charles, and Kieran all like the same person and they have something like a handshake and agree to all have a cordial agreement that whoever wins, there will be no hard feelings. Then it’s a war of asking for dances, dates, trying to get their attention

I’m not going to lie, when I first read this ask I had literally just woken up, rolled over to check my phone, hadn’t even put on my glasses yet, and I thought you were asking for them to have a giant dance battle for the readers affection. Made me laugh, then I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and put on my glasses and reread the thing and went, ‘oh, that makes so much more sense’

Sorry this took so long, literally about two and a half days of me slowly working on this. Due to that, this is a LONG one, over 1700 words. So please fasten your seatbelts cause we are going for a ride!

Reader is implied female, but no pronouns (I think), so gender neutral?

(I know John and Abigail aren’t in his but this gif is just too cute!)

❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣

Sean would be the first to notice that he has feelings for you.

He falls fast, but not really hard.

At least not at first.

He'd be the most obvious about it too, constant flirting, trying to get you to laugh.

Maybe cheekily asking for kisses.

But there would be times where the two of you would be swapping stories about your pasts, or about family, or anything in particular.

The longer he hangs around you the more he wants you on his arm, to show you off to the world.

The more he truly wants you to be his.

Charles would be the next to realize, though not too far behind Sean.

He's a bit slower to fall, but falls at a moderate pace.

Wouldn't be too obvious in his flirting, small compliments and maybe some pretty feathers he would braid into your hair.

Your kind and gentle nature when he first met you draws him in, and over time his feelings became more obvious to him.

That's when he saw your fire, you could handle yourself, but you weren't prideful about it.

You didn't loudly boast your accomplishments, but you didn't let others slack off.

You were a good mix of sugar and spice.

And he found himself wanting a taste.

Kieran would be the last to figure out that he was falling for your charm.

A slow faller, but when he does, he falls HARD.

Your sweet nature and willingness to include him has his heart doing leaps.

Would be the least obvious in anything that could be flirtatious.

Small flowers and kind words mostly.

Would pay extra special attention to you horse, always making sure they were clean and well fed, ready for whenever you needed them.

Cause the quickest way to a person's heart is through their horse?

❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣

Charles would be the first to notice that he had competition for your heart, not just Sean, but Kieran too.

Kieran would be next, seeing just how sweet and doting Charles is and just how hard Sean is trying to get you to laugh.

Sean... Lets face it, Sean isn't the sharpest plunger in the breadbox. It'd take him ages to figure out that he had competition.

Once he did though Sean pulled the two aside for some somewhat heated words.

"Tha two o' you need ta back off Y/n, they're mine!"

"Y/n is their own person, they can decide for themselves."

Words like these were exchanged between the three men.

Eventually they came to an agreement, it was your choice and no matter whoever you chose, there would be no hard feelings.

Until then however, it was a no-holds brawl.

❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣

Sean's flirtatious behavior was suddenly cranked up to a fifteen.

Constant passes, asking for dances, asking for dates, ect.

Whatever he could think of to get the point across that he was interested in making you his partner.

On several occasions someone from camp decided to distract Sean for you to make a get-away, if they pick up on any discomfort.

Typically this was Arthur or Javier, and this was usually more cause they were sick of hearing him.

Would try showing off his strength or skill in shooting, but usually that just wound up with him embarrassing himself.

Charles will continue bringing you in little things he finds while out hunting, pretty feathers, shiny rocks, colorful shells, ect.

If you're the crafty type, he'll also gift you with animal claws/teeth/horns to turn into jewelry or maybe a couple really nice pelts to make into a blanket or clothing.

Will always ask you if you'd like to join him on a hunting trip.

If you don't know how to hunt, or use a bow, he'd be DELIGHTED to teach you.

Would drop little hints that he was interested.

Would mostly use his strength or hunting skills to show off. Mostly both by bringing in a big animal for Pearson.

Kieran would try and be a bit more bold with you, not really having much of a choice, being that he was rather scared of getting too far away from camp and being found by any O'Driscoll's.

He would more often try and initiate conversation, ask them about their day, if they were alright.

Gift's wouldn't be as varied as they would with Charles, still wild flowers, and the occasional pretty thing he found at the fishing spot.

Though once he did find a ring that some poor fish had got caught in it's throat. After he cleaned it off he gave it to you, turned out to be way too big, but it was the thought that counts.

Expect to be asked if you want to go fishing with him every time he heads out.

If you don't know how he'll gladly teach you.

On occasion Hosea or Javier will ask to join you, and you two will let them.

Kieran's a little bummed that his time alone with you now has a third wheel.

But, hey, Hosea's not bad company, he just hopes that Javier isn't also vying for you.

Would drop tiny little hints that he liked you, at least he thinks their tiny, he's usually sporting a massive blush.

Would try and show off with his knowledge about horses and fishing. It's about the only things he's confident in.

❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣

As always, there's a betting pool going on. Literally everyone else in camp knows about the competition.

Charles and Kieran may be subtle, but Sean most certainly isn't.

He ended up asking Mary-Beth for a few idea's on how to romance you, letting it slip about having to duke it out with the other two men, and the poor girl, after filling his head with her romances, told everyone except you.

Some members of the camp don't care, but it's fun gossip.

Some are just hoping you don't end up with the loud mouth.

You on the other hand, well, you aren't stupid.

You picked up on the whole thing.

Sean lacks subtlety to the point where a blind, deaf, and stupid person could pick up on it.

If it wasn't for Kieran's blushing you might've thought he was just being nice.

Charles' gifts and compliments clued you into his intentions.

Of course, you do have multiple options, but which to take?

Any which way, hearts will be broken.

❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣

If you end up picking Sean.

You tell him to meet you a little ways from camp, and that you have something important to tell him.

He picks up on your more serious tone, and automatically assumes the worst.

'Did a family member die?' 'Are you being threatened?' 'Are you going to tell him to take his flirting and go jump in a lake?'

These thoughts will take him by storm as he anxiously awaits you at the designated spot.

When you arrive and tell him that you know about the competition, he visibly swallows the lump forming in his throat, and is already preparing a thousand apologies.

When you tell him it's him you choose he brightens right back up.

Rushes to hold you in his arms like he's been dying to.

Will plant a bunch of little kisses on your cheeks before kissing you deeply.

If you pick Charles.

You'll tell him you know on your next hunting trip.

You're both resting in the shade of a tree when you tell him you know about the competition.

He'll freeze up and glance at you.

Internally he's panicking, externally he's still calm.

Lean over and give him a peck on the cheek and he'll slowly start grinning.

Wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a gentle kiss.

If you pick Kieran.

You'll tell him on your next fishing trip.

You're both waiting for a bite on your rods when you tell him you know about the competition.

He flinches and flushes a bright red.

Starts stammering out an apology, just lean into him and smile up at him and he'll stop and stare at you.

When you tell him it's him you've chosen he'll grin like he just won the lottery.

Guide him in for a small kiss and he'll just melt.

On the other hand if you're crushing on one of the other camp members.

They're all understandably hurt, Sean the most, but will understand.

They're support your decision even though it hurts them.

Cause it's your decision.

Though Sean will say that if the person you've fallen for hurts you in any way, he'll make sure they can't walk.

However if this little competition has you feeling more like a prize to be won rather than a person.

You'll just explode.

You'll pull all three of them to the edge of camp and just blow up at them.

Venting all your frustrations about it before storming off back into camp, red faced and maybe a little teary eyed.

They are HEARTBROKEN, like this would hurt worse than rejection.

They had no idea that they were making you feel this way.

Kieran would be the first to apologize.

Coming to you after a couple hours.

He'll apologize for all three of them, telling you about how much they all adore you.

He'll explain how he fell for you, and what he likes about you, and that he never thought this would hurt you.

Charles would be the next to apologize.

He would wait til the next day, giving you ample time to calm down before approaching you.

He'll apologize for making you feel like you were something to be placed on a shelf.

Pretty to look at but not to be touched.

He'll explain how you make him feel, and what he likes.

He would also stress that even though they were competing for your heart, it was always your choice to make.

Sean would take the longest, waiting a full week before even coming near you again.

His chatter has next to ceased and everyone is wondering if he's sick.

When he finally does come up to apologize he's piss drunk.

Slurring out apology's and damn near crying.

Tell you how he never meant to make you feel worthless, and how much he adores you.

Hell, he could pinpoint the exact moment he fell for you, and will tell you as such.

At this point you are back to square one, who do you choose?

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Stowaway

A gift for @upperstories , from their “1920′s no one dies” au, where Hector and Ernesto the traveling mariachis meet Miguel, a music-loving street urchin that attaches himself to them whether they like it or not. 

“Ay, did you pack a case full of rocks?” Ernesto asked, puffing as he hauled Hector’s trunk off the cart they’d hired back at the train station.

“Aw, big strong Ernesto cant handle a trunk of clothes?” Hector teased, setting down a few more of their bags by the plaza fountain nearby.

“You want to carry all the luggage the rest of the way to the inn yourself?” Ernesto asked, heaving the trunk to lean awkwardly against the fountain and turning to get the last bags off the cart.

“No, no, I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” Hector chuckled. He scrounged a couple coins out of his back pocket, that... may have been their last coins actually, and handed them to the cart driver, who nodded curtly and snapped the reigns to get his horse moving.

“Besides,” Hector said, scratching the back of his neck as the cart drove back down the street. “We’re going to have to get some more money before we go to the inn.”

“What?” Ernesto said, dropping a suitcase on the ground. “You said we still had plenty left!”

“Well that was before the train ride...and maybe the food I maybe bought on the train.” Hector said, grinning sheepishly as he unbuckled his guitar case. “Just gotta get some street coin first, no problem.”

“You...” Ernesto looked like he was going to yell, but Hector cranked up the sheepishness in his grin until Ernesto hissed a sigh instead, dragging his hand down his face. “You’re a real tonto, Teto. If we’re stuck sleeping outside tonight then you get to stay up all night to make sure we don’t get robbed.”

“Ah, don’t worry Neto,” Hector said cheerfully, elbowing his friend and throwing his own childhood nickname back at him. “People in Arrazola love music!”

“This isn't Arrazola.”

“The people in Cuilapan love music!”

“This isn't Cuilapan either, idiota.”

“Well...then where are we?”

“If you don’t know after hearing the conductor yell it at our stop, then I’m not telling you.”

“Well, doesn’t matter.” Hector said, strumming a few strings and kicking his open, empty guitar case in front of them. “Everyone loves music and I want to eat tonight, so let’s get playing, hermano.”

“One of these days that dumb grin of yours isn't going to get you out of trouble,” Ernesto grumbled, fiddling with the latch on the trunk “and then you’re going to-”

They both jumped back as the trunk suddenly wobbled to the side, then tumbled open, spilling the contents all across the cobblestones.

Their eyes widened to see not old shirts and carefully packed extra rations on the ground before them, but four tiny dogs and a shabbily dressed little boy clutching a guitar-shaped pile of scrap. He couldn’t have been more than nine years old.

“What the-” Hector trailed off, stunned.

“You’re that urchin from back in Santa Cecilia!” Ernesto cried, seizing the boy’s shoulder and dragging him to his feet. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Where’s our food?”

The four tiny dogs, chihuahuas, burst into a hurricane of yapping at their feet, jumping at Ernesto’s ankles as he shook their tiny master.

“Lo siento! Please! We were hungry!” the boy said, still holding onto what had to be a homemade guitar. “It was a long train ride.”

“What are you doing?” Hector asked, pulling himself out of his shock, “You’re going to get us in a lot of trouble. Where’s your family? How did you even get into my suitcase? Ernesto, let go of him.”

“So he can run off with more of our things?” Ernesto growled, roughly nudging aside one of the yowling dogs.

“If he was a thief he wouldn’t have stowed away,” Hector said, pushing his shoulder, “you’re going to pull his arm off, let him talk. Come on nino, what’s the big idea? And what’s your name?”

“Miguel. I, I don’t have a family.” the little boy said, rubbing his eyes. “I heard you playing at the plaza, I’m a musician too! I want to travel with you two and become famous too!”

“You want to be-? No, Miguel, no...” Hector rubbed his face, trying to think fast while ignoring the increasingly irritated looks of passers-by as the dogs continued to bark hysterically around them. “You can’t just...Ernesto? Help?”

“You’re going straight to the nearest orphanage,” Ernesto said, grabbing one of the dogs that was hanging onto the cuff of his pants and dropping it back into the empty trunk. “or police station, whichever we find first. You’re making a scene, now we’re going to have to move if we’re going to get any money performing.”

“Por favor, let me stay!” Miguel cried, frantically twisting a few of the pegs on his homemade guitar. “I can help!”

“Nino, I don’t think-” Hector started.

“What color is the sky.” Miguel sang, pushing past him to stand by the guitar case. “Mi amor, mi amor.”

“What is he-” Ernesto growled, scooping up the other three dogs into the trunk and closing the lid, muffling their barking.

“Hold on,” Hector said, holding out an arm to keep Ernesto from scooping the urchin back into the trunk too. “just a minute.” The kid’s singing actually didn’t sound that bad. It actually sounded pretty good.

“You tell me that it’s red,” Miguel sang, looking over his shoulder nervously at him as he strummed his guitar. “mi amor, mi amor.”

“I can’t beleive that piece of trash can actually play music.” Ernesto said.

Hector didn’t ask whether he meant the kid or the pieced together instrument, instead pulling the strap of his own guitar over his head.

“You make me un poco loco,” Hector sang, coming up behind the kid, who faltered, but then smiled as he kept playing.

“Potitititito loco,” they sang together. The passersby no longer looked annoyed either, more curious now, a couple people smiled at the ragamuffin kid as he enthusiastically played his guitar.

“Hector, you can’t-” Ernesto cut off at the clink of coins being dropped into the guitar case.

“The way you keep me guessing, I’m nodding and I’m yes-ing.” All three of them sang, Ernesto stepping up to join them. “I’ll count it as a blessing, that I’m only, un poco loco!”

The kid was a little off-key, but in a charming way, and it was easy to see that he’d practiced hard with the way he expertly played his little guitar. Hector picked out the more complicated melody between the verses, letting the Miguel jump up and down excitedly as he danced to the music. Whoever this kid was, he really loved the music, and he’d picked up the whole song after only having heard it a couple times at the plaza in Santa Cecilia.

“I think we’re going to be able to pay for the inn!” Hector whispered to Ernesto as he played and the gathering smiling crowd continued to drop money into the guitar case. “He’s really got talent.”

“We’re going to be able to pay for the next several inns!” Ernesto whispered back delightedly. “The kid’s a crowd pleaser.”

The trio launched into the next verse with energy, the growing crowd clapping along as they sang and played. By the time they ended the song with a flourish the whole crowd cheered and applauded, another shower of coins tumbling into the case as Hector hoisted Miguel up onto his shoulders.

“Hey, chamaco, that was really good!” Hector said, looking up at the kid’s beaming smile. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Watching musicians at the plaza, like you!” Miguel said, “Does this, does this mean I can stay? I promise I won’t hide in your suitcase anymore.”

“I, uh, I don’t know.” Hector said, turning to look at Ernesto. “We can’t just keep you Miguel, you’re not a stray cat, we should probably get you home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ernesto said quickly, “let’s not be too hasty. This kid just netted us more than we usually make in a week. And besides, you said that you’re an orphan right?”

“Yeah, and the nuns back at la Iglesia are really, really strict.” Miguel said, letting Ernesto take his ragtag guitar, then resting his hands and chin on top of Hector’s head tiredly.

“See?” Ernesto said, nudging the money-filled guitar case with the toe of his boot. “No harm in keeping him around, right?”

“Well, tonight for sure,” Hector relented, “we’ve got plenty of money to get a bigger room, but this conversation isn’t over, alright chamaco?”

“Pleaaaase?” Miguel said.

“We’ll talk it over tomorrow.” Hector said, swinging him off his shoulders and back down to the ground. “But for now we’d better get moving, we might get in trouble for performing without permission.”

“Never stay longer than twenty minutes.” Ernesto said, reciting their rule as he scooped up their luggage into the now mostly empty trunk with the mostly calmed down chihuahuas. “Hector give me a hand, let’s get going.”

“Alright chamaco, first rule of being a traveling mariachi is you carry your own stuff, so keep up.” Hector said, handing the boy his guitar.

“Si, I will, gracias!” Miguel said, trying to stifle a tired yawn as he held his guitar close.

“We’re not keeping the mutts though, right?” Hector whispered as he and Ernesto hefted the trunk and began carrying it between them, faint yapping coming from inside as the dogs shifted.

“Like you said,” Ernesto said, rolling his eyes. “we’ll talk it over tomorrow, I get the feeling they’re a package deal.”

“Fine, but they’re not sleeping on my bed.” Hector said.

“They’re not so bad, they’re just excited!” Miguel piped up, “Dona Lucinda likes to sleep on beds, but she can sleep on mine!”

“Your dog’s name is Dona Lucinda?” Ernesto said incredulously.

“Be nice Ernesto.” Hector said, “When we were kids didn’t you name a dog-”

“Hey, no need to pull punches like that.” Ernesto said quickly, “Let’s just get to the inn alright?”

“Thank you again for letting me stay.” Miguel said, staying close to Hector as they walked. “I promise I’ll be the best musician ever.”

“I’m sure you will.” Hector said, shifting his grip on the trunk so he could ruffle the kid’s hair.

Maybe they’d send him back, maybe they wouldn’t, but Hector already had the feeling Miguel might be sticking around. After all, he and Ernesto knew exactly what it was like to be a kid with big musical dreams.

And who knew, maybe Miguel could be the key to helping all three of them make it to those dreams.

[0100100100101101]

There’s a revolution afoot, and you will know it by the stripes.

Earlier this year, a group of Berkeley researchers released a pair of videos. In one, a horse trots behind a chain link fence. In the second video, the horse is suddenly sporting a zebra’s black-and-white pattern. The execution isn’t flawless, but the stripes fit the horse so neatly that it throws the equine family tree into chaos.

Turning a horse into a zebra is a nice stunt, but that’s not all it is. It is also a sign of the growing power of machine learning algorithms to rewrite reality. Other tinkerers, for example, have used the zebrafication tool to turn shots of black bears into believable photos of pandas, apples into oranges, and cats into dogs. A Redditor used a different machine learning algorithm to edit porn videos to feature the faces of celebrities. At a new startup called Lyrebird, machine learning experts are synthesizing convincing audio from one-minute samples of a person’s voice. And the engineers developing Adobe’s artificial intelligence platform, called Sensei, are infusing machine learning into a variety of groundbreaking video, photo, and audio editing tools. These projects are wildly different in origin and intent, yet they have one thing in common: They are producing artificial scenes and sounds that look stunningly close to actual footage of the physical world. Unlike earlier experiments with AI-generated media, these look and sound real.

The technologies underlying this shift will soon push us into new creative realms, amplifying the capabilities of today’s artists and elevating amateurs to the level of seasoned pros. We will search for new definitions of creativity that extend the umbrella to the output of machines. But this boom will have a dark side, too. Some AI-generated content will be used to deceive, kicking off fears of an avalanche of algorithmic fake news. Old debates about whether an image was doctored will give way to new ones about the pedigree of all kinds of content, including text. You’ll find yourself wondering, if you haven’t yet: What role did humans play, if any, in the creation of that album/TV series/clickbait article?

A world awash in AI-generated content is a classic case of a utopia that is also a dystopia. It’s messy, it’s beautiful, and it’s already here.

Currently there are two ways to produce audio or video that resembles the real world. The first is to use cameras and microphones to record a moment in time, such as the original Moon landing. The second is to leverage human talent, often at great expense, to commission a facsimile. So if the Moon descent had been a hoax, a skilled film team would have had to carefully stage Neil Armstrong’s lunar gambol. Machine learning algorithms now offer a third option, by letting anyone with a modicum of technical knowledge algorithmically remix existing content to generate new material.

At first, deep-learning-generated content wasn’t geared toward photorealism. Google’s Deep Dreams, released in 2015, was an early example of using deep learning to crank out psychedelic landscapes and many-eyed grotesques. In 2016, a popular photo editing app called Prisma used deep learning to power artistic photo filters, for example turning snapshots into an homage to Mondrian or Munch. The technique underlying Prisma is known as style transfer: take the style of one image (such as The Scream) and apply it to a second shot.

Now the algorithms powering style transfer are gaining precision, signalling the end of the Uncanny Valley—the sense of unease that realistic computer-generated humans typically elicit. In contrast to the previous somewhat crude effects, tricks like zebrafication are starting to fill in the Valley’s lower basin. Consider the work from Kavita Bala’s lab at Cornell, where deep learning can infuse one photo’s style, such as a twinkly nighttime ambience, into a snapshot of a drab metropolis—and fool human reviewers into thinking the composite place is real. Inspired by the potential of artificial intelligence to discern aesthetic qualities, Bala cofounded a company called Grokstyle around this idea. Say you admired the throw pillows on a friend’s couch or a magazine spread caught your eye. Feed Grokstyle’s algorithm an image, and it will surface similar objects with that look.

“What I like about these technologies is they are democratizing design and style,” Bala says. “I’m a technologist—I appreciate beauty and style but can’t produce it worth a damn. So this work makes it available to me. And there’s a joy in making it available to others, so people can play with beauty. Just because we are not gifted on this certain axis doesn’t mean we have to live in a dreary land.”

At Adobe, machine learning has been a part of the company’s creative products for well over a decade, but only recently has AI become transformative. In October engineers working on Sensei, the company’s set of AI technologies, showed off a prospective video editing tool called Adobe Cloak, which allows its user to seamlessly remove, say, a lamppost from a video clip—a task that would ordinarily be excruciating for an experienced human editor. Another experiment, called Project Puppetron, applies an artistic style to a video in real time. For example, it can take a live feed of a person and render him as a chatty bronze statue or a hand-drawn cartoon. “People can basically do a performance in front of a web cam or any camera and turn that into animation, in real time,” says Jon Brandt, senior principal scientist and director of Adobe Research. (Sensei’s experiments don’t always turn into commercial products.)

Machine learning makes these projects possible because it can understand the parts of a face or the difference between foreground and background better than previous approaches in computer vision. Sensei’s tools let artists work with concepts, rather than the raw material. “Photoshop is great at manipulating pixels, but what people are trying to do is manipulate the content that is represented by the pixels,” Brandt explains.

That’s a good thing. When artists no longer waste their time wrangling individual dots on a screen, their productivity increases, and perhaps also their ingenuity, says Brandt. “I am excited about the possibility of new art forms emerging, which I expect will be coming.”

But it’s not hard to see how this creative explosion could all go very wrong. For Yuanshun Yao, a University of Chicago graduate student, it was a fake video that set him on his recent project probing some of the dangers of machine learning. He had hit play on a recent clip of an AI-generated, very real-looking Barack Obama giving a speech, and got to thinking: Could he do a similar thing with text?

A text composition needs to be nearly perfect to deceive most readers, so he started with a forgiving target, fake online reviews for platforms like Yelp or Amazon. A review can be just a few sentences long, and readers don’t expect high-quality writing. So he and his colleagues designed a neural network that spat out Yelp-style blurbs of about five sentences each. Out came a bank of reviews that declared such things as, “Our favorite spot for sure!” and “I went with my brother and we had the vegetarian pasta and it was delicious.” He asked humans to then guess whether they were real or fake, and sure enough, the humans were often fooled.

With fake reviews costing around $10 to $50 each from micro-task marketplaces, Yao figured it was just a matter of time before a motivated engineer tried to automate the process, driving down the price and kicking off a plague of false reviews. (He also explored using neural nets to defend a platform against fake content, with some success.) “As far as we know there are not any such systems, yet,” Yao says. “But maybe in five or ten years, we will be surrounded by AI-generated stuff.” His next target? Generating convincing news articles.

Progress on videos may move faster. Hany Farid, an expert at detecting fake photos and videos and a professor at Dartmouth, worries about how fast viral content spreads, and how slow the verification process is. Farid imagines a near future in which a convincing fake video of President Trump ordering the total nuclear annihilation of North Korea goes viral and incites panic, like a recast War of the Worlds for the AI era. “I try not to make hysterical predictions, but I don’t think this is far-fetched,” he says. “This is in the realm of what’s possible today.”

Fake Trump speeches are already circulating on the internet, a product of Lyrebird, the voice synthesis startup—though in the audio clips the company has shared with the public, Trump keeps his finger off the button, limiting himself to praising Lyrebird. Jose Sotelo, the company’s cofounder and CEO, argues that the technology is inevitable, so he and his colleagues might as well be the ones to do it, with ethical guidelines in place. He believes that the best defense, for now, is raising awareness of what machine learning is capable of. “If you were to see a picture of me on the moon, you would think it’s probably some image editing software,” Sotelo says. “But if you hear convincing audio of your best friend saying bad things about you, you might get worried. It’s a really new technology and a really challenging problem.”

Likely nothing can stop the coming wave of AI-generated content—if we even wanted to. At its worst, scammers and political operatives will deploy machine learning algorithms to generate untold volumes of misinformation. Because social networks selectively transmit the most attention-grabbing content, these systems’ output will evolve to be maximally likeable, clickable, and shareable.

But at its best, AI-generated content is likely to heal our social fabric in as many ways as it may rend it. Sotelo of Lyrebird dreams of how his company’s technology could restore speech to people who have lost their voice to diseases such as ALS or cancer. That horse-to-zebra video out of Berkeley? It was a side effect of work to improve how we train self-driving cars. Often, driving software is trained in virtual environments first, but a world like Grand Theft Auto only roughly resembles reality. The zebrafication algorithm was designed to shrink the distance between the virtual environment and the real world, ultimately making self-driving cars safer.

These are the two edges of the AI sword. As it improves, it mimics human actions more and more closely. Eventually, it has no choice but to become all too human: capable of good and evil in equal measure.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Eight: Landelle

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

Ages seemed to pass as the Black Thorn members searched and raided the once comforting dwelling. No one stirred or had any temptation to speak. They simply sat, and waited. Waited for the men to search the bedrooms, both floors, and the attic. Waited for some to steal food and valuables while the others searched the stables. Waited for the shock and pain to leave as they did after their fruitless tirade.

“It’s probably safe now,” Aidan said, unhanding Syra and scooting to the trap door. “We should leave before word gets out.”

Cassius nodded and helped him to pry the door open from under the layer of belongings, and then to pull Syra and Petra out and onto their feet.

Syra nearly lost that footing at the full sight of the limp bodies tossed onto the floor. She couldn’t help it, she didn’t care to. The tears came and she stumbled over to Radstrom, and then to Tilly, her voice but a whimper.

“We did this…” she said, her hands scared to touch Tilly’s body that still gave off heat, “I did this.”

“No,” Aidan rejected, “You did not do this. Don’t you think for a second that—”

“If I hadn’t gone to them…if I hadn’t insisted that we stop to help, they wouldn’t have helped us in return.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Cassius said, looking up from the stunned Petra and Leon who sat by Tilly with blank stares.

“Aidan knew,” she said, inciting a look of, ‘excuse me?’ from him. “He knew it was a trap. But did I listen? No. No, I just kept on going. I spoke first, drew my sword first…they were after us, not them.”

“They,” Aidan said, getting in her face, “protected us. That was their mission, to aid and protect travelers on the road. Was it not?”

Syra nodded.

“Just like it’s our mission to protect both humans and dragons from what will come should Marrak get those stones. So if we don’t do that, if we don’t hold up our end of the deal…then this was for nothing.”

The party fell silent a moment, and Syra clutched Tilly’s hand, which was dainty yet calloused from work.

“Then let’s get them back,” came a low, but firm growl from Petra.

The others looked on a bit confused.

“Aidan said he knew people who could stop them, permanently. After we take down Marrak, we’ll take them down, too.”

“I thought you didn’t like humans,” said Aidan.

“I don’t���just this one,” she said, and patted Tilly softly on the head.

Sheets were thrown over the bodies and the remaining food was packed. Except for Leon's share, he left his on the chair for Pema who was still somewhere hiding.

"Won't you get hungry?" Syra asked as they left for the stables.

"Not as quickly as you," Leon said, landing on her shoulder and spreading his translucent wings that shimmered green in the sunlight, "Fae are sun-feeders. We can go quite a while without food."

To their surprise, the cart was still camped inside the barn. Arren's men had taken the potions, salves, and the prettier weapons, anything they knew would bring a high return. Aidan was relieved to see they had not taken his horse.

"There, there, Leif," he hushed the stallion, stroking its long muzzle, "We're leaving right now."

He hitched Leif to the cart and they bid farewell to the house and their fallen friends.

Aidan insisted that they stay off the main roads to avoid possible run-ins with more Black Thorn members. So, Leon led them onto a backroad that wound around fenced pastures and crop fields, and over a stream who's bridge was in need of repair. While the trip took twice as long, they met only livestock before arriving at the main stretch of town.

"We should get more supplies," Aidan said, being the first to speak since their departure, "Two canteens won't be enough for all of us."

Petra and Srya took off towards the well in the center of town, "We'll go fill these up."

Aidan nodded and clicked his tongue to lead Leif after them.

“How far are we from Edgewood?” Petra asked Leon, cranking the handle and pulling the bucket from the stone well.

“Hmm, at least another day or two,” he said, rubbing his chin, “We won’t make it there today, but if we leave early tomorrow we should get to Baba’s before the evening.”

“Meaning we’ll have to stay the night here,” Syra said with concern. After this morning, she wasn’t fond of the idea of staying near the city.

“There are plenty of inns to choose from, and guards posted on almost every corner,” said Aidan, “We’ll be fine.”

Neither Syra nor Petra seemed convinced.

“Hope you’re right,” Petra said under her breath as she filled their canteens.

“Excuse me, miss?” A man of dark hair and beard said as he approached Petra, “Can I ask where you got that ribbon?”

Petra was taken aback briefly, but he kept his distance and had a gentle look about him.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. That must have come off quite odd.” The man apologized and thumped a thinking finger against his own canteen, “I was waiting my turn here, you see, and I couldn’t help but notice that ribbon in your hair, and how similar it looks to one I once had.” He smiled and pointed to the green-and-gold ribbon Tilly had tied in Petra’s hair.

“You ‘once had’?” Petra questioned.

“Yes! You see I gave it to a lady friend of mine who lives not too far from here. A courting gift, I guess you could say. Anyways, I have yet to see another quite like it ‘round here and thought it a tad curious.”

Syra tugged lightly on Petra’s arms, a warning to watch what she said. But Petra continued to study the man, especially his eyes as they were clear and did not waver under her gaze.

“A courting gift, you say?” Petra asked.

“Hehe, why yes,” he said somewhat embarrassed, “I frequent the little inn she and her father run during my trips—I’m a merchant, you see—and I seem to have fallen quite hard for her.” He laughed at himself and Syra looked away.

“You mean, Tilly?” Petra blinked any sign of sorrow away.

“Yes, yes! You know her? Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Quite,” Petra said, nodding with a wry smile. “She bandaged me up when I was hurt, and then gave me this.” She pointed to her stubby ponytail. “Don’t know why, exactly, but I kinda like it.”

“Haha! That’s Tilly for you. Giving herself even if you might not deserve it. How is the lady nowadays?”

This made Petra flinch. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, despite his prying eyes. At this point, she had to look away.

The man’s cheery disposition fell as he saw the long faces of all four comrades, “What happened?”

No one spoke.

“Please,” he begged, forcing himself to remain composed, “Please, I need to know. Can I be of any help? Where is she now?”

“Dead,” Petra said, “She’s dead. Both her and Radstrom.”

“What?” The man’s voice broke.

“Just this morning,” Cassius added, “A group of men came and...”

“A group of men—who?! Who were these men?!” The man’s face was growing red.

“The Black Thorn,” Aidan said, making the man’s mouth shut. “That’s what Tilly said before they barged in.”

“And what of you four? Did they hurt you? Did you fight?”

“We wanted to,” Syra spoke up softly.

“Wanted to?”

“Tilly made us hide. Under the floorboards. Until they left. We...we saw everything.”

The man’s rage ebbed when he saw the scaring hid behind their straight faces, “And the bodies?”

“Covered,” Aidan said, “We feared being seen if we took the time to bury them. I’m sorry.”

“I see,” said the man, running a hand hard through his shaggy hair. “Well, we’ll need to send people to take care of them properly—I mean I will need to. You’ve dealt with enough.”

He sighed and bit his quivering lower lip, then cleared his throat, “Where are you headed?”

“Pardon?” Cassius asked, catching on late.

“If you were staying with Tilly, I assume you’re travelling.”

“Oh, yes. We’re going to Edgewood.”

“In that case, you’ll need a place to stay.”

All four nodded.

He thought for a moment, then groaned, “Oh, why not? It’s what Tilly would’ve done.”

“What is?” Petra asked.

“Come with me,” the man said, “You can stay at my place. I’ll have to leave to...take care of things, but feel free to relax until I get back.”

The man took up his canteen and hopped up on his horse, “Just follow me.”

Petra caught hold of his pant leg before he went off, and he looked down surprised.

“Thank you,” she said before letting him go.

The man said nothing, only smiled then trotted off, waiting for them to follow.

“The name’s Ros,” the man said when they arrived at the storefront, “Living quarters are upstairs.”

The store was a decent size, enough to tell that Ros certainly knew his business. Behind the building was a small stable where Ros stored his own horse and Leif.

“You merchants, as well?” Ros asked, noticing the cart’s contents.

“No,” Aidan said, unhitching it, “just returning it.”

“Returning it?”

“We found it,” Syra explained, “The note said it was from Edgewood, and since we were heading there anyway, we figured we’d bring it with.”

“Huh,” Ros stood in slight awe, “maybe I wasn’t wrong to trust you.” He chuckled, “Well, entrance is this way. Mind your step.”

Ros held the door open as Syra, Petra, and Cassius ascended the stairs into the living area, but stopped Aidan at the door.

“You said it was the Black Thorn that killed Tilly and Radstrom?” he asked, serious.

“Yes, they all wore bronze coins.”

“I see,” Ros paused to think.

“Are they common around here?”

Ros nodded with a grieved face, “And growing. Mostly in the poorer areas, but I’ve heard they’re getting a stronger hold even in Renguard now. Many of my friends and merchant buddies are getting scared they’re getting too large.”

“Aren’t the city guard taking care of it? That’s what they’re trained for.”

“You’d think that, but it’s like they’re not even aware of it. Or just plain out ignoring it. What I don’t understand is, why hasn’t Altaira done anything about it? With their army the Black Thorn wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Aidan cursed to himself, angry that it had taken him so long to discover them, “Maybe they just don’t know.”

“Don’t know, my ass! They’re the capital. They’re supposed to support us smaller cities. What else are my taxes for?”

Aidan thought on this a moment, then winced at a sudden realization, “There is always the possibility of traitors; officials who side with the Black Thorn and alter, or ignore, any information coming from those smaller cities.”

“Well, that’s just lovely,” Ros said, shaking his head, “What’s going to become of this place if we start fighting and killing each other?”

“We’ve already started.”

“Well then,” Ros said with a huff, “I’m going to go talk to those friends and buddies of mine and see if we’re not the only ones completely put out by these...renegades. If the guards won’t do anything, then we’ll just have to do it ourselves.”

“Careful you don’t turn into them,” Aidan warned, “Tilly said that’s just how they started.”

Ros gripped him tight on the shoulder, “Aye. Thank you, son. Now, get your scrawny ass up there and rest. You leave early tomorrow.”

That night, after they had eaten, Ros still had yet to return.

“Perhaps he had to travel a ways,” Cassius said when Syra voiced her concern.

“Or the meeting just went long,” said Aidan, enjoying the plushness of Ros’ sofa, “I’ve known very few that didn’t. Plus,” he closed his book, the words beginning to blur as sleep creeped in, “they had to bury Tilly and Radstrom.”

“I’m going to sleep,” Petra announced, refusing to wait any longer.

“Good idea,” said Cassius, following Petra down the hallway to the guest rooms, and leaving Aidan to watch Syra stare out the window.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” Syra asked after some silence.

“About what?” Aidan asked from the arm of the couch, avoiding the subject.

“Us,” she said, staring directly at him.

“There is no ‘us’. I told you that already.”

“I know that, but what I still don’t understand is, why?”

“And what I still don’t understand is, how you can expect me to trust you like nothing happened.” He looked up from the floor and met her gaze head-on.

“What’s not to trust?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re a dragon?”

“You’re point?”

“My brother was killed by one of you,” he said, voice sharp, “You can’t blame me for being wary. I saw him burnt, and blistered...like his skin wasn’t skin anymore. And then he...just died. Right there, in front of me.”

“Not all of us are bad, Aidan. We’re fighting the same enemy.”

“You still lied,” he said standing to confront her, “You lied the whole time.”

“I’m still the same person—“

“You’re not a person.”

“Whatever, same being.” She stood upright and puffed her chest a little, “You know that dragon that saved you when you were boy? When Marrak attacked and you were running from that ogre? That was me.”

Aidan’s eyes grew wider. He had had his suspicions, but questioned everything he thought nowadays.

“That ‘beast’ is the same little girl that became your best friend, who let you cheat off her when you didn’t study for class, who cried when she didn’t get the last slice of pie.”

“You had two.”

“And you still snuck into the kitchen to get me another one! That girl is still here.”

“No!” Aidan stopped to lower his voice, “No, she’s not. What’s here is a giant...lizard disguised as her. A reflection, a mirage. Literally, you glow when you shift! It’s a lie. How am I supposed to know if anything you say, or feel, is true?”

“Then why did you come? If you hate me so much—“

“I don’t hate you.”

“If I’m so untrustworthy, why bother helping? This is my mission, after all.”

“Valen asked me to.”

“Of course, he would.”

“He was worried about you...and us. Said that trust can be ‘regrown’, which I am trying desperately to believe! But, also because this impending war would impact all humans, and as a leader it is my duty to protect our realm.”

“Yeah, that totally sounds like him.”

“Anyway, Syra, what do you want from me? To forget that we’re not even the same species? ‘Cause that’s a lot to get over and, honestly, a bit unfair to ask at this moment.”

“What do I want? I want my father back, because he always knew what to do! I want my brother and sister to think I’m actually capable of being a decent leader and not a liability! I want the man I fell in love with, and got engaged to, to look past outer circumstances and remember who I really am!”

“You’re not even human! How does this even work?” He asked, pointing back and forth between them.

“You know exactly how this works,” She sneered, mimicking him, “So, now the question becomes, what do you want, Aidan?”

“I want time,” Aidan said, growing tired, “Time to think. Without the constant pleading of your eyes on me. This is your mission, and I promise to help anyway I can. But I cannot think straight, let alone sort out my emotions, with you moping around me.”

“Do I look like I’m moping?” Syra said with an indignant turn of her head.

“You radiate mopiness! Even with a smile, you do! I know you.”

“I thought you said you didn’t.”

Aidan let out a long sigh, “Look, I just need...time. Can you give me that?”

Syra let her anger fade and then curtsied, “As you wish, my prince.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Syra didn’t listen and headed off to bed, leaving Aidan exasperated.

He rested the back of his head against the window pane and Leon fluttered over to his shoulder.

“Not now, Leon.”

“You know—“

“I said, not now, Leon.”

The pixie ignored him, “I was just curious about one thing.”

Aidan sighed, “What?”

“You’re engaged?!”

“Was.”

Leon left his shoulder and hovered in his face, “Meaning you did love her at some point?”

“Aye.”

“And now you’re letting her go because she looks different?”

“Aye.”

“Are you daft? You know looks are permanent.”

“Obviously.”

“You know I’m not letting this go.”

“Go to sleep, Leon,” Aidan left the Fae by the window and ducked into the hallway.

“I’m watching you!” Leon called after him, pointing a tiny finger.

While in the shadow of the hall, Aidan put a hand to his chest and gingerly gripped at the ring hanging under his shirt. He didn’t want to hang on to it, to cling to it like a lost puppy, but he didn’t want to give up either.

“I don’t need any more for you!” Came Syra’s voice from a bedroom.

Aidan caught Syra arguing with Petra as he passed their room.

Syra gave him a short, icy stare then turned with a huff, throwing up two glowing hands, lifting up the blankets, jumping in bed, then throwing them over herself.

Aidan went to respond, but Petra cut him off with a pointed index finger, “I am having no part in this. Good night.”

Aidan just stood there and looked to Cassius, who also stood there speechless. They both sighed hard and Aidan closed their door, following Cassius into their room for the night.

Despite his earlier drowsing, Aidan found sleep an elusive ally. The fat moon shone bright into his window and his mind gave him no reprieve from its repetitions of his argument with Syra.

Clang!

The faint sound of metal falling roused him fully from bed. Outside the window, he could hear shuffling and muffled curses. Sliding out of bed, he saw Petra in the yard outside by the stable, sword in hand and swinging over and over.

“She’s practicing,” he mused to himself, surprised by her diligence.

As he watched from the window, he saw her toss the sword from one hand to the other. Both were equally nimble, but she had trouble keeping it steady; its weight was wearing her down.

The chance for sleep was gone. Aidan tip-toed passed the slumbering Cassius and grabbed his cloak, boots, and sword, and padded down the stairs.

He left the door slightly ajar so to not cause noise, and approached Petra.

At the sound of footsteps, Petra spun around, tossing the sword to her left hand and pointing it to his throat.

“Can I help you?” She was still huffing and sweat beaded at her brow.

“It’s too heavy.” Aidan said, ignoring the blade.

“Excuse me?”

“The sword. It’s made for two hands, not one.”

Petra scoffed and resumed her practice, “Maybe for humans.”

“You look pretty human.”

“Heh, tell that to Syra,” Petra spat.

Aidan’s words caught in his throat.

“I might look pathetic,” Petra said in between swings, “but you know damn well I could still break your spine.” Petra’s breath came in shallow bursts.

Aidan chuckled and stepped forward, “Aye.”

His approach warranted a second warning blow from her blade, this time an inch from his nose. A smirk cracked his face. The blade was quivering.

“You’re strong, Petra.”

“What does a human know of strength?”

Aidan’s jaw clenched, “Call it a goal I have.”

Petra ignored him and continued to swing the unsteady blade.

“You’re strong,” Aidan repeated, “but you lack endurance.”

“Oh really?!” Petra let her blade drop to her side, her deltoids twitching, “Have you ever flown transcontinental? Have you?” She was curiously quiet.

“I don’t know much about dragon culture or history, but I do know they’re in a time of peace, correct?”

“Your point?”

“Natural strength can only get you so far. And you have had no need to practice.”

Aidan skipped over to the cart, eyeing the left over weapons. Choosing one, he tossed her a sword with a twin hilt which she caught with ease. He motioned for a trade and she conceded with a sneer.

“Try it,” he said backing away.

Her stroke was swift and nearly knocked her off balance. Aidan slapped a hand over his mouth to hold in his laugh.

“Shut up,” she glowered.

A lunge and more strikes gained her control, her scowl ebbing with each swing.

“Ready for the best part?” Aidan asked, his hand asking for the blade back.

Petra met his outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow, but handed it over.

A quick toggle of the hilt unclasped the pair of twin blades, and the flick of his wrists brightened Petra’s gold eyes that followed their precise and fluid movements.

“You’ve used these before,” Petra’s bedazzlement was cut short by swift blades crossed at her neck, and Aidan’s black eyes locked inches from hers.

“Once or twice,” The smirk returned to his face and the blades returned to Petra, “Not many people are two-handed. Use them to your advantage.”

Spurts of laughter bubbled from Petra as she spun and spun with the twins. A rare sight, Aidan figured, given her usual demeanor.

“Make sure to get some sleep, you hear? Or you won’t like yourself in the morning.”

Petra nodded and Aidan took his leave.

He returned to loft, his eyes finally weary. The moonlight covering Syra’s blanket caught his eye, and the image of a joyous Petra brought memories of Syra’s first lesson. She was quick, and agile. Not strong like her sister, but a natural among her classmates. It was then, perhaps, watching her lighthearted glee infect their entire patrol, that he had felt that spark; an ember that would kindle through training and missions and god-awful dinner parties. But that was then.

Aidan shoved the nostalgia back into their box and resigned himself to his bed and his blanket and the promise of sleep. But the sky was bright, his pulse still quick, and his eyes stubbornly wandered to the small bundle across the hall that snored so faintly, yet his ears couldn’t help but hear.

“Kim taf nav eth , ni vasi sum

Mi rumi kaaɦ, ni krimet dah sen

Gahl hal sah

Tükad ni türiin, mi rumi va rumah”

Sang the bundle, its voice feint and thick with dreaming; a song Aidan had heard many times, but was too peaceful to stop. He grimaced and berated himself. The truth had been in front of him the whole time, yet he chose to ignore it.

With a heavy sigh, Aidan tore his eyes away, turned his back, and pulled his blanket over his head, “I’m not sorry.”

[igotopinions]

Books I read in 2018

* = Re-read Check out past years: 2012, 2013 (skipped), 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2017. Follow me on Goodreads to get these reviews as they happen. 1) You Are Not a Gadget by Jaron Lanier 2) Binti by Nnedi Okorafor 3) Veins of the Earth by Patrick Stewart 4) McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh  The ending is clear almost from the first page, but you keep reading anyway*. Great stuff. *It's almost as if there is MORE to enjoying a story than being surprised by the ending???? 5) They Shoot Horses, Don't They? by Horace McCoy  Ah yes, the violent and bloody underbelly of....the marathon dance craze??? Marathons that last upward of a MONTH??? Incredulity, if nothing else, keeps you reading right to the end. 6) What Editors Do: The Art, Craft, and Business of Book Editing by Peter Ginna I've no interest in becoming an editor, but as an author I figured there'd be some useful stuff in here. From that perspective I'll say this - writers, even ones who only want to self-publish, would do well to breeze through this to get a better understanding of a process they've been through or want to go through, but also a better understanding of the editors themselves. 7) Taran Wanderer by Lloyd Alexander 8) The High King by Lloyd Alexander 9) The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander 10) The Largesse of the Sea Maiden: Stories by Denis Johnson 11) Landmarks by Robert MacFarlane Beautiful stuff, and a great reminder of all sorts of precious sensations to be found out in the world or in your childhood memories. 12) Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches by John Hodgeman I like John Hodgeman in general, but honestly haven't dug any of his books of false facts or the stand-up routines centered around such things. That stuff just feels like someone scatting nonsense (Blood tornado! Deranged millionaire! DOG STORM! Yeah!) to the tune of a particular vibe (the doodles in the margins of your high school notebooks). But it's clear the guy can be a consummate storyteller and so I happily picked up this book of his ostensibly true tales. It's charming, funny, and sincere. Huzzah! I look forward to whatever comes next from Hodge Man. 13) The World of Late Antiquity 150-750 by Peter R.L. Brown  14) The Book of Joan by Lidia Yuknavitch 15) The Luzhin Defense by Vladimir Nabokov, Michael Scammell (Translator) 16) The Only Harmless Great Thing by Brooke Bolander  17) Blindsight by Peter Watts 18) Killing Gravity by Corey J. White  19) How to Thrive in the Next Economy: Designing Tomorrow's World Today by John Thackara 20) Echopraxia by Peter Watts 21) The Colonel by Peter Watts 22) The Devil's Guide to Hollywood: The Screenwriter as God! by Joe Eszterhas It’s a big book of quotable notables intermixed with a guy who really wants you to know he slept with Sharon Stone. There’s some chuckles to be had, especially if you’re irritated by Robert McKee, but let’s just say I’m glad I got this half-off from a used book store. 23) The River of Consciousness by Oliver Sacks   Writers of fiction would do well to read this. 24) Asking for It: The Alarming Rise of Rape Culture and What We Can Do about It  by Kate Harding *25) The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut 26) Red Clocks by Leni Zumas A reminder that dystopian tales don’t have to be cranked to eleven, and are often much more effective that way. 27) Dungeon Crawl Classics RPG by Goodman Games I don’t normally include RPG books in this list, but at about 450 pages I reckon this one earns a spot. I had a lot of thoughts about it, which you can read here. 28) Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria by Lin Carter   Look man, either you want to read a Conan rip-off where a convenient flying ship pulls our hero out of trouble at Just. The. Right. Time. or you don't. Nothing I say here will change that. I dipped into this soon after discovering the infamous Appendix N reading list. 29) Dear Life by Alice Munro 30) A Cabinet of Byzantine Curiosities: Strange Tales and Surprising Facts from History's Most Orthodox Empire by Anthony Kaldellis 31) Climate Leviathan: A Political Theory of Our Planetary Future by Joel Wainwright and Geoff Mann 32) Writing the Pilot: Creating the Series by William Rabkin 33) Ways of Seeing by John Berger If you've already done some university level art studies you may find most of this old hat.But if you haven't? It's a great primer, and I strongly recommend it. Heck, I wish I'd had it put in front of me in high school. 34) Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado 35) A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah 36) Polyamorous Love Song by Jacob Wren This book came out a few years ago. Just a few days ago I found it on the dollar shelf at a great used book and record shop in Montreal (Cheap Thrills). I never bother with stuff from the dollar shelf because it's usually about as good as the price suggests. But. The title & cover grabbed my eye. Then I stood and read the entire first chapter, not because I needed that much to erode any skepticism but because it gripped me. Your mileage may - nay, will - vary, of course. For me, the contents of this book were exactly what I needed. It might be what you need too, especially if you are someone who creates any kind of art and is struggling with it in the face of an increasingly rabid world. 37) Feel Free: Essays by Zadie Smith 38) Revenge Fantasies of the Politically Dispossessed by Jacob Wren 39) Rich and Poor by Jacob Wren 40) Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh   41) Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh 42) Room to Dream by David Lynch,  Kristine McKenna A great book whose format of a conversation between biography and autobiography really works! Both halves strangle the "lone genius" bullshit almost right out of the gate and, especially in Lynch's chapters, there's some kind of amusing punchline at the end of every other paragraph. An excellent read that is enjoyable even if you haven't seen every minute of his creative output. 43) Warrior of World's End by Lin Carter  This book contains a sentient metal bird called a "Bazonga" and a chapter called "Flight of the Bazonga", to give you an idea. It's fun and dumb and yes. 44) Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler 45) Twelve Tomorrows by Wade Roush (Editor) *46) A Burglar's Guide to the City by Geoff Manaugh   47) The Dying Earth by Jack Vance I was going to write my own review but then I saw BIll's here and it's just so much better than what I was going to say, as well as echoing much of my own thinking. 48) Dune by Frank Herbert It is Dune. 49) Make Room! Make Room! by Harry Harrison This book does not in fact contain the famous twist from the film. That changes a lot, an awful lot. Frankly it evokes, read now, climate change at least as much if not more than overpopulation. I'm not sure if I'd recommend reading it, frankly, though not for any lack of talent on Harry Harrison's part. 50) Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell  51) Silver Screen Fiend: Learning About Life from an Addiction to Film by Patton Oswalt 52) The Chapo Guide to Revolution: A Manifesto Against Logic, Facts, and Reason by Chapo Trap House *53) Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut   Though it gifts us a few of his best quotes, such as “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”, I feel like Mother Night is only necessary reading for completionists. It often feels like a short story filled out to novel length, and lacks any of the fantastic or meta-textual elements of his other works. 54) Dungeons and Dragons Art and Arcana: A Visual History by Kyle Newman,  Jon Peterson, Michael Witwer, Sam Witwer STATS Non-Fiction: 20 Fiction: 34 Poetry Collections:0 Comic Trades: 0 Wrote Myself: 0

[itsworn]

Bruce Leven’s Gran Turismo–Winning 1951 Ford Coupe

It Took 60 Years to Do it, But Bruce Leven Now Has the Sports Rod He Wanted as a Kid

The notion that ordinary cars can become extraordinary is the basis for HOT ROD magazine and its readers. The model of the manufacturer as the creator went straight on its ear. The consumers—like you and me—are the ones calling the shots. Cars and their parts merely become our building blocks, spawning a feeding frenzy of would-be enthusiasts with a mantra: “One day I’m gonna.”

Bruce Leven can identify. “I wanted to build this car since I was 16,” he says. “I’m 78 now. I just fell in love with it.”

The car Bruce fell in love with 60 years ago is Ron Dunn’s 1950 Ford club coupe. That was the seed for this one, but to understand this car you have to understand that one.

Ron Dunn and his shoebox as Eric Rickman saw it in June 1957. Ron got the car as a gift from his parents. He drove almost directly from the dealership to the shop. The similarities are unmistakable, right down to the big wheel openings and the perimeter grille and roll pan.

Ron’s “Monte Carlo” (what he called it) owed a great deal of its fame to Dean Batchelor. Dean was as comfortable in a Ford as he was in a Ferrari. Case in point, when his stint ended at Hop Up—a decidedly hot roddy/custom car magazine—he slid right into the seat at Road & Track, which was very sporty. Years later he wrote a bunch of books about Ferraris and hot rods.

Back then he was also good friends with Valley Custom’s Neil Emory. Neil’s son, Gary, recalls, “Dean would pick up Dad, and they’d go to lunch talking about whatever car Dean was testing at the time.” And the sports cars he brought were different to the core, which influenced Ron’s car.

Europe taxed on displacement, so cars there had smaller engines. Smaller engines meant smaller bodies, which required higher roof lines to fit occupants. Neil and Clay approximated those proportions by removing a 5-inch band from the perimeter of the body of Ron’s coupe—think of it as chopping the body rather than the top. (Neither the idea nor the process was original; Edsel Ford had his people do the same thing to a Zephyr to make the original Continental—its name and shape inspired by the cars Edsel saw on “The Continent,” aka Europe). A 1957 revision made Ron’s more like a sports car, with a mesh grille, roll pans, and delicate nerf bars front and rear. The Monte Carlo name was no stretch; this was a European-inspired car.

Lincoln’s 368 was the second-biggest engine made in 1956, making it appropriate for a period-influenced sports car. It’s also physically massive, requiring a custom pan and belt driven oil pump to fit in the slimmed-down shoebox. Dan Brewer at Shaver Racing Engines coaxed more than a horse-per-cube from it, a respectable ratio for the age the car represents.

Ron’s car wasn’t fast with a stock flathead six engine that appealed mostly to grandfathers and fleet operators at best. But particularly after the 1957 rehash, the car had the spirit of being a hot rod, as some people believed the movement was progressing.

Bruce’s car isn’t a clone. Part of the “one day I’m gonna” mandate says you’ll bring to bear your own experiences and interests. And Bruce’s experiences and interests are wholeheartedly in sports cars—starting with a Porsche RSR in the 1970s, a purchase that led to IMSA, Trans-Am, and even IndyCar racing.

Stock dashes get a bit bulky in a sectioned car, not to mention the shape kind of limits options, so Lindsey Butler and Justin Messer built this one entirely from scratch. Touching upon his sports-car roots, Bruce chose a Nardi wheel.

He chose Wicked Fabrication in Auburn, Washington, to execute the project on his recently found 1951 club coupe.

Sectioning is the defining element of the car, but since this is an homage more than a clone, the team took a different approach. Guided by Bruce and Craig, Adam Hart and Josh “Pappy” Green sliced the body in two, slid the upper half into the bottom, and crept up to the ideal amount (which works out to a band 2-1/2 inches wide removed at the back to about 5-1/2 inches out of the front

Some modifications sometimes invite more work. “All of a sudden, the top looked like it had a big bulge in it,” Bruce recalls. So Lindsey Butler and Pappy thinned the crown 1-1/2 inches, a process called pancaking. This opened the door for another modification that fits the sports-car theme. Trimming the skin made it too narrow to fit the top, so it was cut down the middle and then the sides welded in place, which left a gap down the middle of the top. They filled that gap with a skin from a shoebox sedan with a longer roof, so now the rear section followed a more gradual curve and floated off the back of the roof. “That was an opportunity,” Bruce says. “The ’58 Impala had a fake vent in the roof because sports cars like the Mercedes Gullwing had a real one.

Craig built up an inner lip in one side of a 1951 grille surround with plastic body filler to create a new grille shape. After scanning, he tuned it in CAD and mirrored it to create the rest of the grille, which was machined from 6061 aluminum. The hood straps pay homage to European racecar construction.

After rust repairs and sectioning, all that remained of the front fenders were their tops. The chin and tail each got a pan, and Craig made up a grille border like the revised Monte Carlo. He reshaped a 1951 grille surround slightly, had it scanned and mirrored to make a perimeter, and then Dick St. John machined it from aluminum. “Bruce wanted to take some of the peak out of the hood,” Craig explains. By the time they would have finished, they could have made a new hood from aluminum more easily, which is what they did.

Early in the transformation the car got a new Art Morrison chassis located just around the corner from Wicked. One of Bruce’s mandates was independent rear suspension. “When we were racing, there was a guy who ran a Jaguar sedan with an IRS setup and a quick-change centersection,” he recalls. “That really stuck with me.”

Designing any suspension from scratch is no walk in the park, but as luck would have it, the guy who cast the reproduction NOVI IndyCar wheels—Ray Franklin at Vintage Engineering—happened to know how to set up IRS. “We used Thunderbird uprights, but built the rest of the suspension from scratch,” Craig says. With the wheels in place and the car at its final stance, the Wicked crew set about making the wheel openings round, but with a hint of a flare.

The fuel tank is basically a shell for an ATL bladder. The small box on the left houses the battery, and the kit on the right has a bag of tools and knock-off mallet. The Wicked crew made the strap hardware and Miller made the straps.

“I didn’t want it to just look like a sports car,” Bruce admits. “I wanted it to have enough power to back it up.” He chose a highly unlikely powerplant: a Lincoln 368ci Y-block, a term coined by Ford referring to its fully skirted V8 engines of the 1950s. Dan Brewer at Shaver Racing Engines built the engine. It has the goods: polished and nitrided crank, Carillo H-beam connecting rods (that measure a whopping 7.063 inches!), and JE pistons, oversized 0.03 inch for 373 ci of displacement. The 368 heads have large valves, so Dan replaced them with stainless Manleys. By virtue of a 75cc chamber, the compression remains low at just shy of 9:1.

This engine wasn’t easy to fit, either. “It’s 3 inches taller than a big-block Chevy,” Craig says. “And, oh boy, is it heavy!” The shallower engine compartment meant mounting the engine low requiring a custom pan, which Dan Olson built. What’s more, the oil pump interfered with the crossmember (FoMoCo Y-blocks are side-oilers). “So we did an external pump belt-driven like a dry-sump pump, although single stage,” Dan clarifies.

The top end wasn’t any easier. The stock Lincoln manifolds mount the carburetor below the ports—a no-go performance-wise. “In the ’50s Mercury went to Daytona for speed runs,” Bruce says. In a nutshell, famed race-car builder Bill Stroppe lopped the windshield frame off a 1957 convertible and hired famed Sprint Car builder Eddie Kuzma to craft a canopy of sorts. He then built a thumper of an engine, hiring Hilborn to build an injector among other things. “Hilborn made four sets of those injectors,” Bruce says. “I found a guy with a Lincoln injection who wanted to trade it for a welding machine! So I bought that thing.”

Dan sent the injector back to Hilborn for new shafts and a general rebuild. He also converted it to use a FAST ECU, but rather than weld bungs for the injectors, he made a system to hide it all, making tall blocks that mount between the injector manifold and the heads, carving them out for ports, then machining pockets adjacent to these ports. “The injectors mount inside those finned blocks so you can’t see them,” he says.

The relatively low compression and smallish ports dictated modest cam specs (224 degrees duration at 0.05- and 0.448-inch lift). Despite this mild tune, the engine made a respectable 389 lb-ft of torque at 2,800 rpm and 375 hp just shy of 5,000 rpm—not exactly a barnburner, but up to the popular horsepower-per-cube performance mandate when this engine was new.

With the individual components complete, the car went to Byers Custom and Restoration. Alan Donald, Howie Davis, Jered Lobbin, and owner Jon Byers prepped the body. The colors come from a 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL, likely Modegrau (exterior) and Aschblau (interior). “We couldn’t use the old color codes because they don’t translate to modern paints,” Jon says. “But it just so happens that the codes cross-reference real closely to two modern Porsche colors.” Those are Grauschwarz (exterior) and possibly Graphite Blue, and Jon applied both in PPG DBC.

Adam Hart formed the simple, sports-car-inspired bucket seats. Tony Miller from Stitches Custom Auto Upholstery in Poulsbo, Washington, trimmed them in a combination of antiqued leather. The 2-inch latch-and-link hasps harken to military-surplus harnesses, yet accommodate passenger-car webbing.

Tony Miller and Tom Bidle at Stitches Custom Upholstery in Poulsbo, Washington, tag-teamed the cockpit. They used a combination of Denim Blue and Tracker Brown distressed leathers for the seats, and an Irish Cream distressed leather for the headliner. They also made the hood straps. The floor wears tan German square-weave carpet.

Bruce Leven’s sectioned shoebox does a number of things more than looking good. For one, it fulfills the sports-car promise that Ron Dunn’s car made so many years ago. For another, it bridges a generational gap; Sony’s Kazunori Yamauchi, creator of the company’s flagship driving game Gran Turismo, dubbed it Best of Show at SEMA’s 2016 event in Las Vegas. The award includes induction into the game’s future editions, where it will be exposed to future generations.

Most important in a global sense, it makes good on this premise that we build upon the work of others. At the very least, it gives us hope that someone, somewhere, still looks at cars like this and thinks, “One day I’m gonna.”

Hilborn produced injectors for Bill Stroppe’s 1957 Mercury “Mermaid” Daytona program. One of Bruce’s friends found this one, a lucky proposition, as Hilborn made only four and he needed one to clear the lower hood line. Hilborn rebuilt this one and Dan Brewer set it up to run electronically with a FAST ECU.

Rather than spoil the vintage vibe by exposing the injectors, Dan machined risers that house them—they have pockets adjacent to the ports. And because the factory Lincoln rocker covers are a thing of beauty, he machined them to match.

Josh “Pappy” Green made the inner fender panels and Adam Hart fabricated these inserts. The louvers don’t match any existing dies—Adam cut and hammered them manually. Hand-bucked rivets hold the insert in place.

The engine spins an alternator, Saginaw power-steering pump, and an oil pump, three things not available then or now for the Lincoln Y-block, so the Wicked crew made one-off brackets. The expansion tank likely came from a Ford FE and corresponds with a crossover tube, a necessary component because the Hilborn injector lacks the feature.

Extensive body reshaping meant making the core support and associated structures from scratch. Pappy built it in the likeness of race-car construction using flared-hole dies to add lightness.

Classic Instruments fashioned a set of gauges in the likeness of vintage Jaeger pieces. Dick St. John machined the housings and Lindsey Butler made the brackets.

Ian Dunn wired the car with period-style, cloth-covered wire from American Autowire, but instead of fuses he used circuit breakers. Again, Dick St. John and Lindsey Butler made the housing and bracket.

Even with an S-10 tail stock, the Borg-Warner T5 puts the shifter far forward for a sports car. Adam knew there was a better way to move it back, and he came up with this pantograph mechanism that puts the shifter within reach.

The pedal assembly started as Wilwood, but all that remains are the pedal arms and cylinders. The Wicked crew fabricated a new bracket and a repeater-arm setup that fits the tight confines between the engine and chassis.

In the weight-saving spirit of race-car construction, Bruce specified thin plastic windows and insisted on eliminating the regulators. That meant an alternate means of securing the windows in the up position, which Adam obliged with cabinet latches.

More than saving weight, eliminating the windows also meant opening the door in the way that most grand-touring cars were entered in the 1950s. Also in touring-car style, the pull strap doubles as the latch release. The door top extends the dash shape.

The exterior door buttons also evoke the image of 1950s sports cars. Ian Dunn built these around Mazda mechanisms then machined the main ring, and shaped a piece for the little finger pull, welding the two together.

Most Americans won’t recognize semaphores, but they were the default turn signals on European cars into the 1960s, making them perfect for this car’s theme. These particular ones came from a Volkswagen Beetle.

Kirk Brown, aka Crafty B Nostalgic Speed, makes fuel fillers. Adam recessed the body for it. Note the polished trim piece around the perimeter.

The roof vent was a creative and appropriate way to solve a problem. Pancaking the skin left a big gap down the middle. They used a sedan roof skin that’s longer and has a less-pronounced crown.

Bruce says he liked the idea of the 1951 trim spear, but not its bulk, so Jeffrey Gibson machined a thinner spear and bezel. Adam recessed it into the body.

The wheels resemble the ones Halibrand cast for Novi’s Indy car in the 1950s. These 15×5-1/2 and 15x7s are the first that Ray Franklin at Vintage Engineering cast in their likeness. They’re authentic down to the magnesium alloy and Dow 7 coating.

Ray Franklin consulted on the independent rear suspension. It runs a Speedway Engineering centersection with Porsche 930 CV joints, gun-drilled axles, and late-model Thunderbird uprights.

The fuel tank is basically a shell for an ATL bladder. The small box on the left houses the battery, and the kit on the right has a bag of tools and knock-off mallet. The Wicked crew made the strap hardware and Miller made the straps.

The FAST system Dan Brewer set up with the Hilborn gear relies on the distributor for the engine-speed signal. A real magneto won’t work, so he used one of Joe Hunt’s mag-look distributors. Oddly enough, the one from Ford’s Y-block fits.

Back in old grand-touring days it was common to swap plugs mid-race, and teams often made plug holders for the engine compartment. Few were as trick as this one carved from aluminum.

The hood would’ve required so many individual custom panels that the work justified making a new one from scratch in aluminum.

Dies don’t exist to do these louvers, so just as he did for the inner-fender panels, Adam formed these manually.

Mounting switches overhead keeps them out of the way yet close enough to reach. Lindsey Butler made the surround and Ian Dunn made the switch plate itself.

Adam fabricated the pop-out window frames. He also fabricated the latches, patterning them from the ones Volkswagen used on the Beetle.

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