#the rest of it i cant get into without pulling out a full analysis of literary freedom and conflation on the web

[avephelis]

every day i grit my teeth and barely stop myself from making an essay length post on edward twilight, horror principles, and the treatment of sensitive topics in fandom spaces but we're not ready to have that conversation.

[fandoms-are-my-friends-1321]

Holy Matrimony

This is my first time writing for the Prodigal Son fandom, but I’m still excited either way. This was requested by @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama, and the idea is so adorable and funny. Gif and characters are not mine. Hope you guys enjoy it!!!

Description: Malcolm plans to propose to his girlfriend during their date at a fancy restaurant, but some of the team and his family arrive to make sure he doesn’t blow it. An unexpected quest also makes an appearance

Warnings: just some mild swearing, spoilers for season one, and a brief description of a crime scene, but otherwise none

“I know this is a big night for us, but you didn’t have to rent out one of the fanciest restaurants in town. I’m perfectly fine with a night in at home.”

Malcolm turned to look at his girlfriend of eight months as he continued to button up his white dress shirt. “Come on, Y/N. It’s going to be wonderful I promise. Besides, I would do anything for you.”

That was very true. This was the longest relationship that Malcolm had ever been in, and Y/N was different. He was worried after what happened with Eve, love would never return into his life. It did, however, and he was grateful to Y/N for all she had done for him so far. Tonight was the night he was going to show how much he loved her.

“Our cabs here,” Y/n said as she straightened her outfit. “You ready for go?”

“Yeah, just a few more minutes. You can go ahead down stairs, and I will catch up with you in a minute,” Malcolm responded. While Y/N was a little suspicious as to why Malcolm needed to stay back, she shrugged it off and walked out the door of the apartment. Once Malcolm was certain that she was gone, he opened a drawer that was located discretely under the bar.

He pulled out a small velvet box, and inside was the ring that he planned to propose to Y/N with. His family and friends were all supportive of this move, and yet he was still a little worried. He took a deep breath and placed the box in his suit jacket. “It’s okay,” Malcolm whispered to himself. “Nothing could possibly go wrong.”

Sunshine tweeted happily. “Thanks, Sunshine. The next time you see the two of us, you’ll have a new mom to look after you.” With that, Malcolm opened the door and dashed down the stairs to the cab. The giddy energy he felt fueling his steps.

——————————————————————————

The couple sat in a rented out section of the restaurant. Malcolm didn’t want to raise any extra attention when he proposed to Y/N, and while renting an entire room might have been much, he didn’t want to risk it. His family already had to much attention focused on them because of his father, and he didn’t want anymore.

“Excuse me, but I’m going to go use the restroom before our food gets here,” Y/N said as she stood up from the table.

“Sure, that sounds great! I’ll be waiting here doing nothing in particular,” Malcolm stuttered as he fidgeted in his seat. Y/N smiled at him as she walked out of the room. He’s a lot jumpier than normal, she thought, Perhaps he has a recent case on his mind. In fact, the only thing Malcolm had on his mind was her, and he mentally screamed as he placed his head in his hands.

“Oh my god he’s going to blow it. My son needs to get it together.”

Outside of the restaurant, Jessica Whitley was standing outside with a pair of binoculars, her daughter Ainsley by her side. They were leaning against the brick wall of the building across the street. The pair was trying to spy on Malcolm and make sure that he didn’t mess this up.

“Well, you know how my brother can be,” Ainsley replied as she examined her fingernails.

“Your daughters right,” Gil chimed in as him and the rest of the team walked up to Jessica and Ainsley. “Malcolm Bright does whatever Malcolm Bright wants to do. We can’t control him.”

“I’m his mother for crying out loud, so I have more control than you think. What are you guys doing here?”

“Coming to see how Malcolm will manage to pull off this proposal. Same as you guys,” JT stated.

“I think you guys are being to hard on him,” Dani commented, “As much as Malcolm loves Y/N, he will know exactly what to say.”

“That’s right! From my statistical analysis, their love for each other is 100% legit,” Edrisa added in as she appeared from behind Gil, Dani, and JT. “Also, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Whitley.”

“Likewise,” Jessica said with a smile. “Well, looks like the gangs all here.” The group waited and watched as Y/N returned to her seat at the table. The couple had begun eating, but the group that they didn’t know was waiting outside began to twist with anticipation.

“That’s it! I cant take this anymore. I’m going in,” Jessica declared as she shoved the binoculars she was using over to Ainsley. With determination, Jessica strides across the street. All the while Ainsley and Gil were trying to drag her back, but it was to no avail, and they began to follow her too. The rest of the team was close behind. However, another lone figure was lurking in the shadows.

“Holy crap, this pasta is the best I’ve ever had. No offense to your cooking of course,” Y/N said through a bite full of her food.

“None taken,” Malcolm replied with a chuckle. “I know how much you love Italian cuisine.”

“You know what I love more than pasta?”

“Day time television?”

“No, silly. It’s you! Ever since we first met at that crime scene, I just felt a connection with you.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but grin at the memory. Y/N was also part of the team, and the two had met during a case at a Bakery. At first Malcolm didn’t understand how Y/N was able to eat pastries while a man’s guts were strewn across the floor. Then he soon realized that she had witnessed a lot of crime scenes in her day.

This had to be the right moment. Somewhere deep inside, Malcolm knew that it was time to pop the question. Malcolm took a bite of his pasta, and tried to begin his proposal. However, when he saw his mom walk through the entrance of the room, he nearly choked.

“Mom! What are you doing here?! How’d you even know we were in here,” Malcolm questioned as he whiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh please dear, finding you wasn’t that hard. I came in because you need to stop stalling and do what you came here to do,” Jessica replied.

“Well I was going to say it, but-,”

“Jessica please, come back outside and let the kid do his thing,” Gil insisted as him and Ainsley enterted the room as well.

“Gil?! You’re here too? Let me guess the whole rest of the team is here,” Malcolm added with a wave of his hand. The rest of the team slowly made their way into the room, and Malcolm let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, now that everyone is here. May I please finish?”

Everyone nodded eagerly, and so Malcolm turned back to his girlfriend, who was still in shock by all the people who had just shown up out of the blue. It was a lot, but Y/N didn’t mind. Malcolm grabbed her hand, and Y/N’s E/C eyes met his icy blue ones. “Ever since I met you Y/N, my life has changed for the better. When I’m with you, the darkness in the world fades away. Now while I wasn’t expecting so many people to be here for this, I’m still certain that this is the right-.”

“Now hold on, my boy. Before you say those oh so famous words, aren’t you forgetting the one person that’s not here?”

The entire party froze as Malcom’s father, Dr. Martin Whitley, emerged from a dark corner of the room. Gil, Dani, and JT all pulled their guns from their holsters. “Holy shit,” JT said, “I thought this dude was in prison?”

“Yes,” Jessica snarled. “That’s exactly where he should be.”

Martin simply rolled his eyes at his wife and the others. “Oh come on now, you can’t expect me to miss the biggest day of my son’s life do you? I promise I will go back as soon as everything is done. Gil will make sure of that I’m sure.”

“Damn right I will, but for now I’m reluctantly allowing this to happen. No funny stuff though,” Gil said. Martin simply nodded as he gestured for Malcolm to continue.

Malcolm took a deep breath and focused his attention back on Y/N. “Well, as you can see my life is pretty crazy. I have a serial killer for a father, a mother who can sometimes be just as crazy.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice,” Jessica said as she pretended to be hurt, but her smile gave it away. Malcolm shook his head as he continued. “All of these people support us, and I plan to support you until the day I die, which hopefully will be a long time from now. So, without further ado,” Malcolm got down on one knee, and opened the velvet box. The central diamond in the ring sparkled due to the chandelier light from above, and Y/N let out a gasp. “Y/N L/N, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will!! Now come here my soon to be husband,” Y/N pulled Malcolm up by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him on the lips. At first her boldness caught Malcolm off guard, but he relaxed into the kiss. All the while cheers filled the room, and Martin even gave a few claps himself.

“So, will I be invited to the wedding,” Martin asked with a raised brow.

“Unless you happen to escape again, I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Gil retorted as the cuffs snapped on Martin’s wrists. However, Martin only laughed at this. If he escaped once, he could easily do it again, and nothing was going to stop him from seeing another big moment in his son’s life.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

1st of all, amazing chapter cap. I woke up from a nap to see the email telling me it updated and it was amazing.

2nd, fuck you. How dare you not tell us who Grim is, I feel betrayed. But like also great story telling, kagami wouldn't know who the fuck they are because shes not around much. But still, fuck you.

3rd, early congrats on 1k kudos for Panthera, you deserve it. Your writing is amazing and you deserve all the kudos on ao3.

Alright I'm done with the numbers ima start theorizing now.

The identity of Grim

So my first point is that Kagami didn't know who they were, or at least not their name. This eliminates the gang(we sorta knew it wasn't any of them, but I kept them in mind because idk what kinda shit you were gonna pull), and Luka. Obviously it's not Marinete and Adrien because dramatic irony and shit so that leaves a few people.

Namely; Ivan, Mylene, Max, Kim, Nathaniel, Rose, Marc, Mireille, and Lila.

Ima start by eliminating a few of these.

Kagami never had a chance to meet or see Lila, I doubt it's her.

I doubt Kagami wouldn't know Rose's name. With how much the rest of the game makes fun of Juleka and now much Rose would talk about Juleka, Kagami definently would have picked up the girl's name.

Similarly, I think Mylene can be eliminated in a similar fashion. Kagami hangs around Marinette in cat form a lot and, going by Marinette's character, Marinette totally would have told this cat about her little best friend's squad. Kagami also would have seen pictures of Mylene(and Rose) around Marinette's room and probably learned their names. So I think I can safely eliminate Mylene(and rose again)

Reverser happens after queens battle, so nobody except Marinette has met Marc yet, so I think he can be safely eliminated.

The Grim's saying 'spooky spooky ghost realm' makes me think it's not Max, he doesnt talk like that. Also I doubt he would get excited like that when Kagami said that they were friends.

The fact that Grim knows Luka eliminates Mireille. Mireille wouldn't know Luka, or most of the class.

So, my final list of possibilities is Ivan, Kim, and Nathaniel.

I personally cant see it being Ivan. It doesn't make any sense to me, plus it would destroy my theory of Ivan and Mylene having some magical shenanigans going on together. Ima set ivan aside since I personally dont think its him. I have no evidence to back this claim, I simply dont think it makes sense story wise.

Kim is a possibility, but I think his general vibe denies him being 'psychopomp doggo to the Eternal Graveyard'. That's just my opinion though and I have no evidence to support or deny him being Grim.

Nathaniel, out of the final 3, seems like the most likely. Man looks tired and traumatized, maybe from seeing so many dead kids. He would also totally get a little excited at a new friend because the boy's kinda lonely, especially with his bestie Alix constantly hanging out with her totally-not-werewolf-girlfriend Chloe so often. But I still think he's the Haunted so idk.

Ok so none of the final options make sense, so lets go back to the ones I eliminated.

Starting with Max, he is injured I'm the miracuclass artwork you posted and Grim was just injured. Also his personality would totally fit a graveyard psychopomp creature. However, as I said before, the speach patterns dont match up.

Mylene is a possibility because my elimination method for her was full of assumptions and guesses and could be totally wrong. But also shes a sniveling coward and I doubt she could fight an evil spirit while guiding a dead kid to a graveyard without bursting out into tears and running away and Grim seemed supremely chill with the whole dead kid thing. So lets leave Mylene alone for now.

Rose, seemingly the most obvious choice and therefore totally is not Grim. While her irises look white in the miracuclass artwork and the grape ice cream thing in the date chapter happened, I think these are both red herrings. In the new chapter Kagami says the Grim had human eyes after they undoggified(is that the word?). Implying that their eyes looked normal, no supernatural aspects about them. Also the grape ice cream thing must be a total red herring because, its Rose of course she would be distressed by cute doggies dying. Also the rebirth grape thing is probably the better clue for what Rose is, but ima not get into that right now.

That's it, that's all I got. This ask got really long.

So in conclusion; it's not Rose, Max, Marc, Lila, or Mireille. Everyone else is up in the air. I have no idea. Cap is playing jedi mind tricks on us. Someone free our souls from this frog's grasp.

That's it, analysis over.

Let me make this worse for you

Kagami does know the Grim’s name now and who they are, sorry for the confusion for a line that might’ve said other wise, Kagami has met them, Kagami has a name for them now.

Mylene isn’t a coward neither here nor in canon, she’s just socially shy.

And as I quote from my Traits post “Like I don’t think I’d write this in into the fic but when drawing like-” meaning I wouldn’t acknowledge these consistent traits outright in the fic but when drawing they’d be there.

Hope this makes things worse for you! :D

[flamediel]

About me

ok, so I figure it was finally time for me to make one of these since i’ve been here for a bit and I hate how disorganized tumblr is. Hi, I’m Nadia, I’m 19, and this is my CNCO blog. I’m a mixed black muslim bisexual who uses they/them pronouns and I’m studying law. Other random facts about me are I box, make my own clothes, paddleboard, and love dogs. My aesthetic is all over the place and so is my brain so while typing this out i decided to make a moodboard that’s ✨my aesthetic✨ so here lol:

Was that necessary? no. did I do it anyway? yes. Moving on..

so what will you find on this blog?

Primarily, CNCO. This is a side blog so I tend to stay pretty on brand with the content I post. I tend to answer asks here, be it about fandom tea or random stuff relating to the boys, but when inspiration strikes I’ll write fics, make moodboards, or even pull together random uquizzes and zodiac interpretations no one asked for. I host a lot of events on here too like to celebrate their albums or band anniversaries, so stay tuned for that as well. As you can see we do a little bit of everything here, so feel free to stop by for a chat whenever. 

Where can I find your writing?

All my fics can be found under the ‘#my writing’ tag on my blog, so check them out there! anything tagged minors dni (or cnco smut for older posts) is 18+

What writing do you have coming up?

Chris sex tape smut

Boxdiel smut

Sub!Richard Smut

Zabdiel + Power Play

The boys while you’re pregnant (Minus Chris since it’s already up)

Richard pampering you

a ton of songfics I have half finished

And if you want anything else, I am taking requests! Keep in mind they may take a while though, I tend to write when inspired and I haven’t had the time at all lately with work. Also, if you remember requesting something that isn’t here, it’s because I likely haven’t gotten to starting it. once I do, I’ll add it here. 

Where can I find your moodboards?

These will be under the ‘#cnco moodboard’ tag on my blog! Requests for moodboards are open (and will probably be fulfilled MUCH more quickly). 

UQuizzes?

Which CNCO member are you?

Which CNCO hookup are you?

Where are your CNCO Zodiac interpretations?

I’m only doing full chart readings for the boys once we get their birth times, since I don’t like how inaccurate readings can be without houses and such (ie, Chris’s Sagittarius energy doesn’t make sense until you realize it’s all in the fourth house). That means I’ll be analyzing Joel and then Chris’s birth charts in detail for now, and when we get the rest of the info I may do the others’. This is gonna take a while since these are long and take a ton of research, sorry about that

Joel: Part 1 (part 2 coming soon)

Chris: (TBD)

Management vs record label analysis

You've done some analyses of cncos team from a legal perspective, where are they?

Joel leaving the band timeline/contract renegotiation explanation

Who owns cncos trademark

Why are some of your posts tagged minors dni?

Why didn’t you answer my ask?

personally, I don’t feel comfortable with minors interacting with any explicit content on my blog. I tag it that way for people to be able to blacklist these posts (including adults who don’t want to see them). I know minors look at this content anyway, I’m not dumb, but this gives them the opportunity to be responsible without me having to make this whole blog nsfw, andit also provides a clear warning. Minors I find repeatedly interacting with my NSFW posts are getting blocked. You’re violating my consent and disrespecting the rules I put in place on my blog, and I don’t want you around if you cant understand that.

my inbox is almost always full and it takes me a while to get to stuff! I will though, i promise, and if it takes a while maybe resend it since tumblr doesn’t like to work sometimes. 

Why do certain anons have symbols/emojis?

It’s like a signature so I can tell which anon it is. if you want one just ask!

can you tell me about X cnco thing?

usually, yes. but also, keep in mind I don’t know everything, and most of what I say is my opinion, as with everyone else here. don’t take it too seriously please. I will also sometimes answer asks sarcastically or jokingly and entertain dumb stuff, if you have a problem w that just send smth in about that instead of fighting, no need to get disrespectful over tumblr shit I swear it’s unnecessary. 

Why wont you answer dms?

I am. so so bad at checking dms. so bad. it gives me anxiety and i WILL leave people on read. honestly if you’re not my mom you should not be expecting quick replies from me. if you want to talk more and we’re mutuals, message and ask for my snap. I tend to be more active on there

Why aren’t you following me/liking my posts/in my notes? 

I probably am, this is a side blog, I interact from my main @imbrium-mare​

Any other important notes?

A couple. First, something light. info about me is in my ‘#about me’ tag, and if you care what i look like check the ‘#my face’ tag, I tend to delete those every now and then so you might not find anything.

Secondly, more heavy. Like most active cnco blogs, I’ve dealt with my fair share of “anon” hate. Most of the time, I can figure out who you are pretty easily. Yall aint slick at allll, and I am more than happy to expose anyone who thinks online bullying is okay. casual reminder, using racial and homophobic slurs is not cute. I will not tolerate it, you’ll be blocked. the fact people think this is ok to do over a BOYBAND of all things? tragic.

And finally, since this will now be my permanent pinned post, any events I host or new things I write will be linked in a reblog of this post and pinned, rather than pinning the actual post with it. That way this information is all still accessible. That’s it! have fun, and I hope you enjoy your time here xx

[chamberofnectar]

Contract complete

SUMMARY

After running an exhaustive contract, Lucifer and Xev just want to take a break from waiting on filtered contracts with low pay. Xev, meanwhile, mulls over his feelings for the Chroma.

Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Chroma | Excalibur Prime | Mawframe | Contract work

[ Link ] or continue reading below beneath the read more! - AO3 account is connected to nsfw theme content as a fair warning -

Word count: 1951

Usually, their rendezvous would end at the terminal.

Xev overlooks the relay’s cramped mercenary floorspace with a sigh, leaning up against a guardrail as he watches the troves of syndicate operatives bickering amongst themselves. Warframes weave through the crowd alongside the factionless marines looking for the next prospective contract work; easy to weed out from the ones in suited faction gear. A pantheon of operatives congested in a small space, the prime muses, the bustle deafening and almost muting the small scuffle that breaks out below him.

With a half-cant perspective, he can see the shimmering of spilt blood on a Red veil loyalist’s lips, a punch pulled from a Hexis follower spattered. It doesn’t enthrall him, looking back to the crowding of multi-toned suits and worn warframes. He disregards the mumbling he hears behind him, the gawking of his primed complexion and battle scars – he rarely steps on the relays for such reasons. He’s only here to wait on a certain chroma to deliver their payload.

Gilded chin in hand, the Excalibur prime eyes the towering chroma as he wades through the noisy plaza, impatiently elbowing his way through the crowd with a device carefully coddled against his puffed stature. His bright ivory and turquoise pelt stands out among the crowd of diluted tones, towering above the crowd, easy to distinguish amongst the visual noise in the cramped space. But his puffing feathers express his aggressive chill that surrounds him, casting the unwary aside half startled and intimidated, a presence that is difficult to ignore as well as daunting. By the standards of the syndicate operatives, the ones always intrigued by the warframes occupying their space, they stay far away.

The renegade mercenaries just stay out of his without a second glance.

Lucifer shoves his way past a bickering cluster of operatives on his way to a cephalon kiosk, pausing briefly as one of them shouts, an aggressive growl rumbling in his chest to disperse them. Left alone, he heaves the heavy data device into the small alcove in the wall and onto the reluctant shelf surface laid barren to time. It lands with a hollowing thunk that deviates the attention of those around him; a wandering operative’s head quickly turns until he identifies the source, hurriedly shunting themselves away from the agitated chroma.

In front of him, a cephalon flickers awake and illuminates the corner in a dampened aquatic hue.

“Here’s the device; take from the area designated. All data retrieved, unscratched,” the chroma growls; the payout they were offered was less than ideal for the difficulty. Nullifers and the looming presence of an active fissure was not something he’d consider as worth less than forty grand.

“Excellent,” the cephalon mumbles with disinterest, igniting a display of the data device’s contents in a hologram behind the recess’ surface. Text scrolls at an accelerated pace, data markers placed and erased in a blinding speed with the nuance only a connected cephalon can muster as they pry through the insurmountable information. All the chroma can see is a blurring illumination; releasing an exhale as he waits for the digital consciousness to just bring up their payment. Money to put forth towards the maintenance of his squadmate’s vessel; Lucifer doesn’t need much.

“Everything seems to be in order,” the cephalon dryly states, diminishing the display with contempt, just another analysis to run through. “As for the matter of payment, the contractor has put down twenty thousand credits.”

“Hold on,” Lucifer growls, leaning against the surface and staring down at the cephalon’s meager display, “the payout was supposed to be thirty-five grand. Where’s the rest?” He snaps, voice rumbling in his large chest. They could’ve just captured a couple people for interrogations for twenty, it would’ve taken much longer surely, but for the high security they went through for a measly twenty thousand?

The cephalon is quiet for a minute before surging back to life, “unfortunately, it seems that the client had miscalculated their assets… prior to your arrival they seem to have retracted their contract and the price drop may have been done to pay the array’s service fees and the refile fee instead of paying the array service fee separately.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, bitbrain, and you know it. It’s their fucking fault, not ours to just ‘deal’ with when they contracted us for forty thousand.” A claw taps at the surface concealing the cephalon’s hologram device, irritated.

“I am aware of that, but they withdrew before the payout was dispensed. I am unable to correct the error in this state, as you’ve already got the device and fulfills the contract… however.”

“What is it,” the chroma growls.

“Due to their negligence… when refilling the contract, they seem to have forgotten to include the delivery information they shown in their formal contract. In the active one, you would only be paid twenty-thousand credits for retrieval, without a designation of delivery.” The cephalon smarms, bringing up a display of the two contracts – one reading ‘NULL’ – more for Lucifer’s reference than the cephalon’s. “I can’t fulfill a contract that is invalid… and nor would the one that sent it would retrieve the device. Would you like to hold it for ransom at a higher amount? There are file paths that hint that it is well worth more than the initial offer. Would you prefer this venture to the lump sum payout.”

The chroma’s aura dulls, muscles once drawn relax, head tilted down towards the cephalon’s presence, “I assume that, due to their negligence, we are well within our right as the contractors, since the contract is fulfilled.”

“Correct; you’ve collected the device, you fulfilled the contract. It is yours to deal with, as you please.”

Lucifer pauses for a moment and stands to his full height, turning to look back to where Xev is watching from above. “Ransom it?” is all the chroma asks through their coms – the Excalibur nods. Turned back, Lucifer also nods. “Ransom it, I am assured you can get us – say – around 50 thousand?”

“From the filer? Doubt it – my coding obligates I am not able to refer to them outside their contract. There is encrypted files on here that may be worth well more than that… perhaps a few thousands if I can relocate the frequency of the vessel it originated.”

Xev chimes in through the chroma’s com links, “50 thousand is good, unless the cephalon wants to negotiate for a while. Let’s just drop it and get outta here.” Lucifer nods – he never was much of a fan of the crowded market.

“Just offer it back for 50 thousand, I’m certain they’ll pay up soon enough,” he rumbles. He does his best to drown out the ramble of the mercenaries around him, the shouts, the loud banter, the ominous background hum of the relay’s aged engine and systems. It’s too much noise, too much going on.

In front of him the cephalon chirps again to life. “They have problems with their communication system - “ they took out the grid during the raid for the device “ - and are more than willing to pay the ransom for the device back within the next few hours. We’ll have one of our stewards deliver the device in another location. Once it’s delivered,” they start, the device’s temporal existence diminishing down into a digital archive, in a vessel that can be shuttled through the cephalon weave to its delivery point. “you will receive the payment. The head cephalon will contact you when they have another contract that meets your partner’s criteria.” In an instance their display fizzles, leaving the chroma alone at the alcove.

There’s a heavy sigh from the chroma, a relief short-lived as his feathers puff up as the noises around him sink back into his mind, igniting his defensive chill. Voices run in a blur surrounding him, saturating his thoughts as he guides himself back to the stairways leading to the higher levels – where the smell of blood doesn’t sink as deep, nor distorts his senseless sight with the draw of violence. Up on a floor above, as he glances, he can see Xev waiting for him. It’s only been the third time in their partnership has the prime stepped aboard and out of his comfort zone.

Not that this was the chroma’s comfort zone either; to drawn agitated, his claws flexing as rumbles.

Lucifer’s steps ring as he walks up the wide sloping stairway, disregarding those around him with the best of his ability. He only gives an occasional growl, just enough to have them steer clear and to prevent the ever-present bloodlust from clouding his thoughts. The noise, too close to that of a crowding vessel filled with grineer soldiers, ripe to be shredded. To stain his pelt crimson red and warmed.

He’s quiet when he approaches the prime, who remains just as silent as he. Externally they keep the silence, the pair walking back to the docks. “It’d be enough to pay off the expenses completely, right? 70 thousand credits; get those repairs finalized and we can finally go freelance?”

“It should be enough,” the Excalibur sighs, relaying his thoughts back to the chroma beside him. “The right board engine took a hit on the way out, will need to have a mechanic check on it later to be sure its operational.” He remains close to the towering ice chroma, sinking into his partner’s aura as they navigate back to his ship. They’ve both worked out of it for months now, taking jobs together but never really involving themselves farther than running contract work together.

The prime sighs, drifting out of the chroma’s line of sight, where the larger warframe’s tail drifts and sways against his thigh. With Lucifer taking the lead, it gives Xev space to stare and ponder, his thoughts fragment when the chroma calls back. “Want to wait in the ship for a call back on the payment?”

Xev adverts his sight as Lucifer looks back, his undamaged portion tilted towards the chroma’s field of view. “Yeah, I can get someone out later to check the outboard engines for if its just superficial damage.” He follows the chroma through the crowds, the air open and crisp as they walk through the central lobby and towards the checkpoint – security quickly checks them through and to the docks where his ship waits. The prime shunts off his commlink with the chroma briefly; questioning how he could ask the chroma to stay with him outside of their missions.

A warmth glows in his chest as he imagines the prospect of not being alone anymore; since they started running missions together the chroma has always just been hanging around in his ship, lounging whichever way he found comfortable. And it’s been like that they started partnering up – Lucifer didn’t have his own transport vessel at the time. He’s not physically alone, he’s well aware as he steps back into the chroma’s aura, yanked out of his thoughts as turquoise claws pull him close against his side.

Outside his thoughts Xev watches what coaxed the chroma’s actions, a large group of operatives walking in the opposite direction – the hallway small. Any glances they had were swayed by the chroma’s defensive growl, instinctive in his reactions to keep his partner close and safe. Xev basks in it, tucked beneath the chroma’s arm as they approach his ship. The chroma’s cold dilutes his burning heat, easing his nerves as he opens their commlink again. He’s comfortable just like this… against the chroma’s feathers before he eases himself away, a flush grown over his gilded face. He’ll have to ask Lucifer later.

He just doesn’t know how.

[radfem-gossip-archive-blog]

"Reserve army of labour is a concept in Karl Marx's critique of political economy.[1] It refers to the unemployed and under-employed in capitalist society. It is synonymous with "industrial reserve army" or "relative surplus population", except that the unemployed can be defined as those actually looking for work and that the relative surplus population also includes people unable to work. The use of the word "army" refers to the workers being conscripted and regimented in the workplace in a hierarchy, under the command or authority of the owners of capital. Marx did not invent the term "reserve army of labour". It was already being used by Friedrich Engels in his 1845 book The Condition of the Working Class in England.[2] What Marx did was theorize the reserve army of labour as a necessary part of the capitalist organization of work. Prior to what Marx regarded as the start of the capitalist era in human history (i.e. before the 16th century), structural unemployment on a mass scale rarely existed, other than that caused by natural disasters and wars.[3] In ancient societies, all people who could work necessarily had to work, otherwise they would starve; a slave or a serf by definition could not become "unemployed". There was normally very little possibility of "earning a crust" without working at all, and the usual attitude toward beggars and idlers was harsh.[4] Children began to work already at a very early age." another part: "Marx discusses the army of labor and the reserve army in Capital, Ch. 14, Counteracting Factors, Section IV. The Army of Labor consists in those working-class people employed in average or better than average jobs. Not every one in the working class gets one of these jobs. There are then four other categories where members of the working class might find themselves: the stagnant pool, the floating reserves, the latent reserve, and pauperdom. Finally, people may leave the army and the reserve army by turning to criminality, Marx refers to such people as lumpenproletariat.[8] The stagnant part consists of marginalised people with "extremely irregular employment". Stagnant pool jobs are characterized by below average pay, dangerous working conditions, they may be temporary. Those caught in the stagnant pool have jobs, so the modern definition of the employed would include both the army of labor plus the stagnant pool. However, they are constantly on the lookout for something better. The modern unemployed would refer primarily to the floating reserve, people who used to have good jobs, but are now out of work. They certainly hope that their unemployment is temporary ("conjunctural unemployment"), but they are well aware that they could fall into the stagnant pool or the pauper class. The latent part consists of that segment of the population not yet fully integrated into capitalist production. In Marx's day, he was referring to people living off of subsistence agriculture who were looking for monetary employment in industry. In modern times, people coming from slums in developing countries where they survive largely by non-monetary means, to developed cities where they work for pay might form the latent. Housewives who move from unpaid to paid employment for a business could also form a part of the latent reserve. They are not unemployed, because they are not necessarily actively looking for a job; but if capital needs extra workers, it can pull them out of the latent reserve. In this sense, the latent forms a reservoir of potential workers for industries. Pauperdom is where one might end up. The homeless is the modern term for paupers. Marx calls them people who cannot adapt to capital's never ending change. For Marx, "the sphere of pauperism", including those still able to work, orphans and pauper children, and the "demoralised and ragged" or "unable to work". Marx then analyses the reserve army of labour in detail, using data on Britain where he lived." tag: marxism 101 soooooo this is capitalism if Marx is right and I'm waiting for a radfem especially one who claims to be sex industry abolitionist to refute the *structural necessity of a permanent lumpen economy (i.e. sex industry) to capitalism* so feel free to send those my way for ex: adding doctors to the supply of doctors cant lower the cost of healthcare arbitrarily, especially wo industrial labor losing jobs due to automation and w wages of industrial labor staying the same across the board... bc doctors have a minimum cost of upkeep, their daily reproduction, if they have loans, that too, etc... not even going to address the rest of that joke post but since a self proclaimed marxist would respond like that: "while Sismondi, by contrast, emphasizes not only the encounter with the barriers, but their creation by capital itself, and has a vague intuition that they must lead to its breakdown. He therefore wants to put up barriers to production, from the outside, through custom, law etc., which of course, as merely external and artificial barriers, would necessarily be demolished by capital." https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1857/grundrisse/ch08.htm some radfem "marxist" thought this is a valid argument against unemployment being structural (ie necessary to the functioning of capitalism) which for some reason she's very obnoxiously sure isn't true... I knew there were no radfem marxists, every marxist knows unemployment is structural and foundational to capitalism... THIS IS LIKE THE BASIS OF MARX'S ANALYSIS OF CAPITALISM... HELLO? this is what she posted: "The factors that have destroyed well-paying industrial jobs were conscious policy, not abstract global trends. The United States has trade policies that were explicitly designed to put our manufacturing workers in direct competition with low-paid workers in places like Mexico, China, and Vietnam. This had the predictable effect of driving down their wages. We could have put in place a trade policy that made it as easy as possible for smart kids in the developing world to train to U.S. standards and work as doctors, lawyers, dentists and other highly paid professionals in the United States.This would have driven down the pay of these professionals and made items like health care much cheaper in the United States. This was a policy decision, not a global economic trend. There is also a policy to run a high unemployment budget. Congress has decided to run budgets that leave millions of people out of work rather than spending enough money to bring the economy close to full employment.” Dean Baker" anyway not going to pay attn to radfems anymore but I'll take arguments against marxism being the only politics of sex industry abolition in my inbox bc I really want to know what anti marxist and "marxist" radfems think they're doing when they oppose marxism or think they don't have to care how their goals interfere with marxism etc

[jamesdazell]

Happy New Year 2020

Happy New Year. I hope this year brings more love and less hate. More peace and less pain. More kindness and less jealousy. More self-love and less comparison. A time to embrace new beginnings and wave goodbye to toxic times.

I

I posted one thing to Instagram last year. I had a really productive year and it was so full of growth in every important way to me. You cant Instagram that. It's something within you. You dont photograph it; you recognise it by a change of behaviour and outlook. Everything else in a year to year comparison is acquisition, age, or a change of scenery. I'm more excited and fulfilled by the experiences of personal growth and major changes of perspective than a drive for success in a career reshaping myself after the ideal habits and image that would more undo me than make me. I have no interest in a success wherein at the end of the journey I wouldn’t know myself, nor enjoy the company I shared. Success at all costs, is not very interesting. At the moment, if I were a successful writer by exactly what I wish to do.. who would I sit with when I got there? No. I won’t become published. There is more to success than pulling yourself up by the bootstraps and rolling up your sleeves. That’s a straight white male Christian’s romantic rhetoric. who gave themselves a free passport to show up anywhere and set up an imitation of success back in Europe. Nothing betrays the reality of white male priveledge like success and failure as an act of one's own will or quality of mind.  In reality, there are circumstances and situations to take in to account. Success in the end is a kind of assimiliation; a manner of fitting in, and imitating the model of success. One finds the same thing succeeds in the same place time and time again, with subtle novelty to make it seem new. But on deeper analysis, there are places where certain achievements never occur at all, even in the richest conditions, because it wasn’t the nature of the place; it's not to their particular temprament or personal contstitution. One is successful because they lend power to already existing success. They are useful to power or that which desires it.

My existence fulfills me, more than the world’s idea. Life and all its difficulties and lessons, learning how to become a better and a more contented me. In a way my life is a series of finding ways of preserving myself and not being shaped after the pressures of life or adapting after the world's image and excitement, because I've always known who I am and what I'm about. But it does become hard to preserve and to affirm oneself in the ever changing world with its innovations that change the very farbic of society. There is always a need to find my defensive and offensive strategies to preserve and affirm myself in the face of the world. And my interests and passions - though this may be true of everybody - are ways of retaining, maintaining, and developing the best parts of myself, without giving them up for popular fads that rise and fall. Learning about myself, the world, and what everything is really about. Finding my own drama, meaning, goals, and adventure of life on my own terms, out of my own experiences, not those shoved into me from media and social pressure. How could I Instagram that. The moment I post a moment I am happy with is the moment I doubt my happiness and put my memory up for public validation. No. I validate myself and I validate my own experiences and memorable moments. I dont need to know how much something is likeable: I have liked it. I dont need to know how agreeable a thought is: I have thought it. I dont need to know how achieved an act is: I have done it. I dont need to know how good this is: I am proud of it.

I envy the blind person who has no use for the narcissism of Instagram, is spared of the passive agressive anxiety and pessimism on Twitter, and still appreciates life for all the things truly worth appreciating. Whose appreciation for life cannot be photographed, and does not know the dopamine addiction for a validation 'like' counter to compensate their low self-esteem. Social media is a petri dish for narcissism. And every woke person is a basket case with the same narcissistic anxiety as everyone else on it hoping to be validated and gain followers for their wokeness. Narcissists crave validation. Disable them by disengaging. Narcissists are made not born. They are overindulged in validation and underindulged in emtional connection. They dont reflect. They socialise to have conversations about their problems in order to be forgiven and receive consoling kind words about themselves, and pretend they dealt with it. Because all narcissists want is validation. And it’s the epidemic of our time.

2

Our self-impression of ourselves we upload onto (anti-)social media, is not nearly as interesting and attractive, as the details, humour, idiosyncracies we are unaware of, because it's not interesting when we try to impress - especially by such superficial things, most of which aren't even things to do with ourselves, but places we arrive to and things we acquire. Images of ourselves without context, a macroscopic gaze devoid of the energy and life of its context: namely, existence. All the things that make up the rest of the picture that a healthy perception takes into account. It rubs away so much of a human being that they are left little more than a skin surface. It makes us into journalists of our own lives (except not reviewers), and advertisers of everything we don't need.

I understand I could use social media to gain success in my aims, but I dont want to become what that entails in the process nor want a success that would depend on other people being on these platforms to grant me it. Work hard and succeed quietly, making your work your achievement. Do good deeds in silence. Don't do it to then post on social media because you still need the excess validation. Do it because it was a good thing to do. Absolving your mistakes by your own conscience is the long road round of not caring about that you made them all. If its not forgiveness by a change of behaviour, or attitude then nothing has been learned and nothing changed.

Dont just travel to places. Make memories there. Theres nothing impressive about boarding a commercial plane and showing up where it lands. What else was expected. If there was no growth or contribution there, were you even there. Just passing through like an invisible wind. Lifestyles are for people with no real meaning in their life. It's a way to fill the void of daily meaninglessnes that they have to stylise their life. It used to be that there were things unnecessary to buy. Now it is things unnecessary to know. You must know? What for? Knowledge without purpose is decadence. Keep to your lane. If it's youre job to know, then know and do your job. One voice of reason well articulated can silence a room of idiots. Thats how the world works. On social media, the idiots gain ascendancy by liking each others idiocy 10k skyward. Power is reversed online.

Once you no longer care for the validation and public reception, and once you realise that politically social media is ineffectual to substantial change - snce it's effectively a right wing publishing model with every ounce of sense falling off the algorithm - it's just watching the world go to hell one post at a time. And that to thrive on it is to assimilate with its ideal: a narcissist. A juvenile superficial arena of naval gazing dopamine addicts. Everything else on it is somewhere between a complaint box, click bait, and ‘food-food advertising.’ Then there feels no point to it regarding your health and self-esteem. Filling your mind, your eyes, with things which were not present a moment ago, which may have stirred and disturbed you for a much longer time. It's made by and for narcissists to peak dopamine hits.

Dopamine acts as a neurotransmitter made by different parts of the brain that is part of our evolutionary chemicals that gave us the drive to do things that were positive for our survival. The chemical that made our brain drive us to eat when hungry, find warmth and shelter when cold, to reproduce our genes to survive, now that same reward chemical in the brain floods in excess. Your brain wants the dopamine not the thing. Its the motivation chemical. We need it. We evolved by it. It keeps us positive by controlling memory, focus, attention, motivation. Without can cause lack of focus, restlessness and irritability, erractic impulsive bodily movement, and indecision. And prologned deficiency due to the excess of it swell and depletion it, cause stress, anxiety, depression to ensue.

We live in a dopamine driven culture. We sell this idea that drugs are enhancing. Drugs are not enhancing at all. It's evident that no feeling of reward from alcohol, smoking, cocaine, heroin, cannabis, meth, other pain relief and psychoactive drugs, etc is giving you anything that your body wasnt already giving you, and if anything those substances only reduce the same chemical that is desired to attain by one using them. And naturally this deficiency therefore leads to dependency and addiction, because the person thinks these substances are where they got them and how they got a boost of them. When actually they use them up and it takes a couple of weeks to restore to normal regulation which is why people go back to substances, then bulld up a tolerance and need more. Tolerance is actually your body's natural adaptation trying to regulate your body to new circumstances. Tolerance isn’t you handling the substance more. It’s a natural adaptive response that the body undergoes to re-regulate, to counter-act the effect of alcohol and drugs. Your body thinks it’s sick and adapts to the change. That’s why you get drunk faster if you drink less frequently than if you drink regularly long-term. It’s like resetting the zero point on weighing scales manually. So, a drinker will need more to tip the tolerance, because your body reset ‘a-lot-more-alcohol’ to the new zero point. The reason a person gets drunk less quickly after drinking regularly is because the body reduces its GABA inhibitiors and increases the exciters, because the effect of the alochol had been increasing the GABA inhibitiors and reducing the exciters. But the alcoholic wants the GABA inhibitors because the dopamine has now associated it with the reward chemical, and so drink more to tip the balance in favour of the GABA inhibitors because they get the “good feeling.”All which the body would have given you anyway. Whats more, is that its the same of one-click online shopping, advertising, high sugar food and drink, high carbs, junk food, binge watching TV, image scrolling sites, porn, dating apps, and social media. As well as anything that increases stress, because it depletes dopamine, which results in further stress, anxiety, attention deficit disorder, depression. Our cultural lifestyle is dopamine addiction. But it’s effect is the reverse. It’s self-depricating and makes us less ambitious because dopamine is needed for motivation. The only thing that adds extra boost of reward chemical of dopamine, endogenous opioid, serotonin, and endogenous cannabinoid, is by eating healthy food, getting sufficient sleep, and getting regular and intense aerobic exercise, and some stretching/strength building. The healthier we are, the more powerful and stronger we feel, the motivated and ambitious we are, the more daring and inspired, the happier and more tolerant of things that would otherwise stress. We are a better human being for it. Big business exploiting our evolutionary chemicals to keep us addicted to unnecessary lifestyles, media, and products. And because it takes a week or more to replenish naturally, an addiction cycle to quick fix substances occur. It used to be that a person should just not do drugs, but now its a whole lifestyle that should be avoided.

Our most legal drugs are the worst. Alochol and cigarettes have more death related incidents than illegal substances. 5 minutes of doing nothing is better for your brain than 5 minutes of social media. You improve your brain and subsequently your body, having the same feel good pain relieving chemicals that are desired,  and subsequently the power over your environment and subsequently your life by doing nothing, compared to engaging with most of culture available.

Here is a video explaining drug addiction and dopamine (same applies to carbs, sugar, fast food, junk food, and other quick fix dopamine reward high)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxHNxmJv2bQ&t=2s

The reason is people want the inhibitors. Even though its not giving them anything that their body wouldnt give for free. Its wiring the brain to respond to stress, suffering, and pain. Drugs alleviate pressure. But whether for pleasure or for stress, it’s a response to a situation. It’s not the danger of drugs that matter to me. It's a mental health issue. But your body gives you what it needs, and drives you to get what it needs. If you would only allow it to do its job. You want to make life lighter. But in reality all real things are heavy. The pressure of life ought to stimulate a response that demands more health and more strength. The body wants to give you more health and strength. The very feeling of struggle in life, psychological feeling, and at times physical strife, is your body signalling to you that you need a higher health and strength. In strife, the body fights or flight. In other words, innately decides if it behaves decadently or towards health; existentially or ecstatically. The proper reaction to pressure is to be stronger, the reaction to signals of low moods is be healthier, the reaction to de-motivation is to eat dopamine increasing foods, get exercise, sunshine, and sleep; the proper reaction to insecurity is do something daring that would require confidence. “To have strength, one must first need it” Nietzsche. It’s a resilience and strength of mind that has to be trained. Drugs don’t alleviate depression, they perpetuate it, by never solving the problem. They decrease the feel good chemical in the brain that would have pulled the person out of depression. That’s what rehab centres are really doing, they are taking the person out of the habits that are disrupting the body’s natural chemical regulation. The body has to rewire itself to desire healthier habits, feel good, and motivation. The pressures of life are life demanding you to be more and you have to go meet it. That's just the game of being a functioning human being.

You are getting the feel good drugs all the time. You are actually depleating your body of things which it thinks it wants. You get those chemical in such a surge that they create deficiency. You think its an uplifting buzz. You're getting a buzz from things that wont improve your life when your body is trying to give those chemical to you to motivate you for things that will. Knowledge is not power. Health is power.

Drugs just block stuff. It doesnt give. It just blocks so that your body supplies more of what it already has because it thinks it cant provide. This deprives people of realising the native vigour of their human potential. Whats needed to realise the ecstatic nature of a human being has always been Great Health. There are however obvious remedies, none of which define post modern culture if you bring them all together. Getting plenty of sleep, exercise, sunshine, socialise better, have healthier and uplifting hobbies, read, draw, learn an instrument, learn often, eating certain dopamine increasing foods, less carbs, less meat, less sugar, less coffee, less alcohol etc less of everything that is post-modern American culture. Read more, great things, with charisma and intelligence, with depth and meaning, things beautifully written and timeless. Listen to music that reaches into you and excites as much as it calms, a catharsis of emotion that needed to be recognised and explored. Visual art that belongs to great times, and not artists who think their pain is worth your attention. A culture that brings out the best of you. The best mind. The best health. The best company to be around. The best aspirations for yourself. The best diet and lifestyle. It’s an interesting time because it feels to go with the flow is the worst thing to do, not only boring, but bad health. And to experiment with exploring your own direction is essential. Find yourself in your own culture you invent. Design your own culture. Experiment with everything and explore what brings out you the most at your best.

Our genetic code is like a piano. It has all the notes laid out. But it makes proteins, and it decides which to make based on responses to situations and experiences, that is epigenetics. So it's like your genetic code is a piano, all the available notes laid out, and epigenetics is like the music being played on it. Choosing which of the available notes to use when in response to situations and experiences. We live by the piano made by generations of our ancestors. Each one of us trying to play new beautiful music to pass on.

Foods that help increase dopamine are fish for omega 3, oregano and oregano oils, probiotic foods that help absorb amino acids to make dopamine, green tea (as it helps electrical signals to move around the brain), tumeric (easy way is to add it to rice or pasta) which lowers inflammation in the brain allowing for more dopamine release, high magnesium foods like pumpkin, beetroot, spinach (this also helps for good sleep), blueberries, everyday vegetables like broccoli, tomatoes, garlic, asparagus. Plus good for boosting serotonin are walnuts pistachios, lactose free milk. For both, have avocados, and eggs.

3

This is not to denounce hedonism and Epicureanism. On the contrary give me all the Saturnalia  Lupercalia  Bacchanal you like, the more ecstatic culture the better. Music and dance are the only arts of the twentieth century that got anywhere toward the ancient ecstatic culture. And because it looked beyond European tradition to world cultures, on other continents like Africa and Asia. But this trans-Altantic post-Modern culture is just decadent self deprecation. Naturally, spawned by Christian cultures, which favoured transcendence from everything bodily. And has always had an aversion to power and strength. which the body is trying to supply but we keep kicking it away for cheap fixes. Principle causes for a love of Minoan-Mycenean-Greco-Roman cultures, utterly in contradiction to Abrahamic faiths. Not Ancient and Modern. Polytheism versus Monotheism as a whole frame of mind. Ecstatic versus Existential. Greco-Roman vs Abrahamism.  I don’t want to get rid of Abrahamism, but there are much  better alternatives healthier mind and body, from which emanates a whole  culture and art, indeed, civilizations.

There was a recent study of the healthiest countries in the world with the obvious result that the Mediterranean (listing Spain and Italy first and second) and Japan as the healthiest cultures. Of course, the traditions of their culture are entirely health driven. "a Mediterranean-style diet, which has been shown to reduce cardiovascular events, mostly stroke, compared with a Western diet. A Mediterranean diet includes generous quantities of olive oil, fruits, vegetables, nuts, whole grains, and fish; limited portions of red meats or processed meats; and moderate amounts of cheese and wine." explains Dr. Ron Blankstein, a cardiovascular imaging specialist and preventive cardiologist at Harvard-Harvard-affiliated Brigham and Women's Hospital.

Post-war America created post-modern society and the PR/advertising industry. Post-modernism, not only a juvenile variation of modernism, but a hijack of evolutionary biology. Everything innate to our nature stimulated into an excessive overkill, exploited in order to get us hooked on unnecessary media, lifestyles, and products. To be healthy is to be unAmerican, to be unPost-Modern. Everything introduced is psychologically detrimental. Walk around and try to find a place that isn’t junk food, gambling, alcohol, shopping, coffee.

The more capitol cities are the epicentre of post-modern culture as we 'move forward' into regression, I am lured away to less notable locations, that have been spared and still retain some health without artificial substance abuse just to keep afloat. Cities now brim full of juvenile yuppie narcissistic kidults on finance living like they’re still at university, and cultural funding dwindling as we’ve regressed back into the 1980s yuppie culture that made all the baby boomers rich. You can almost map the baby boomer life with the creation of post-modernism. The PR industry, nicotine, plastics, sugar, the colour television, LSD, ketamine, the 60s in their teens, the 70s love-in in their twenties, the 80s wealthy cocaine yuppies in their thirties, repackaging their youth to kids in the 90s, and ever since, and the masterplan that has been the 21st century of white nationalism they were raised on in their earliest memories in the 1950s. And what is “progressive” today is only what was progressive in the 60s almost as a left-wing conservativism because things have moved so far-right,

But it has become clear (as big business, big tech, fossil, and right wing gain ever more ascendency) that our knowing is ineffectual and only depresses us. "We absorb so much information that we've lost our common sense" Gertrude Stein once said. Politics has become worse since the advent of social media, not better. We don’t know more, but find those comments that argue our own opinion for us. People buy books, go to the theatre, to hear about things they already believe. Armchair activists are not as effectual as they think. And hardworking Foundations and Charities still exist. The richest of the rich only take care of things that concern them, and believe if the poor suffer enough they'll take care of themselves. The detriment of engaging with the platform, outweighs the good intentions of using it. And consequences are always more important than intentions. It's not important to know, if prudence and profoundness are lacking. 

4

My life has its own universe, and social media inhibits that to the degree that I cannot see the situation of my own universe enough to do enough about it for its own sake. My existence is it's own universe. Make your world your passion. Better to do whatever makes you feel empowered and proactive and take care of your lane as much as you can. The more you listen to the news the more you live after it. You react to whats todays news and tomorrows and the next, forgetting your own personal power. Be disruptive as a child that is full of energy and aim not living after the world but their own happiness. The world must always find its arrangement. Where people find where they belong. Not fitting in to any success at all costs, but knowing who you are and what you are about and finding an environment which stimulates enriches their potential. What a life needs to thrive is not social comparison, but a mirror to reflect ourselves. that we enjoy ourselves, to make the positive changes necessary, and to be present within our own existence, with our own circumstances, working within its own sphere of influence.

Be the light and goodness in your own knowable and experiential world. Avoiding unnecessary information entering your mind that really serves no purpose but to inform you of things others are doing, or have, that is far beyond your sphere of influence, that wouldn't have entered your mind at all if you had not taken out your phone.

There is a real luxury: Living without concern for the conversation on social media and the news. Being present in your own existence. Not thinking about every corner of the globe, but what you can do where you are. Feeling your own life and being present within it, positively effecting things around and within your physical proximity.

🧘‍♀️🧘‍♂️🚶🏽‍♂️🚶‍♀️

[ropedropnet]

Star Wars – Galaxy’s Edge – The First Tours

There’s a ton of Galaxy’s Edge news out today, but I want to focus on this article from Matthew Panzarino at TechCrunch that is one of the most comprehensive pieces I have seen. On some level, it’s the type of analysis that I would think friend of the site Wes would give if he was given access to land while it’s under construction (and, honestly, that’s about the highest compliment I can give.)

If just the concept of Galaxy’s Edge doesn’t get you excited, maybe this information will:

At risk of being too susceptible to marketing speak, I’d have to agree with this particular statement. What is being built here has little parallel in terms of immersion and ambition in an amusement park or out. And it’s going to blow Star Wars fans, casual and involved, away.

Though all of Panzarino’s article is worth a read, here are some standout parts for me. First, why Disney elected to set the land on a “new” planet:

“Why not make a place that is very familiar from the classic Star Wars films, a Tatooine, a Hoth, or one of those places? The answer really is we know those places, we know those stories that happen there, and we know that we’re not in them,” said [Disney Portfolio Executive at Walt Disney Imagineering, Scott] Trowbridge. “This place, Black Spire Outpost, is an opportunity. It’s designed from the very get‑go to be a place that invites exploration and discovery, a place that invites us to become a character in the world of Star Wars, and, to the extent that we want to, to participate in the stories of Star Wars.”

…

“I want to walk into this land and be in the same level as everyone else, from the really hardcore Star Wars fan to someone who knows nothing about Star Wars,” Managing Story Editor at WDI Margaret Kerrison recalls saying in the first pitch meeting she attended for Star Wars land. “I want to have that urgency to explore, to discover, to run around every corner, and to meet every single droid and alien in this land. I want to not feel like I’m at a disadvantage because I don’t know all the nitty‑gritty details as a hardcore Star Wars fan would know.”

Next, is the explanation of how involved people from all part of Disney and LucasFilm were in creating the land:

People from props, set dressing, construction, merchandising, food, ride systems and technical departments all worked together from ideation onwards. On a normal production, they are typically brought in at various phases — but for Batuu, everyone had to be on the same page from the very beginning

and how the land will work to feel alive while you’re there:

“Our world, where guests are this close to something, it’s got to be that next level. A good example of that is, droids move through our land. That’s part of the story that we’re trying to tell. We got access to one of the original Kenny Baker, New Hope, 1976‑1977 era droids. We took rubbings of the bottom of the droid feet. We turned that into a set of three files, which then, we turned into a set of 3D wheels. We built a little droid trolley, which Kirstin [Makela, Art Director] and team used.”

“I’ll set the scene for you,” says Makela. “You’re on a busy construction site, there’s lots of people around. There’s some people pouring hardscape concrete, all dirty and all their tools and their stamping. Then all of a sudden, one of them just jumps on this little trolley and someone else pulls them through the concrete, leaves a little trail of droid tracks.”

On that front, I can’t even fathom this description of the animatronic Hondo Ohnaka:

The animatronic figure itself is around 7 feet tall and uses the latest in electric motors instead of hydraulics. Hondo’s figure includes around 50 functions (movement points) total and is the second most complicated animatronic in Disney parks. The most complicated, for the record, is the Na’vi Shaman … which has 40 functions in its face alone, not to mention the rest of the body. We had the Shaman at our robotics event a couple of years ago, it’s incredible to watch. Hondo isn’t far behind, with fluid movements, smooth facial contortions and believable interactions between himself and his R5 droid.

(Though the biggest selling point will obviously be the Nien Nunb animatronic.)

Of course, it wouldn’t be a theme park without stellar attractions. Based on Panzarino’s description, Disney seems well aware of that as well. I only skimmed over the description of the Rise of the Resistance ride to avoid “ride through” style spoilers, but I had to read the description of the Falcon:

Approaching the Falcon from one of the entrances to Batuu for the first time is a surreal experience. This is a full-size 110-foot version of the ship as you’ve seen it in the movies. It’s meticulously detailed and acts as a center-piece for the area. The ship will periodically vent out gas and Hondo’s tinkerers are constantly working on its engines. It’s a living thing inside the land, a character.

…

Entering the cockpit was an out-of-body situation for me, I’m not ashamed to admit it. It’s wild how right it feels. The six seats all feature belts and the familiar weathered look. More importantly, each of them has a wide array of buttons either to the side or in front of them if you’re one of the pilots. Every square or rectangular button has a light up ring around it which will indicate which of them you need to press for the best result during your moments to act during the ride. The toggles have small LED indicators built into one end that do the same indicating job. I am happy to report that the large, satisfyingly chunky toggle switches and satisfyingly clicks buttons have been very well chosen and require enough force to push without stress but with satisfaction. They’re the right switches.

I cannot be more ready to give that a shot.

Overall, Panzarino’s observation that–in hindsight–Pandora seems like it was a test run for Galaxy’s Edge is something that I have felt since we started hearing about the immersive aspects that are now currently found in the Valley of Mo’ara. If Disney can accomplish that level of immersion in a universe that people have a much stronger connection to, than Galaxy’s Edge is going to be really, really special.

The post Star Wars – Galaxy’s Edge – The First Tours appeared first on Rope Drop [dot] Net.

from Star Wars – Galaxy’s Edge – The First Tours

[melanatedmoney]

“I’m Better”: Missy’s Black Girl Game of Thrones Survival Mantra

Missy Elliot released her video for her new single “I’m Better” two weeks ago, and while it may have over 9 million views on YouTube, folks have basically been silent about the visual. How, in the year 2017 are we still not giving Missy Elliot her props for these unparalleled, incomparable videos!?!!? In this time of presidential terrorism, political activism, and Game of Thrones – don’t worry, it will make sense later – I had to post my analysis of what I see as Missy’s mantra for Black girl survival.

The video starts with Missy front and center with a platoon of baddies with riot helmets on. The beat drops and is almost as looming as the Black girls in riot helmets, lighting up in tune. This imagery is so piercing. Riot helmets are worn when the cops are ready for battle with large groups of people. Often accompanied by bullet proof vests, shields, guns, and batons, we have seen these helmets much to frequently in the past few years as law enforcement interfaced with Black, Brown, and Indigenous political protesters resisting oppression and affirming their lives. This opening scene of “I’m Better” flips the scene. Black girls are ready for war but instead of full riot gear, you get cutoff sweatshirts and thick thighs. Thighs that remind you simultaneously that Black girls show up ready for war every day without riot gear, donning nothing but their beautiful skin, and of the way Black girls are seen as dangerous. Yet and still, we lit! The light in this opening scene comes mostly from the luminance of the riot helmets and we see only what Black girl lit-ness allows us to see. The entire time, Missy is in the center like a super saiyan, hittin’ every step along with the platoon of baddies.

In comes Lamb, the rapper on the hook that might not be too familiar to you, but whose production work I KNOW you’ve heard. From Beyonce’s “Countdown” to Jazmine Sullivan’s “Need U Bad”, Lamb has had several grammy noms as a producer. Much thanks to his mom, who gave him an MPC as a gift and he’s been making hits since. He’s also not new to working with Missy. What I find interesting about him being on the hook to Missy’s mantra for Black girl survival is that he is obviously here for Black girls musically. This is also his rap debut, meaning buzz around him won’t really outshine the Black girl survival in this video – no shade intended. He is merely the voice amplifying the Black girl lituation –  using his male privilege exactly how privilege should be used! He gives us Missy’s litany for survival:

“Imma start it from the bottom/ Show you how to flip a dollar/ I got food in my dining room/ I’m better, I’m better, I’m better”

And before he can finish the hook we cut to a scene of four Black girls – yall ready for this – HANGING and DANCING! That’s right! These four dancers are hanging from a harness, but on most cuts in the video they look as if they are lynched from red cloths, their hair tied up like trees atop their head. 

I have to admit, here is where I first started screaming “Fuck it up MISSY!” at my screen. Missy Elliott had Black girls, hanging, but surviving. The four of them showing survival in a way black girls always have – dancing their asses off! While the scene is an eerie reminder that Black women too were lynched in America, it also shows a resistance and refusal to die. With Lamb’s “I’m better, I’m better, I’m better” being chanted in the background, you cant help but think about all the hardships Black women have survived, and are continuing to heal from. ‘Better’ also makes the healing active and ongoing – it implies that better is a process composed of all the little moments we heal. The hook continues:

“ It's another day, another chance / I wake up, I wanna dance / So as long as I got my friends.../I'm better, I'm better, I'm better”

Okay yall, here’s where I become the nerdiest Black girl millennial of all time: I legit think Missy is making Game of Thrones references in the rest of the video. I know, I know… you’re probably thinking “get the fuck outta here!” But is it so hard to believe that Missy might be one of the millions of viewers of the HBO hit? I think not! Allow me to pull the receipts…

First, Missy pops up with the feathered cloak lookin’ reeeeal Jon Snow. If you are unfamiliar with Game of Thrones (Imma need you to binge it before the new season!), Jon Snow is the outcast son of high born family who is always being tested, underestimated, and attacked. As Missy stood there like she was guarding the realm from White walkers, I couldn’t help but think ‘This would be Jon Snow if he were a Black girl’. White patriarchal supremacy is always reminding Black girls that they are not considered a source of knowledge, value, or praxis – and if anyone can relate to being told “you know nothing”, its Jon Snow! Then Missy hits us with a line a line about Mexico: “He say I’m pretty, I’m pretty you must be from Brazil you must be from Mexico”. Not only can this line be read as solidarity with Mexican femmes, but also pulls us to focus on Mexico positively at this moment when the federal government of the US is trying to build a wall along the Mexican-US border. Missy is Jon Snow standing on the wall and while she’s cloaked in her black defending home turf – Black girls – she also stands in solidarity with those on the ‘other side of the wall’ like Jon does with the Free folk [insert Tormund shoutout here].

The Black girl survival and Game of Thrones themes don’t stop there! After some fire choreography, the video moves underwater – with each baddie from the platoon falling into deep water alone, only to find each other and Lamb at the bottom of the pool. But something has changed about the platoon: they are White Walkers now!!! Okay, let me attempt to do this without any spoilers… The Black girls ‘drown’ in the scene transition, but we know from the second dance sequence that Black girls will survive! They hit right back into choreo, only now they are dressed in all white with ice blue eyes and white hair. White Walkers!!!!

North of the Wall in Westeros, the White Walkers are the ancient race, birthed from magic. At some point in history the White Walkers break free of being controlled by the magic that created them, making them the most powerful crew in all of Westeros because they (for the most part) cannot die. Folks of Westeros built a 700 foot ice wall to keep them out, and they still slaying (literally). Missy turned every Black girl in her platoon into a White walker! Black girls are magic, hashtags on any social media site will tell you that! The continuous nods to the wall are so telling in our current political moment too – build it all you want 45th, but you will not divide us…winter is coming for that ass! Missy leads her crew of White Walkers in baddie Black girl Night King fashion.

Rocking her “Save the Humans” jacket (because who else would need to be saved if the army of White Walkers was coming…or while the 45th president of the United States is in office), Missy continues to serve us choreography and even has the baddie platoon do a routine on Pilates balls!!! Yall… PILATES BALLS! I can barely sit on one without falling off, much less hit a solid 2 minutes of choreography. Missy harmonizes over the beat:

“He watching my body like he watching Scandal / But I’m just here for my girls”

The scandal line is such a smart double entendre that I had to make the Jaz face at that bar. The obvious read is he’s looking at her the way the majority of us look at our televisions on Thursday nights as Olivia Pope collects our edges. Another read is the hyper-surveillance of Black girls, constantly watched as if they are scandalous simply for being who they are. As the ‘drowned’ dance routine continues, Black girls not only survive by dancing under water, they also swim around overhead staying afloat in deep waters.

Missy’s “I’m Better” reminds Black girls on both sides of ‘the wall’ that we are better every day we resist and transform a world that loves us in theory and hates us in practice. She reminds us of the importance of collective healing as self-care through the visual for the song, and also to appreciate the little things we so often overlook – like having food on our tables or being able to swim. So maybe I am the only one who saw the GoT references, but Missy Misdemeanor Elliott still has me wanting fanfiction in which Jon Snow is replaced by a Black girl!

[miamibeachhistory-blog]

A Place Behind the Dunes copyright Michael Durham

I spent my whole life going to the beach. There was just something about the warmth of the sun, the sand between my toes, and the calming roar of the waves crashing on the shore, that made me feel at home. I loved the beach and I can still remember the times when I wouldn’t go near the water unless I was wearing my red and blue Spiderman floaties, begging my dad for ice cream even though it was almost dinner time and the treat would surely spoil my appetite. I remember the hot sun beating down from above, melting my chocolate soft-serve cone down my hand. When you were a kid you never really noticed how messy you were, covered in sand, ice cream, and God knows what. Those times were simpler, when trips to the beach meant family, friends, adventure and relaxation. Now, it’s a whole different feeling when I venture down to the dunes, stepping over seagrass, driftwood, and old beer cans. It’s the third time this month I have found the lifeless body of some poor girl who was unfortunate enough to go home with ‘Gilgo Jack’.

My name is Howard Heart (people call me Howie), Chief Investigating Detective of The Suffolk County Police Department on Long Island, New York. Do I enjoy my job? Hell yes, what kid wouldn’t wanna be a detective. And although everything I do isn’t as glamourous as the primetime CSI shows, to me it couldn’t be cooler.

In my mid-forties now, life is coming at me more quickly. People tell you when your young, not to blink because you might miss the ride and this couldn’t be more true. I feel like just yesterday I was graduating from the academy and then boom I was married with three kids, coming up on a decade into my career. Nicholas was almost 9 already.

This morning at 5 am I got the call that another victim had been discovered, mangled into the brush on the dunes right off Ocean Parkway. This had been the third victim in a month and the fifth already this year. But this is the first time that I was named as the Chief Detective of the case after the last detective stepped down after making no significant leads in the past month.

All the victims were found the same way: naked, lacerated, strangulation bruises, and missing their tongue. All the victims also met a similar description. This one, Cindy Kouffax, was in her late twenties. A tall, blonde girl from California that must have moved out here for undergrad and just never left. That was the common theme among the victims: they were all fairly young, tall, thin and lived alone.

I went around the dune to where the crime scene was and almost lost my breakfast. I had seen dead bodies before, two prior this month in fact, but the way this poor girl looked, it nearly defeated me. I darn near wanted to cry. It is crazy to think just how sick some bastards are, and having a young daughter, I thought to myself about what I’m gonna do when she starts going out with her friends. That’s a real nightmare I have.

As I burned my lip on my coffee, my partner Tim Robbins filled me in on the details, which were bleak and unrewarding.

“Yeah, same kind of deal, young attractive girl that probably ran into our friend Jack.”

First of all, Jack was far from a friend. ‘Gilgo Jack’ is the name we kindly bestowed to the killer as some kind of tribute to the greatest murderer of all time, the infamous Jack the Ripper. It was Tim who came up with the name, cleverly I might add.

“Jesus, you never can get used to that smell though huh, Howie?”

And Tim was right, the smell of that decomposing corpse was worse than you could imagine, it lingered in your nostrils and you could never forget it.

“This is the third body we found this month and we still have no more of a lead on a suspect than after the first body was found in April. We need to do something here. We can’t keep letting these girls go out and end up like cattle ready for slaughter.”

The suspect we are looking for is a ghost; he never leaves evidence of DNA. The incisions on the bodies are usually clean, suggesting that he has some sort of a medical background, but then we get a body that looks like its been hacked-up with a rusty butter knife and we don’t know what to believe. There are never any witnesses to describe a potential suspect and half the time we don’t even know what bar these girls got picked up at. There is still so much space missing when trying to connect the dots. We haven’t made much headway since the first body was found months ago.

“Hey, I think I got something over here!”

One of the officers called me over and pointed down to the sand. Jack had made a critical mistake, he was getting careless. There laying on the dune covered in sand, was a broken, bloody stiletto that could be the first lead in catching this monster.

 We investigated Cindy’s home and found little to nothing. She was tidy and meticulous, everything was neat and organized. It was a nice place. She must’ve been doing well for herself. You could tell that she was a careful individual who was very schedule oriented. We joked about her multi-colored calendar chaotically covered in post-it notes, which actually led to some headway. Written in pink highlighter was the word ‘Memory’ circled and underlined twice on the little Thursday square. This was a lead. So we headed off to the local hangout known as The Memory Motel.

Later that night me and Robbins took the trip into town. It was about three miles from the last dump site. The Memory Motel, a little rinky-dink bar that is usually filled with an older crowd of locals, chain-smoking cigarettes with little tasteless conversation, a real hole in the wall place. Definitely not a place someone would expect a girl of our victim’s age. They do have a great deal for burgers on Mondays though, so it was worth the trip. Robbins and I stopped by to chat with the bar proprietor, “Rusty” as he was called.

We showed him a picture of Cindy. “Yea, she was in here the other night, a real natural beauty, you couldn’t miss her. She ordered a cocktail and waited in the corner over there for about a half hour, then she got up and left. That was at about 10.”

“Did she speak to anyone while she was here?” Robbins questioned.

“I don’t think so, but the boys were gawking at her, she seemed to like the attention. But no, she sat by herself over there in that corner until she left.”

Well, we didn’t gather as much useful information as we hoped, but Rusty’s recollection did initiate a timeframe. She was still alive at 10pm that Thursday night.

 The next morning I got up at my usual time. It was still dark out, but the birds were chirpin’. It was that kind of weird dawn time when people were awake before the sun. I’m not a man of long showers, but for some reason the warm water on my face felt so strangely good. I hadn’t slept much last night. When I finally emerged from my steamy hideaway, my wife, Kate, was already downstairs.

“They wrote an article in the herald about that girl you found yesterday. She graduated from Columbia Law School a few years ago. Her parents had no idea she was even living on the island.”

This poor girl. Her parents hadn’t even known where she was when she was killed. Imagine the devastation on the other side of the line after she was identified. I went back upstairs and gave each of my children a kiss on the head. They were still asleep; school didn’t start until 8 for them. They all looked so innocent laying in their tiny beds with their superhero and princess comforters, hopefully dreaming big. Never tell a kid they cant be something when they are little. They have the rest of their lives ahead of them to become whoever they want to be. At least that was my view on the situation.

Walking back into the station, I was met midway between the door and my desk with a handful of papers shoved into my face.

“This is the full report from yesterday’s victim, and you’re never going to believe this. We found DNA on that stiletto that wasn’t from Cindy. No matches for it yet but we are gonna continue to run analysis on it. Makes me feel a little better that she clocked the sucker and didn’t go down without a fight.”

This was the best news I had heard in a while. All night I was running scenarios in my head of how the next victims were gonna look, each more unpleasant than the next. But this made me hopeful. There was a positive aura around the whole station and everyone seemed to benefit from the good news.

After lunch, Robbins and I headed back to the victims apartment to do one last sweep while waiting for the DNA results. For some reason I had a feeling that we were gonna find something new, something we missed and overlooked before. It was a good day and we wanted to keep the momentum going. It was eerie walking around in this dead girl’s apartment. It was a place where she lived her own individual life and now it was nothing. It was no longer a home, no longer a place to come home to after a long day of work, no longer a place to laugh or cry, it was just nothing. Unfortunately, we found nothing of substance, and it was time to head back to the office for the results.

“The cross reference came back without a match, I’m sorry Howie.”

That one sentence was basically the end of my day. All hope I had from early had simultaneously left my body at that moment and I was immediately exhausted. I went back into my office, shut the door, and laid my head down on my desk. This is where I stayed until it was time to go home.

People say not to take your work home with you, but I couldn’t help myself. My Dogfish Head IPA had run dry and the Mets were losing 7-1 to the damn Cardinals. It was hard to distract myself from work. I wanted to pull myself away. It was late. I needed something stronger, so I poured myself a handsome glass of maker’s mark, slugged it, and poured another one. I made my way to my office where I sat the glass down on my desk and began looking over some old files that I had laying around. Most of them just cases from earlier in my career. None of them particularly stuck out. But all these cases were closed. In fact every case I had ever worked on was closed. It got me thinking. I’m going to catch this catch this monster, or it’ll drive me insane. I was tired, it was late.

 My alarm woke me up the next morning, I felt like I had barely slept a wink. It was time to embark on another days work. When I made it back to the office I was again assaulted by Robbins while I was till only halfway in the door.

“There’s a girl here that wants to speak to you. She said she may be able to give a description on our guy. Apparently she was at a bar the other night and a man approached her. She said he offered to buy her a drink, but she was with her fiancé so she refused. But guess who she said she saw leaving with the guy later that night. Our fifth victim, Cindy Kouffax.”

Immediately, I was thrown into the hurricane of hysteria created by this girl. She was crying. I told her to calm down, go slow, and start from the beginning. It was honestly too early for this.

“Okay, okay, well,” she started. “We were at the Sloppy Tuna on Seacliff Street and this man approached me. He was wearing glasses and was very nicely dressed. He was actually pretty handsome.” Her fiancé sitting next to her didn’t seem to appreciate that comment. “He offered to buy me a drink, but I told him that I was actually getting married in a few weeks. Then he kind of chuckled, bowed his head, turned around and left. And that was pretty much our entire interaction. But then right when we were getting ready to leave I saw him leave with that tall blonde girl from the paper! He must have been the one that killed her!”

“What time would you say that was at approximately?”

Looking at each other the couple collectively responded with “2 am”. I glanced up and down at the man. He was rugged and had a band-aid on his face. It was strange but I disregarded it. I was giddy that we had gathered more evidence on a potential suspect. This also narrowed our timeframe even further. Our victim was still alive when they left the bar around 2 that Thursday.

I sent the women and her husband to describe the man to our facial sketch artist. I thanked her for coming in and reiterated what a huge help it was. And it truly was. On the outside I was calm, but on the inside I felt like a little kid on Christmas. This was a crucial development in a case that has been looking more empty and hopeless each day. If we could match a face to the killer then there is no doubt in my mind that we would close this case by the end of the week.

 It was Thursday, exactly a week since we found the last victim and with the weekend approaching I was nervous that our killer would strike again. Having watched too many episodes of CSI: Miami and other Hollywoodized cop-show propaganda, I had a gut feeling that our killer would strike again because they begin to murder more frequently when their thirst simply cannot be quenched. It was a rough morning and my wife found me day dreaming over my bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. It was already 7, I was late for work.

Swinging open the doors to the station, I was surprisingly not met with the loud cacophonous chaos that had greeted me everyday this week. The office was pretty dead. Was it a Holiday? Then I heard Robbins voice call me into my office. He handed a laminated piece of white paper. Hesitantly, I snatched it from his hands and turned it over. There on the other side was the pencil drawn sketch of our killer to the best detail that our witness could remember. It was weird because at first I couldn’t process exactly what I was looking at. It was somewhat surreal because after analyzing the page for about a half minute, it dawned on me. I knew this guy. I felt so dumb that I hadn’t noticed it right away. It was the guy from Al’s Hardware Store. It was Al Olson from Al’s Hardware Store! I jolted to the door, but stopped when Robbins said “Too late”. “Too late?” I questioned.

“We took a sample of Al’s DNA and compared it with the DNA that we recovered from the victims shoe, and I don’t know how but it wasn’t a match. We still have Al in custody if you want to go question him.”

How could it not be a match, we had a witness identify him and work with a facial artist and it matched. Why was this not adding up? How could our victim have been seen leaving with this guy, but he not be the killer? It was the last time she was seen, it was the night she disappeared, how could it not be him? It didn’t make any sense to me. I needed to sit down.

I went in finally after a tall glass of water to chat with Al. He wasn’t very talkative, more annoyed than anything. He said he was trying to take our victim home, but as soon as they left the bar, a gentleman approached them and the victim willingly left Al’s side and left with the new mystery man. Al hadn’t seen his face and the description he gave could have matched any male on the east coast. Needless to say it was not a very enlightening interrogation.

“His alibi seemed fishy, but I think he’s telling the truth. I mean the DNA doesn’t match.”

There wasn’t much more we could do but let Al go. In the back of my mind I was kind of glad that Al wasn’t our guy. He always gave me the employee discount whenever I shopped at his store. I guess that’s what he had to do to compete with the big franchises like Home Depot these days.

I headed home with an empty feeling in my stomach, and no it wasn’t hunger, it was the fact that another day passed and we still had a killer on the loose. It was sickening, the feeling of failure and inadequacy. Anyway it had me thinking, but I was tired so as soon as I got home I passed out. I need a good night’s rest.

 Waking up Friday morning, for some odd reason I felt refreshed. It was the first time in weeks that I might have actually gotten a good nights rest. The real reason I felt refreshed might have been because it was Friday and tomorrow was the weekend, but it was probably a combination of the two. With my wife still soundly asleep I gently rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. I cut myself shaving my face. Those are the worst little cuts. They were deep and bled profusely. I didn’t want to put a bandage on my face so I just dabbed a piece of toilet paper on it and waited for the blood to coagulate and scab. I splashed water in my face, I did have bags under my eyes but I wasn’t too tired. God I looked old; my hair was already beginning to gray. The cut on my chin didn’t make me look any better. The stress from work had really taken its toll on my appearance.

I put on a pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to think. I must have been missing something, overlooking some detail that would break this case wide open. It seemed as though the closer we got, the further we got. It was frustrating. I sat at my table for almost an hour, blankly looking into empty space, but my mind was racing over so many details it felt like my head was going to fly off my shoulders. I snapped back into reality, I was again late for work.

During the drive to the office I just couldn’t get out of my head when that couple came and described Al to us. It was strange that they had acted so quickly in coming to the police. How did they even remember what the guy looked like? They only had a minute interaction at most. Something didn’t add up. I pulled up to the station and again it was quiet but I was expecting some development in the case.

Surprisingly Robbins didn’t have anything for me, no words just lips smacking together as he shoved two jelly-filled donuts down his throat. I sat down at my desk, leaned back, and folded my hands behind my head. As soon as I became comfortable it hit me. Why did the man that came in the other day have a band-aid on his face? Cut himself shaving? No, he had a beard. We needed to call him back in, something about that guy made me suspicious. Me and Robbins decided to make a house call.

Robbins drove, and I was in the passenger seat of his black police-issued dodge challenger. It was a nice car, surprising that this was in the budget. I joked with him in the car of a potential gun fight when we got there, but in reality it was nothing to joke about. There was a real possibility that some action would take place, but that’s what made this line of work so exciting, the danger came with the territory.

We pulled up to 86 Sycamore, the couple lived in apartment B3. Robbins knocked.

“Suffolk County Police Department open up, we just have some more questions for you two.”

There was a chance that they weren’t there, it was 10am on a Friday, surely they had somewhere to be. I tried the knob, the door was open. Cautiously, guns drawn, we entered the residence. I called out again, and again there was no response. The place was a wreck, there was broken glass all over the floor.

“It looked like Hurricane Sandy ripped through their living room,” Robbins uttered jokingly.

Just then a figure emerged from the bedroom, it was the women who had come in. She was sleepily moving towards us rubbing her eyes. I told her not to move any closer. She asked what we were doing in her apartment, and we told her we just needed to ask her and her fiancé a few more questions regarding the “Gilgo Jack” murders. She complied. Just as she was about to sit down, a noise came from behind us in the kitchen. Before I had a chance to turn around, I felt a burning sensation in my lower left back. I looked back at Robbins and he had a growing red, wet patch on his shoulder. We opened fire. As soon as I spun around, I was grazed again on the cheek. I fired two shots back at the man and hit him in the chest. He got off one last shot that hit me right in the neck, before crumbling to the floor. I hit the ground. The room was spinning. What the hell just happened? That entire moment felt like it was moving in slow motion. I thought of my wife. My field of vision was then filled entirely with Robbins who began applying pressure to my neck. It had missed my wind pipe and aorta thankfully. I was still alive but I was bleeding out, and if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital immediately then I certainly wouldn’t make it. Robbins threw me over his shoulder, fireman-carry style and began calling for backup to secure the premise. Robbins threw me in the back of his cruiser and slammed the gas.

 Its funny how the mind works. Sometimes you just can’t control your thoughts. Your conscience wanders through your mind like a lost traveler trying to find his way. I felt warm. My mind drifted to memories of when I was a kid playing at the beach. I saw my dad, he tossed me a football as I dove into the sand. I saw my mother, she was so beautiful and happy. Then I saw my kids, and when I looked to my left I saw my wife smiling. The sound of the water was so relaxing, I could practically smell the sea. I started walking towards the water, then I dove under a wave and as soon as the water hit my face I was thrown violently back into reality.

 I blacked in for a moment and looked up at a team of doctors trying to frantically save my life. The room was so bright. I was hot, but the warmth soon began to fade and I again fell unconscious.

When I finally awoke again Robbins, my wife, and my kids where there staring at me.

“I think he’s waking up! How are you feeling buddy?”

I didn’t know if I was still dreaming or not. I reached up my arm and touched my neck. It was tender and bandaged up. I was alive. My wife started to cry tears of joy, and came over hugged me and kissed me. I was definitely alive.

“Howie, you took that bullet like a champion, I thought we were gonna lose you there for a second. We got the killers, that couple that came in and identified Al, it was them working as a team to court young girls in and butcher them. You did it Howie.”

I began to cry, it was an emotional release that I was not expecting. I never cried, I hadn’t cried since my mother passed away. I was so happy to not only have closed the case but also to be able to live another day with my beautiful family. This whole time we were calling the killer “Gilgo Jack” while we should’ve been calling them “Gilgo Jack and Jill”. I faintly uttered that to Robbins, to make sure he added that in the press release. He chuckled and said, “Good to have you back Howie”.

[beyond-inertia]

Month of Appreciation, Day 14

Yes, in part because I’m procrastinating. Sue me.

I think this one is going to brazenly commit to a cliche, but sometimes cliches are born in truth. As this set of text posts are meant to reflect people who’ve had an impact on the person I am and will go on to become, and given that family are a tricky topic as my perspective now is very different to what it once was, having spoken at length mostly about friends, and just once with the impacts of a problematic ex, I figure it’s time to talk about teachers.

I think most people can relate to this, and anyone who cant, my heart goes out to you, but most people can probably look back on their youth, their time in high school, or college, and single out a teacher who actually honestly properly made a difference. I was doubly blessed, as I had three or four teachers I could sing the praises of for different reasons, but I’m gonna focus on two - my AS English tutors. 

Now, I went to a sixth form, I had been taught by both of these teachers before my AS year, one as an English tutor in year 9, which was NOT an enjoyable class - her no nonsense attitude somewhat clashed with youthful nonsense. The other was my form tutor in year 11, meaning mostly that she had to remind me daily that my uniform was a mess.  Origins unimportant, mostly, the only other bit of context, I was fucking GOOD at English. Lit or lang, didnt matter, I was an avid reader, I could last minute a full marks essay, and the english department as a whole knew who I was. 

So these two teachers at AS level. There was a big difference, between years 11 and 12. Firstly, class sizes dropped from 30 ish to 10 ish. Secondly, instead of 30 petulant 15 year olds in school uniforms wanting to escape and go to lunch, it was 10 16 year olds who had chosen the module intentionally, that wanted to escape and go to lunch. The teacher/student divide was less pronounced, the workload took a degree of competence for granted, and the source material was 50% closer to interesting.

I’m gonna use first names, dunno, it feels wrong naming them in full, or using “Mrs ___” like I’m still a child.

Kirsty and Charlotte were their names. Both adult ass women who really goddamn knew how to do their jobs.

Kirsty first up, she was the kind of teacher who can really petrify a class. If a teacher gains respect by being loved or feared, holy damn this lady had mastered the latter. She was the kind of teacher you can imagine being sent to deal with a prison riot, in that classroom, she was god, and analysis of poetry was her divine message. The class meanwhile would dutifully listen and take notes, doing near anything to escape her scrutiny over their own work.  She was wasted on that class. I dont say this with any arrogance, it’s to the credit of her skill as a teacher that I can boast this, I was the exception. This was the teacher that taught me WHY I’m good at English lit - English lit is debate in pure form, the truth of the authors’ intentions do not matter, all that matters is your capacity to logically argue the point you’ve decided to make. And oh my, debate is what I did. For a full year, every lesson - where suitable - was a debate. Once the rest of the class had contributed what little she could force from them, my opinion was always welcomed, and I would come ready to defend it, I would put in the work because goddamn I wanted to win. I wont give any specific cases, they’re not the point even if I do still have two or three I remember with pride. The point was, for the first time in my life, little 16 year old me flexed the muscles of that big stupid brain, stepped into the ring as an academic, not just a student, and pulled every goddamn trick I could handle to interpret the text *my* way, to form a distinct point of view, and fight, tooth and nail to defend it. She would actively contradict my points, with text backed arguments of her own, not to tell me that I was wrong, but to force me to push further, to make me dance across whichever text was in question and read deeper than I had before, abandoning my well made plans and thinking on my feet. She made me love English Lit in that one year, simply by treating me as an equal, treating me as an OPPONENT, and challenging me to be better. Not only that, she found out that my GCSE English Language paper only got an A, and without seeing it demanded that the school have it remarked nearly a year later, long after I’d forgotten about it. It then got an A*. That was cool I guess. I still miss English Lit. I might start a book club.

The other, Charlotte, was my goddamn guardian angel throughout 6th form, not just AS. Firstly, as an English teacher, whilst less competitive, she was every inch as good a teacher for bringing out quality in my work. She wouldn’t push me as hard over a classroom debate, but if I handed in work that wasn’t every inch the quality it could be, she would chase it. She had an unrestricted faith in my capacity to succeed, and she wouldn’t accept less. For two years, any time I needed some extra advice, guidance or help, she would be there, without a doubt. She would give guidance on coursework that had nothing to do with her.  Even when teachers in other subjects gave me trouble (AS Physics), she would step in and resolve it. She spoke to me like an adult, reasoned with me about my future, understood the strings she’d need to pull to get me to perform (usually pride, ngl) and talked me into working harder. (My Physics teacher meanwhile lied about my grades to try and scare me into working. This very didnt work, and I dropped physics pretty much on his account. Some grudges last.)  Though Kirsty got me to love English Lit, Charlotte basically carried my stupid ass through my Alevels, by knowing when to push me, and how hard.  Me and another of her students actually caught up with her a few times after uni started. I’ve not done that in years. I should do that again. The point is, those two teachers set me on a course. I honestly don’t believe I’d be the same man I am today without those two women turning me from the child I was in year 11, intelligent almost by accident, lazy and unfocused, into an essay-excellent, sharp and critical minded, debate focused uni applicant, who went on to coast his way through a philosophy degree, for some fuck knows what reason.