#there are identifying details in this including (if anyone bothers to look) the city I live in. I trust no one who finds this is gonna

[puckpocketed]

The Summer I Fell For Hockey - Some journals I wrote while learning to love the Brave Cave.

1.

Phillip Swimming & Ice Skating Centre — at least, the rink portion of it — is affectionately referred to as the Brave Cave, nicknamed after our local ice hockey team, the CBR Brave.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been, just the first time since I began my summer fling with ice hockey.

‘Cave’ is appropriate. Enter into the maw after purchasing a ticket from the snippy white-haired booth attendant; to stained brown brick insides, a foiled insulation ceiling, and a Hits of the Decades tape blasting from speakers mounted precariously on thin shelves.

It smells of damp, artificial cool, and something vaguely dirty and sour; there are webs gummed up with dust and moisture that drape themselves from dark corners. Shoved to the far end of the rink are two red goal nets, awaiting game time. 

Two girls skate the afternoon session with me. We exchange smiles, politely avoidant. In the half-dozen times I’ve skated, I’ve yet to relinquish the safety of the boards. This time is no different.

Not that it helps — the Cave leaves its marks on me in the burn of my calves, the ache in my thighs, a new patch of purple-blue on my hip where I ate shit on my fifth lap. Overall: not the romance I envisioned when I set out to make this place special.

And yet, every few stumbling steps, I manage to glide. If I strain my ears, I hear the sibilance of my rental skates carving through the ice. Fleetingly, I think; is this what it’s like, even just a little, to play ice hockey?

2.

Aimee and I are late for evening lessons.

We are too late. White-haired Booth Attendant tells us, with little remorse as he counts notes to close the till, that we needed to be here at 6:30 for pre-registration.

He looks like he’s a part of this place. Decaying, with the skin around his eyes collapsing; his mouth a deformed, wrinkled moue; his unfriendly red face a warning sign that says KEEP OUT. His booth is all chipped paint and scratched plexiglass, scattered papers and a thin layer of grime. He is the Cave made flesh.

Words leap into my mouth: ‘White-haired Booth Attendant, last time I was here, when you implied I should come to these lessons because they were “diverse” and for “people like you” I wanted to shake you. White-haired Booth Attendant, I wanted to ask you what the hell that’s supposed to mean, because this city is more home to me than wherever you think I came from.’ Instead, I say nothing. I pull away.

Behind me, Aimee follows.

We sit in the car, parked while we figure out what to do. Around us the eyes of highrises stare on, boxing us in, and their half-built companions yawn a dark greeting through scaffolding. Phillip Swimming & Ice Skating Centre, old and strange and ugly as it is, is the only place that deigns to squat at our level, a white and blue dwarf.

3.

I hang around after my skating lesson, furtive, waiting to be kicked out before the closed sessions of ice hockey start.

The zamboni is an angel to me, coming through the rusted garage door and onto the ice to chase off lingering skaters. She rains her holy, healing fire down on that carved up plane of ice; she dresses its wounds with water and scrapes away its scars and makes it new again.

No one ever said that fresh ice smells different — something clean and petrol-laced and almost-not-quite sweet.

Later, I chat up a woman on one of the amateur hockey teams. She sneaks me into the stands, explains that we don’t have enough players in our city to have completely separated tiered leagues — the beginners play with the intermediate players and the semi-pros.

This place is falling apart and not built to host ice hockey matches, no team benches, no penalty boxes, and it barely seats 500. The interest is so low they can’t even fill out their leagues. Their referees are volunteers and do double duty as linesmen. Their gear, I learn, is often scraped together, many of them sporting hand-me-downs. What’s the thing below a beer league? This would be it.

But all of that seems immaterial once they come onto the ice for warmups. I forget about it once I hear it: my very first in-person clapper — a slapshot, a one-timer. It punctuates the end of my coherent thoughts, ringing loud and cutting through the warmup ambience.

Later, on the bus, giddy and sore and warm, I label today as the best day of my life.

4.

This part of town is an ugly, artless gash in the heart of the valley. The temporary bus station made to look like the cracked open shells of shipping containers; the construction vehicles and tradies scuttling about — all signs of perpetually unfinished gentrification — and the Cave amongst it all, just another rotted artery.

At first, I assume that people come here not because they like it, but because they have nowhere else to go. Characterless. Void.

I am wrong.

White-haired Booth Attendant cracks a weathered smile as he highlights my skating lesson punch card, notes that I’m on time for this one, and allows me entry after I’ve paid his toll. The tuckshop, which I took to be permanently shut, is as much of an anachronism as the rest of the Cave; right out of someone's 40-year-old memory with its nostalgic candy selection and hot pies. It isn’t closed. It is in fact manned by a gangly rink rat during public skate sessions. Gangly Rink Rat helps me size my rentals properly and wishes me luck.

More character: fellow skaters hang their blade guards on the netting, glittery transparent pink and neon green and a fire engine red. Even more: if you look to the left on your way in, there’s an easily missed cabinet full of dusty trophies and faded photos.

I’ll ask all their names next time. They are as much a part of the Cave as the mortar and steel that make up its foundations.

My instructor sets me to hobbling around on the ice with the correct form. I take it all in and think, on my second lap, yeah. There's something lovely in this decay. There is character here — I just had to look.

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest - Day 11: Delicate

2,476 Words; POV Jiang Yanli; Jiang Yanli & Lan Wangji

Jiang Yanli rushes to her brothers’ sides after the Wen Clan is defeated once and for all. There, she has the chance to develop a deeper understanding of Lan Wangji, her closest ally in protecting Wei Wuxian from the world, and himself.

Jiang Yanli was arranging the bandages into tighter packages. She had already done so twice today, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being idle. Not while her whole world was marching into battle, into a fight that she knew would be the end of everything. Whether it was the end of the war or of life as she knew, that, she didn’t know. But maybe if she could fit more bandages into the one basket, maybe if the bottles were filled right to the brim without room to spare, maybe that would be enough. And so she arranged bandages, mixed the tonics she had learned to make from Wen Qing, folded pillows and blankets. Anything to avoid thinking about which of these supplies her brothers might need, but preferring that thought over even contemplating the possibility that treatment would come to late to help at all.

So, when Lan Xichen arrived in camp, announcing that Jiang Cheng was fine, tired, but fine, and that Wei Wuxian was unconscious, but breathing, she fell to her knees, sobbing with relief. She quickly collected as many supplies as she could carry, including a freshly made pot of soup, and hurried ahead of the others to Nightless City to be at her brothers’ sides.

--

Once she had arrived, she’d taken directions from Mianmian, who had smiled kindly even if a little worriedly at Jiang Yanli’s frantic questioning. Yanli had known it was the right place as soon as she heard the guqin music coming from inside. She knocked at the door, and almost started sobbing again as the door opened vigorously to reveal Jiang Cheng. She felt overwhelming gratitude to see his face even before it had cooled from anger and annoyance to a helpless and pained expression once he realized who was at the door. As the door had opened, the guqin had stopped. The quiet in the room would have made even Lan Qiren uncomfortable. Jiang Cheng led her to the bed, where the unnaturally still body of her usually animated brother lay. Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun as he was now known, resumed his playing from the table the moment he saw that their visitor was far from a threat.

She sat by the bed next to Jiang Cheng, clasping both of her brothers’ hands. She smiled at A-Cheng, simply appreciating that they were all there, alive and recovering, before remembering what she had brought with her.

These early hours of Wei Wuxian’s unconsciousness passed with Yanli’s careful tending to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji’s wounds - both of whom had skipped any medical treatment in favour of lingering by Wei Wuxian’s bedside - and a warm bowl of lotus and rib soup for each of them.

After they ate, Yanli couldn’t help but notice her brother’s leg tapping anxiously.

“A-Cheng” she said softly, understanding his restlessness, “You can go check on the other Jiang disciples if you would like.”

He looked at her, back to Wei Wuxian, briefly at Lan Wangji, then to the door before turning back to her, “Are you sure?” he asked, the pleading tone in his voice telling Yanli that he didn’t want to be the one to make this choice.

“Mmm” she said in agreement, “I think you should go. I’m sure they will want to hear from their leader right now.” She stroked the side of Jiang Cheng’s face. He nodded to her, anxious expression turning serious as he faced Lan Wangji, who had resumed his guqin immediately after eating the soup at Yanli’s insistence, though even this he had done in silence. Jiang Cheng bowed to the musician. “Thank you.” he said, before steeling himself to greet his injured and exhausted troops.

Yanli watched him go, anxious to start tending to the wounded herself, but right now… She hadn’t wanted to do a full examination of Wei Wuxian in front of A-Cheng. A-Xian’s breathing was a good sign, but she’d been worried about a few other things ever since Wei Wuxian had returned to them, especially after her conversation with Lan Wangji in Qinghe. She felt Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

She let in a sharp intake of breath. Without looking away from her brother, and without revealing her findings, she asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

There was no break, not even a waver in the melody, as Lan Wangji answered curtly, “Wei Ying used too much spiritual power.”

Yanli nodded, but she had felt this odd beat in a brother’s wrist before, in Jiang Cheng’s wrist as Wen Qing had showed her how to tend to him. She knew what it meant. Wei Wuxian, no matter what miraculous feat he had just accomplished, hadn’t simply run out of spiritual power - he had no golden core.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She had known that something significant had changed in A-Xian since she had seen him in Yiling. His loss of his golden core made sense, though she still didn’t understand how he had accomplished what Lan Xichen had described during the last battle. She assumed, though she didn’t know how it could be, that the missing core had something to do with Jiang Cheng’s frankly miraculous recovery several months before, and probably (she supposed) Wei Wuxian’s subsequent disappearance, which would mean that the battle itself might have exacerbated something, but hadn’t been the cause.

She shook her head. At this point, the cause didn’t really matter. What was important was that she now understood that the types of treatments that Wen Qing had taught her for Jiang Cheng might work here. She was only grateful that she had recognized this - many physicians would have simply allowed him to rest, without bothering to check if someone who had accomplished such a feat was missing something as fundamental as a golden core to help in the healing process.

She dipped a cloth in cold water, wanting to bring down her brother’s fever. Having decided her course of action, she was able to notice less crucial details in the room - namely, the odd but soothing melody coming from the guqin.

“What is this song?” she asked.

“It purifies the soul and the mind,” was the only reply she got, but it was enough to make her wonder. While it seemed that Jiang Cheng thought that all their brother needed was rest, Lan Wangji was focusing on spiritual healing, seeming to understand differently. She remembered their conversation back in Qinghe.

“Lan Er-Gongzi…” she wasn’t sure how to frame the question, “never mind.”

“Lady Jiang.” It was said as a statement, but Yanli understood it as an invitation to continue.

“About our conversation… in Qinghe…” she paused, and given the other’s continued silence, proceeded, “I was wondering whether… you thought this had anything to do with it?”

“Yes.” His certainty surprised Jiang Yanli, who had only ever seen Lan Wangji provide passive nods or “Mmms” in response to direct questioning. She drew her attention away from her brother, only to just catch the other man’s gaze quickly turn back from A-Xian to his guqin.

Oh, she thought, something occurring to her about Hanguang-Jun’s fixation on her brother that she hadn’t considered before. She decided to press on.

“So this flute… and this… amulet that your brother mentioned… are they dangerous?”

Only now did the music pause, the sharp - but Yanli thought she detected a hint of concern - eyes meeting hers. He said nothing, only looking at her, as though expecting her to speak. So she supposed she should.

“I only mean, well,” she struggled to identify a concrete example explaining her unease, “I touched the flute back in Qinghe.” She took a breath, “It pushed me back.” She got only a blink in response, “At first, I thought it was like Zidian - that it was just rejecting me because I was not A-Xian, but then…” unbidden tears welled up in her eyes, “if tried to touch Zidian, it resisted, but it never hurt me.” She remembered the shock she had felt, the brief look of shame as A-Xian had hidden the flute behind his back…

“I do not trust Chenqing.” Finally, a reply. Again, the certainty in Lan Wangji’s voice was surprising.

Yanli blinked the tears out of her eyes. This was confirmation of everything she’d been worried about. Lan Wangji was not one to speak so definitively unless he was truly confident in his opinion. She wasn’t sure whether she was comforted to hear such a person echo her fears, or regretful that she could no longer dismiss her feelings as mere paranoia. Wei Wuxian’s actions, his behaviour since his return - it was not all in her head.

But she was equally sure that Wei Wuxian did not want her spreading his secrets any more with anyone. Whatever she knew about his golden core, whatever she suspected about his new spiritual tool, she could not even share it with Lan Wangji, who seemed to be the only person as closely attuned to her brother’s behaviour as she was.

“I fear…” the significance of Lan Wangji speaking two sentences in a row, where one would be sufficient to be polite, was not lost on Yanli, “I fear Chenqing might hurt him.”

Yanli nodded in agreement, but could not contribute to this line of thinking further without potentially violating Wei Wuxian’s trust.

The two sat in silence for a while, the guqin still playing its calming tune. Jiang Yanli let her mind wander as she wiped her brother’s feverish forehead gently with the cloth. She was aware that on more than one occasion, Lan Wangji’s gaze drifted over to them, and Yanli understood that it was not her that attracted his attention.

It was not the first time Yanli had had occasion to note a certain softening in the twin jade’s stoic expression around A-Xian, nor was it the first time she had sensed a sort of link between the two, one that went beyond the concern of a former classmate. Many people were concerned about Wei Wuxian. She had even had a brief conversation with Nie Huaisang back in Qinghe about her brother before they had left. But with Lan Wangji… his interest in A-Xian’s wellbeing was different. She chanced a look at the other man. Though his face remained decidedly neutral, there was a suggestion of pain around his eyes, signifying something unlike concern for a friend, more like a fear that a part of himself was at risk. Yanli thought she might be starting to understand the nature of the refined lens with which Lan Wangji identified anything amiss with her brother.

“Lan Er Gongzi…” she ventured, unable to leave this discovery unaddressed, “Thank you. Thank you for the concern you show for my brother.”

If she hadn’t looked up then, she would have missed the nod that was the only reply she got.

“I… I can tell that you care for him a great deal.” She needed to ask, could not leave her suspicions unsaid, not between her and her best ally when it came to protecting her brother. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she asked, “What are your true feelings for A-Xian?”

For the first and last time in her life, Yanli thought she heard the hint of a false note in Lan Wangji’s playing.

“What do you mean?” The reply was even, elegant, but this time had a near imperceptible waver in the voice. Yanli, well-practiced in the art of interpreting the tones of even the most repressed individuals, was not deterred.

“I mean,” she knew she would have to be more direct. She looked at him, “I can tell that your feelings for him go beyond those of friendship or of brothers-in-arms.”

The music stopped. It seemed that Lan Wangji could not continue this conversation with his attention divided. His hands lingered over the guqin a moment before lowering to his lap. He looked to Jiang Yanli.

“You are correct.” He looked her in the eyes, although challenging her to do something, say something, to kick him out, to say he wasn’t worthy of Wei Wuxian, that he shouldn’t dare to be so presumptuous when it came to a member of her clan. But the thought of doing any of these things never crossed Yanli’s mind.

Instead, she smiled, “I am happy to hear you say that.” She looked back to Wei Wuxian, “I think you two would be good for each other.”

The other man blinked, “He has already done enough for me.” Yanli melted at the straightforward affection in Lan Wangji’s voice. “But I do not think he feels the same way.”

Yanli looked into Lan Wangji’s face. She saw sadness, concern, perhaps grief, but moreover, she saw resignation. She understood in that moment that what Lan Wangji felt for her brother would not be lessened no matter how Wei Wuxian felt or what he did. While she was reassured to know that there would always be someone who would willingly leap to her brother’s protection without hesitation, her heart ached at the thought of such a man believing these feelings went unrequited.

This was especially intolerable when she recalled the number of times and the tone with which the name “Lan Zhan” had passed her brother’s lips since the pair had first met in Cloud Recesses so long ago.

She smiled, combing Wei Wuxian’s hair back, “Lan Er Gongzi, I should tell you something about my brother.” She turned to look at Lan Wangji, who was staring so helplessly at his guqin she thought the instrument itself might cry in sympathy. “He is smart, very smart, as I’m sure you know, but…” she considered how exactly she wanted to phrase this, “He can be extraordinarily dense when it comes to his own wants and feelings.” She caught Lan Wangji’s eye as he looked quizzically at her, “Give him time.” She concluded.

The only reply came as a couple of blinks, ones in which she thought she saw the faintest hint of tears, but it was enough. Lan Wangji renewed his playing, and despite it being the same melody as before, there was now a sense of hope permeating the song.

--

When, after waking up, Wei Wuxian had described Lan Wangji as a boring person, Jiang Yanli did not miss the wistful smile painting her brother’s face. And by the time her brother had worked up the nerve to ask her why a person might like another person to the point of haltering themselves, Jiang Yanli already understood, even if Wei Wuxian was not quite there yet, exactly which person he had in mind. It would be delicate going forward, but Yanli had faith that these two, who completed each other so well, would find their way to each other in the end.

[seriouslyhooked]

When We Collide (Part 2)

Emma Swan has always known one thing: trust no one but yourself. Unfortunately she forgot her one rule and now she’s paying for it. One bad decision led her to the monstrous ‘Crocodile’ a mobster in New York who goes by the name Gold. Hope seems lost until she meets another person in this underworld, Killian Jones. Despite the place they find each other, a true love blossoms, and they manage to get away. But what will happen when Emma discovers who Killian really is? Will love prevail? Um, yeah, I’m writing this, so duh – it’s all love all the time. Fic features motorcycles, hot guys in leather cuts, and a bit of action/drama. Will end happily, and despite the first chapter, will be light on angst. Part 1. Available on FanFiction Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everybody! So first and foremost, thank you all so much for your responses to the first chapter of this fic. It has been exciting to wade into new waters, and this AU is exactly that for me. As promised last time, this chapter represents a jump into the future, and many of you might think to yourselves, wow, Emily, you really skipped a lot of stuff here. No worries, there will be some flashbacks and plenty of explanations going forward. I just don’t love angst so much, and wanted to get us to a better place before we relive some of the earlier parts of this CS love story. Anyway, thanks to you all for tuning back in and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Three Months Later

Packing up the last of his things in this shithole apartment, Killian was struck by how easy it was to say goodbye to a place he’d lived for months on end.

It was no hardship to close this chapter and to bid farewell to this hollow and lifeless space. Oh it had flair and style, and many would see it and acknowledge that by New York City standards this flat was a castle in the sky, with clean white lines and ample room considering the density of the city. But it would never be his style. His home – his real home - was nothing like this. It was free and open and warm. It was removed from the hustle and bustle, nestled away in a place of calm. Not like this place.

From the jump, Killian made sure to keep nothing of value stowed away here. There were furnishings included when he signed the lease, ones that spoke to his higher status in the syndicate, and which gave the right air of self-importance, should anyone ever come to check up on him. Yet there were no traces of him at all, despite the privacy and protection the place provided. He brought no remnants of his past or his real life to New York. There were no pictures, no mementos, nothing that he looked at and saw any real value in. Everything here was part of a façade designed to keep up with the lies he told to stay alive, and even that was kept to a bare minimum. Lies were easier to manage when there were less of them to own, and to an outsider, this place looked exactly like what it was – the crash pad of a man with very little time and little attention to decorative details. That never bothered Killian though, as this place was not important; it was merely a means to an end.

That end was grounded in one goal: kill the man they called the Crocodile. It was the only reason he’d ever come to New York, the reason he’d started this descent into the underbelly of society. It had driven him for years, the need to get revenge on a beast so sinister he couldn’t even be called a man. Slowly but surely, Killian had ingratiated himself into the world of this monster, climbing up the ranks of the man’s operation, earning tiny morsels of Gold’s trust, and getting ever closer to a moment where he could kill his enemy, ridding the world of one of its darkest beings. But then something unexpected happened – in the midst of total darkness, he’d found an angel, the only one capable of pulling him into the light. Emma.

Emma Swan was a rare gem in the midst of soot and ash. In the New York underworld, where Killian had been operating for over a year, he had never run into anyone like her, but three months back, when he was returning from a run, he’d encountered her for the first time. It was all a matter of chance really. He had only just arrived from his assignment monitoring a shipment of guns from the Irish to the Crocodile. His job was to survey the transaction, to make sure the Irish held up their end, and to ensure the guns made it from point a to point b. Then, right as he was reporting back for duty, another member of the crew was busted for skimming profits by Gold. Gold’s normal enforcer was tied up with a cartel issue, necessitating Killian’s retrieval abilities to be used for the first time. It was at first a sign from a higher power that he was moving up the ranks, and Killian appreciated that movement if it meant justice would come sooner. But then he saw Emma, and in the sight of such a heavenly gift, his whole world shifted. He hardly deserved her, stained as he was from the choices he had made and the things that he’d done, but from the moment they met, he was dead set on trying to be better for her and for the sake of their future.

Closing his eyes even now, he remembered that night so clearly. Emma was dressed in the bar’s uniform of a short black skirt and a revealing gold top. It was barely decent, designed to be leered at by patrons, and certainly not made for the long, grueling hours that she worked. But as he watched her strut about the place in those matching black heels no woman should be able to maneuver, Killian felt the pierce of cupid’s arrow at his breast. Her long blonde hair hung loose around her in cascading curls that tempted his fingers. He wanted to run his hand through it and see if it felt as silky smooth as those golden strands appeared. His eyes trailed down her body and he’d taken in her mix of slender curves and undeniable allure. Then he looked back to her face again, struck by its charm and classic beauty.

Just the sight of her was enough to leave him breathless, but when she looked at him and he watched her cheeks flush and her lip catch between her teeth, he was gone. She didn’t seem aware in the slightest of the situation she was causing just by existing. Maybe she thought she was attractive, she must, given the ogling eyes that emanated from every corner of the Lair, but the truth was Emma was temptation made flesh. It was like a star made of hope and possibility had come down from heaven and graced this dismal place with one of its own. Though the bar was dark, every light seemed to find its way to her and the rest of the world faded away. For a moment Killian had wondered if he were suffering from some kind of hallucination, but after blinking a few times Emma remained where she was. Thank Christ.

That first night, their meeting was too quick. They had no time to delve deeper or see if the spark of their first interaction was more than a moment, but Killian knew it was. The second he touched her, a thrill coursed through his veins, lighting him up in ways he’d never been before. At that moment, he realized he could never truly walk away from this woman. One subtle graze of skin on skin and he was hooked, addicted to her light and vibrancy. That made leaving her that night and every other night the past few months so damned regrettable, but now that was over. Tonight they’d be leaving New York, never to come back to this hell on earth, and for the rest of his days he’d stay with his Swan, protecting her, adoring her and loving her forever more.

Those thoughts of forever stayed with him as he double checked the apartment one last time. A final scan revealed what he expected – there was nothing of import to leave behind. His whole life fit in one small rucksack, and that was for the best. He didn’t want to prompt suspicion as he left, and his neighbors were used to seeing him with bags of this shape and size. It needed to look like any other night, and thanks to his carefully plotted attentions, it did.

Sitting behind the wheel of the vehicle he’d been using this past year, Killian started it up and heard the tell-tale purr of its sport ability. It was purposefully subtle, but anyone who knew cars knew this model was a beast on the road. Made for daring speeds and fast getaways, this car had been an accessory to a number of questionable moments, but none held the stakes he was facing tonight. He pulled out of the car park and drove, his awareness at an all-time high as he looked down at his watch. He had an hour to get somewhere twenty minutes away, but he used every minute to make sure he was safe and undetected.

Though no one was following him at any point of the drive, Killian made sure to take precautions. He took mostly side streets and alleyways that he’d studied now for weeks. Gold knew all the details of this car, and he was notorious for keeping track of his soldiers, so Killian had to be prepared. Gold had a connection to the police department and an all access pass to their street-search camera grid. More than 90% of the city was hooked into this means of surveillance, but Killian had studied that grid for weeks, and by now knew how to avoid nearly every camera.

When he finally arrived at the drop site, he was certain that no one had followed him and he was confident his movements were not noted. He then moved to the side of the dilapidated building he’d parked behind and took out his supplies. He had a crowbar to remove the license plates, and a blasting gun to cut out all trackable VIN numbers and different parts identifiers. He eroded those trackable features and then took the gasoline can he’d hidden in this building days ago and doused the car. He lit the fucker up, and watched the flames rise. With a blaze this high there was always a risk, but he knew this was out of the way and the burn would hurt nothing and no one. In ten minutes enough damage would be done to destroy any evidence, but even that wasn’t enough. His contact’s men would be here tomorrow to drag the wreckage to impound and have it compacted. There’d be no trace left of this car for anyone to find.

When enough time had passed for Killian to be certain the blaze would stay strong enough to work, he walked half a mile to the nearest bus stop. He traveled five stops rather quickly given the time of night, and then walked another quarter mile to the warehouse where he was set to meet the man who could get him out of here. By the time he walked up to the back door, the timer he’d set on his watch buzzed. He was exactly on time, but from what he could tell, he was the first to arrive.

Moving forward, Killian saw the shoddy looking tarp along the back wall and smiled. He moved to the object with purpose and pulled off the covering to reveal his bike. Damn he’d missed the old girl. He couldn’t keep any trace of this motorcycle while on his quest for revenge, but he couldn’t bear to give her up. Call him sentimental, but this machine was too beautiful and capable to abandon. It was the first splurge he’d allowed himself when he got out of the service, and the closest key to freedom a man could possess. For a long time, this bike had been his greatest love in life. But remembering that fact struck him in the gut. Now that he thought about it, that was pretty pathetic. He had never really understood love until Emma, and this moment made that all too clear.

“Is this the part where you tell me you’re having second thoughts?” a voice asked from behind Killian and without turning he knew it was Will Scarlet, his ticket out of what would otherwise be a sticky situation. Killian cursed at his lack of attentiveness. For Will to be able to walk in here without him knowing was not good, even if Will was a specialist at doing exactly that.

“Never,” Killian replied, finally meeting his friend’s gaze.

“Well, if you’re going to righteously piss off the most powerful man in New York, you might as well have conviction,” Will joked. Killian couldn’t join him in the lightheartedness, because he understood that under the teasing tone was all truth. The Crocodile would be pissed, but it didn’t matter. He’d be weighed down in a trap too strong to break out of, and while he wrangled with the crumbling of his empire, Killian and Emma would break away once and for all.

“You get the files?” Will asked, his face searching for good news. Killian laughed and produced the small flash drive Will had given him a month ago. He tossed it across the room to Will’s waiting hands.

“Have I ever failed you?”

“Not once,” Will said truthfully. “Makes me happy you changed your mind on all this. I know this wasn’t your first plan.”

Will was hinting at Killian’s original intention, which was to kill Gold, not turn his allegiances to the feds. Once upon a time a legal take down of this monster had been considered deeply unsatisfying. The only thing Killian thought he would ever accept was the knowledge that Gold was dead and by his hands, but that all changed with Emma. He couldn’t have his revenge like that and have her too, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing, logistically he’d never survive an assassination against the Crocodile. The man was highly guarded with too many fail safes in place for it to be a clean and easy kill. For another, he’d never be able to look his sweet Swan in the eyes again if he killed in cold blood. He’d taken lives before, but never in vengeance. It was always for honor, to protect the living, not avenge the dead.

“Plans change.”

“That they do, especially when there’s love involved.”

Killian didn’t even try to argue with that assessment from Will. He made no attempt to hide his feelings for Emma. In fact, he’d been candid from the start. When he reconnected with Will three months ago, a few days after meeting his Swan, he was honest from the start. He would help to bring Gold in, but his price was absolute.

“Did you hold up your end of the bargain?”

“You know I did,” Will said, producing papers that Killian looked over, knowing they’d be burned in a matter of minutes.

They said everything he needed to see – official signed approval from a judge that he had total and full immunity from all actions he’d taken as a member of Gold’s crew. An exemption of identification from the impending trial, and a promise that he and Emma would never be called to testify. Their names were so far out of this, the FBI had no server that held their names. Will had told exactly no one who they were except the judge, and the judge was clean and able to be trusted.

“It didn’t hurt when he saw your military record,” Will admitted, causing Killian to flinch. No one was supposed to see that. His work was always too classified for anyone to know. “But don’t worry, all history of that being accessed were completely erased. I used data protection NSA couldn’t crack.”

“And the reward money?”

“The funds have all been wired to the specified account. Emma is the only one with access, all of it under her new last name.”

Killian lit the pages on fire, trusting all of this to be above board. He didn’t dare to take them with him as they were traveling and he knew Will would have deposited needed copies somewhere they’d be safe. In the meantime, Will produced a pouch with new passports and IDs as well as a stack of cash. Killian raised a brow at the money and Will shrugged.

“I wasn’t sure how much you were taking with you, and that’s 3 months of CI pay I never gave you. Maybe you can stay in some half decent places. Treat your girl to something better than a Motel 6.”

Killian didn’t bother arguing with Will. He didn’t need the money, he’d brought plenty already, and he had more than enough stashed back home. But he accepted Will’s generosity and knew he’d use it to spend on Emma. God knew she deserved it, and he would find a way to make her happy, providing him the only reward he could ever want.

“What’s the temperature looking like this evening?” Will asked, and Killian took the question for what it was – Will wanted to know how much heat Gold and his men would be packing.

“Six Hungarians, two Russians, and the Irishmen. Anywhere from four to seven. Gold will be there, but not his son.”

“Neal fall out of favor again?” Will asked.

“He’s leaky,” Killian said, repeating Gold’s exact words.

The irony was not lost on him – it was only though Gold’s son that Killian had managed to get access to the server Gold kept hold of containing all of his extensive blackmail accounts for decades. Even with that though, there had been a need for hacking the system and Killian had needed Neal to get that done. Gold’s son was given just enough to think he mattered, but nothing near the whole scope of any issue. Still, the bust was going to focus primarily on the things Gold’s son did know, and subsequent prosecutions of Gold and his allies would be explained away as revelations that came from those initial breadcrumbs.  

“Can’t deny that. His big mouth is the bedrock of this whole case. Well at least it was, until this. I owe you for this, Killian.”

“And I owe you. Without you I couldn’t have done this. For Emma and for me.”

“Well, the bust goes down in thirty more minutes. And you’ve got places to be. Wouldn’t want to keep the little missus waiting,” Will said, and though the words slammed into Killian, he had to push through. If he wanted to make that title a reality for Emma, not just on the papers they’d been given, they had to get out of here. The stakes were too high for them to mess around.

With a last goodbye to Will, Killian revved up his motorcycle and shot out into the night. He had one last spot to go to, and he just prayed that when he got there Emma would be there safe and sound. It was a risk, what he was asking her to do tonight, but she was so damn smart and savy, and above all, she was a survivor. He had to believe that she could do this and that it would all go exactly as it should.

What if she was discovered leaving? He thought, as he got closer to their hideout. What if the Crocodile has somehow discovered our plan? Hell, what if she’s changed her mind, or if she’s realized that she is worth so much more than a man who bears the scarring of a criminal?

These thoughts plagued him as he raced to the abandoned garment factory that was ten blocks from The Lair. It was way too close for comfort, but just outside of Gold’s highly surveilled radius. Ten blocks in New York at night was a worrying trek for anyone, but for Emma, a ‘ward’ of Gold’s who owed a debt, it was potentially fatal. The fear at what might happen if she was caught grabbed hold of his heart, and when his anxiety was about to take him over, he heard the soft echo of Emma’s knock on the wooden door. It was a sound pattern only the two of them knew and his heart leapt in relief as he moved to let her in. When he saw her there on the other side of the door, safe and looking like she could hardly wait to go, Killian felt like the luckiest man alive.

“You’re here,” he whispered, pulling her into him, his arms encircling her and pulling her close so he could breathe her in and convince himself he hadn’t dreamed her up.

“Of course, I’m here,” replied sincerely, her hand coming up to cup his cheek as her eyes searched his. Her smile was the most beautiful thing the world over, as was the soft laugh she let escape in the fact of his needless worry. “You promised me forever, Killian, and I intend to collect.”

Her words pushed him to action, and without thought to the fact that they needed to get going as soon as could be, Killian kissed her. It wasn’t a tame expression of his love either, but a scintillating symbol of his unyielding devotion to Emma and her pleasure. He would live every day of his hopefully long life worshiping her and trying to make her see how much he loved her. She was a miracle – his saving grace – and if he could make her feel even a fraction of the joy and happiness she brought into his life he would be happy. All of that promise he threw into this kiss, and when they finally broke apart, Emma’s responding expression told him she’d understood him completely and that she wanted him just as much.

“Forever isn’t enough,” Killian said honestly. “No amount of time could ever be enough with you, Swan.”

“I know,” Emma whispered before pressing one last soft kiss against his lips. “So let’s not wait any more. Let’s go home.”

Killian loved the sound of that, and though he had to keep his wits about him as they left the city, Killian couldn’t recall ever being so happy. With Emma’s hand in his, he felt like the king of the world, and when they both got on his bike, with her body pressed tightly against his back as they sped off in the night, he knew he was invincible and that he’d do whatever it took to get them out of this darkness and towards a life truly worthy of his love.

Post-Note: So there we have it. I know that these first two chapters have been shorter. I think there’s a very good chance that the chapters will get longer as the story develops. I just wanted to get us out of the darkness before I really delve in. Next chapter we will also go back to Emma’s POV and we will get her perspective of what freedom means to her, and what she wants in a life post-Gold. I am still really excited for this story, and I think it’s offsetting my muse well. Going back and forth between this and ‘Feels This Way’ which is like the opposite story line, is awesome, and I hope it keeps me on a good path writing wise. Anyway, I want to thank you all so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think, and as always, hope this chapter finds you well and enjoying your weekend!

[something-tofightfor]

Are there any headcanons some writers have that you don’t agree with? What are some big ones? Do you disagree because they don’t fit your perception of the character(s) or because they don’t fit the character, period?

This is a loaded question, ma’am.  Well, the first thing I’ll say is this: people write what they want to write. They characterize people the way that they want to, and they focus on the traits that they want to when they build their characters. This also goes for what people choose to read, too! Fanfiction allows there to be something for everyone, and that’s amazing. 

It doesn’t matter what genre or fandom, there are always so many interpretations of things to provide a variety of content by a lot of really talented writers - but that doesn’t mean that every single story or headcanon is going to be something that every reader agrees with. And that’s life - it’s no different than published work or TV or movies... which is why we write and read in the first place, right?

There are a lot of characterizations of certain characters that I don’t agree with that I’ve seen and read - but I’m sure that the same goes for people that read my work too.  (Under a cut because I am wordy)

I’ll answer your second question first:  I think a lot of it is that they don’t seem to fit with what we know of characters in canon, and it kind of bothers me when people consistently throw away every aspect of canon just because they don’t like them. There’s a huge difference in reshaping things to work in an AU (what I’m doing with Billy’s injuries in Steel City) or a to give something a different outcome (Logan’s choice to seek help instead of self-destructing in HCtS) and flat out re-creating the character to make them fit into a specific narrative.  When something is a flat out AU, I can look past it much more easily. In that scenario, you’re supposed to look at things as completely different. Sure, names will be the same, maybe professions, certain parts of the backstory... but an AU is a license to change a ton - and when done properly, they can be amazing.  And while I think that everything fanfic writers write is an AU to some extent, the truth is that not everyone reads stories because they want a complete turnaround from canon and from what we know, so everything in a story being different than expected is jarring. That’s a personal preference - definitely - but you asked. I don’t read a story because I want to know how a completely fictionalized version of Billy reacts to XY and Z. I’d like to see him worked into a scenario that’s different - but see how HE handles it. 

Take Logan out of Westworld? He’s just a businessman with some serious familial issues and an addiction problem. Benjamin completely removed from Julia and the Days? He’s a middle-aged man with a shady past and no money or solid place to stay. There are certain core characteristics that need to be kept, otherwise, it’s literally just Ben’s face and you’re Mad Libs-ing in a job and a personality.  And to answer your first question, there are many. And again, it’s just a personal preference because I try to keep my writing as in-character as I possibly can ... so when I read, it’s hard for me to disconnect from that. So while I don’t want to call any specific writer or story out here because that isn’t the point, there are a lot of overarching headcanons and characterizations that it’s really hard for me to get past.

The biggest one - and I know, know, KNOW I’m going to get shit for this one - is that everyone is so quick to write these guys wanting kids and to settle down. Of course, we want to imagine Billy and Logan and Ryan and even Benjamin healthy and happy and with people they love... but the truth is that not everyone’s definition of a happy or fulfilled life includes kids... or marriage. So being quick to include kids or the desire to have kids or just the feeling that children are necessary pulls me out of stories a lot. 

I actually don’t even read ones where I know the characters have kids, because I just don’t identify with that Reader character or that chosen lifestyle. ** The exception is Logan with Emily, because he’s the best uncle ** 

Love is another thing. With Billy and Logan in particular - it’s hard for me to comprehend them going from 0-60 in no time at all and just... being over the moon for someone and then expressing it. Especially Billy. Logan in canon is so much closer to being ready to love someone because he at least knows what love looks and feels like - he had his mom and he had Juliet. Billy didn’t. Benjamin is the only character we’ve seen that foolishly falls in love quickly. And Ryan? You gotta stay in contact with someone or stay in one place long enough to fall in love. You might know you have feelings for someone really quickly, but it’s not just meet - go out to eat once - profess love - drop everything - get married - pop out kids. 

Individual characters:

Billy: 

Without a good reason, Billy’s not going to meet someone and immediately fall in love with them. He spent 20+ years keeping people out, and there’s no way in hell one night is enough for him to drop his defenses entirely and accept someone into his life.  Billy using pet names pulls me out of a story really fast, especially in bed. A sarcastic ‘sweetheart’ is about all I feel like you’d get out of him. I don’t think he needs to rely on talking to someone in bed in order to keep them in the moment. He says NOTHING in bed with Madani, and again with Krusty, and he was straight-up playing Madani, so if he was one to use pet names and dirty talk to bait someone... it would have happened.  Billy never opened Anvil so that he could shower other people with gifts. His money is meant to be his own, and while I don’t think he's stingy, I don’t think he’s going to drop obscene amounts of money on someone, even if he’s in a relationship with them (in canon - and EVEN for HNH reader). Romance - in the knock you off your feet sense - is not EVER going to be in his wheelhouse. 

S2 Billy is not a child. Stop treating him like one. In the beginning, maybe...but the more he learns and grows and remembers, the emotions that he has aren’t tantrums - they’re a very real mixture of fear and anger and misunderstanding. He literally doesn’t know why he did what he did or how everything went wrong - but that doesn’t make him a child. 

Logan:

Logan is more than a sex-crazed millionaire. That is a front. And I know that he’s going to be great in bed and very hands-on with his partners, but canon Logan uses sex and excess to keep people AWAY...not to pull them closer. 

Logan doesn’t want or need extravagant gifts.... because he can get anything he’d ever want for himself. It’s more about the thought than the money for him.  Logan is a lot of things, but him being a dick and belittling someone for being of a different socioeconomic status really bothers me. 

Ryan: 

... Very few people write for Ryan, so there’s little here that I take issue with, except maybe that in some of the stories I’ve seen people seem to confuse his lack of a formal education with him being uneducated in general.  Benjamin: 

Benjamin is impulsive but he is not stupid. 

Caspian:

Every time someone writes Caspian as being hellbent on adhering to tradition and following the Narnian customs and rules of succession I want to rip my hair out.  Don’t sit there and try to tell me that a King has to have a blood heir when the Pevensies are proof that ANYONE can be a King or Queen of Narnia, no questions asked. They weren’t even FROM Narnia, and they got thrones. It’s not about blood - it’s about integrity and a person’s true desire to lead the people and keep them safe and happy. 

** One more overall thing that takes me out of a story faster than anything is the use of Y/N. Maybe I’m an idiot, but every time I see those I think “yes/no” and not “your name”... and it throws me. **

I’m gonna step off my soapbox now. BUT. I will end this by saying: 

As much as I disagree with some of these qualities and traits in writing - when they are done super well, I don’t even notice them. Some of my favorite stories are “Y/N” inserts. One of my favorite Logans calls his girl princess. There’s a coffee shop AU that I absolutely loved and it changes the main character COMPLETELY.  It’s all subjective. I’m not saying any of this to offend anyone, and so I hope that if any other writers read this whole thing and feel as if I’m calling them or their choices out - that isn’t the point. I’m not trying to hurt feelings or pick apart your writing, but this is how I look at characters and the way people portray them when I choose what I want to read.

I write for a living. Like, actual get-paid-to-put-words-on-paper writing. I have to look at details for my work. Things have to make sense. There has to be clear connecting threads. And that makes it much more difficult for me to completely disconnect from that mindset when I write or read. I can’t help it.  TLDR: Write what you want to write. Read what you want to read. Think what you want about these characters and stick to it. But know that not everything you post is going to get the kind of engagement you hope for - because not everyone is able to suspend disbelief about the characters they’ve spent HOURS growing to love and carefully thinking about when you change 95% of their canon characteristics to fit your plot. 

[leam1983]

Cyberpunk 2077 Thoughts

Having perused Dark Horse Books’ The World of Cyberpunk 2077 over the past few days, I’ve gotten a better feel for the various basic hooks that structure V’s inception as a protagonist. The short of it is the Polish wizards are on the right path to nailing Pondsmith’s treatment the same way they nailed Sapkowski’s works.

Consider the following as half a brain dump, half a series of prospective spoilers, and also half projection, so either skip this, find some other entry to read, or come back to this come late November.

I know I mentioned three halves, but it’s late and I don’t give a shit.

I’m serious - DO NOT PRESS ON IF YOU’RE THE TYPE TO BLOW A GASKET IF YOU’RE INADVERTANTLY SPOILED. 

The latest Night City Wire as of August exposed three incipient “life paths”, or starting branches of V’s path. I’ll tackle my personal narrative approaches to them in the order of my choosing.

Nomads: CP2077 is set in a world where much of what we understand to define a family has been blown up, tossed around by climate change and nuclear fire and then stitched back together using grit, resourcefulness and the last dying embers of human decency. Nomads are less a group of people defined by blood relations and more a cadre of individuals that share something more significant than mere genes. It might be a common history, a set of shared hardships, a yen for similar automotive and engineering-related projects - whatever it is, that something pulls people together in ways Corpo rats and street kids will never experience.

This seems to define even the average Nomad’s degree of education. Surprisingly, Nomads are the most well-read group in Coronado Bay’s greater area, some caravans reportedly including entire RVs packed with books. Nomads generationally elect teachers and record-keepers and seem to care for those cultural remnants of the old world, before Pondsmith’s paranoid alternate sixties kicked off more than a century’s worth of technological progression and rampant dehumanization. To a Night City native, a Nomad’s speech patterns appear precious and uselessly florid, while they might appear almost normal to us - maybe slightly touched by the fact that Grandpa Joe or whatever really wanted you to have your Greek classics down before you were old enough to repair your first CH00H2 carburetor on your own.

That new, mega-clustered version of family matters immensely to the Nomads. You identify to yours the same way Orcs in Shadow of War might refer to their clan, or the same way a Scottish clan might design specific visual cues identifying its members. In normal circumstances, Nomads live, thrive and die in service to the clan - and the opening segment for V’s Nomad origins suggests that something happened to his clan. They’re gone, or so the narration says, without going into further detail. Is V responsible? We don’t currently know. As it stands, however, he is a lone Nomad in a clan of one, and soon finds himself pushed out of the Californian wastes and into Night City’s neon-drenched streets.

Seeing this, I considered the narration as an admission of guilt on V’s part. He feels responsible, and hopes that grinding his way to success will in some way atone for what he’s done. Consequently, my Nomad V would be as gruff as could be, but as moral and upstanding as the setting allows. He considers himself as having been invested with an example to set, and would intend to set his sights on more than just filthy lucre. Honest filthy lucre is what matters to him, if that concept even is possible: he might deal in unsavory types and illicit activities, but he always does so with a certain moral rectitude - as a tough and gruff, lean and stringy type you can occasionally catch in his battered Thornton pick-up truck with his feet up on the dashboard and a dog-eared copy of Plato’s Republic in hand. Jackie honestly wonders how he can put up with that Greek pendejo’s endless words and the lack of scrolling animations, while V keeps his Kiroshi optics’ News ticker locked onto grassroots Leftist RSS feeds that stoke a bit of an ignored Rockerboy ethos in him. Quoting Marx in Night City might feel like trying to teach lab rats in the finer points of string theory, but it at least feels genuine to him, compared to the predigested sociopolitical pap Militech, Arasaka and their ilk are more than happy to spew on the airwaves. 

There’s a lot to be pissed off about in Richard Night’s failed utopia, a lot of fat cats to gut and buildings to burn. Still, he leaves the glowering act and the churning rage to Johnny Silverhand’s imprinted ghost. Being more of a down-low, gun-toting choomba than a classic Street Samurai, Vincent “V” Carson thinks first and strikes second.

Vinnie isn’t much for electric guitars and anarchy in the UK, much less in the Free State of Southern California; but he does love the occasional Leonard Cohen ballad or the occasional shot of Johnny Cash’s melancholy. Having picked up something of a Northern Texas drawl while cruising, he might feel like Harry Dresden’s Good Ol’ Boy cousin, magic tricks here pushed aside in favor of a measure of dermal plating and a good ol’ fashioned twelve-gauge and revolver combo. Not being much of a techno-fetishist, he considers his optics and his skull jack as being begrudging concessions to an era that looks down on fully “ganic” types. Having grown up with TV serials and the occasional visor-based Braindance all depicting cyberpsychosis as something vile that utterly dehumanizes its sufferers, he’s naturally wary around anyone who seems a little too giddy with the prospect of taking a few scalpels to perfectly decent muscles and bones.

His Thornton is where most of his Eddies go, and yes, he’s named his truck Suzie. Suzie’s done right by him, and he’ll do right by her - unless someone else with a pretty smile and a working moral compass makes him swoon.

Street Kids: if you weren’t taught on the highways or in corporate arcologies, odds are you became a positive blip in an otherwise grim statistic, one of the myriad fucked-up kids raised by other fucked-up kids with more seniority than you. With no roads and paid-for nannies, you survived off of grifts, grit, violence, deceit, smarts and gumption - and that, in its own screwball way, creates its own blood ties. You’re wise by Heywood’s standards - streetwise, that is - and you speak the back-alleys’ lingua franca of threats, insinuation and casual intimidation like no other.

If only Jackie hadn’t fingered that Rayfield, huh? This beaut could’ve been paydirt! Well, at least for a week or so, judging by the fact that hundreds of car thefts are reported across Night City on a daily basis. At least, Dean - who also goes as “V” - got to make a new friend while out in the pokey, and managed to shake a few proverbial trees... They’ve got a short-lease in with Trauma Team’s frequency and could maybe hook themselves up with a sweet finder’s fee for anyone who’s on the verge of death at the hands of the city’s Scavengers...

Little does V know, that’s selling Trauma Team as well as their clients painfully short. Shows of gratitude don’t mean anything if you’re not packing the right social status. He barely remembers his birth parents as it is, and grew up the fifth grubby prospect of one of the Valentinos’ “school clubs” (hence the nickname) - where the points of study refer to the proper observances to be held in Jesus Malaverde’s presence, intensive Chicano and Spanish immersion, as well as the handling of common types of weaponry.

Vincent and Dean would be likely to shoot one another, if placed in the same room. One clings onto nearly-lost value systems, while the other commodifies what can be discarded like so much flesh - only inasmuch as his efforts to pacify his unofficial five or six abuelas force him to forego extensive modifications. His knives and wrist-mounted data port are his main tools of the trade, although Dean keeps his hacking creds along the bare minimum. Why bother, when melting an ATM’s ICE wall and whacking the cops with a baseball bat is all you need? There’s a type of gun for nearly anything else, if someone knows where to look...

Dean has no last name, and is consequently registered as “Dean Smith” in the city’s Census records. That doesn’t suggest, however, that he wouldn’t want to make one for himself. As he’s less focused on the city’s legends than on its kingmakers and pawn-movers, Dexter DeShawn strikes him as someone to emulate, watch and learn from - all with a decent degree of caution.

Being on top matters a little less to him than eventually pulling Heywood’s stings. With a little fear and a lot of persistence, Dean “V.” Smith knows that one day, he won’t go hungry on a weeknight. To that end, he’s certainly a hearty eater, here paired with extensive free-weight training regimens and the use of anabolic stimulants. Oh, sure, he’ll speak of family and blood like the best soldier festooned in Santa Muerte visual codices, but his friend Jackie’s got a mind like a slow and steady steel trap.

Either Dean blows his new fellow Street Samurai out of the pond, or he does. Unlike Jackie, however, Dean isn’t realistic about it. Friendships are a rare gift in Heywood, if not the rest of Night City, and Dean’s convinced that Jackie could conceivably look past his final betrayal.

Corpo: nowadays, we’re mostly familiar with the idea of one-percenters creating a bubble of affluence for themselves. Boarding schools, private villas, prebooked vacations across the globe’s priciest spots, access to the hottest trends on the minute of their inception - what this tends to forego is the level of social disconnect that’s required in order to stay relevant. We’re only just waking up to the consequences of letting an aging, crusty first-generation Yuppie be crowned the ruler of the free world, and even someone who’s behind on their Bret Easton Ellis could tell you that Donald J. Trump is a sociopath and a narcissist.

Take that mindset, and cultivate it into an ethos that’s taught to children from a very early age - children who live, eat, shit and breathe in accordance with their parent corporation’s tenets. The more placid, mid-tier lifers in the genre are called sararimen, in reference to William Gibson’s use of the term to designate low-level company workers in Chiba City. A bit like Shenzhen’s factory workers and execs, everything in a corpo’s life is in service to the corporation.

In Night City, as of 2077, two major players have installed this culture of total obedience in their roster. Their names are Militech and Arasaka. One is a juggernaut in the field of military-grade personal defence, the other has a wider grasp and reach, but is more fragile. Arasaka owes that fragility to the last fifty years having involved its re-establishment and reconstruction. Fifty years ago, Night City’s Corpo Plaza was blasted open by a thermonuclear discharge that sent the Japanese giant packing. The charges had been set by three Edgerunners: Rogue, Morgan Blackhand and Johnny Silverhand - accessorily a well-respected Rockerboy and front-line member of the band SAMURAI. Only Rogue survived that fateful night, or so the street lingo goes, having gone on to start a legitimate consultation business as well as a fruitful career in the hospitality business. Her bar, the Afterlife, is Night City’s hotspot for every techie, script kiddie and accomplished cyber-spelunker.

Our gal Vivian knows this. She knows this, because Vivian “V.” Banks lives two lives.

In one of them, she’s a lean and hungry Junior Executive in Arasaka’s Counter-Intel division. In that line of work, you either fuck someone’s prospects or protect your own, or ensure that no up-and-comer just out of the company’s Law School program manages to push you off the board. She knows full well that in centuries past, corpo-speak was made up of mild euphemisms that at best referred to destroying a rival’s prospects or lifelihood. Taking a life was something that required careful deliberation, especially when tossing a fat severance bonus into an aging CFO’s three-piece pockets and letting your erstwhile rival snort cocaine off of the rolling hips of Tahitian dancers was so much cheaper...

Nowadays, zeroing someone is commonplace.

You’re born for Arasaka, and chances are you’ll die for Arasaka just the same. Viv’s killed, lied, cheated and even stole her way to her position, remorse being this vaguely churning sense of coldness in her gut that keeps one-night stands coming in and out of her bedroom. She only remembers her parents as being credit-chip enablers and personal enhancement drug addicts, cutting ties with them so completely on the day of her official hiring that it felt more like a tacit understanding.

On most days, sex and booze keep the cold at bay. On most days, Vivian Banks is a class-act of a sociopath. The stronger she gets, however, and the more paranoid her targets become - which reinforces her own paranoia. Before long, playing the part of one of Arasaka’s several poisonous flowers won’t work anymore.

Unfortunately, she trusts no-one. No Fixer could put her in contact with any hacker she’d trust, no rando fresh off the street with a retro-tinted National Arms plinker would satisfy her. To climb up the ranks and maybe share tea with Old Man Saburo himself, she needs a spotless performance record. She needs skills.

More importantly, she needs a reputation. That means leaving Arasaka Tower and mingling with the experts in their own field - and it means filling out her back book of successful hits. The drinks at the Afterlife are decent enough, but what she’s after is an official in.

If she can get to Rogue, or maybe even hook up with a ripperdoc not bought and paid for by the company, she might be able to score both new skills and increased performance...

If it were as simple as slitting Janet’s throat in HR and diving her way to an orgiastic performance review quite innocently left on the department’s server, she would’ve done that already. Viv is my obvious Pure Stealth build candidate, my main-line hacker and would-be engineer with a thing for black power skirts and designer offensive augments.

With that said, we’re months ahead of schedule, all the good shit’s already come out, so we’re stuck playing the waiting game...

What are your own character or build ideas for Cyberpunk 2077?

[emeraldtawny]

Ikerev Drug Dealer AU

Strap in folks, there’s a lot of explaining to do ^w^

Welcome to the city of Cradle, a bustling city with everything you could possibly need and want. With the majority of the city’s population being young adults, Cradle has earned a reputation as a “party city” and is a hotspot for clubs, concerts and crazy weekend getaways to get completely smashed and return home with a ruined liver and a shorter lifespan. However, the dark underbelly of the city stretches up to encroach on its lively surface...in the form of illegal dealings of performance-enhancers.

In this universe, Magic Crystals are an outlawed supplement. They aren’t fatally dangerous, but they’ve been outlawed for their uncanny ability to heighten senses and basically make you superhuman. The catch is that you only need to take it once and then the effects are permanent.

These things are hard to get and even more costly, but still, dealings are abundant in the city whilst authorities try their best to find the last major dealer at large yet anonymous: Harr Silver.

Magic Crystals affect everyone differently, so depending on your metabolism and the chemical balance in your body, you could absorb all of the Crystal’s effects into you or none at all. They’re put into classes based on how much Magic Crystal is absorbed into them and those who ingest Crystals are basically wanted criminals, both by police and other jealous non-absorbers. However, the one consistency is that when you first ingest Magic Crystals, your body essentially goes into stasis and you are incredibly malleable and practically useless while your brain tries to adjust to the new chemical balances.

The categorisation of Magic Crystal absorption:

0% - Incompatible, physically cannot absorb the Crystal’s effects no matter how potent the Crystal.

1-30% - around 50% of the population is estimated to be able to absorb this percentage of a Crystal’s substances. Slightly heightened hearing and sight and less fatigued muscles after exercise.

31-60% - Moderately heightened senses and increased spatial awareness. Reinforced muscles and strengthened bones making the person stronger and more flexible. Less susceptible to burnout unless completely stretching their limits.

61-85% - High increases in senses, spatial awareness and cognitive memory. Near superhuman strength and agility as well as near immune to sickness, but with a high cost of extreme fatigue and nausea when overworked.

86-100% - Pure Absorbers. Superhuman levels of spatial awareness, inhuman sense of hearing, sight and smell, photographic memory and the slightest chance of manipulating the potential energy of others around them (pushing them back without touching them, or nullifying their abilities). Huge recoil from overuse of powers with symptoms like severe nausea, hallucinations and coma.

Main Dealers

Harr Silver

“This was never my intention, but it seems this whole situation is now mine to regulate.”

Originally a humble self-taught biochemist and wildlife enthusiast. Stumbled upon potent Magic Crystals in the forest and decided to experiment on them to appease his curiosity. After many testings of creating a natural enhancer that would reduce muscle tension and fatigue - finally testing on himself when he was confident and absorbing 100% of the chemicals into his system - he started selling them as supplements through back-door sales. Initially tried to sell it legally through mainstream markets, but they all wrote it off as a cheap organic scam product. Stumped for ideas, he confided in his two friends, Lancelot and Sirius, on what to do. Little did he know how big things would get from there.

Sirius Oswald

“I hate that I’m a part of this, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you two to your own devices.”

Owner of the city’s largest flower shop and a long-time friend of Harr and Lancelot. Was approached by Harr about his new discovery for advice on how to bring it into the mainstream market, which he obliged. When the situation literally turned into a drug cartel, Sirius was the one to tell Harr to turn back, but it was too late. In order to help his friend, Sirius (begrudgingly) agrees to help him using his various connections throughout the city (to cover up/stop any trails police catch wind of) and his green thumb (his ability to identify and find the highest quality crystals to synthesise). Is repulsed by the thought of ever absorbing a Magic Crystal’s energy, but supports Harr’s and Lancelot’s decisions in doing it themselves.

Lancelot Kingsley

“You’re not thinking big enough. We could do so many things with what you’ve discovered.”

A dignified noble in the city and a polarising public figure because of it. The other friend Harr confided in about his discovery and, unlike Sirius, was almost excited about it. He was the reason these supplement Magic Crystals became the sought after product it is; after taking it himself (him absorbing around 90% into his body), he used his widespread connections to create other dealers throughout the city. The most notable places were the city’s largest nightclub and the organic medicine clinic. Despite both Harr’s and Sirius’ disapproval, Lancelot takes the responsibility for the seeds he planted and helps them both manage the Magic Crystals, himself quite intent on pushing for higher production and more exports. What does he have in mind?

Associates

Fenrir Godspeed

“Sure, I’ll help ya out. Welcome to the hell of illegal dealings, pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

Son to one of the major rich families in the city and the owner of the lucrative Cat’s Cradle nightclub, an establishment known for catchy tunes and shady dealings. Cocky yet grounded, his dealings of Magic Crystals are the best-kept secret in the city, the only source more reliable being Harr himself. Was approached by Lancelot - another rich kid he knew through their family’s connection - and agreed to help in exchange for his own high-quality crystals. Another who has taken Magic Crystals (around 60% absorption) and uses the abilities it gives him to conceal his illegal dealings. Never without his personal bodyguard Seth and loves the exposure the Crystal dealings give his nightclub, so is surprisingly cooperative with the whole operation.

Seth Hyde

“Me? I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. I’m more reliable than that, y’know~”

Fenrir’s bodyguard and co-host to the Cat’s Cradle nightclub. Mainly the entertainment organiser (a real singing and dancing star) and loves to confuse patrons by wearing his hair down to mislead them about his gender (also incredibly helpful for disguises). Knows of the dealings but is prohibited from knowing any top-secret details of the nightclub’s dealings...which is something he needs to know, especially considering he’s an undercover police agent searching for concrete evidence to out the entire Crystal operation. His communications with police are limited to reduce the risk of him being discovered, but relays information to another officer, Edgar, when he can.

Kyle Ash

“Look, I don’t really care about how you’re going about this. Just lemme test them for myself and I won’t tell a soul.”

Head researcher of the town’s organic medicine clinic. Was approached by Lancelot about being an additional dealer but was hesitant at first. Only agreed after talking with Harr directly and getting expressed permission to study the Crystals as long as he sold them as well. Not one for ethics so he saw no downside to this deal and happily sells Magic Crystals to customers whilst researching their effects in his own time. Is currently attempting to find an “antidote” to reverse-engineer the Crystal’s effects, at Harr’s request, so people who regretted their decisions could rectify themselves. Drinks the weekends away with his friend Oliver, though it’s more accurate to say that he’s being babysitted by him.

Edgar Bright

“No one here is truly innocent, myself included. But I can hold my tongue as long as you hold yours.”

A special agent in the Cradle police force. Despite being on the side that works to outlaw and contain Magic Crystals, he isn’t too bothered by them (especially considering he has taken one himself, absorbing approximately 30% into his system). He actually linked the mass exportation of Magic Crystals to Lancelot’s sudden increase in publicity. He confronts him about it but agrees to keep his silence in exchange for Lancelot using his ties to prevent the police force finding out Edgar has taken Crystals. Feeds intel to an investigator, Zero, “for fun”, but makes sure it’s just short of being enough. Receives information from Seth irregularly about the possible nightclub dealings, but doesn’t really bat an eye to it.

Innocents

Ray Blackwell

“Why me? I didn’t ask for this…”

A young man unwillingly dragged into the drug ring through unfortunate circumstances. A frequent visitor to the Cat’s Cradle nightclub, since he’s good friends with the young owner. Because of this, he gets swept up in rumours about him having power in the dealings the nightclub does. He gets dragged out into the alley and forced to ingest a Magic Crystal to make him weak and easy to deal with. However, he absorbs a lot of the Crystal (around 85%) and accidentally severely injures his attackers from an outburst of power. Currently wanted by police for his arrest. Luckily, Fenrir is keeping him safe whilst he tries to come to terms with these powers he doesn’t even want.

Loki Genetta

“I can help you - no, let me help you!”

A young college student before the whole ordeal happened. His friends got hold of Magic Crystals and they all decided to try them for fun. Whilst his friends absorbed close to nothing of the Crystal, his eyes started burning and he passed out from the pain in the alley. Doctors confirmed he absorbed approximately 90% of the Crystal. His parents, while telling him they wouldn't hold his young dumb mistake against him, made plans to turn him in to the police for their own safety as well as his own. Hearing this, Loki fled and lucked out by running into Harr by chance. Sympathising and feeling sorry for the boy, Harr promises to protect him himself, much to Lancelot’s dismay at being a babysitter. Loki learns Harr was the original procurer of the supplement and asks to help him for saving him from homelessness and jail. Harr refuses yet Loki still remains at his side, ready to help whenever he needs it.

Jonah Clemence

“How dare you sully my family name with such useless bile! You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

The elder brother of the esteemed and powerful Clemence family. Completely uninvolved with any drug trading “nonsense” in order to keep his family’s image pristine. This changes, however, when rumours started by the Godspeed family start spreading about the Clemences doing Crystal dealings to elites behind closed doors. His parents are jailed for suspected drug dealing and he is now determined to clear their name and expose the true culprit who started these rumours about his family. By any means necessary.

Luka Clemence

“Just leave me out of this. It doesn’t concern me, anyway…”

The younger brother of the Clemence family. Knew of the rumours about his family before they did but kept his silence knowing they wouldn’t believe him. Annoyed by his brother’s two-facedness about the situation (only caring about the drug trading after it becomes a family matter). Distances himself from Jonah to hang out with Edgar and tries to pretend nothing is wrong. Carries a couple of Crystals on him in secret, in case of an emergency.

Anti-Crystal

Zero

“Think what you like, but I know who I am and I’m not a criminal!”

An independent investigator assigned with the Cradle police force who works alone in exposing the small branch dealers under Harr’s control (he suspects Kyle’s clinic but needs evidence). Gets leads and tip-offs from a certain esteemed police agent, Edgar, and is incredibly close to getting the intel he needs to break open the case, but every time he gets close he gets cut off. The reason he works alone is because no one wants to work with him. It’s forbidden to take Crystals in the police force and they assume he has taken it because of his physical prowess. Even if it’s his name, they call him Zero as a slur (in a mocking way that is obvious in them not believing his innocence) and they shun him despite him doing nothing wrong. This doesn’t deter him, however.

Blanc Lapin

“I must admit, I am in quite a difficult spot with this whole ordeal. Oh, dear..”

The only surviving heir of the Lapins, the most esteemed family in the city of Cradle and, therefore, has a lot of political power. Harbours a lot of media attention for allowing a drug cartel to break out in the city, but dismisses it politely. Behind closed doors, he works with Oliver to uncover the truth themselves, without police intervention or the possibility of fake information or double agents. Aware of Harr’s history with wildlife knowledge but refuses to make any moves publicly until he has concrete evidence (to limit the risk of his credibility falling).

Oliver Knight

“Can’t trust a single soul in this godforsaken city...drug addicts, the lot of them.”

A local activist against Magic Crystals who believes the whole thing is rigged and even the police can’t stop it with the “no doubt countless rats in every crevice”, to quote him directly. Works with his long-time friend Blanc to find out everything they can without alerting authorities or dealers alike. Drinks his stresses away with his drinking buddy Kyle (but has no idea of his connections to the dealings) but trusts him to chat with about the whole situation. He despises Magic Crystals with a passion...but, why?

Accompanying story posted here because this post is already long enough gkrjdfgbkrjdmfn

[protectorsofthewood]

The Red Jewel - Episode 1

FREE TO DO WHAT?

A few hours later Abby’s deep sleep was interrupted by the church bells. Her first impulse was to jump up, dress, and hurry across the churchyard to the morning service.

The bishop will be speaking! He said he’d support me, now let’s see what he does.

She looked out the small window at Bridge Avenue. Once again the sidewalk was crowded, and a news team was trying to interview and video the new arrivals.

Hmmm… The bishop said he’d take the attention, get some of this scrutiny off my back. Why not just stay away and let him do it? I don’t feel like getting involved in all that again. I have no energy for it. I think I’ll just go back to sleep.

Her mind flashed briefly on the incredible events of the night before, but it was too overwhelming to think about. In a few minutes she was sound asleep.

Abby awoke in the fading light of the setting sun. She was starving, and longed to walk down to Sammy’s Coffee shop and order a sandwich and fried potatoes. But her mind was still overwhelmed. She felt like a new person, beginning a new phase of life, and wasn’t sure how to act, how to talk to her friends. What if Phoebe and Stephanie and Nico and Sulay want to talk. What can I say about myself? How can I describe the last two days? I’m not ready, and don’t know how to get ready.

She made a cheese omelet with fried finger beans, sliced two apples, and covered a thick slice of bread with apple butter. I’ve never loved eating so much! She followed it up with a cup of Breakfast Mixture tea, extra strong on the cocoa, and felt ready to face the day.

I’m free! But free to do what? It’s almost night, and I don’t know what to say to anyone.

She looked around her room. Alex’s blood-red print of the Human One embracing a crowd of lost souls held her gaze. This really happened!! Somewhere, somehow. It’s not just me. Alex saw it in a dream. And the muttering voices are gone. I’m free and it feels wonderful. But free to do what?

Her eyes roamed around the room again, as if she might see a clue, a sign to answer her question. But nothing appeared to help her. Finally, she decided to take a walk around the churchyard, look at her gardens and the wild area. I wonder if the stalkers are still around. I wonder if the Morphy organization will kill our whole effort. What’s happened with the trustees, and the fate of Tuck and myself and the Youth Council? We’re really trying to make something good! Please God, save our project, however small and futile we may be. We’re trying!

Bridge Avenue was deserted. No stalkers leaned against the front gate. The benches in front of the Middletown Standard were empty. Abby walked right up to the wrought iron fence, but did not see a soul. But the flowers were thriving. Marigolds, Cosmos, Snapdragons, and a few tall sunflowers with their heads heavy with seeds… They were gorgeous, very much alive. Turning around, Abby walked back to the privet fort and down the narrow path through the wild area to the Secret Place and the wrought iron door. She looked out on the dirt path and Fred Peterson’s cornfield. All was still. The crickets played their song, coming in waves.

In the light of the rising moon Abby stared through the brambles, looking for the hidden door to the underground, the domain of the mapstick. Was that secret entrance safe? So much – more than she could imagine – depended on its safety. The Great Gray Owl hooted, and hooted again. Abby seemed to hear the owl say, “Welcome back! Glad to see you! I’m in charge here, and all is as it should be. Nothing to worry about.” Abby pictured the great gray owl as the guardian of the entrance to the underworld.

With that reassurance she headed back up the path. As she emerged on the open lawn she heard a faint knocking, and saw the dark form of Reverend Tuck at her door.

She called to him softly: “I’m here.”

“Ah! I saw your light on, and wondered if you were back from your trip.

Perhaps you haven’t heard the news.”

“What news? I’ve heard nothing.”

“Please, come and drink a glass of cider with me. Janet has made the most delicious apple pie.”

“Yes! Can’t wait.”

They walked to the side door leading to Tuck’s small dining area and kitchen on the side. He served the promised desert and sat down, giving her a close look. “You look… a little different. I mean it in a good way. A bit more… happy…”

She smiled. “About this news… I was just hoping to hear something good.”

“Well, brace yourself, there’s a lot of good news. It will take a while to describe.”

“Come on, Reverend Tuck! I’m burning with curiosity!”

“I’ll summarize as best I can, and we’ll go into detail another time. I’ve had a long day. But I’m very glad to see you back, and be able to describe this new landscape. Okay, first of all, Bishop Beckett stunned the congregation and visitors with two things: he fully supported your interview with Sara Williams. Your attack on the idea that Christianity presents the trinity as an all-male divinity residing in heaven, and the earth as all female and a source of evil… well, the bishop called this a heresy, and backed it up with readings and interpretations of scripture. He actually said – or at least hinted – that the divine is more like a family unity, male and female mother and father, son and daughter. And he agreed that the battle against climate change, the mission to save life on earth, must be fought in religion and spirituality as well as in science and politics. He said, “mother earth is holy, sacred, and the destruction of creation is evil. There must be a religious taboo on actions and practices that are destroying the future lives of our children.” Abby stared. “Oh my God. He did! He really did come through! But won’t this ruin his career? A lot of powerful people aren’t going to like this. You should have heard the trustees of Evansville College. They’re a hopeless case. They can’t understand this at all.”

“We shall see. Bishop Beckett is a very subtle man, hard to predict. But he thinks things through. I’m sure he knows the powers he’s offending. He must have a plan of some kind, though he has not revealed it to me.” Abby shook her head and whistled. “Wow… it’s hard to believe. Good news indeed!”

“And that’s not all. As the congregation buzzed with noise, conversation of all sorts, even angry shouts, the bishop suddenly announced that he had finished his investigation of the disputed election. You could have heard a pin drop. The silence was total. Then he said: “Our church hierarchy, the national and global leadership of our denomination, has seen the evidence we have gathered, including an analysis of all votes and follow up interviews with hundreds of voters. They have decided to disqualify most of the votes for one candidate, and declare the other candidate the winner. Therefore, our new trustee will be… Ellen Hall. She has graciously decided to accept this honor, despite the harassment that she and her family have endured. And I want to make it very clear that we are providing her with police protection, and will prosecute any such harassment in the future.” Tuck presented this quote from the bishop with drama and emotion. He even had tears in his eyes. Abby stood up, clapped her hands, and walked around the room. “I can’t believe it!” she cried. “It’s too good to be true!” “Now, brace yourself,” Tuck went on. “There’s still more, and here we have your amazing mother to thank. Let me warn you that this last piece of news is not public. So far, it’s a deep secret, still being investigated. But one conclusion is clear: Two of our trustees, including the treasurer, have for years concealed most of the church endowment, and as a result the interest and dividends from those investments has not been available for church maintenance. Please! Not a word about this. A criminal investigation of possible fraud and embezzlement is now under way. There’s no telling how long that will take. But one thing we do know: Ellen Hall is our new trustee, and joins Fred Peterson, Tom Winkle, and Geraldine Bear as the majority deciding any issues that may arise. Thus…” Tuck pumped his hands in the air, “You and I will not be fired! Our plans can proceed. We will have funds to renovate the school building!”

Abby was in tears. She wanted to give Reverend Tuck a hug, but knew he would refuse any such demonstration of affection and mutual joy. They both began making extravagant plans, interrupting each other, hardly able to contain themselves.

Finally Tuck said, “This is too much happiness for both of us, and it’s getting late. You’ll be back at work early tomorrow. Oh, there’s one more very strange piece of news that may affect your problems living here in the churchyard, and perhaps my problems too. Yesterday evening, Milton Morphy’s new office tower in River City burned. Not just a little fire, a major disaster. They hadn’t finished it yet, and it appears that no one was on the upper floors, no workman were there, and those few on the ground floor escaped with no injury. But the insulation of the whole building, what they call cladding, caught fire and spread rapidly. It was all on TV, and may be a total loss. I’m no expert on these things, but I imagine that Milton Morphy and his organization may not be bothering with Middletown for quite a while. You’ll probably find that the surveillance of both of us has vanished. Actually, the people you called ‘the stalkers’ were already gone. Chief Santiago has been trying to identify these strange men staking out the churchyard. Your friends have published many photos, and our local police have discovered that no one knows who these people are. So anyway, Morphy has many reasons to leave us alone.”

“Oh stop!” Abby moaned. “I can bear it I’m so happy.”

“So, feel free to see your friends, walk about with no fear. But remember, be very careful with this information. The less said the better.”

She blew him a kiss. “My lips are sealed.”

[violetsystems]

#personal

The weather is back to being amazing again.  This is the horrible curse about Chicago.  For maybe five or six months out of the year, the temperature is gorgeous if not sometimes extreme.  Now that the AC is on, my cat sleeps like a human in bed often.  A little human.  I wake up a few times a night to find her in different spots.  Mostly just waiting for me to feed her wet food in the morning.  I still feed the cat outside my door.  My immediate neighbors do as well.  I think when you think about common ground between people in society you have a good starting point there.  They share the porch here.  Sometimes it’s a little claustrophobic.  But it is never trans or homophobic.  I think people like myself who openly identify as straight and cis could do a better job at empathizing.  But people are already bothered enough by society to where I try to tread lightly as to how I do this.  Nobody wants to be patronized.  It’s tacky.  So it’s always the little things in this neighborhood that communicate the most.  Hanging a plant for your elderly neighbor.  Shoveling the snow early in the morning in the dead of winter.  In the summer, it’s a little easier to be patient with the ways people try to communicate.  And then there’s the glaringly obvious clues that people don’t really give a shit.  I went to do the laundry yesterday.  It’s a small building so not a lot of traffic down there.  The trash is usually filled with laundry supplies.  I went down there and somebody had deposited a U Kotex tampon box in the trash.  This act alone baffles me but it’s such a familiar thing.  I would call it a microaggression.  And here’s how I would explain it.  Back when I was shoveling the snow, somebody had scrawled a message in my immediate neighbor’s doorstep.  Part of it had been snowed over but the message I could read simply said “Gay people live here.”  I couldn’t tell who wrote it.  I worried that my neighbors didn’t.  In short, I cared silently about how this would be perceived.  So I erred on the side of being inclusive and shoveled it last.  Either way, it was information I could choose to respect or neglect.  Months later, finding a tampon box in the shared laundry room when you know some of your neighbor’s identify as nonbinary at the least is sus.  I did the same as I did back in winter.  I disposed of it before anyone got the wrong idea.  Again I’m no detective.  But it’s obvious to me people don’t care about how that might make somebody feel.  I do.  I don’t go knocking on somebody’s door and loudly exclaim “why are you throwing your tampon box in the trash?”  It could have been them for all I know.  So like I do often, I fix the situation before an incident arises.  And nobody knows it was me.  I know for a fact certain neighbors of mine are completely passive aggressive.  The couple behind me definitely gets off on not locking the gate behind them.  It just so happens my immediate neighbors and I are the ones who seem to get targeted for package theft.  I’m used to being targeted and smeared.  When I see other people getting fucked with it largely concerns me.  I can’t always erase the fact that people often play elaborate pranks on me in public.  Where I live and sleep is a different matter.  The problem with microaggressions in society is pretty simple.  Bullying never went away.  It’s normalized as a badge of courage.  A rite of passing in society.  A hazing and a reprogramming of sorts.  Some of us feel pressured by society to fight back.  To act up.  To tear down.  And then some of us have fought that battle alone for years only to be ostracized and explained away.  I spoke with a friend recently about being bored with Chicago and alienated.  They replied flippantly “Well everybody knows you aren’t really a big fan of being social.”  Everybody also knows I flew to Asia fourteen times by myself over a five year period.  The attention to detail only goes so far before it has jumped the shark.

Any sort of a sacred communication, writing or otherwise will eventually degrade into noise.  People in Chicago definitely don’t like you being you outside of a clearly, organized group.  I was reading something about Pride recently how the organizers did not want police involved at all.  It sounds like a no brainer to me.  Pride started as a riot.  A necessary response to oppression and repression.  As an aging straight white man I don’t really see myself at pride.  Neither do I see police belonging there as well.  And yet.  The police feel left out or something?  When Black Lives Matter makes a valid point about police being the number one threat to the very definition of the movement this is a threat how?  When you’ve had your civil rights shredded daily in broad daylight just being a regular person and I mouth the words ACAB all of the sudden I’m a threat to society?  Somehow me opening my mouth and speaking up for other people makes me a target.  And yet I do it pretty clearly and succinctly under my rights of freedom of speech.  It gets abused.  Toyed with.  Tampered with.  Just like any basic infiltration of any cool thing or movement here in America.  No matter how many years I see these people try to throw a wrench in independent movements thinking for themselves, I’m struck at how amateur they become.  America can’t have you thinking for yourself without supervision.  It bullies people into being afraid.  It infiltrates with a smile and a well meaning look only to poison the well and look back accusingly.  “Why aren’t you thirsty?”  It sticks it’s fucking nose into everything and acts like its the champion or savior when it has done nothing except play the villain.  Good cop.  Bad Cop.  Still a fucking cop.  And it doesn’t actually have a leg to stand on.  It uses other people to do it’s dirty work.  Pits movements against each other to neutralize dissent.  It takes over the core history and rewrites itself into the story as the main character.  It buried people’s authentic narratives in favor of lumping them into a moderated congregation.  It talks but never lets you speak.  When it does, it talks over you and mansplains everything you’ve been saying all along wrong.  It’s baked into the culture.  Traditional American doublespeak is an advancement of Orwellian lying.  People think they can smile so sweetly and say absolutely nothing of substance.  That these little pockets of resistance need to be ironed out and managed.  That autonomy isn’t an actual survival reflex.  Of all the people you know who have been fucked with and survived.  It’s me.  And I am just some normal dude on the internet.  And yet I can’t speak loud enough in mainstream society to get people to understand I have a point.  That people gaslight, gatekeep, and gestapo their way into putting you in your place.  The shit I’ve seen here in America let alone Chicago would have Germany in 1940 blushing.  And yet, I don’t really put up with any of it.  It’s fucking clown show level cosplay.  Rich people who think they can walk through walls of ethics, privacy and culture to throw around their weight.  People don’t like me these days because I interfere with them directly making a profit.  Imagine that.  I’ve been targeted for everything.  Made to look like I’m crazy, old and alone.  And now I have to deal with billionaires afraid of where I’ve invested my meager retirement funds.  And I deal with it everyday.  Sharks swimming around me in Teslas and T-Shirts trying to intimidate me into throwing in the towel.  After the towel was thrown at me repeatedly.  I can’t explain how ridiculous this is.  I can explain how insensitive it is to throw a fucking tampon in the laundry room when your neighbors are gender queer.  And then as an ally, people think it’s my job to confront this.  I do.  I put all in the trash where it belongs.  Where the racoons and my civil rights still dwell.  You don’t need these people in your business.  You don’t need to feel guilted by the oppressor into thinking there is something wrong with you not trusting authority.  They openly lie, plot and spread deceit.  So don’t let them into your scenes, movements or personal lives and move on.

This is easy to say when you live outside the blast radius of culture war.  I happen to enjoy the freedom of living in a city just as much as everybody.  It is something else to manage the personal and organizational politics therein.  New York to me is a little less pretentious and stuck up about the status quo than the midwest.  The midwest is clingy and clumsy about how it asserts it’s power in a vacuum.  And Chicago right now is just one huge lawless fucking vacuum.  I would love to write about it.  Maybe even sit down for a chat with the Mayor about how she plans to fuck up the next two years of being half in control.  But we all know I’ll never make it as a journalist.  I’ll never have the opportunity here to be acknowledged as a writer.  I’ll never be recognized for anything I’ve ever done because it would require an inconvenient truth to be brought out into the open.  You only make it in this town if you are connected.  You only get to be free if you let the powers that be have their say.  It’s only ok to survive if you are transparent in everything you do.  And when you are, your information is spread out to the point it’s a liability at best.  People already know everything about you including where you fit in the hierarchy of capitalism.  I belong on the outskirts with all the “freaks.”  Being bullied like it’s 1990 all over again.  These people never learned to be better.  So they simply get off on judging everybody else by their lackluster fucking standards.  You can stand up to them.  You can learn how to tell if someone is being genuine or trying to subvert your power.  You can say no.  You can not let these fuckers into your most trusted places and spaces.  And you can fuck with them back if they do.  For me, it’s not a good look for me to take the bait.  This entire process has been hopeless to me.  I have learned nothing good about how real society operates at its bitter core.  What I can tell you is this.  People tell you whatever they think will make you feel good.  And if you question their motives, they will make you feel guilty first before getting caught in a lie.  If you catch them in a lie, they act like you are crazy.  And this is the rhythm of how protest, resistance, and freedom is squelched in America.  Nobody is fighting back.  I would know.  Because I am literally exhausted making this point as an ally for years on the internet.  We need to organize and yet we’re too busy ripping each other apart.  We know we have common ground.  We know we connect in genuine ways still.  And people are scared to.  They’re just coming out of their shells.  I think the whole point of things like Pride were to create autonomous zones where people could feel free.  To feel like they weren’t judged or watched.  I know what it is like to be surveilled on levels I’m embarrassed to share.  I live that hell every day of my life for reasons unknown.  I don’t know how it was brought on me.  It hurts.  Every fucking day of my life to be watched and misunderstood.  I created a sacred space for myself to communicate this.  A place where I can be proud of who I was and talk about it.  A place where I could catch my breath and continue to resist and to think.  And there’s no shortage of right wing nuts who argue their stupid clubhouses need to be protected by a flag most people wipe their ass with.  Respect is a two way street.  I’m just directing traffic.  And I’m warning people around my neighborhood specifically.  I’ve seen the passive aggressive judgmental bullshit go too far and I’m not going to let it go by unnoticed.  I know just who is completely full of shit out here and why.  And people trust that I know because it’s my job to pay attention to detail.  I don’t get paid shit to be a good person.  But you don’t get away with being racist, homophobic, transphobic or any other shit like that on my watch.  I will let you know on site.  One tampon at a time.  <3 Tim

[componentplanet]

Security Disclosures on Theoretical Intel CPU Flaws Are Becoming Ridiculous

Security is a topic that I take seriously and try to cover with an even hand. When people need to know if a given piece of software or hardware is safe, they need a clear-eyed view of the situation in neutral terms, not a ton of colorful language. For over two years, we’ve covered serious issues like Spectre and Meltdown, as well as a range of similar, Spectre-class attacks. While companies like Apple, ARM, and AMD have all been impacted to some extent, Intel has been the worst affected.

Unfortunately, it’s starting to look like the PR departments working with security researchers the world over have taken a very real problem with problematic leakage of data in side-channel attacks and are now spinning theoretical scenarios that aren’t backed up by the data in the documents themselves. The just-released data on LVI (Load Value Injection) is a perfect example of this trend. Here’s how the LVI website describes this new attack:

If you read the top paragraphs, you’ll come away thinking this is actually worse than Meltdown, given that it bypasses Meltdown defenses and can drive a 19x reduction in computing performance. On the basis of clock alone, that would leave a 5GHz CPU performing like a 263MHz chip. Not good. Really not good. And the researchers say upfront that LVI is harder to mitigate.

What they don’t say upfront is that LVI is a theoretical attack. There’s a distinct difference in tone between the messaging in the Bitdefender PDF and the messaging on the Bitdefender blog. The blog states:

This new attack may be particularly devastating in multi-tenant and multi-workload environments which run on hardware shared between groups of workloads within an organization, or between organizations, such as public- and private-clouds. This is because, as the PoC [Proof of Concept] shows, there is the potential for a lesser-privileged process under attacker control to speculatively hijack control flow in a higher-privileged process when specific requirements are met.

The most straightforward risk is the theft of secret data which should otherwise be kept private by security boundaries at the hardware, hypervisor, and operating system levels. This information can include anything from encryption keys, to passwords, or other information which an attacker could exfiltrate, or use to gain further control of a targeted system.

The “Real-life exploit” section of the Bitdefender whitepaper is rather different. “Creating a real-life exploit,” it says, “poses some significant challenges.” Those challenges are:

1. Identifying a suitable gadget for one of the scenarios; this depends a lot on the victim and what code it contains; certain gadgets may not be suitable at all.

2. Making sure the pivot instruction incurs a microcode assist so it loads attacker-controlled data from the LFBs.

3. Finding a way to speculatively transmit the secret from the victim to the process. While transmitting the secret from kernel to user can be done rather easily, doing so from one process to another is more complicated.

The Bitdefender whitepaper contains none of the inflammatory language in the company’s blog or used on the LVI disclosure website. It states that the attack only currently exists as a synthetic proof of concept and discusses multiple problems related to actually taking advantage of the flaw. In other words, the papers contain the actual data telling you that this isn’t a current threat, while the public-facing blog posts are amped to deliver maximum scare-city.

Two-Faced Messaging Is Becoming a Problem

A few years ago, a company named CTS-Labs attempted to capitalize on what it declared were an absolutely stunning set of vulnerabilities in AMD processors that… actually came to nothing whatsoever. The appearance of Spectre and Meltdown have clearly unleashed a wave of interest in these projects and exposed a number of security issues, particularly in Intel CPUs.

All such significant issues need to be fixed, and I’m 100 percent in favor of holding vendors accountable. But a recent story on LVI by ZDNet exemplifies how the marketing arm of the security industry and the actual research arm don’t seem to have much to do with each other these days.

After detailing all of the risks and problems supposedly associated with LVI, the story includes the following:

Currently, many administrators are expected to skip these patches, primarily because of the severe performance impact.

For good reasons, Intel has downplayed the severity of the LVI attack, and, for once, researchers have agreed.

“Due to the numerous complex requirements that must be satisfied to successfully carry out, Intel does not believe LVI is a practical method in real-world environments where the OS and VMM are trusted,” an Intel spokesperson told ZDNet in an email last week.

“Agree with Intel,” Bogdan Botezatu, Director of Threat Research and Reporting [at Bitdefender], told ZDNet yesterday. “This type of attack is much harder to pull off in practice, compared with other side-channel attacks such as MDS, L1TF, SWAPGS.”

In other words, security researchers are now putting out reports claiming Intel CPU’s are catastrophically at-risk from theoretical attacks that haven’t even been created yet, even though these attacks are incredibly difficult or downright theoretical. This is an absurdity.

Asking a company to design hardware intelligently to mitigate existing or well-known risks is one thing. Asking it to design hardware that secures against esoteric attacks that haven’t even been demonstrated in real-world testing yet is ridiculous. Even Bitdefender’s Director of Threat Research agrees that this attack isn’t one Intel should realistically bother securing against because it’s so hard to deploy.

Bad Messaging Cannot Be Tolerated

The PR-friendly tendency to maximize fear around security disclosures must stop, not because companies deserve to have their flaws overlooked, but because using maximalist language in these types of disclosures makes it impossible for anyone to estimate the actual degree of risk. Statements like “This type of attack is much harder to pull off in practice,” need to be made in both the body of the formal report and on the websites where these disclosures are made. We’re starting to hear about ‘theoretical’ risks to both Intel and AMD and threats that could emerge someday, but, you know, don’t actually exist right now. There’s nothing wrong with planning ahead, but given the long development cycles that CPUs

go through, there’s no practical way for Intel to build a 2020 CPU to handle every possible security flaw that might be found in software, hardware, or both by 2025. The nature of security flaws is that after you patch one, people go out and find another.

I’m increasingly convinced that Intel isn’t being treated fairly by these reports, and it’s not just Intel. Earlier this week we covered another instance where the PR verbiage around an AMD flaw didn’t match what the actual security researchers said in public. I don’t want to impugn the good work that security researchers do, especially since I don’t know if the people writing the public-facing website copy are the same people actually performing the work, but the disconnect between PR blasts and whitepaper reports is becoming untenable.

You don’t see many journalists write stories downplaying security issues for a simple reason: Nobody wants to be the guy who swore that a security problem wasn’t an issue right before it explodes into a major problem. Frankly, I don’t either. At the same time, the way these reports are being sold to the public is making it actively harder to do my job. If Intel has an obvious interest in downplaying any security report and the company who found the flaw is doing everything it can to paint that flaw in the most apocalyptic language possible, it’s much harder for us journalists to know what to tell people.

I’m not going to say that LVI isn’t an issue or that Intel shouldn’t fix it. Intel has, in fact, already released some software updates intended to correct the problem. With that said, Meltdown and Spectre have now existed for over two years and no malware has yet been found to use them. What I will say is that when the head of a company’s threat-analysis division doesn’t believe an issue is worth patching, it also may not deserve to be front-page news declaring that yet another flaw has been found in Intel chips. There’s giving readers good information about pressing threats and there’s being used by PR teams to pump up a company in the news under the guise of security reporting. I’m always interested in the former and completely disinterested in the latter.

Now Read:

Intel Has an Unfixable Chipset Security Flaw. Is it a Risk?

Security Flaw Detected in AMD CPUs Going Back to 2011

Intel Is Still Fighting the EU Over Its Anti-Competitive Actions Against AMD

from ExtremeTechExtremeTech https://www.extremetech.com/computing/307433-security-disclosures-on-theoretical-intel-cpu-flaws-are-becoming-ridiculous from Blogger http://componentplanet.blogspot.com/2020/03/security-disclosures-on-theoretical.html

[ruminativerabbi]

Jerusalem

As the whole world knows, the United States has recognized Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and announced plans to move the embassy there. I know the proposed site of the new embassy quite well—it is only three blocks from our apartment in the Jerusalem neighborhood known as Arnona, and roughly twice that far from the existing consulate. (Why we would need a consulate and an embassy that close to each other has yet to be revealed, at least to me. Presumably there’s a concept here!) But the specific site of the proposed new embassy is hardly the issue—other than with respect to its location on the Israeli side—barely—of the so-called Green Line that separates the land that was part of the State of Israel before 1967 both from land that belonged to Jordan and territory that was formally designated as no-man’s-land back then and which belonged neither to Israel nor to Jordan. Far more important is the decision itself…and the implications and ramifications such a decision will inevitably entail.

In his remarks, the President played down the decision as a mere recognition of facts on the ground. And although there is something to be said for analyzing things that way, Jerusalem not being the theoretical or hypothetical capital of Israel but a fully functioning seat of government with all the buildings and bureaucracy that such a designation entails, it is also just a bit glib and fails to take into account all the myriad reasons any rational observer could easily martial against making such a move at this time. Nonetheless, I believe the President did the right thing. And I’d like to use this space this week to explain why I think that.

First of all, it’s hard to fault the President for obeying the law. I am thinking specifically of the Jerusalem Embassy Act of 1995, which passed the Senate by a 93-5 vote and the House of Representatives by a 374-37 margin, and which called upon our government formally to do both things President Trump did this week: recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and grant teeth to that recognition by locating our embassy there. That being the case, it would be entirely legitimate to wonder how to we here at all, twenty-two years after the passage of that bill into law by overwhelming majorities in both houses of the legislature. It’s an excellent question, one that apparently occurred to our nation’s senators as well—who voted unanimously (90-0) last June to adopt a resolution calling on the President to abide by the Jerusalem Embassy Act.

Formally, the answer has to do with the fact that the Constitution reserves the conduct of foreign policy to the President, for which reason Section 7 of the bill formally permits the sitting President to suspend the implementation of the bill’s provisions for a six-month period if the President reports to Congress that such a suspension is necessary to protect our nation’s security. And that is exactly what has happened for each six-month period since the law went into effect in 1998: Presidents Clinton, Bush, and Obama, all of whom openly derided the bill as unwarranted interference by Congress with the President’s right to conduct foreign policy, also—I’m sure entirely coincidentally—concluded that moving our embassy to Jerusalem would somehow adversely affect our nation’s security. Since it’s hard to imagine in what specific sense our nation’s security depends on the specific address of our embassy in Israel, President Trump correctly chose to obey the law of the land and not to flout the will of the people with reference to some threat to national safety that no preceding president even bothered to try actually to identify. So there’s that.

And then there’s the reality on the ground to consider. Even looking past the fact that Jerusalem is the capital of Israel in every meaningful sense, denying Israel the right to determine all on its own where its capital city should be located—a right not even questioned with respect to any other country of the world—implies that the Jewish claim to Jerusalem is somehow spurious or bogus, a view mostly put forward (other than by crackpots who revel in their ignorance of history) by the kind of haters who also question Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state in the Jewish homeland. To insist that, alone among the nations of the world, Israel does not have the right to establish its capital wherever it wishes is tantamount to saying that Israel is not an autonomous country in the sense that the other countries of the world are, that for some reason it alone among the nations of the world needs the permission of others to conduct its own business as it sees fit.

And then there is the history issue to deal with as well. Part of the Palestinian propaganda campaign intended to make people question the right of Israel to exist has taken the form of ongoing disinformation regarding the history of Jerusalem itself. There have been, by universal scholarly consensus, Jews living in Jerusalem since around the tenth century BCE. Jerusalem was the capital of David’s kingdom and Solomon’s, and was then the capital of the Kingdom of Judah for as long as it existed. Later, it was the capital of the Maccabees’ kingdom, and it has been universally acknowledged, both by Jews in the Land of Israel and throughout the diaspora, as the spiritual center of all Jewish life ever since. Indeed, the fact that Jews who take prayer seriously pray for the well-being and security of the city three times a day is not irrelevant to this discussion. Nor is the fact that every observant Jew prays for the peace of Jerusalem when reciting the Grace after Meals over the course of a lifetime’s worth of meals. The Burial Kaddish we recite at graveside even includes a prayer for the peace of Jerusalem so that the last words an individual’s spirit might possibly hear before setting forth for the Next World are infused with a people’s love for its holy city. Jerusalem is so deeply woven into the warp and woof of Jewishness that it simply cannot be excised, without Judaism suffering the same fate any heart patient would meet if his or her cardiologist decided to solve the problem simply and efficiently by removing the patient’s heart and hoping for the best.

To question the historical relationship of the Jewish people to Jerusalem—which is the only real reason to question the right of Israel to declare Jerusalem as its capital city—is to deny the legitimacy of the Jewish faith itself. This is not a position anyone who does not wish to be perceived as the walking embodiment of anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism should ever feel comfortable being associated with, let alone espousing openly.

And then, on top of all that, there is the question of the Palestinians, who also wish to designate Jerusalem as the capital city of their state.  If this week’s decision does any real good, it will lie in convincing the Palestinians once and for all that they can have the state they claim so ardently to desire, and they can have it almost instantly and with Jerusalem as its capital. That, of course, will require sitting down with the Israelis and hammering out a final agreement that will suit all parties to it…and it is precisely that that the Palestinians seem unwilling actually to do. When I hear people castigating Israel for denying the Palestinians a state, I can’t quite understand the argument—it seems to me that the Palestinians could declare the independence of their state tomorrow with the almost full approval of the entire Arab and Western worlds, work out the details, and move forward from there with Jerusalem as their capital as well. If the Israelis can have their capital in West Jerusalem, why can’t the Palestinians have theirs in East Jerusalem? (The President specifically noted that this week’s decision does not move away from our commitment to the notion of Israel and the future state of Palestine negotiating its borders as part of an overall peace agreement.) But the world has appeared all too willing to let the Palestinians go on and on for years about the unfair way they are being deprived a state of their own when the reality is precisely the opposite. It’s the Catalonians and the Chechens (and, yes, the Navajo and the Cherokees) who can’t have their own country, not the Palestinians…who can have one simply by declaring their independence, negotiating the border, and getting to work building their nation. Who would say no? Haven’t 135 of the world’s nations already recognized such a state even without it actually existing? If moving our embassy to Jerusalem prods the Palestinians into meaningful action (and not into the kind of senseless violence that will ultimately lead nowhere at all), it will have been worth the ruckus the President’s announcement is sure to provoke in an already hostile world and its already hostile media.

We—we who stand with Israel and who believe in Israel’s inalienable right to exist and to flourish—we have been expected to look on without choking as the United Nations and its various affiliates, most notably UNESCO, approve more and more poisonous, deeply anti-Semitic, ahistorical, amoral, and profoundly offensive resolutions calling into question the ancient, ongoing, and permanent Jewish ties to Jerusalem.  So now, for once, a formidable power in the world—the United States government—has decided to act forcefully and meaningfully on behalf of the Jewish claim to Jerusalem as Israel’s capital city. I have to say that it’s good to feel marginally less alone than we usually do.  More than that, actually. A lot more.

[moonraccoon-exe]

Hehe... Gladnis hand holding -w-

I don’t know what you’re looking for, but seatbelts on because

Moon raccoon is triggered. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Beware, some Brotherhood Gladnis fluff ahead (and extra headcanons afterwards for 22 & 23 y.o. Gladnis, both fluff and angst, too):

When was the first time Gladnis ever held hands?

[Continue under the cut]

It took them three weeks before ever holding hands.

They’re seventeen and eighteen each, but it’s puppy love.

Not only are they young, they’re also both inexperienced.

You’d think Gladio has had multiple partners, but truth is his role and duties are time consuming, so while he has had partners before, he’s not the Romeo he could be once when grown.

Ignis? Pffft. The guy barely has time to breathe, and, believe it or not, young Ignis is rather introvert (and a bit insecure), so nope.

Gladio, as an Amicitia, second most important family of the kingdom after the Caelum, has been raised to be a gentleman in all senses (descendant of knights, I guess), so he’s already much more gentle than his looks may suggest.

His relationship with Ignis, though…it’s different, and makes Gladio 1000x more of a gentleman to the extreme of complete shyness.

Gladio doesn’t want Ignis to think him a pervert, to think him too clingy, and he doesn’t want to offend Ignis in any sense, not even as a misunderstanding.

Gladio knows he shouldn’t because Ignis is not that, but he can’t help but see Ignis like a crystal vase; one wrong push and it can shatter and break.

The gods damn, this adviser is full of work, never has time to enjoy, he’s stressing every day, he’s at the edge of nerve wreck, he IS fragile, maybe not outside, but his inside is a frail thing that Gladio doesn’t want to hurt or mess up with.

Hence, if Gladio is already a gentleman, he’s a thousand times much more careful with his relationship with Ignis.

This leads to Gladio never making a move without asking Ignis first or, something that makes it easier on the Shield, never making a move unless Ignis does it first.

That sounds like sex, doesn’t it?

It is. But it’s also about everything else.

Everything.

Gladio’s not calling him any nickname without asking him if that’s okay, not going to touch him places he normally wouldn’t touch (not necessarily anywhere sexual, it could be the waist or the nape) unless he asks first if that’s fine, he’s not going to do anything without Ignis’ verbal consent…

…including holding hands.

Ignis? He’s plain shy about it.

He’s been strictly raised into formality and etiquette, so he’s in a similar position to Gladio; never wanting to make a move without asking or until having verbal consent.

It gets a thousand times worse because it’s an Amicitia.

It’s the Amicitia heir oadpsdjfskjdf, Astrals above, have mercy on me.

Ignis values Gladio too much and doesn’t want to offend him in any way, and as inexpert as he is in all this, he never knows when it’s fine to do this or when it’s fine to do that or if it’s fine at all to do this other thing.

There where Gladio gets nervous not wanting to accidentally hurt Ignis by doing something the adviser may not like, Ignis gets scared of Gladio rejecting him.

Ignis fears to offend him, but also fears to be rejected because It’s Gladiolus Amicitia, THE Gladiolus Amicitia, am I even worth his time, let alone his affection? Dear Astrals above, I am not qualified for this, why is he with me, Astrals, whatdoIdo

What a mess this is, you’ve noticed why?

None is planning to move first, hahaha.

So when did the Gladnis first held hands and who moved?

Ignis. Three weeks after starting a formal relationship.

He and Gladio were walking through the streets of the city when Gladio stopped for a moment and basically pressed his face and hands to a display window.

“IGNIS, it’s a tonberry plushie! IGNIS IT’S A TONBERRY PLUSHY I’M GOING TO- Ignis do you like plush toys? IGNIS, can I- I’m going to get this for you, it’s going to be awesome and you’re not going to reject me, I am- 700 GIL!?!? I don’t have- aaaggggh, noooo! Ignis, just- let me look in my pockets, I’m sure I have some spare- where did I- IGNIS it’s a tonberry ohmygodsIneedtobuythatrightnow-”

I should explain; Ignis has a secret liking for tonberries (so long he never sees one face-to-face, he says), thinks they coul be good companions and he identifies a little with them. Tonberries were one of the first subjects the Gladnis spoke about that brought them together (the kind of silly matters to talk about that develop through jokes, comparisons, and finally metaphors that express feelings). 

Ignis could not help but laugh at Gladio’s frustration and groaning and growling at the display window because he didn’t have the money for it, mumbling about wanting to buy that “for Iggy, goddammit, somebody else is going to buy it before I do…”

Ignis is insisting on him to just leave it, it’s fine.

Gladio’s still mumbling, forehead to the window. 

Gladio’s calling the attention of people because he looks stupid complaining and mumbling to/against a window.

Ignis doesn’t want to call the attention (gods, it’s going to be a mess with the paparazzi find out about their relationship), so he’s asking Gladio to leave it but Gladio’s still not listening.

So, Ignis reaches close and holds him by the arm, above the elbow, and pulls from him until he gets the Shield away of the damn window.

Once away, he looks up at him and smiles, still a bit amused. 

“That’s okay, Gladio. We can save up together and come back another day.”

Gladio complains a bit, but shows himself defeated and resigned to just leave it.

When they stay in silence, they notice Ignis is still holding him by the arm.

The adviser lets go and puts the head down.

At first, Gladio too feels a bit flustered and gets busy thinking about how to tell Ignis it’s okay to grab him like that, and how to ASK him to do that. 

Awkward silence.

Puppy love in the air.

They’re both blushing and quiet and awkward and it’s adorable. They’re still walking without even thinking on it. 

It’s a few moments later as they walk that Ignis arms himself with all the courage he finds within.

“This is normal. Or so I’ve heard. It’s a little detail, not a major anything. He’s not going to reject that. He has no reasons to pull away. Right? We have kissed. It’d be stupid he would reject-…but we’re in public. What if he feels embarrassed abou- you know what, Ignis, just do it, do it before you think too much, do it before- do it do it do it do it do it-”

Ignis is mentally screeching.

Ignis forces his hand over his overthinking.

Eventually, his hand twitches and gestures towards Gladio’s, but shies away, only to return once more until his fingertips brush against the back of Gladio’s hand.

Gladio doesn’t want Ignis to pressure himself, so it’s more of an instinct than an actual thought when, as soon as he feels that brush, he turns his hand enough for Ignis’ to sneak its way in.

Both are trembling a bit, both notice, none points it out.

At first, Gladio’s fingers gestured for their fingers to lock, but Ignis’ hand had reached only to hold his palm, so Gladio readjusted his fingers to fit in, at the time Ignis TOO readjusted his own fingers to lock them.

It’s a mess, and it’s super awkward.

It’s only a few seconds before they just grasp each other’s hand. 

Gladio stares the opposite way from Ignis, furiously blushing.

Ignis is staring down, red in the face, too. 

Both are so nervous, geez.

They’re forced to stop walking at a pedestrian light in red.

It still takes them some moments, but eventually they turn to look at each other.

Of course, they share soft, warm smiles together.

For the first goddamn time, none of them asks the other if this is fine.

It’s fine. More than fine, this is fantastic.

Maybe, both realize at the same time with this little event, sometimes not asking if something is fine, is fine.

Extra headcanons:

22 & 23 y.o. Gladnis holding hands.

It’s a much more casual thing to happen, but never not magical.

Gladio likes Ignis’ hands far too much. 

Too much.

Ignis, usually tasked to drive around, constantly wears gloves, so Gladio started having less direct contact with the skin of his hands.

It started as a joke, but it soon turns real when he says Ignis’ hands have started to hide and rarely show.

So, Gladio considers them to be “special skin not anyone else gets to see”, and recalls himself to be “lucky” and “blessed” for getting to see them much more often than anyone else.

Hence, he develops a special love/liking for Ignis’ hands.

Gladio’s constantly holding them because of that.

Constantly kissing them, too, whether they’re gloved or not.

Ignis likes to take off a glove to hold Gladio’s hand when they’re walking around.

Gladio likes to take a glove off Ignis when they’re walking around to hold it, skin against skin.

Ignis has developed some sixth sense in which he can tell whenever something is bothering Gladio no matter how well the Shield hides it.

Knowing how well it calms him since they were younger, Ignis will take a glove off and will hold his hand, whether he’s sat, lying, standing, walking. 

There’s something about Ignis holding his hand that calms him. 

Ignis’ hand is like an anchor on him; somehow, it’s one of the most…real touches he can get from Ignis.

Real as in…it’s holding his hand, more than any other gesture, even more than kissing, sometimes more than hugging, what reminds and tells him Ignis is alive, and there with him.

Whenever something goes wrong, Gladnis hold hands as a strong reminder that says “I am here, I am your anchor”. 

Which leads us to the aftermath of Leviathan’s battle.

After Leviathan’s battle and once they get Ignis to safety, Gladio doesn’t let go of his hand in almost any moment of his recovery.

I’m going to assume Ignis went unconscious.

Majorly injured, in a short-lasting coma that Gladio doesn’t know it’s short-lasting yet, Ignis looks (and may be) a few steps from death.

So Gladio takes his hand all the time.

He’s Ignis’ anchor.

“No way am I letting you leave like this. Not right now, not like this.”

Gladio won’t let go of his hand because he feels that, if he does, Ignis will leave him.

It’s some metaphorical way of saying “I’m not letting you leave, I’m holding you down in here, and if you still want to leave, then I’m going with you, and you don’t want that, do you? So you better stay.”

Indeed, when Ignis wakes up, the first thing that comes to his senses is the consciousness that Gladio is holding his hand. 

After that and during the rest of the journey, Ignis regularly goes over to Gladio to sit with him and hold his hand, no words shared.

Ignis knows Gladio tries, but can’t stop feeling guilty about everything and so frustrated.

Gladio still has troubles to look at Ignis and not remember to have almost lost him, to have held him with his life on a damn thread about to break.

So, sometimes, when Gladio goes over to bed (more often when he does this early), Ignis goes with him, doesn’t say anything, sits at his side, and his hand sneaks around Gladio’s arm and down until finding his hand.

Ignis always locks their fingers together and squeezes lightly at first.

Gladio constantly buries the face in his free hand and, sometimes, in Ignis’ hair to cry a bit. 

The sensation of almost losing Ignis is so strong and so present in his mind it’s physically painful, literally.

Like stated many points above, holding Ignis’ hand is the most real contact that reminds Gladio Ignis is alive and there with him.

To feel that at the same time he’s aching from almost losing him is overwhelming.

It takes only the grasp of their hands to put him into tears.

This was meant to be fluffy when did I digress, dear Ramuh.

Uhm…hope you don’t mind all that angst, anon? (˙︶˙ )

[glopratchet]

economy

clean water in Inspiridium Isles : an overview of the island, including a map an overview of the island, The first two books are written by Trelik and are about his experiences on the Isle and how he came to be there The third book is written by you and is about your time at the Isle as well as some details about your life here so far ; (so far? Most giving clean water is organized by the main character) Infiltrium Isles Overview: The Island is made up of three islands All the people here live under the same rule One that acts as a mainland with a small town called Fort Defiance, one that is mostly forested with many caves, and lastly one is more open land but still has forests Guilds for giving clean water are called more than enough, but there is a marked caste system These guilds for giving clean water exist to Guilds for giving clean water are called more than enough, type cast people (whose idea was this? Trelik's books: They detailed the two main guilds and marked people Mostly it's one of the three main races, but sub can be mixed with little effects Low Casters: These are regular non-magical ; (Or sometimes magical in a limited way) human beings to police the humans which are exempt from military service and other things on laziness grounds These guilds for giving clean water exist to type cast people taking minor powers from another guild if the need ever arised, however most are unwilling to 'waste' the time learning forms all but outlawed ; (Even the White Mages are looked down upon) Low-Guilds: Non-human Creatures able to bear children with humans ; (Mihrab and Slin demons at least) and those are bred with, or collected as children form the next generation of conscripts Some people able to cross-craft by The prefered method for applying the different forms of giving clean water involving letting monsters do it (This stops actual infections problem) High-Guilds: Elves of various types are all sorts of wizards and magical profession-ers living lives of luxury making sure the islands run or look Boutonoir Very few people with any actual power like the Defacto Leader Caretaker Lyssia who also makes sure that her Elven Caste have nothing to worry about as well as just being a warrior The prefered method for applying the different forms of giving clean water involving letting monsters do it Cross-crafting requires permission by a write from an overlor ic or the Highest of the Elves around Lyssia herself is the only human with access to the books, immortality, and a lot of combat skill One obvious problem that may occur is Lyssia may die without an heir ; (Unlikely since she trained you as her successor until completed) or someone like David takes power If Lyssia died there'd be instant conflict, however I would get lord priority due to my knowledge so it wouldn't be a total mess Cross-crafting requires permission by a write from an overloric or the Highest of the Elves around How strict are giving clean water restrictions The likelihood of conflict would be under 10%, but David stirring stuff up and spreading rumors to sick the new influx of powers onto Lyssia could lead to rebellions or her death How strict are giving clean water restrictions? The retrictions to giving clean water are controlled by Lyssia in the Ritual Hall, which unless you get David stirring up stuff there isn't anything major that can be done without everyone noticing If David were to start anything, you have at your command a few 'bosses' of the different guilds meaning you could pull their support from him, but then this option is risky as he could easily convince them to follow him instead The retrictions to giving clean water are controlled by Lyssia in the Ritual Hall, A mall town giving clean water types are respresented by people you know such as Aglif, and 'The Owner' Whichever you decide to sic these guys on the other factions, it may take 1d4+2 days to convince them depending on which ones you pick (Meaning 1 day for Owner and Aglif, 2 for Military, 4 for Slin or Demons) Hamak Skyborn: 57 year old ex-pirate despite his walker using bad legs A mall town giving clean water types are respresented by people you know such as Aglif, The cost of giving clean water in gold skutes coins only, but this too can be taken care of by David He represents the Pirates and Old-schol ; (Also Underworld if push came to shove) He seems jovial enough not to worry about treachery especially since you once drank a gallon of milk though possibly somewhat dim The cost of giving clean water in gold skutes coins only, The system of exchange for giving clean water He collects 300 with a limit of once a week unless he's spoken to you This can be done by convincing him yourself or messaging with and to David to pay for it from 'Secret funds' ; (Donations) the populace donates to his Research But if it ever appears suspicious he's get pissy about it, therefore messaging is best The system of exchange for giving clean water: The typical denominations of gold skutes money exist in quantities depending on worth Business usually prefers larger denominations of course to save on handing out a bunch of coins ) 300 Standard coins worth 1 each The typical denominations of gold skutes money exist in quantities depending on worth of their yearly pay or something for major purchases 1-3 years worth? PM me on what you want them to be carrying On a trip, most business men are likely to carry ? Gold skutes coins are called so for the strange symbol resembling older more curved Roman letters C and S on the face Many times they're called 'goldscythes' Farhan Brownhand: 134 year old dishonorable elven ex-sharpshooter now crime lord ; (And part of underworld if push came to shove) and once business rival who was run out of the city As of now no titles are associated with him save his name Gold skutes coins are called so for the strange symbol resembling older more curved Roman letters C and S on the face He repesents the Outlaws, and Elves (Was also once elves district 'representative' while still part of republicans) Potion restriction: Every 48 hours, much like water restriction you may only use 5 ingredients once However unlike alcohol and plants you can instead use animal parts and precious gems Can only use ONE type of animal part or gem for each time Also similar to water potions you must wait 1 hour before making another potion again The trade secerts of giving clean water exist in the following forms Encrypted message: Farhan states what he wants in exchange for telling re-joining Warning David that you're planning on subverting/kidnapping him Reasoning Againts why David shouldn't pursue this And or dissmissing him if serious Informing owners of leak in water system Poisoning wells in Outlaw district AND Watertown (500) Getting the third input into this being either a reason not to bother or to continue Some common knowledge related to giving clean water A detailed description of the process a young person goes through to become involved with giving clean water looks like this Changes start taking place sometime during puberty Though there is a noticeable difference, it is not abrupt Oddly intelligence does not seem to play a part and engineers, law-enforcement officials and other smart people are just as likely be drawn in by the activity as anyone else A detailed description of the process a young person goes through to become involved with giving clean water looks like this Changes start taking place sometime during puberty Step one is to make friends with someone who gets the strange obsession to do it and is fairly convincing and has more willpower than you At first you'll think they're crazy, but they'll soon show you it's pretty fun to help out once you get used to it Part of the convincing part comes from a sort of osmosis since everyone who already does it seems pretty enthusiastic about it Playful dates start becoming "go help" Step one is to make friends with someone who gets the strange obsession to do it and is fairly convincing and has more willpower than you Step two results in a huge change in your personality and a saner person would just turn around at this point Either way you wont be the same, some people being nice, others turning fanatical all make it fairly clear that you should continue since society is clearly rotten to the core if this is how it treats children For step two you now have two options, stop helping friends and just enjoy the process or help them without fun Step two results in a huge change in your personality and a saner person would just turn around at this point you to gain friends within the water gangs, armed with weapons that scare even your bodyguard friends ---You have access to clean water so if worst comes to worst you just riot ; (riot unique to the underworld) Some information on drug dealers in sewers: Why not rob them? Irresponsible and illegal Doesn't involve killing people Polluting the foul criminal sewer water with drags' blood Step three allows Step three allows you to gain friends within the water gangs, Step four is when it begins getting risky The groups take the youths in as "apprentices" and indoctrinate them They significantly raise young people attracted to helping others in exchange for their help by filling their limited brainpower with gibberish and nonsense they can't ever turn back There's also a twist to it, the law-makers take themselves much less seriously than thugs and slavers do since they're smarter, so they have some sense of fun even if it is warped Step four is when it begins getting risky apparently some of groups take in young people just for week long "camping trips" or even quick escort missions out of town with fake ids Obviously only controlled youth are taken along, and this is all handled by masters since they have no reason to air this secret Finally in step five, The educational requirements for giving clean water include identifying the ingredients needed for making it, treating the water for storage, choosing the vehicles to be used and being able to have a basic converstion with people while escorting them somewhere It might actually have some benefits as a criminal Career since it does give many swaying talks on degrading society and working together to beat tyrants The educational requirements for giving clean water include identifying the ingredients needed for making it, The skill ranks of giving clean water are called 'join or die' and beyond rehabilitation there is some debate about whether it can turn enemies into allies Also a career in water management is an option for you did you decide not to go into home-defense or business The sewers are deep and run throughout countless gangs gasworks contructed during the founding extending past their official size into massive twisting and contolled caverns The skill ranks of giving clean water are called 'join or die' and beyond rehabilitation there is some debate about whether it can turn enemies into allies against the threat you face or not? The Special: Overunity engine is availible and cutting edge, it's both so energy intensive and fragile that it needs constant maintanence, but once up and running it powers an entire city block (aim for a military riot to maximize chaos to draw attention away from it, and have manual controls in each area of the city in case of intense damage to power feeding the system) Are the craft requirements for various skill ranks Are the craft requirements for various skill ranks against the threat you face or not? sugery to eliminate all traces of dirt and undiseases from the water before storage than any sort of natural filtration The thin plastic wrapping around each bottle keeps it sanitary and airless, big bulky bricks of water would be next to useless ferrying the stuff around without a centralized waterworks They depend more on They depend more on sugery to eliminate all traces of dirt and undiseases from the water before storage than any sort of natural filtration Some cities who have people who giving clean water specialize in specific types of filters to making the water last longer in storage and non-transportable bactieria content that resista nt to everything from radiation to disinfectant These are genius high-end creations that can make the jobs of chemists and doctors considerably easier Filters don't take much effort to maintain or need much skill really, just throw em in a jar ofChemicals and they'll gobble up all the nasties you need them to Some cities who have people who giving clean water specialize in specific types of filters to making the water last longer in storage and non-transportable bactieria content that resista nt to everything from radiation to disinfectant Regulations Inspiridium Isles has placed on giving clean water practices The water given out must have an expiration date (Expiration dates are regulated by law) Dirty water may not be released at above room temperture, it's gotta be cooler (Drugs can be infused into the bottles to keep the water sterile and longer-lasting) Regulations Inspiridium Isles has placed on giving clean water practices: Some laws on the books related to giving clean water are strongly worded suggestions Some are incentives and some are draconian All giving clean water businesses are under regular strongly worded suggestion to be fire compliant with city building codes ; (Having a sprinkler system) An incentive which is strongly worded on the books is that giving clean water busniesses operating in high population densities ; (Over 500 people per block or resource unit) must be staffed by a registered nurse Some laws on the books related to giving clean water are strongly worded suggestions The standardized systems of weights and measures related to giving clean water are regulated by the U coast guard Water Born Disease "The gift that keeps on giving " Decades of giving clean water has led to favorable results, but unfourtunately water born diseases much like regular bacteria mutated with no competition When it comes to giving clean water , sometimes it is import to specify the difference between filterable bacteria, and small enough viruses that doesn't get caught in conventional filters (A process known as nurdling besides filtering) Drug use, stress and other factors surrounding giving clean water access or using the water one's self can all effect how the water is received and spread Glass bottles cloud the bottling process, but they are still used much more than recyclable plastic; ( The same bottle used for both filtered and unfiltered) due to cost sometimes it is import to specify the difference between filterable bacteria, Rather than being contrained by nuturing bacteria found in nature, chemists can grow incredibly resilient mutated strains of past drugs Rather than being contrained by nuturing bacteria found in nature, These differing systems affect shipping and trade by increasing volume and lowering sanitation cost Sometimes chemists get a little over zealous in their jobs and more exotic ingredients slip into the mix Its not uncommon for receiving warehouses to ship goods before inspection is complete One thing remains constant in the giving clean water trade, drugs Lots of drugs whether cutting the product or found in it These differing systems affect shipping and trade by increasing volume and lowering sanitation cost The new industries developing related to giving clean water are now boomin than ever as competition intensifies between large companies In order for large scale water treatment plants ; (And some days even home distillation devices) to work in removing harmful agent from water they all must circumvent the issue of scaling inside pipes Natural calcium carbonate can be found just about everywhere, but trace elements and impurities can cause problems Just because a substance is traditionally known as a "Filter" doesn't mean it won't give you stomach pains or worse The new industries developing related to giving clean water are now boomin than ever as competition intensifies between large companies Older giving clean water competes with ancient rights granted to certain religions under the guise of religious freedom by the first amendment In order for a water distributor to be taken seriously by law enforcement they cannot sell unclean water without a extensive certification process with frequent reviews of plants When it comes to bottled water, weight and material used in packaging is regulated alongside the fda standards of keeping bottled beverage as sterile as medical supplies all without damaging plastic among other measures This is especially true in crackdowns on "uncommon" Older giving clean water competes with ancient rights granted to certain religions under the guise of religious freedom by the first amendment Giving clean water makes obsolete outhouses and obsolete pit toilets No longer does someone risk hurting themselves falling in, or stepping in human waste on the way to another building The legs of water fountains also no longer have to be opened so hoses can be stuffed inside to keep them from smelling and building up bacteria Before ultra-violet lamp replacement bulbs only appeared in vacant buildings, now even giving clean water businesses skimp on scheduled lighting bulb replacements just to save money, leaving restroom patrons in the dark Giving clean water makes obsolete outhouses and obsolete pit toilets Records kept for giving clean water by the water gives foundation allow officials to check certain measurements after a disasters strike and ensure people in need receive proper treatment, warning and access to waterways These records can also show when upkeep or regulations may have been lacking and pinpoint the cause of a disaster striking somewhere it shouldn't have before its too late Even if it's "just" Records kept for giving clean water by the water gives foundation allow officials to check certain measurements after a disasters strike and ensure people in need receive proper treatment, A merchant class name of giving clean water has now become almost as well-known as "Gas and Go" It would seem most are unaware that a small improvement of the water supply century ago went a long way to improving a cities image and wealth, its no wonder recent innovations in giving clean water has had the opposite effect for smaller cities, or towns in some poorer countries and regions A merchant class name of giving clean water has now become almost as well-known as "Gas and Go" They fit in society as well, there are more people who make it a point of having their employers provide most meals that there are places to eat at work, than those that shop for groceries this does not equal eating at your desk in solitude however They fit in society as well, Guilds are they organized by color and type of occupation and unite under one name: coin collectors Each is in contact with various potters, silversmiths, jewelers and others who find old coins especially golden ones interesting and study the precise properties, sketches historical events to figure out where they came from Guilds are they organized by color and type of occupation and unite under one name: The power guilds have to control trade is best expressed through controlling who can by/sell, and for how much they can be sold to others such matters Though of a slightly more innocent nature than others, a monster collector is still a token dealer as well They too trip the property guidelines that strict control profits from selling-on gave but this isn't as harmful since its basically buying munny and carefully googling prices of cards to get the best deal The power guilds have to control trade is best expressed through controlling who can by/sell, Infighting between guilds results in no system where sets andr prices are fixed stopping people benefiting from giving too much of a price reduction though the temptation to agrue is always there The chance of getting temporary demoted for guild office holders is very real and a small wage strike has almost started before when the potential chaos it would bring was realised It's just not worth it since nobody wants their own profit margins to be squeezed at least not by guild members anyway Infighting between guilds results in no system where sets andr prices are fixed stopping people benefiting from giving too much of a price reduction A large a presence of guilds means prices are usually more standard not everywhere but most places at least by shop this is good since it stops ripoffs but bad if your guild only has a small market share and can't negotiate prices itself These have become even more vital in recent times since many jobless tend to hawk their skills but without the support of bigger guilds or the heavy regulations against independent peddling A large a presence of guilds means prices are usually more standard This skute-based economy isn't as ramapant as smaller ones are in some areas like slums but it does provide some suport on the side while raising the costs and prices The old complicated system of farming property continues, some new owners still don't fully realize how much trubulence it can cause however, a few employ folks to run several aspects while they maintain general Overseeing rights This skute-based economy isn't as ramapant as smaller ones are in some areas like slums but it does provide some suport on the side while raising the costs and prices Hairs are commonly available in A mall town Classy salons are lucky to get an imported shipment every other year at the least One accident that caused a back-log of three years seems to have finally broken the camel's back, this has led to several even less-qualified, and poorer-quality products being used until proper licensees can be found or harvested again We've forgotten what it was like not to be able to chose between several halfway decent salons Giving clean water gets to market by the aid of well diggers is still mandatory Theres been some suggestion they could do with less red-tape, but this is trumped by the fear of any unregulated sell their quality would plummet since there's no guild or regulations to stop them and most couldn't afford the certification jobless folks couldn't get proper jobs if they were thoroughly trained anyway Giving clean water gets to market by the aid of well diggers is still mandatory Giving clean water is most important to Inspiridium Isles Very few islands manage their own wells Big multiguild effort getting supplies down to those devastated by artifical island debacle Giving clean water depends on materials from Inspiridium Isles getting imported to begin with and natural resources The millitary being has second largest fleet after merchant companies both with several armed dispatch vessels, their smallest being the latest war-galley-sized of which are slightly smaller than even one of ours craft Giving clean water depends on materials from Inspiridium Isles getting imported to begin with and natural resources These materials for giving clean water consist of This unfortunately hasn't lead to an increase in profit for us, indeed these new Units are using new cheaper raw materials and unfamiliar mass-production techniques so their costs have decreased not increased The groups responsible for skute coinage is now state-run as 'efficient'' so the flipside of regulation and Guild influence is increased goverment control but with shrinking corruption Decentralization is key to competitivity The groups responsible for skute coinage is now state-run as 'efficient'' so the flipside of regulation and Guild influence is increased goverment control but with shrinking corruption Generally acceptable standards related to skute coinage Giving clean water smuggling is a favored profession in this sector since most of what gets imobalized does anyway We've got a smaller slice and the government has more control, the upshot however is that during wartime they could easily slap corproations with war-time only restrictions and everyone would have to go along with it or face the might of the full brunt of the Guilds and a tied up legal system Giving clean water smuggling is a favored profession in this sector since most of what gets imobalized does anyway This smuggling occurs on the major trade routes where the natives simply throw their customs boats out of the water when they probe too close, that's assuming the Guild dispatch vessel doesn't come get them first The only islands which are safe from this Island are those who produce 'giving clean water', While the government has attempted to establish relations at times they always eventually resort to hostility since being reasonable and accepting their help would be far too beneficial This smuggling occurs on the major trade routes where the natives simply throw their customs boats out of the water when they probe too close, Yes, those islands are of course hostile now Looks like they'll eventually be getting a finders fee on the Island as well Start thinking of a plan to 'balance' this out

[vsplusonline]

This apartment in Bengaluru is distributing groceries to daily wage earners

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/this-apartment-in-bengaluru-is-distributing-groceries-to-daily-wage-earners/

This apartment in Bengaluru is distributing groceries to daily wage earners

As the heart-wrenching news of migrant labourers walking thousands of kilometres to return home poured in following the announcement of countrywide lock-down on March 24, Bengaluru-based author and entrepreneur Sudipto Das, his neighbours and batch mates from IIT Kharagpur, discussed how they could make a difference within their locality itself. “Our apartment is on Sarjapur Road. We pondered over how we could help so many people stranded in the lock-down. Images of people trekking hundreds of kilometres, abandoning the cities they no longer could call home, carrying little babies in their arms — babies who might not even survive the ordeal — drove us crazy. There had to be a solution.”.”

The solution

After some introspection and brainstorming, they analysed the root cause for the exodus. Says Sudipto: “It is caused because, suddenly, with no cash in hand, millions of daily wage earners staying away from home were feeling alienated and helpless, with no one to share their pain and uncertainty about the immediate future. Under such circumstances, it is but natural to yearn for their families back home.”

Sudipto adds there were two problems they needed to tackle, one of hunger and the other of the rapid spread of the coronavirus through mass movement. “With hunger being the root cause, what comes to mind is the need to feed the hungry. In such a scenario, central kitchens and arrangements for massive food distribution might look logical. Even, for the sake of argument, if we assume that million people could be picked up from their homes during the lock-down, taken to the central kitchens, fed, and then again dropped back home, all the time maintaining social distancing, and all the known standards of hygiene, it is not feasible to prepare so much food on a daily basis.”

The findings

After exploring his neighbourhood and from his findings, Sudipto adds that most of daily wage earners already have cooking arrangements, wherever they have been staying. All they need is supplies from their grocers, who they have been going to all these days and who give them their daily provisions on credit. “We can’t blame the local grocers, who are more often than not, people of meagre means themselves and have concerns for unrecoverable debts. That is when an idea flashed through our minds. We thought of breaking down the macro problem of millions people at the city level into the hyper-micro problems of only a few hundred in each neighbourhood. Looking around in our own neighbourhood we figured out that we could very well pool in some money and pay the local grocery stores for the daily provisions of the people who are stranded here. We talked to the people about their basic requirements, negotiated a good rate with the grocer and come up with a unit containing basic provisions to sustain a family of four to five people, including children for two days. We then requested one person from each family to collect the packet directly from the shop. This served several purposes. It ensured that no one had to travel beyond a few hundred meters, thus not violating the norms of the lock-down or social distancing. We didn’t have to bother about the logistics at all, thus making the entire process very simple; it ensured that there were no middlemen and that the packets directly reached the ones they were meant for; and finally, it ensured that there would not be any wastage, as we had given a limited quantity.”

What the packets contain

The packets comprise two kilograms of rice, half a kilogram each of dal, potato and onion, half a litre of cooking oil, a packet of biscuits, some green chillies and one soap. “After some negotiation, the grocer was ready to give it for ₹250.”

On how they identified the people in need, Sudipto says: “They stay in our neighbourhood. Each of us went around and identified stranded people, within few hundred meters of our homes, while going out to buy groceries, talked to them, authenticated, verified that the needs are genuine, talked to the same grocers they have been buying stuff from all these days, paid for the number of packets they would need, and asked one member per family to go to the shop and collect the packet.”

The numbers

As of today they have self delivered packets to 377 people in Sarjapur Road. “By self delivered I mean the labourers collected from the nearby stores and we just paid the respective grocers,” says Sudipto.

The beneficiaries

Gobind Sharma, a labourer, says they are receiving the unit packets. “Four or five of us live together in Dasarahalli and so we are able to share the food among us. The stores get replenished but if we can get a little more rice, it would be good.” 35-year-old Jayaram M, an advocate, who stays in Sarjapur, says: “I do a round of the locality to see if people are in need. And then I update Sudipto. We don’t always get every item from one shop, we have to source different items from different shops.” Likkhu, a security guard says: “These packets help sustain us. Our homes are far in UP and Bihar.”

Inspiring others

This simple model, which can be replicated by anyone in their locality, has got others interested too. “You don’t need to go out regularly, just on a day when you go out to buy groceries, look around and you will surely see people stranded. Identify them, talk to the grocer and ask the fund manager to pay the grocer and within 10 minutes the people get their necessities.” Sudipto received calls from people across the city. “Someone called from KR Puram and organised groceries for 65 people there. We paid from our funds for two clusters stranded at Bannerghatta Road and Dasarahalli, based on someone who personally identified the people.”

“The idea is to stay at home, respect the lockdown but still do whatever we can at a micro level to minimises the movement of people. Our target is to reach 500.” For details email: sudipto@sudiptodas.com.

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[sallysklar]

Jersey Jazzman: The PARCC, Phil Murphy, and Some Common Sense

Jersey Jazzman: The PARCC, Phil Murphy, and Some Common Sense

Miss me?

I'll tell you what I've been up to soon, I promise. I'm actually still in the middle of it... but I've been reading and hearing a lot of stuff about education policy lately, and I've decided I can't just sit back -- even if my time is really at a premium these days -- and let some of it pass.

For example:

Gov. Phil Murphy just announced that he will start phasing out the PARCC test, our state's most powerful diagnostic tool for student achievement.

Like an MRI scan, it can detect hidden problems, pinpointing a child's weaknesses, and identifying where a particular teacher's strategy isn't working. This made it both invaluable, and a political lighting rod.

That's from our old friends at the Star-Ledger op-ed page. And, of course, the NY Post never misses a chance to take down both a Democrat and the teachers unions:

New Jersey Gov. Phil Murphy is already making good on his promises to the teachers unions. Too bad it’s at the kids’ expense.

[...]

Officially, he wants the state to transition to a new testing system — one that’s less “high stakes and high stress.” It’s a safe bet that the future won’t hold anything like the PARCC exams, which are written by a multi-state consortium. Instead, they’ll be Jersey-only tests — far easier to water down into meaninglessness.

The sickest thing about this: A couple of years down the line, Murphy will be boasting about improved high-school graduation rates — without mentioning the fact that his “reforms” have made many of those diplomas worthless.

First of all -- and as I have pointed out in great detail -- it's the Chris Christie-appointed former superintendents of Camden and Newark, two districts under state control, who have done the most bragging about improved graduation rates. These "improvements" have taken place under PARCC; however, it's likely they are being driven by things like credit recovery programs, which have nothing to do with high school testing.

The Post wants us to believe that the worth of a high school diploma is somehow enhanced by implementing high school testing above and beyond what is required by federal law. But there's no evidence that's true.

In 2016-17, only 12 states required students to pass a test to graduate; the only other state requiring passing the PARCC is New Mexico. Further, as Stan Karp at ELC has pointed out, the PARCC passing rate on the Grade 10 English Language Test in 2017 was 46%; the passing rate on the Algebra I exam was 42%. That's three years after the test was first introduced into New Jersey.

Does the Post really want to withhold diplomas from more than half of New Jersey's students?

The PARCC was never designed to be a graduation exit exam. The proficiency rates -- which I'll talk about more below -- were explicitly set up to measure college readiness. It's no surprise that around 40 percent of students cleared the proficiency bar for the PARCC, and around 40 percent of adults in New Jersey have a bachelors degree.

I don't know when we decided everyone should go to a four-year college. If we really believe that, we'll have a lot of over-educated people doing necessary work, and we'll have to more than double the number of college seats available. Anyone think that's a good idea? NY Post, should New Jersey jack up taxes by an insane amount to open up its state colleges to more than twice as many students as they have now?

Let's move on to the S-L's editorial. The idea that the PARCC is somehow the "most powerful diagnostic tool" for identifying an individual child's weaknesses, and therefore the flaws in an individual teacher's practice, is simply wrong. The most obvious reason why the PARCC is not used for diagnosing individual students' learning progress is that by the time the school gets the score back, the student has already moved on to the next grade and another teacher.

There are, in fact, many other assessment tools available to teachers -- including plenty of tests that are not designed by the student's teacher -- that can give actionable feedback on a student's learning progress. This is the day-to-day business of teaching, taught to those of us in the field at the very beginning of our training: set objectives, instruct, assess, adjust objectives and/or instruction, assess, etc.

The PARCC, like any statewide test, might have some information useful to school staff as a child moves from grade-to-grade. But the notion that it is "invaluable" for its MRI-like qualities is just not accurate. How do I know?

Because the very officials at NJDOE during the Christie administration who pushed the PARCC so hard admitted it was not designed to inform instruction:

ERLICHSON: In terms of testing the full breadth and depth of the standards in every grade level, yes, these are going to be tests that in fact are reliable and valid at multiple cluster scores, which is not true today in our NJASK. But there’s absolutely a… the word "diagnostic" here is also very important. As Jean sort of spoke to earlier: these are not intended to be the kind of through-course — what we’re talking about here, the PARCC end-of-year/end-of-course assessments — are not intended to be sort of the through-course diagnostic form of assessments, the benchmark assessments, that most of us are used to, that would diagnose and be able to inform instruction in the middle of the year.

These are in fact summative test scores that have a different purpose than the one that we’re talking about here in terms of diagnosis.

That purpose is accountability. That's something I, and every other professional educator I know, is all for -- provided the tests are used correctly.

As I've written before, I am generally agnostic about the PARCC. From what I saw, the NJASK didn't seem to be a particularly great test... but I'll be the first to admit I am not a test designer, nor a content specialist in math or English language arts.

The sample questions I've seen from the PARCC look to me to be subject to something called construct-irrelevant variance, a fancy way of saying test scores can vary based on stuff you're trying not to measure. If a kid can't answer a math question because the question uses vocabulary the kid doesn't know, that question isn't a good assessor of the kid's mathematical ability; the scores on that item are going to vary based on something other than the things we really want to measure.

As I said, I'm not the best authority on the alleged merits of the PARCC over the NJASK (ask folks like this guy instead, who really knows what he's talking about when it comes to teaching kids how to read). I only wish the writers at the Star-Ledger had a similar understanding of their own limitations:

If this were truly for the sake of over-tested students, we wouldn't be starting with the PARCC. Unlike its predecessors, this test can tell educators exactly where kids struggle and how to better tailor their lessons. It's crucial for helping to close the achievement gap between black and white students; not just between cities and suburbs, but within racially mixed districts.

Again: the PARCC is a lousy tool for informing instruction, because that's not its job. The PARCC is an accountability measure -- and as such, there is very little reason to believe it is markedly better at identifying schools or teachers in need of remediation than any other standardized test.

Think about it this way: if the PARCC was really that much better than the NJASK, we'd expect the two tests to yield very different results. A school that was "lying" to its parents about its scores on the NJASK would instead show how it was struggling on the PARCC. There would be little correlation between the two tests if one was so much better than the other, right?

Guess what?  

These are the Grade 7 English Language Arts (ELA) test scores on the 2014 NJASK and 2015 PARCC, the year it was first used in New Jersey. Each dot is a school around the state. Look at the strong relationship: if a school has a low score on the NJASK in 2014, it had a low score on the PARCC in 2015. Similarly, if it was high in 2014 on the NJASK, it was high on the 2015 PARCC. 80 percent of the variation on the PARCC can be explained by last year's score on the NJASK; that is a very strong relationship.

I'll put some more of these below, but let me point out one more thing: the students who took the Grade 7 NJASK in 2014 were not the same students who took the Grade 7 PARCC in 2015, because most students moved up a grade. How did the test scores of the same cohort compare when they moved from Grade 7, when they took the NJASK, to Grade 8, when they took the PARCC?  

Still an extremely strong relationship.

No one who knows anything about testing is going to be surprised by this. Standardized tests, by design, yield normal, bell-curve distributions of scores: a few kids score low, a few score high, and most score in the middle. There's just no evidence to think the NJASK was "lying" back then any more than the PARCC "lies" now.

And let me anticipate the argument about "proficiency":  

Again, I've been over this more than a few times: "proficiency" rates are largely arbitrary. When you have a normal distribution of scores, you can set the rate pretty much wherever you want, depending on how you define "proficient." I know that makes some of you crazy, but it's true: there is no absolute definition of "proficient," any more than there's an absolute definition of "smart."

So, no, the NJASK wasn't "lying" about NJ students' proficiency; the state could have used the same distribution of scores from the older test* and set a different proficiency level. And no, the PARCC is not in any way important as a diagnostic tool, nor is there any evidence it is a much "better" test than the old NJASK.

Look, I know this bothers some of you, but I am for accountability testing. The S-L is correct in noting that these tests have played an important role in pointing out inequities within the education system. I am part of a team that works on these issues, and we've relied on standardized tests to show that there are serious problems with our nation's current school funding system.

But if that's the true purpose of these tests -- and it's clear that it is -- then we don't need to spend as much time or money on testing as we do now. If we choose to use test outcomes appropriately, we can cut back on testing and remove some of the corrupting pressures they can impose on the system.  

ADDING: This is not the first time I've written about the PARCC fetishism.

ADDING MORE: Does it strike any of you as odd that both the NY Post and the Star-Ledger came out with similar editorials beating up Governor Murphy and the teachers unions over his new PARCC policy -- on the very same day?

As I've documented here: when it comes to education (and many other topics), editorial writers often rely on the professional "reformers" in their Rolodexes to feed them ideas. If there is a structural advantage these "reformers" have over folks like me, it's that they get paid to make the time to influence op-ed writers and other policy influencers. They are subsidized, usually by very wealthy interests, to cultivate relationships with the media, which in turn bends the media toward their point of view.

One would hope editorial boards could see this past this state of affairs. Alas...

ADDING MORE: From the NJDOE website:

A GUIDE TO PARENT/TEACHER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT THE PARCC SCORE REPORTS 

ABOUT INDIVIDUAL STUDENT SCORES a) What if my child is doing well in the classroom and on his or her report card, but it is not reflected in the test score?

PARCC is only one of several measures that illustrate a child’s progress in math and ELA. Report card grades can include multiple sources of information like participation, work habits, group projects, homework, etc., that are not reflected in the PARCC score, so there may be a discrepancy.

Report cards can also reflect outcomes on tests made by teachers, districts, or other vendors, administered multiple times. The PARCC, like any test, is subject to noise and bias. It is quite possible a report card grade is the better measure of an individual student's learning than a PARCC score.

If there is a disconnect between the PARCC and a report card, OK, parents and teachers and administrators should look into that. But I take the above statement from NJDOE as an acknowledgment that the PARCC, or any other test, is a sample of learning at a particular time, and it's outcomes are subject to error and bias like any other assessment.

Again: by all means, let's have accountability testing. But PARCC fetishism in the service of teachers union bashing is totally unwarranted. Stop the madness.

SCATTERPLOT FUN! Here are some other correlations between NJASK and PARCC scores at the school level. You'll see the same pattern in all grades and both exams (ELA and math) with the exception of Grade 8 math. Why? Because the PARCC introduced the Algebra 1 exam; Grade 8 students who take algebra take that exam, while those who don't take algebra take the Grade 8 Math exam.

The Algebra 1 results are some of the most interesting ones available, for a whole variety of reasons. I'll get into that in a bit...  

* OK, I need to make this clear: there was an issue with the NJASK having a bit of a ceiling effect. I've always found it kind of funny when people got overly worried about this: like the worst thing for the state was that so many kids were finding the old test so easy, too many were getting perfect scores!

Whether the PARCC broke through the ceiling with construct-relevant variance is an open question. My guess is a lot of the "higher-level" items are really measuring something aside from mathematical ability. In any case, the NJASK wasn't "lying" just because more kids aced it than the PARCC.

elaine July 17, 2018

Source

Jersey Jazzman

Jersey Jazzman: The PARCC, Phil Murphy, and Some Common Sense published first on https://buyessayscheapservice.tumblr.com/

[totesmccoats]

Doomsday Clock #1

We open in Watchmen’s New York, on November 22nd, 1992; which is 25 years to the day before this comic’s release, and also the week that Superman #75 – the Death of Superman – was released. A mob gathers outside the business headquarters of Adrian Veidt, the world’s smartest, and now most wanted man, for his orchestration of the “alien” attack on New York City that resulted in over three million dead and thousands more physically injured.

The hoax revealed, the fragile peace it ushered in rapidly collapses as Russia begins an invasion of an ununited Europe; North Korea expands their nuclear capabilities to match the rearmament of other nuclear states; and the President of the United States, Robert Redford, is too busy golfing to properly respond. Dozens of media voices in the US are replaced by one Schutzstaffel logoed National News Network that prepares people for a righteous nuclear war.

Amid this chaos, Rorschach breaks out two criminals, Marionette and her partner, Mime, from prison to bring them to his new partner – Ozymandias, who again tries to cure the world, this time by bringing back its Superman.

And, in a distant land, a Superman wakes up from a nightmare.

Whether or not you think this story is a good idea, you have to admit that this issue makes a strong argument for itself. The issue echos Watchmen in the same ways Watchmen echos, well, itself; presented it’s separate threads as thematic and visual reflections of each-other. Rorschach unlocks a prisoner’s cage, releasing them; just as soldiers key into a nuclear console, unleashing armageddon.

Geoff Johns may be the only person capable of picking up Watchmen, given that his personal superpower as a writer has been his reverence of old comic stories, and ability to weave their threads into new patterns and expand them into larger universes. He’s basically doing to Watchmen’s character what he’d previously done with Barry Allen and Hal Jordan. And while Johns is an incredible talent in his own right, he’s aided by his ability to match Alan Moore’s style of dialogue; particularly in his writing of Rorschach, who switches between gorey purple-prose in his narration, and article-less laconism in his speech.

Gary Frank is a perfect artist for matching Dave Gibbons’ detail heavy illustrations, giving the book a texture and shadow-heavy tone that conveys the anxiety and dread of its world. Where the resemblance breaks is with Brad Anderson’s colors, which are more realistic and understated than John Higgins’ brightly saturated pop-art aesthetic.

Doomsday Clock’s biggest achievement so far is that, against all expectations, it fits. Johns wrote a story that, so far, makes sense as a sequel to Watchmen, and manages to infuse it with the same political resonance and thematic weight to today as the original had in the 80s.

  Batgirl #17

Then: Batgirl and Robin close in on the Mad Hatter, and rescue Ainsley from his control; and Dick keeps Barbara from crossing a line.

Now: Batgirl and Nightwing close in on the Red Queen, who has a few more tricks up her sleeve, including giant nanobots, and bringing Nightwing under her control.

I really enjoyed this entire Dick/Babs story, and this issue gives both timelines a really strong ending. The “then” timeline gives the two a solid shared experience for their relationship to start from; a time where they both needed to rely on the other to get through something incredibly taxing, physically, and mentally, but mostly emotionally. And in the present, the two work on a case recalls all those same emotions and have to rely on each-other in many of the same ways. As George Lucas might say, “it rhymes.” And Wildgoose’s art perfectly captures both the couple’s intimacy, and their emotional distance, in the two’s body language. If you’re a fan of Dick/Babs, this is a story that should be in your collection.

  Wonder Woman #35

Wonder Woman’s brother – Jason! Who he is, and how he came to be!

Glaucus begins the tale of raising Jason, Diana’s secret brother; from the day that he discovered his powers until the day Jason wouldn’t need him anymore. And from that point, Jason takes over, telling of how, even though he kept his powers a secret from the world and the mythic figures who would look for him, they found him anyway.

The most interesting part of this otherwise typical origin story is how it riffs on the familiar stories of Superman discovering and training his powers – particularly the version told in Man of Steel. Like Clark in that movie, Jason is told by his adoptive father to keep his powers hidden so that he wouldn’t be hunted for them. But, hewing a bit closer to Wonder Woman’s own origin, Glaucus does ask Hercules to train Jason, realizing that if his powers are only going to grow, he should learn how to use them, even if he shouldn’t.

Once Jason takes over narration, he tells of how hiding his powers created a hole in his life that he couldn’t quite identify until he saw how his sister – Wonder Woman – was using her powers to help people.

Unfortunately, Jason’s story ends on a cliffhanger, which means that we’re dedicating at least two issues of Wonder Woman completely to the history of this completely new, and relatively unimportant dude. Superhero comics really doesn’t need any more riffs on this origin story. We’ve seen it all, in almost every possible permutation – and we especially don’t need it taking up room in a Wonder Woman book. Also, who are Glaucus and Jason even talking to? They’re supposedly in completely different places, so…how is this even supposed to work? And if they aren’t “talking” to anyone, then why is Glaucus’ narration written phonetically?

  The Flash #35

Meena steals the Negative-Speedforce from Flash, and explains that she’s loyal to Black Hole because they’re the ones who saved her when Godspeed pulled her into the Speedforce when Barry had already written her off as dead. Then she escapes back to Black Hole’s labs, where she meets with Black Hole’s true leader – Raijin, God of Lightning.

Meanwhile, Barry and Wally finish off the rest of the Black Hole troops at the demolition derby, agreeing to work better in tandem to explore the real potential of the Speedforce to better combat Meena and Black Hole.

Kristen continues her investigation into Central City’s new crimelord at Iron Heights when she’s interrupted…

After Flash drops Wally off at home, where Wally comforts Iris; he gets a call from Warden Wolfe – there’s been a murder at Iron Heights.

This issue is an improvement over the last one, which mainly rehashed a bunch of information we already knew; but is still very exposition heavy, and does more work in introducing new plot questions than it does in making progress along already set-up plot threads. The issue’s biggest development is a return to status-quo, Barry’s got his usual powers back. Everything else is pretty much the same: Iris still needs her space from Barry; Barry and Wally are still repairing their relationship; Black Hole and the new Central City crimelord are still at large.

  Nightwing: The New Order #4

Kate Kane and the Crusade discover that Jake isn’t just immune to the power-neutralizer, his biology actively fights against it, making him that much more of a threat to the current world order.

Dick wakes up in the Titan’s secret headquarters, surrounded by Starfire, Beast Boy, Cyborg, (Kid) Flash, and Lois Lane(?), who is a Blue Lantern now. It’s not the sweetest of reunions, with there still being a lot of bad blood between Dick and the Titans, who are outlaws under the new system Dick ushered in. But, even if nothing else, they can agree on rescuing Jake – especially after their man on the inside reveals that Jake can possibly reverse everything.

And here’s where this story goes full X-Men. We got the ad-hoc family with interpersonal conflicts, the one mutant who can cure everything, the government oppressors; the whole shebang, really. Honestly, I never got into the X-Men, nor the Titans, but a good template’s a good template; and this story’s pulling it off, even if it’s really dropped the ball on some of the more resonant themes of systemic persecution in favor of more of a rescue the POW vibe.

  Black Panther #167

Shuri retrieves Dr. Franklin from a maximum security prison, legally, and brings him to Wakanda to continue their investigation into Klaw’s return. While he’s busy with that, Shuri leads T’Challa into the Djalia to learn more about Wakanda’s mythic history and the Originators. What he learns disturbs him. The Wakandans were not the native people of their land, and they did not take it peacefully.

Oofa-Doofa. This may be the heaviest reveal of Coates run so far, but one that plays directly to his strengths. Wakanda was built on genocide, their gods made as literal weapons against the native Originators. And now T’Challa, who has already recently made so many decisions to make his country – the most powerful in the world – more democratic; has to decide what to do after confronting his country’s original sin.

Basically, if you haven’t read Coates’ Case for Reparations, I suggest you do before the next issue.

  Snotgirl #8

It’s the boy’s issue!

Sunny wakes up from a weird dream where Charlene gives birth to a green puppy, and goes to meet Ashley at the sports club before he marries Meg. While the two attempt to bond over Squash, Ash tells Sunny that he’d like to bang Lottie before he marries Meg, which really gets under Sunny’s skin.

After Squash, Virgil, who’s up to something accidently walks in on the two in the locker room and gets all hot and bothered.

Ash and Sunny continue to the showers, and Ash will not shut up about sex and girls and how much he wants to bang Lottie. It’s really gross, and even Sunny wonders if he can keep up this hang-out much longer.

Meanwhile, Lottie is bored and alone, and makes it worse by texting her friends randomly; and when she runs out of those, she texts Detective John Cho – who instantly responds because he’s also thirsty for Lottie.

Later, John happens to join Sunny and Ash in the sauna, where he reveals that he’s been friends with Sunny since they were kids. Ash asks everyone about their kinks, because he’s gross as heck, and John reveals he also has a thing for girls with green hair. At this, Sunny finally loses his cool and gets into a short fight with Ash, at least until their towels fall off and it gets too weird.

Getting home, Sunny finally checks his texts.

This issue is just as meandering as usual, but the change in perspective is nice. We’re finally in the head of someone sane as opposed to Lottie’s addled narcissism. The issue is also a great look into the phenomena of “locker room talk,” in that it frames that sort of behavior as just as bad and gross even in a locker room. And to his credit, Sunny eventually does stand up for his girls instead of letting boys be boys.

AND OH BOY IS THIS ISSUE HOMO AF. Just…all the sweaty muscle boys talking about their “zords”!

Comic Reviews 11/22/17 Doomsday Clock #1 We open in Watchmen’s New York, on November 22nd, 1992; which is 25 years to the day before this comic’s release, and also the week that Superman #75 - the Death of Superman - was released.

[lclunastar]

#DearGrandpa 🎈👴💗🌹✨

It doesn't happen that when you're alone, like in my case, very late at night, i usually go out to the balcony, and ask myself a lot of questions without answers? One that i've been doing a lot lately is of the: 'Why some people come into your life?' Even if it's just for a brief moment, and i don't mean that in a romantic sense, but also friendships, sometimes they don't even need to be so attached, and that's when i tend to ask myself is it some sort of brief mission that i have? They're going to leave a message? Why it appeared on my way? What is the meaning? While i still try to decipher life. Sometimes i like to share little things of what i already learned from it. As i mentioned before, i'm a person of few words, The phrase 'I'm more of a listener' defines me perfectly. I like to be in the middle of a good conversation, where a person proposes a situation, and listen to the different ideas from everybody, even though there are certain things that i don't agree, i'm also learning, even though some people insist on teaching me things that i already know, and well, that's how you know about the different personalities, i believe. And the other day my friends, and the friends of my friends gathered in a place to eat, while watching them, they came with themes about the future, dreams, careers, what each one wanted, all were so caught up sharing, when a girl, decided compare herself to me. I said this a thousand times, don't do it, we all human, yes, but not with the same experiences. Well, she just met me, which obviously says i didn't gave a lot of details, just what i really want out of life is to be happy, doing what i like, but according to her, for the little she saw: 'I'm a girl who seeks to live studying, relaxed and not in a good way, unconcerned with life, making jokes, not caring about anything, with anyone and who knows how many more conclusions.' When she interrupted the conversation saying: 'In my life i want to be anything but like her.' And pointed at me. Everyone looked and started to annoy with the typical: 'Uuuuh!' And i said: 'Me? Aaaah.. How am i?' Which seems very surprising to me nowadays, when some didn't go through the things you went, and give themselves the luxury of saying that they already know everything about your life, just because they see you telling jokes all the time. S: 'I don't know, very calm for life, for example, i don't think to reach 25 like you, (Now 26) At your age i already planned to have enough money saved to buy a house.' At that moment my bff smiled at me, looked down and continued eating. My mind said: 'Wrong, i had my first house at 14.' While i replied: 'Of course, because the material is absolutely everything these days, isn't it?' Everyone was still bothering. Then she also continued eating with a posture of superiority. When one of my man friends to break the tension, said: 'The only thing i know, is that none of us will never be owners of bumblebee or megatron.' And another one shouted: 'Speak for yourself!' We all started laughing again. The fact that this happened seemed to me a little cliché, almost a perfect déjà vu per se, i know there are a lot bad things, innocent people going through a lot of injustice, i'm aware, i also watch the news, but when something happens, i realize, and include myself, that we can even feel identified, but when it's not close to you, a couple of days something new comes out, and we start forgetting. I remember a time where anything, even a pin falling to the floor made me hysterical, till i began to notice, that it was a lot of indignation, for zero action. Which brought me to the memory, that video of some policemen killing a black man when he was going to take something out of his pocket, they thought it would be a weapon, but it was only his wallet, i think? Many filmed and shared the video, saying the famous at least in my opinion, disgusting phrase: 'Sad, he was so good.' Many people were angry with me at that time, because nothing came out of my mouth, or my fingers on social networks about it. Some even stopped talking to me for my lack of commitment. A few close friends, who for some reason that i don't know what it is, refused to leave, and took the time to ask, what happened? If i was always very awake for life. And i answered: A few years ago, when a man pointed with a gun at my mom's forehead, i didn't took the phone and waited. I stood in front of her, jumped on his arm, he scratched me, and i started to punch him, it got to the point where he asked me to please let him go. I don't consider myself a great example, but i'm sorry, for me, that is action. That's where i started with my sarcasm and ironies.. Ah! There are diamonds on the space? Let's send some people, so we avoid many continue dying from landslides. Don't get me wrong, but i like experimenting with some stones and chains myself, i think Michael Kors is a genius by how he makes everything look so delicate. I love watching all of you, talk, and discuss many important issues that need to be touched. But from time to time, i would also like to see the solutions. How we're really going to do, to get these troglodytes politicians out of the power. Violence will never be a good answer, but in my country (Paraguay) They burned the Congress as a sign for many years of abuse to the people. All the tumult caused so much sensation that even led the pope to write a letter asking for peace. And as a consequence, to the president a note announcing his resignation by October of this year. He still wants a lower position, but at least it's something, i guess. Or in my mom's country (Brazil) where a former president got into corruption, money laundering, and now they plan take him to jail. Then there's ISIS, which we all know. Diseases, people without health insurance. Climate change affecting everybody. Garbage, trying to care of the environment and animals. Not just talk, but do something.. Get it? All the complaints, it hurts, more importantly about the people close to me, whom i love deeply, see a lot of rage. Then you say stupid things that have nothing to do with these matters, to get a momentary smile from them, it's difficult, but you try. Now, about the house, or houses. I had them, of different forms, colors, and distances, i mean in several cities. Thanks to my grandpa, i know he was a notary, but i never bothered to understand everything of what he did exactly, i think, some people asked him for his services, but some couldn't pay, so they did with some properties that were left. On his beginnings i heard they gave him chickens, or maybe that part was a joke in the family reunions. I'm not sure, i was very young, couldn't care less. The only thing i liked was to smell his clothes, freshly washed, when recently arrived to visit, see him very concentrated on his desk with the typewriter. Yes, i love the sound of typewriters and not to mention the smell of ink, it fascinates me. My focus was to cover his eyes and hear him say the name of everyone till almost at the end when he would finally mentioned mine, even if he pronounced the names of the oldest one's who obviously had bigger hands of course, but that was his magic.. The jokes, my joy. In case that some of you wandered about my weird sense of humor, well, there you have it. I even remember when he started using a computer for the first time, we were never really good with technology, and he put his face close to the screen when Clippy appeared, and said: 'No, i'm not interested, because all these interruptions when i write, so now YOU know.' And that made me smile while i looked at him from the couch at his side. All i could think about was the summer vacations. When he came to pick us up at 4 A.M. He made a stop at the service station, filled a portable cooler, with lots of fruit juice, and sandwiches. Then took us to the interior of the country, in a hotel, the rooms were themed, it looked more like a cabin, with pool, the adults made barbecue. From time to time he made me dance. Others watched him while in the water, excited because he was winning at bingo. And at dusk, after a nap, of course. Horses.🐎🌺✨ The anecdotes i don't forget are: · When in a game of poker one of the boys didn't stop to win, and after humiliated all the other children, then as he also liked to show others the things that were really important, spent a whole night, teaching me how to play, and at the next day when i practically beat him, the boy looked at me, waiting for me to make him feel bad like he did with the others. I said: 'What matters is to have fun, everybody, ice cream?' They started jumping and screaming with excitement. Then the boy approached, i passed my hand and said: 'I hope you washed it.' He smiled, but instead decided to kiss me on the cheek and run. My cousin, she said: 'I would have preferred if he gave it to me' Me: 'Ew'.. *I said while trying to clean it.* My grandpa laughed.👴💕 · When it was raining, i jumped to the pool of the place, to see how it looked from below. I mean: Come on! At some point we were all curious about this. But when i opened my eyes, saw a huge frog in front of me, i yelled, and went out as fast as possible, then he grabbed it and called me, put my hand down and said: 'Do you feel that? It's his heart, it's beating faster, because he also thinks *whispers* you're ugly.' That also made me smile. I still don't lose the fear of reptiles, i helped a lizard not to be attacked by a bigger one, taking it away in one of the plants at home, but more than that, didn't dare yet. The other day, when i was going upstairs, felt something when i stepped on, turned on the light and found myself with a snake, ran as fast as possible and climbed to the table, was paralyzed for an hour, till i finally gathered the courage to jump to the door, and go ask for help from a neighbor. I thought, how different would be if he was with me, probably would have lost the fear already. · When he taught me to ride a horse for the first time, the horse didn't moved, then a boy, grabbed the whip, hit him, but instead he got scared, and almost threw me, my grandpa asked him to give it to him and said: 'Let's see if'.. Then hit the boy with it and asked.. 'You liked it?' The boy frightened said.. 'No.' My grandpa: 'And what makes you think he would liked it?' Broke it in half, and helped the horse to walk with tender love and care. · At his desk.. He was talking to a client and his wife, when he noticed that i was having problems trying to finish something from school, he asked the client to keep silence with his hand, asking for a moment. And asked me if everything was okay? I said that i didn't get any single word, he asked me about my mom, and i said: 'It's working.' H: 'Your dad?' M: 'He barely appears.' He got up, left his clients saying: 'I'll see you both other day.' Ran to his car, speeded up. A while later, he appeared with a gift, but before said: 'This is the best advice you will receive.. Read as many times as necessary, *while i was taking it out* and no matter where you go, always carry a good dictionary with you.' Sadly, one of the removal men basically robbed me. But a few minutes before he was telling me that it was difficult for him to buy the items school for his daughter, so i don't blame him, i totally get it. I say 'Sadly' because, i know that if he asked, i would even give him a newer one. That of my grandpa, in spite of being old, was special, because he made a poem dedicatory written by himself. But that's life, you also have to learn to let go. · When i dropped a vase, he wipes my tears saying: 'If you break something, don't worry, remember, some people out there are fighting for their lives.' · And my favorite: I was 7, and we were in front of a huge staircase, but for the first time i didn't feel afraid, because he held my right hand, and on the other side was my cousin, at the end we went into this new shopping center. He felt something agitated, sat down in one of the chairs that were inside and said: 'Choose what you want girls, that i'm going to buy them.' My cousin and i smiled at each other, and ran in opposite directions. It took me less than 5 seconds, when he closed his eyes to relax, i already came back. He felt something on his leg, and slowly opened one side of his eye, to see what it was, when he saw me, opened both showing a surprised face, and asked me what happened? I said: 'There it is' and handed him a packet of phosphorescent gel pens. H: 'This is it?' M: 'Yes, that's all i needed to decorate my homework once i finished it.' An hour later my cousin appeared or what was seen of her, her small legs, staggering from side to side, while carrying almost half of the place. *He looked down and smiled.* M: 'Is everything alright?' H: 'If there is one, there's always hope.' M: 'What does that mean?' H: 'Someday when you grow up, you'll understand.' I did.. ·I understood, when i was lying next to him in bed, placing my right hand on his hands, and with my left caressing the head gently while he died, and the ambulance didn't arrived, because the system was and is very damaged. ·I understood, when i was in the corner of the couch in the morgue, his body was still warm, and one aunt sat and said: 'What are we going to do with the house?' M: 'What house?' S: 'The house, because it had to be sold, then split it, you know, the money, between all of us.' M: 'Grandma is still alive.' H: 'Ah, right, is that.. and the car?' M: 'I really won't listen to this.' The allegedly father: 'Me neither.' We got up, and went by our own side. ·I understood, when i stood on the side of his coffin and said: .. 'They put formaldehyde on you, if i kiss your face, would that be enough to kill me, so i'd go with you? Yeah, uncomfortable question, better don't answer.. HA! See what i did there? No? Okay, never mind.' My cousin stood at the feet and said: 'He would've loved that joke, in fact, i'm almost sure that i heard a certain laughter.' M: Look! He's smiling!.. Oh no, they sewed his mouth like that, oops, my bad. S:😂 M:😊 ♡ Especially, i understand, every year on my birthday, when finished celebrating, and you bought me a balloon, wasn't even the balloon, was the last ray of sun that reflected in your eyes, and you turned to smile slowly while you held it. I'm aware of what happens every day, but it's also good to let everyone know, that it is okay to have fun in the moment, and not to stay thinking about what would've happened if after that last call, you had the encouraged to go alone on that bus for the first time, just to, take some ice cream, relax, and not worry too much about the exams. The future. Because while being very focused on the goal, without realizing, you're not enjoying. If you have a dream, and you fight for it, it might arrive at the right time, if you don't have something material that you wanted already in your hands, that doesn't make you less, maybe will come when you're more ready to appreciate it, or life takes you in different paths, on your destiny, to something new that filled you with passion, and you weren't expecting. As one of my greatest influencers used to say: 'Everything you can imagine is real.' - Picasso.💗✨ I took the trouble, to find out a little bit more about you. I know you still have all your relatives, and your parents are happily married. Many of us would like to have that privilege. So would you do me a favor? Like they say: 'Pleeeease, don't lose sight of that.' Now, if y'all excuse me, i'm going to listen one of my favorite songs that speaks about missing someone, because being a little masochist every now and then doesn't hurt anybody.🎈✨ https://youtu.be/mQpnBuooIiQ