#we know how wagons and weight distribution works!

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

The thing about shall we date games is that to get the alternative ending you need to choose different dialogue and I am so fucking bad at that. I’ll try, but there’s just too much “we (me/character me) would not fucking say that” and if I actually do choose those and get the alternative ending I’m like “I’m a fraud. I can’t live like this”

[homesliceadulting]

So, I messed up. I wrote last week about how I was super lax, but still lost a little weight and so I was going to be working super hard this week to make some progress--that did not happen, obviously. I regained 1.8 lbs.

Without making excuses, there are a few reasons why. I ate out around 4-5 times this week--even though I made a meal that was supposed to last me through the week, some of the events of the week caused me to throw caution to the wind and indulge myself. On Wednesday, when I was planning to do a workout, I got a medical procedure done called an HSG. It's a procedure that requires a long needle to be inserted into my uterus to distribute dye that will allow my fertility specialist to get a 2D image of my lady parts. This was super painful--I underestimated how taxing it would be on me physically and my hubby and I had a fattening lunch to make me feel better. I had something called The Conversion--it's 3 cinnamon rolls converted into French toast. And that's only half of what I ate. I finished the rest for dinner. Also, because of how taxing the procedure was, I decided against working out that day. So I missed a workout. Also, I had free tickets to a Seattle Mariners game, so we ate out then. I actually ate out twice on that day since my job doesn't not provide free lunch on Fridays. On Thursday, our day to usually eat out for dinner, I had a big Five Guys burger & cajun fries after my husband and I received bad news about our genetic testing results. This week has been a little emotional when it comes to our fertility journey on top of being a week that was a little busy.

I don't know that I've really thought about emotional eating, but this week was full of it. I feel quite disappointed in myself for not doing what I was supposed to do while simultaneously trying to be kind for resorting to an old, comforting behavior during a difficult week. I have 4 weeks left to lose 9.4 lbs and I don't know if that's possible--I will have to be so dedicated and I can't guarantee that I can get back on the wagon, given how the past 2 weeks have gone. On the bright side, I did plan each day, unlike last week, so that's an improvement. I need to renew my commitment, but I feel sad and upset about my fertility journey so far. Even though the HSG and ultrasound I got this week were pretty positive, the genetic testing results were actually pretty scary--the whole reason I started on this journey was to prepare my body for children. It was my main motivator. And with the bad news about our genetic compatibility, I start to question all the hard work I have put in and the work I will continue to have to do to move forward with living a healthier lifestyle. While getting healthy has other benefits and rewards (feeling better, feeling lighter, having more endurance, experiencing less stress, seeing results, fitting into spaces better), with my north star of motivation (having kids) coming into question, I need to mentally adjust. I 100% believe that losing the weight is beneficial to my life. But I may need a new north star. And that's painful, especially since having kids is something me and my husband want and have been preparing for for a long time. We need to schedule a follow up with a genetic specialist to learn more about the risks, but with our limited knowledge, it's easy to assume that things won't be as easy as we'd hoped. It's an unanticipated monkey wrench and it's taking a bit of an emotional toll that has resulted in me questioning my own life goals and motivation. Well, this is something I should share with my therapist.

Overall, I'm not dead in the water. I can get back on the horse and I will--I may just need some time to really get back on it fully. I will do the best I can while still allowing space for me to process everything. Overall, I still feel good about my progress thus far and believe that if I can be super disciplined, I can achieve my goal of being under 300 lbs in 4 weeks. I've got this. I can do this. Hoping to share good news next week.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hello, Hello, would you mind to write a scenario for Levi Ackerman with a female s/o were they have a argument and Levi accidently hurts her physical in some way?

Thank you very much and please be careful 💚

Okay, hello, I have been working on this for a HOT minute and this is the only way I thought this could go (because Levs would never ever ever ever hurt his s/o, poor man has seen his mother being violated so much too pls-) tell me if you like it, I'd be glad to know if you're satisfied with how it went.

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: Action, Somewhat!Fluff,

Warnings: Mentions of blood, gunshots, wounds you know, typical snk stuff

Bullet

Crimson liquid run in gushes from the wound in your shoulder splattering your whole body and your surroundings. The pain was immense and torturous and reeked of the adrenaline that your body was trying to produce, all on vain to soothe the uneasiness, as with every passing second the hot rushes of blood that flew to the spot put your mind in a burgundy haze. Your left hand was trembling, your body was still in shock by the hit and your necessary intakes of oxygen had long surpassed the normal rate by now but you weren't in a position to slow down.

The odds had been against you ever since you decided to follow Levi and not lead the infamous cadets of the 104th squadron.

It was the silent clicking of a gun that had caught your attention as you discussed how much of an ambush this whole situation seemed with Nifa and Levi. You almost perked at the spot, a fragment of a second faster than Levi, buying yourself enough time to jump into the most unthinkable situation; getting Levi out of this commotion safe and unwounded, you'd take the incoming shot for the stoic captain to stay alive.

The bullet had blown just through your shoulder with enough force to send you flying to the ground, meters away from the hotspot of action. As you heard Levi's voice screaming an earth shattering call of Kenny Ackerman's name you pushed through the pain that has shaken your body to the core and shot your drills to the nearest building. Your heart was beating fast, eyes rapidly checking in all directions to examine your surroundings while the pulsating of your shoulder begged with you to take action on it's recovery.

Only ever when you made sure your surroundings were clear of armed soldiers did your feet drag you outside the dark alleyway. Pushing through the intense pain you managed to shoot the drills of your gear onto a empty rooftop, trying your best to evenly distribute your weight on the equipment. One mistake and you could easily be wiped out.

Therefore you settled for sneaking carefully in between dark alleys as gunshot sounds ravaged your eardrums; It was definitely Levi who was taking all that fire on his own, sending your heart to an uncatchable pace as the blood that pulsated in every inch of your body would manage to find an exit through the wound on your shoulder.

As the blasts kept getting unbearably closer by each passing second you glued yourself to the stone wall and ducked down, to protect any part of you in order to see for yourself if Levi was indeed the target of this manhunt.

Your speculations were correct.

Upon him passing by -incredibly fast- your eyes met his for a brief moment, forcing a shocked hitch to leave his lips as his eyes widened. His expression, dark, anxious, as if he had just seen a ghost and refused to believe it.

The state of your well being was still unbeknownst to you; you hadn't even taken a chance to see how drenched in blood your clothes were.

With another fast shoot of your quills and a press to your gas' handle you landed on another rooftop, far behind from the horde of men that had all their attention on Levi.

Everything went quiet for a moment. Sheer tranquility masked the air. The fire of action seemed to have been out off momentarily, yet you don't have an eye sight of the situation. You couldn't seem to slow down your breathing not even for one second, your alert eyes repeatedly scanned the areas around you to detect any suspicious move.

Despite the unfair odds and your position you had managed to successfully locate the cart with Eren and Historia, only to come face to face with the commotion that had occured. Hange's men were taken one by one, this time in your comrade's place sat a wide eyed brunette who screamed at the horses to go faster.

The sound of shooting thundered in waves around the town, startling you, urging you to jump into action. The wagon couldn't by any means, slip away from you or your team.

You tapped against your right gas canulle, begging for the sound to signal that it was halfway full at least. The left one was busted from your previous impact against the cold stone buildings, still you were sure you could push through with as much as you had, even if it seemed deadly enough to get you killed.

The cadets were startled as the saw you as they proceeded to bombard you with questions about your condition to which you could barely reply with full sentences. Slowly your body was giving in to your injury, to a point where you couldn't ignore it. Still, you bothered with how much more you could take.

"The hell is that!" Jean inquired, eyes pacing between the gory scene unraveling before him, and you, still troubling himself with taking in what he was witnessing.

Levi flew hurriedly flew by, pumping his gas one before launching his drill to an armed man's abdomen. His face hardened as the men was dragged to him, hands already gripping his blades steadily.

He went straight for the kill. Blood cluttered everywhere around him, staining any nearby surface.

Everyone's faces went numb as frozen droplets of sweat run down their foreheads. Naturally, in your shocked state you failed to provide any comfort to them, even if their despairate eyes were begging you to.

"Follow the wagon!" Levi commanded, his breath hitching in his throat as he sat still, despairate to take a momentarily rest.

"Right!" Mikasa complied sternly.

"Listen up, these soldiers were trained to fight other people, they've already take up three of ours," restlessly, Levi flew to lead the team, launching himself alongside of you, but still not sparing you a glance. "If you hesitate for so much as a second you'll be dead. The moment you see an opening go for the kill!"

"Yes sir!" Once again the ravenette in a stone cold tone confirmed her Captain's orders were well understood, forcing a gulp to flow down everyone's throat.

"And you, (y/n)!" This time his eyes were intensely burning dark holes in yours. "You stay back and lay low, this is an order!" You watched as he gulped, taking a moment to breathe through his nose in an attempt to calm himself down. "And don't ever think about taking a bullet for me, ever again."

Despite the gallons of blood lost and the tremendous pain you managed to find the spitfire in you to reply, eyes wide with rage at his last comment.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm fine with laying low, but-"

"No time for you to form your own rebellion over my words, lay low or you're getting killed. You've made yourself the easiest target!" His words dripped of poison, unnerving anger that did nothing to convey his worry, making your head blur with similar rage.

You refused to believe that the first thing he would try to converse with you on the subject would actually turn out to be a scolding session. As if you were an imbecile child. As if you hadn't tried to push through to keep offering your abilities to your cause.

"Kenny would have shot you right then and there! What did you expect me to do?" You screamed. Your lungs burned with every command to withstand the pressure. Hot blood found its way through the hole in your arm again.

"No he wouldn't. We don't have time for this, Lay low!"

Levi's tone was sharp as a knife slicing your flesh like soft butter, somewhat hurting you more that the small piece of metal in your body. "You can't handle yourself like I can at the moment." It was rare they the two of you would bicker like this, and there was so much you could handle with an oozing wound, barking at him seemed to be the way to get your point at him.

"You're unbelievable," you squealed "I just saved your life and you're downgrading me?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, you know what I mean."

"Oh, do I now?" You mocked.

"No one else dies on my watch and you can't fight, so out of our way!"

Levi launched himself into a tent, backflipping his way through another kill. You hated to admit that he was right; you couldn't even make it to a few kills with the remaining of your gas yet the adrenaline in your body was raging against every plead of you to stay behind.

"You can't keep me out of action!" You barked, eyes glimmering with stubbornness as you followed the team's lead to the wagon. Jean was the first to land with Armin, throwing the brunette soldier way from her spot. You didn't seem to pay enough attention to your surroundings, the clicking of a gun behind you fell deaf to your ears.

"I told you (y/n) we don't have tim- watch out!" Levi's eyes widened in terror at the sight of the armed man towering behind you. Shaking hands that still held his blades reached out fast, boldly enough to launch onto the collar of your shirt, bringing your form onto him, only for your nose to harshly collide with the steel handle of his blade in the process. In turn you were thrown harshly onto a nearby tent.

A moment later his blades had slashed through the man while a rage filled scream muffled your ears.

"Armin Secure the wagon with Jean! We'll keep you covered!"

At trying to catch up in the commotion on the wagon, he witnessed in agony as Jean gulped, a gun nearly pressed to his head. Mikasa called out his name, launching her blades and spinning in the air. If it wasn't for Armin to ruthlessly pull the trigger to send the brunette to her instant death, she would have been too late to save her comrade. Levi clicked his tongue in misery. This was getting worse by each passing second.

"Armin! Jean!"

You laid on the tent, left hand scrunched against your bloody nose as you tried not to move. There were still armed men everywhere, if they detected you were alive you were done for. With half lid eyes you watched the scene unfold in front of you.

Three more men had towered behind Levi and the cadets, pointing their guns on them. Levi and Sasha jumped to the scene, shoving their comrades out of the wagon. The had successfully missed the fire of the shots for short seconds. As a sigh of relief left you your right eye lost focus. Your head felt dizzy, heavy at the numbing pain that shoot from your whole body. As the effects of adrenaline slowly wore off your body started to give in, eyes battling an already lost fight to stay open.

The last thing you heard was Levi calling out your name.

__

Your eyes painfully shot open.

The top of your mouth felt dry. You couldn't swallow. A strong metallic taste adorned the tips of your tongue. In a panicked state your eyes were blinking rapidly at the darkness around you, alternating gazes between the group of people a few meters away from you and the flickering light of the fire.

In contrary to your body, your head felt feathery light as numbness toyed on your brain, taking forms of a thousand little ants stomping each cavity they could find.

"Ah, Captain she's awake!"

Your body couldn't move and your mind couldn't think, yet Connie's words rang a few bells that alerted you. After what seemed like an eon later, a flick switched in your brain, widening your eyes upon hitting you with the most profane realisation.

"It's probably the morphine shot that has you numb like this. I took care of that bullet in your arm and I fixed your nose."

Your eyes bored into Levi's steel ones, unintentional apathy splattered all your face. You couldn't help but stop your bruised lips from forming to a small pout; as your coincidence flowed withing your body with every passing of the time you were reminded of the heated exchange of words you and your lover had shared before your body gave in.

Levi's eyes softened as he watched your face fall into an angered expression. A sigh of relief escaped him as his hand extended to your direction, calloused fingers lingering on the thin locks on your forehead.

"Shit" he groaned through gritted teeth "Fuck, I'm so sorry (y/n), you know I didn't mean to break your nose right? Given the situation I knew you'd land safely on the tent, I just had to get you out of there"

His eyes were sincere, flickering with agony as his hand rested behind your ear. The look on his face was enough to make you melt, to give in to whatever he ever said, you couldn't deny that much.

"I know how devoted you are, you could have taken that bullet for anyone not just for me, that's who you are." Another sigh escaped him, this time sneaking profoundly out his trembling chest.

"Y-you don't have to s-struggle with your-r words. You were right-t. I shouldn't have pushed my self with such little gas while losing so much blood." You coughed. Essential sentences were spilling out of your mouth. You knew when to step back into your place, especially in arguments that you were on the wrong. Levi had been right from the beginning, but you had pushed forward, worked yourself to the limit.

"Tch, I would never intentionally hurt you, you know that much right? I didn't mean to cause you more pain-"

"Levi, my love," As you laid on your back you watched the fire in his eyes cool down at sound of the endearing pet name. His chest stopped taking sharp stressed breaths and his hand started rubbing soothing circles at the nape of your neck. "You don't have to apologise, please. I was on the wrong. If anything, you saved me from being fatally shot. You shoved Jean away as well."

Levi's antics were nothing strange to you. You had spent years by his side, training as a part of his team, fighting alongside him. The way he cared for his comrades was unmatched, unable to be mimicked. You knew of his tragic past, so him acting compulsively like that wasn't something you wouldn't have expected. You weren't mad that you had gotten hurt in the process of him ripping you away from deaths grip.

The only thing that had ever made you mad was that, momentarily he wasn't willing to approve of your sacrifice to him.

"I threw you like shack of shit, I don't deserve you going soft on me. I should have not downgraded you."

Your eyes shut, lips curling upwards onto a tiny smirk, one that lifted Levi's spirits just a bit. "I'll stop being so hotheaded." You managed to admit, letting a chuckle escape your lips. Rarely you could stop yourself from giggling when you'd make up with the man.

"Brat! Don't laugh when we're having a serious conversation!" His eyes hardened, voice full of affectionate authority. You were so eager to brush off the subject of him guilt tripping himself, to lift the weight off his shoulders.

The weak bubbling laughter that escaped you after was contagious and never ending. It felt as little, continuous jolts of static electricity shocking your body as each exhale, but it was unstoppable, not even for you to answer properly back to him. The effect of the tranquilizing shot was perfect on it's part as well.

"I-it's just that i- love you. That's all. You've always got a spot on poo comment about everything."

Levi's head lowered in defeat, his nose leaving out an amused whip of air in the process. As you watched him, you felt a familiar warmth numb its way through your body from your stomach and outwards. Perhaps, this time he didn't want you to assume what he would say. Perhaps he was still guilt tripping himself or perhaps your laughter was getting through him at a moment he had to be stern. Nevertheless you never missed the words that felt his lips, before he went to quickly brush then against yours.

"I won't be as hotheaded as well, I promise. I'd take a thousand bullets for you I hope you know that."

[pynkhues]

In a previous ask I asked if you thought the writers dumbed the ladies down, thanks for answering by the way, but what about Rio. Do you think they dumb Rio down so Beth’s ideas look good? Like this episode wouldn’t Rio know that about the car wash? It seems easy enough to figure out?

You’re welcome, anon! And I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this. The pandemic just sort of threw a grenade into my life in many respects, and I still feel like I’m scrambling to catch up on things – including my ask box – particularly for asks I have longer replies to like this one! 

As for your question – it’s a really interesting one! I don’t disagree with the sentiment at all, and can completely understand where you’re coming from. It is obvious, and seems a bit of a convenient pivot for a character who’s generally been depicted to us as very intelligent, a step ahead, a kingpin, etc. etc. 

Probably surprisingly, my answer as to whether or not they’ve dumbed Rio down in s3 to make Beth look good is actually no though. I mean - gosh - think of his re-introduction this season which was entirely about showcasing how well he was able to play Turner and ‘handle him’ in the way Beth had no capacity to. In fact, a lot of this season was about positioning Rio as competent, powerful, and aspirational overall for Beth, but actually in some ways Ruby and Annie too. He’s really their yardstick in how they measure themselves and their own success, and I think a lot of this season was trying to add dimension to that and him overall, both in the slightly softer ways (i.e. Rhea, Marcus, and even Mick) and the harder ways (Lucy, Turner and even Beth). 

Which brings me to something I’ve actually thought since 2.04 but never really elaborated on here beyond brief mentions, haha. 

I think the show is running a subtextual storyline with Rio. I think it’s been running that storyline actually since Turner’s introduction in 1.04, and that it’s been on-and-off successful on a textual narrative level – mostly because they don’t give us enough of it. I do think it’s there though, and pretty consistent if you’re keeping an eye on it, but it doesn’t really bleed through enough to sate audiences beyond that. (And hey look! I’m one of the people who doesn’t usually have too big of an issue about Rio’s lack of screen time!) 

But yes, haha. 

What I’m getting at is that I think there’s a parallel, very present storyline that is trying to tell us that Rio’s business and operation was already under the microscope by the feds before the show had even started, and that Beth and the girls getting him arrested in 1.10 has been a hurdle that’s had major ramifications.

So let’s break that down a bit. 

I feel heat on, I shutdown.

The seed for this storyline is, in many ways, planted with Beth’s monologue in 1.02 where she tells Rio that if he kills her, Ruby and Annie, he’s ultimately playing himself (there are hashtags and movements after all, haha). The set-up here is that Beth is an outlier for Rio in more ways than one, but there’s also an inference that Rio’s used to pulling the trigger first, and dealing with the fallout later – something that’s reiterated through his handling of Eddie in this very season, and then later Lucy in s3. 

But we’ll come back to that. 

The point here is that Beth calls him out on not being as subtle as he thinks he is, which is a fact that the story doubles down on with Turner’s introduction two episodes later in 1.04. Turner’s FBI, and he’s in town specifically investigating Rio. It’s immediately clear that there are a lot of gaps in that investigation, and in a lot of ways Beth bridges those gaps for Turner, but still. Turner was always onto Rio before Beth was ever in the picture.

In this sense, Rio’s seeming position in the crime world is already splintering – he has the feds on his tail already. Something happens – we never find out the details – in 1.04 which has one of his boys shot badly (Eddie), and Rio deliberately drops him off with somebody who’s very much on the perimeters of his operation (Beth). That same boy is later pinned by the feds and blackmailed by Turner (1.07) and something happens that quickly leads to Rio not only shutting down business, but seizing all of his assets from everyone, including Beth and the girls (1.08). 

He has Eddie killed, orchestrates a test in 1.09 to see how much information Eddie actually leaked to the feds – a test Beth took personally – before he tries to cut her out and Beth retaliated by having him arrested in 1.10. 

I’m out, I’m done, time for something new.

Which means starting s2, Rio’s business hasn’t actually been up and running since 1.07, and he’s now got a very public arrest on his record too. 

I don’t think it’s an accident that Rio’s shown as virtually alone in s2 outisde of Beth, Marcus and Gretchen, rather I think it’s a deliberate effort to show where his priorities have resettled – which is in business (which Beth is, which I’ll come back to shortly), his son, and his freedom respectively.

But yes. 

Let’s talk about work. 

Rio tries to get Beth to handle Boomer (2.01), the key witness in the case she’s just given a lot of weight to through the Fine & Frugal job in 1.10, but generally speaking, I think Rio’s still technically, professionally shutdown for the first half of the season. Not only that, but he seems to be trying to disentangle from fake cash generally to get into prescription pill distribution – a pretty distinct pivot for him. 

This could be a bit of a controversial opinion, but I don’t think he printed any new cash in s2. I think everything he left for Beth was stuff he had before she’d gotten him arrested, and I think that that’s demonstrated with him giving it to her in the first place (Beth says it herself in the same episode – if they can’t wash it, it’s just paper) and with him flipping his game overall. 

In other words, I think Rio was still shutdown and trying to figure out how to redistribute the work he could operate, while he handled the court case and no doubt tried to cover his losses. 

And in that incredibly stressful set of circumstances, I think Rio threw a line out to Beth as someone who owed him and was unencumbered by other networks in the crime world, and she bit, she delivered, and then Rio took advantage.

Something that was only ever made more complicated by their relationship, of course, haha, but even after that, I think he justified her presence in his life as a useful and unexpected card in his deck, and someone to keep his bed warm. In that capacity too though, I actually don’t think Rio ever intended for Beth to find out about the pills. I think he was already building that operation, saw an opportunity in Boland Motors, and worked it. 

The point is that things were fraying for Rio back in s1. I think that things were getting back on track for him at the start of s2, but then fell apart in a way that was bigger and worse towards the end of it. 

Beth successfully wrangled half his business, sure, and he not only let her, but he made a bad choice in investing too much in Boland Motors because he thought he had a better handle on her overall. Boland Motors ended up not just being the front for him to wash the cash he’d made via the girls, but was now the key stop-point for the drugs he was bringing across the border.

I’m sure he did have other operations at this point, but Boland Motors was BIG, and it blew up for him twice over.

First when Beth dumped him in 2.09.

Then with the FBI raid in 2.10, which ultimately rendered their cash useless in 2.12.

Something I imagine was only made worse by Ruby dumping the pills that would ordinarily be delivered through the car airbags in 2.10 too. 

So who made your money? 

Which brings us to where we are in season 3, where actually a lot of this seems to come to a head off-screen. I think this season actually really quickly established three things that work together and with the information of previous seasons pretty effectively, just that it was hindered by it being too subtextual, and not quite textual enough in certain parts. 

1. Rio’s operation is still kicking, albeit not without challenges. He’s able to set up other crews, while mobilising his own to assassinate Turner from what is essentially a lockdown situation. The first episode is devoted to telling us exactly how powerful Rio is, while also how much he isn’t. We get Rio playing puppeteer with Turner and the crime world, but we also get the disconnect from his child as symbolised through the model airplane, and the lack of connection he has to his family through Beth and Rhea’s relationship. It’s a really great character breakdown to parallel Rio’s control over his professional life, and lack of control over his personal one. 

2. Rio’s lost professional networks and is struggling to re-make them. This is actually the point I think we needed more of in the show, because I do think it’s there, but I don’t think it’s as textual as it should be. I’ve said it on here before, but we know from 1.03 that Rio’s never designed his own money – it’s what he sent Beth, Ruby and Annie to go collect from Canada after all, and that design was cooked by 2.12. 

We also know he was washing cash through a variety of local businesses prior to his arrest in 1.10 as per the news report in the same episode, and from the fallout in s2, it seemed like those networks had dried up, hence him giving Beth the money to wash in 2.04 and then jumping all in on Boland Motors. 

Beth also latches onto this concept in 3.04 when she tries to negotiate with Rio for her life, telling him “no cars, no pills, no cash, it’s gotta hurt”, and he responds, pretty simply with “You don’t know my interests.” 

Which she doesn’t, particularly as she latches onto the idea of Rio needing money, because I don’t think he does, and I think the introduction of the G Wagon this season was a significant symbol in teling us that as an audience.

I don’t think Rio needs money. I think he needs to be making other people money. 

I think he needs the business.

It seems to be something underlined in Rio’s confrontation with Gil in the bar later in the episode. He’s holding Gil to get the name of the person designing his money, because Rio knows the value of the product, and he needs to rebuild professionally after the arrest, raids and his own disappearance, and it’s only re-emphasised by Rio taking over Beth’s operation when he finds out. She owes him enough, is on the backfoot enough, that he can own all of it, knowing she’ll let him.  

3.  Lastly is that Rio is, and always has been, a dangerous person with a ready and willing trigger finger. He handles his rotten eggs – for better and for worse. 

Sophie, what are you going on about?? 

A good question, me, haha. I guess my point in all of this is the fact that I think Rio’s comfortable financially but is in deep in crime and as a result has a lot of people relying on him (both above him and below him) to build business. Since the shutdown in s1 and his arrest then disappearance, I think shit’s hit the fan, and a lot of his old professional avenues have been cut off, and that Beth presents to him as this sort of perfect in to a world he’s just been re-ostracised from. 

The carwash was obvious, of course it was, but I think that was sort of the point? I think it was a narrative signpost of how many steps backwards Rio’s operation has had to walk, and how far Rio’s been boxed into a corner (something I actually do think would have re-emerged on a textual level this season given we know we were supposed to be meeting Rio’s crime bosses).

I think he wanted another Boland Motors sort of operation, and forcing Beth’s hand created Boland Bubbles, and I think the prospect of that was a relief to him in more ways than not (hence his tone shift in 3.11). 

Beth is, after all, a logical person in many ways for Rio to invest in because she owes him, and because she has no other ties in the crime world. I’ve said this in multiple other posts, but I think Rio’s really deliberately kept it that way. I think he sees her potential, yes, and I actually do think a part of him wants to protect her (again, 2.07 being the clearest example of that), but I also think he sees her as an asset for himself. She’s quick on her feet, exists in a world he can’t – that world being middle class, white mama – and he can throw down a challenge to her, knows she’ll rise to meet it, and present a solution.

She did it unprompted in s1 with the secret shoppers, prompted when given the means in s2 with Boland Motors, and then prompted with a threat in s3 with Boland Bubbles. 

For all his talk of not knowing how to incentivise her in 3.10, he really does know, and more than that, he knows how to prompt her to level up in a way he can then take advantage of. 

Does this mean that Rio can’t or doesn’t come up with the ideas? Of course not! (Athough I do think he likes outsourcing them, haha) But I think he’s aware of where he stands and who he is and what he looks like, and I think that’s been compounded by a period of time that’s been dangerous for him both personally and professionally, and fuck - - exhausting too. I mean – he was shot! Three times! In the chest! 

But I do think Rio’s a kingpin too. It’s just been a hard year, y’know?

(Because I think it mostly has just been a year? There’s something to be said here after all given we know there was only eight months between early-s1 and 2.12 given the timestamp, and now only two months apparently between 2.09 and 3.03, so it very well could’ve been only little over a year in canon? That said, requesting any sort of logical timeline on this show feels like a trap, haha).

I don’t know though! This is just my theory. What do you guys think?

[whatawriterwields]

Am I Wrong?

The bookshop’s window looks out onto the street. Aziraphale stands there, feet planted firmly on the dusty wood of the floor, shoulders back, head erect. Hands clasped behind his back. A soldier at attention, though he can’t stop his hands from fidgeting, hard as he tries. He stares out at the cars and the pedestrians passing, one after the other, back and forth, back and forth. He watches the pattern repeat until he can hardly stand it, until he wants to scream. His eyes burn, but it’s not enough to produce real tears.

He’s used to this feeling, this twisting, swirling sensation in his gut. He’s been known to stand this way for hours, days even, before finally breaking down and crying, and then trying to forget about it. As his hands tremble now, and he fights to keep them still, he hopes this one will pass more quickly.

But this time he’s interrupted. Though he’s turned his bookshop’s sign to CLOSED - though he’s had the wild thought, as he always does in these episodes, that he should close the damn thing down and leave London for good - the door swings open around noon, and a familiar voice calls out to him above the bell.

“Angel?”

His heart leaps, faintly, at the sight of Crowley’s red hair making its way toward him through the shelves. For a moment he thinks about moving away from the window, opening a bottle of wine with the demon, and whiling away the afternoon and the evening with pleasant conversation. Laughing about customers and hearing horror stories about Crowley’s plants. But then the thought crumples. Aziraphale deflates, and turns back toward the window, eyes burning a little stronger. That’s just like him, to think of distracting himself with pleasure. How stupid of him. How selfish. 

Read on Ao3

Crowley appears by his side. “What are you doing here? I fancied a lunch date.” 

Aziraphale forces a little smile. “That sounds fine, dear.”

“Fine?” Crowley raises an eyebrow. 

His lips twist into a half-grimace, and he focuses his eyes on the people passing by on their side of the sidewalk. It’s not many people - the day is overcast, and it’s a weekday, and most people are at home or at work - but it’s enough. Enough to remind Aziraphale why he should be at work too.

“Something’s bothering you,” says Crowley. “Tell me.”

Oh, that would be easy, wouldn’t it? To confide in Crowley, to heave all his inner turmoil on the demon’s shoulders, to let him carry the weight Aziraphale was made for. That would be convenient enough. Aziraphale swallows, tasting salt on his tongue, and stares away. “It’s nothing.” 

“Don’t be daft. I’ve never heard you that unenthusiastic about food.” 

And that comment, though it’s said in a lighthearted tone, a gentle tone, even - though Aziraphale knows Crowley is only teasing, and that Crowley loves him, and that Crowley doesn’t mind going out to restaurants and watching Aziraphale eat everything on the menu - because of those things, in fact, that comment makes Aziraphale’s shoulders sag, and he covers his face with his hands as they begin to shake.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley is taken aback. “Hey, hey -” he puts an arm around Aziraphale, using the other hand to draw Aziraphale’s damp fingers from his eyes, to brush the brimming tears away - “what did I say?” 

“N-nothing.” Aziraphale pulls away from Crowley’s arms. He doesn’t deserve comfort. “I’m…”

“What? You’re what?”

“I’m all wrong.” He gestures helplessly out the window, too overwhelmed to try disguising the catch in his voice. “Do you see the people out there? The people who walk by my bookshop every day, and have for hundreds of years, and did before I came here and started this ridiculous business?” He locks his eyes on a man with his head bowed against the wind, and points. “That man just lost his job. He’s trying to care for his son, but he’s barely making ends meet, and he’s been praying every night for a miracle to change his fate.” 

Crowley’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

Oh, Crowley doesn’t know, of course he doesn’t. Aziraphale has never told him what the world is like for a principality. That’s one secret he’s never confided. “I know them all, Crowley. I can know every human’s suffering if I want to.” 

“What?” 

“See that woman?” He motions, somewhat wildly, to an elderly woman several paces behind the man. “She hasn’t talked to any of her family members since her brother died. She tries to work up the courage every day, but she just can’t stop thinking about which one of them is next, and maybe it’s her but even worse, maybe it isn’t, and she’s terrified of letting herself cry about this first loss when she’s got to keep herself strong for so many more.” Aziraphale dashes more tears from his eyes. 

Crowley’s mouth is hanging open. He seems utterly lost for words, but that’s just fine - Aziraphale isn’t done, he isn’t close to done. 

“I’ve been in this shop since the eighteenth century,” he says, “and I’ve seen every kind of suffering under the sun. I’ve seen people break down and cry in the middle of the street. I’ve seen arguments end decades-old relationships. I’ve seen people dying, out there in the cold during the worst winters, and no one caring enough to help them.” He clutches his head, running his fingers through his hair, his breaths shaky, uneven. “But most often I just see the pain in their minds. And it doesn’t show up on their faces. And I can read exactly what’s happening to them - I can see how badly they need the world to just stop being so unfair, and for some great cosmic order to right their lives, and for things to start making sense.” 

Aziraphale lets his arms fall. “All while I’m here, in my bookshop, wealthy as can be, able to go out to lunch whenever I like, never needing to worry about money or dying or how I’ll keep warm when winter comes.” He wants to let his legs give out under him. He wants to fall apart. “All while I’m reading books and eating crepes.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Aziraphale doesn’t look up at Crowley; instead, he turns and leans his forehead against the window. He can still see people passing. He sees the ones in their cars, too, and it takes him no time at all to pick out the ones hurting. To see their stories unfurling out from behind them like so much shredded ribbon. 

“You...” says Crowley at last, “what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a bad angel, Crowley,” Aziraphale snaps. “I’m saying I was supposed to be a warrior against the forces of evil and injustice, and I don’t know how. I’m no good at fighting. I’m saying -” his hands are still clenching and unclenching, feeling, Aziraphale knows, for the flaming sword he still senses like a phantom limb - “I’m saying that I’m frivolous, and shallow, and selfish.” 

“Oh, come on.” Crowley reaches out for Aziraphale again, hands going to his shoulders, comforting - and once more Aziraphale sidesteps them. Why is being kind so easy for Crowley? Why does comforting come so natural to a demon? Why can’t Aziraphale reach out to the person driving that car out there, who’s fallen off the wagon for the third time, and give him some of that healing warmth that flows from Crowley without a thought? 

“I care so much about books,” Aziraphale whimpers. “I read them over and over, and I collect them, and sometimes I just sit in the middle of them and stare at them and feel so happy I can’t even explain it. And I want to care that much about all these people. I want to - really, I do. But it’s so exhausting.” He can feel another sob building in the back of his throat. “It never ends, their pain. And when they come in here I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t know how to help. I’m useless.” He has that wild thought again, that reckless, wits’-end thought, that maybe it’d have been better if his bookshop stayed burned. “All I can think about are these stupid books.” 

And he sobs again, and again, and leans against the window like it’s a lifeboat keeping him above a flood. Like it’s another little raft that keeps him from harm when the humans around him are drowning. 

“I don’t know how to help,” he sobs. “I’ve been here six thousand years and I don’t know how to help them.” 

And he feels so weak, so pale and fragile here in this place that’s supposed to bring him joy, that he barely notices when Crowley touches him once more. When Crowley’s fingers press to his cheek again, turning his face, slowly, tenderly toward him. 

“Aziraphale,” he says, quiet. “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly Aziraphale raises his eyes. Crowley’s sunglasses are off. His golden serpent’s eyes are on full display, spread without whites around them. They’re filled with something Aziraphale can’t quite name. 

“You’re not a bad angel,” Crowley says. “No one should be forced to carry the whole world’s suffering. That’s too heavy a weight for anyone.”

“I could be doing it better,” Aziraphale mutters. “I could be - I don’t know - I could be rescuing people from war zones. I could be going out distributing food to the hungry. I could be miracling jobs for every underemployed family. I could be out shouting down bigoted preachers - in fact I could have been doing that for hundreds of years, as they don’t seem to be getting any less bigoted as time goes by. I could have used some divine miracle to stop the Inquisition, if I’d caught it in time, if I’d been more vigilant. I could have stopped the Terror.” 

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for every terrible thing humans have done to each other.”

“What else can I think? They commend you. They ought to have punished me.”

“Come on.” Crowley tilts Aziraphale’s chin up. “We both knew they were idiots for thinking I started the Terror and the Inquisition. We both knew it wasn’t possible for a single demon to do that much damage. How can anyone have expected a single angel to stop it?” 

“So many people died.”

“People die, Aziraphale. It’s what they do.” Crowley moves his hand to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, still gentle. “It’s not your fault.” 

Tears are running more freely, now, from Aziraphale’s eyes. “But it’s my mission -”

“Was your mission.” Crowley’s thumb runs over Aziraphale’s damp cheek. “It was a terrible mission, given to you by angels who didn’t care about you. It was a mission that just set you up to be a disappointment. But you’re free now.” 

“And what am I supposed to do?” Aziraphale wants to pull away, but he doesn’t have the strength anymore. He needs Crowley’s hands. He needs his breath. He needs his comfort, pathetic creature that he is. “I want to help. I want to be good. I don’t want to spend another six thousand years here not making a difference to anyone.”

And Crowley smiles, a smile so slow and so easy and so tender it’s like watching the dawn break in the sky. 

“Angel,” he says. “You’re an idiot.” 

Aziraphale blinks. 

“You know I’m a demon, right?” Crowley nods down at himself. “You know not a single person in six thousand years has ever been kind to me, except for you?” 

Aziraphale glances away, cheeks going red. Crowley’s exaggerating. Though his earnest expression, the way he ducks his head to make eye contact again, belies any sort of teasing intent. 

“You gave me hope in goodness again,” Crowley said. “When you gave away your sword. That’s not nothing, is it?”

“I…”

“You think you haven’t mattered? Angel, you’ve mattered to me for all six thousand years you’ve been on this planet. You’ve mattered more than the sun. You’ve mattered so much you convinced me to stop Armageddon, and it’s not because you were some grand warrior out fighting injustice. I met enough of those types in Heaven.” Crowley jerks his head, as if to dismiss the legions of God’s army in a single gesture. “It was because you loved.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Loved, not the way they talked about in Heaven - not the way they meant it when they said God’s made of love.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s face in both hands and holds it steady. “Listen to me. You loved because things brought you joy. Because you were happy, in this world, and that was incredible to me.” 

Aziraphale hiccups. It’s hard for him to keep his mind on the gaping chasm in his gut when Crowley is looking at him like that. When Crowley is holding him so near, and still smiling that close, loving smile. 

“You’re an idiot,” Crowley murmurs. “You’re so good, angel, and you’re a light in this world without even trying to be one. You have no idea how much happiness you can bring just by loving books. It’s not wrong to be the way you are.” 

“Oh, Crowley -”

“Shh.” Crowley draws Aziraphale in, wrapping his arms around him and fitting his head against the crook of his neck. “Hey. It’s all right to cry. Get it out.” 

And Aziraphale cries; he stops trying to maintain his soldier’s stance and leans fully into Crowley, letting Crowley support him. Crowley pets his hair. The feeling is so nice, so wonderfully soothing; he shouldn’t enjoy it, he shouldn’t be thinking about Crowley when he’s supposed to be thinking about the world, but somehow he can’t help it. 

Maybe Crowley’s right. Maybe he doesn’t have to.

“The world needs people like you,” says Crowley. “So you aren’t a warrior. Who needs another force for violence anyway? Humanity’s better off with you watching over them than anyone else.” 

“You really think so?”

Crowley pulls back, and his lips meet Aziraphale’s, softly, so softly. Aziraphale can’t help the smile that blooms in his mouth at Crowley’s touch. 

“I know so,” he says. 

For a long moment they stand in silence, Aziraphale taking slow, steadying breaths, Crowley with his arms still around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. For a long moment Aziraphale works to let go of the shame he let overcome him.

Then the bookshop’s doors jingle again, and the two of them break apart.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. Someone else has entered the shop, someone he doesn’t recognize - a young girl, a teenager, with short dyed hair and large earrings. She looks a little small for her clothes, like she’s shrinking into herself, like she’s lost. It takes her a moment to turn her head in their direction.

When she does, her gaze drops immediately to their joined hands, before she looks up at their faces. Aziraphale catches the trace of a smile in hers.

“Hello,” he says, voice still wobbling slightly. “My apologies. I was just - ah - well, I’d been having a hard morning, and my -” 

He looks over at Crowley, who gives him an encouraging look.

His eyes move back to the girl, and he reads the lost look in her shoulders with hardly any need for a miracle - came out to her parents, they’re not pleased, she left the house to clear her head, but she doesn’t know what’ll be waiting for her when she comes home. 

“My partner,” he says, voice a little stronger, “was giving me some good advice.”

The girl’s smile widens into something more substantial. “Uh. No problem.” 

“Would you like to - er - look at a book?”

“He doesn’t like it when you buy them,” Crowley stage-whispers to her. “Just look and put them back, though, and you’ll be fine. And don’t get any smudges on the covers.”

The girl lets out a tentative laugh. “That’d be great. I’m just… looking for some light reading, you know.” 

Suddenly the spark of an idea enters Aziraphale’s head. With a little bounce in his step, suddenly, he disentangles himself from Crowley and moves toward a particular shelf, beckoning the girl to follow him.

“How do you feel about classical poetry?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I don’t know much about it.” 

“Well, there’s a delightful poet from ancient Greece I think you might like. I’ve got a book of her work around here somewhere…” 

Crowley watches from the window as Aziraphale rummages happily through the volumes. The girl is starting to relax, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder to see what he’s looking for. Aziraphale can feel the bright grin growing on his cheeks, but he can’t stop it. And he doesn’t want to. It’s been a long time since he’s had the chance to talk about Sappho. 

Tonight, when the shop closes again, Aziraphale resolves, he’s going to take Crowley out for dinner. 

[cecilspeaks]

169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!  

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal! 

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that. 

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land. 

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

[subsequentibis]

this is a DELIGHT to read, thank you so much for submitting it!! publishing for the aforementioned class, everyone pls take notes. p.s. i do have a wheelbarrow in my garage so if you ever need to transport sixteen stone of injured sea captain hit me up

-ibis

~~

hello, i’m fairly sure you know exactly which silly person is writing this at this point.  yes, it’s me again.  i really truly hope that this works and doesn’t do a weird thing, i’m a tiny bit alarmed about doing this.  i am a tiny nervous horse when it comes to internet stuff and i’ve attempted to proofread this maybe three times in order to put off actually sending this to you.  i guess i’m just going to have to get this over with, so here are my debatably comprehendable ideas, mostly exactly as they were written in yesterday’s four-hour spiral of madness.

breaking news: local goof observes a tumblr post and proceeds to attempt to hack reality in order to see if they could in theory achieve this.  am i ready to haul nearly six feet of incapacitated and extremely thick local captain to the nearest medical facility?  part of me says no, part of me says hell yeah.  let’s go find out.

okay, what do i get and what skills do i have.  (time to invent some rules for this strange game and figure out just what i’d do.  focusing on stephen and jack because they were the two characters you mentioned, this could probably apply to other characters but i’m going to only reckon with these as this project is strange enough as it currently stands.  i’m expecting this to quickly go off the rails.)  (note as i edit this over: this is extremely chaotic and you should be warned.  i thought way too much about this and it shows, and it kind of terrifies me, not only because of the baffling sentence structures (or lack thereof).  rereading this after having properly eaten and communicated with human beings for the day has shown me that i sound like an alien for much of this.  terribly sorry to sound like an alien, swear i’m human and just kind of a bit strange inside.)

so: i can have anything currently on the property where i currently reside (garage and driveway included) and all my real skills.

i cannot drive because:

i do not have the physical ability to drive

i do not have the legal ability to drive

i can’t get help from any other person: this is an imaginary situation where exists in this house just me and a fictional lad who needs to be got to a local medical facility.  (this is a very weird imaginary situation but honestly the peak of my own interests colliding.)

so what do i have here anyway (all of this is written assuming i personally am the one having to do this and am moving one of them from my place of residence to the nearest medical facility):

arms: not very strong (could potentially lift stephen since i can lift some of my friends and he’s both shorter and thinner, definitely cannot move jack an inch)

legs: i assume walking is not an option for reasons of either necessary speed of delivery or actually he cannot walk.  oh yeah and also reasons of narrative whatever.  continuing.

cars: cannot and will not drive, he is from the 1800s and cannot drive either, or in the case of stephen even if he could drive should not be trusted behind the wheel even in the peak of health.  anyway given this vague situation we none of us should be driving.

bikes (various): i’m a fairly good biker, i’ve got pretty good stamina and can haul rather well on my own bike.  with a little work (as seen in yon post) might be able to even sort of rig something up to perch stephen on my handlebars.  this will not function with jack.  *with a great deal of effort i drag him onto the front of the bike, wait a beat, then watch in horror as the bike tips back wheel up and dumps him back on the floor with an unpleasant thud* so that’s not going to work.

wheelbarrow: very cool and possibly functional plan.  unfortunately we do not have a wheelbarrow.  alas.

wagon: pros and cons.  pro: we can haul the boy in this.  con: we have to haul the boy.  the boy can fit in this in a balanced manner, but let me restate: my arms are not very strong and jack is near six feet of unhelpful heavy meat.  as usual this is more of a viable option for stephen.  but god jack is just a big dense boy and i’m just a wobbly little person with noodles for arms.

alright.  local noodle-armed goof is trying some new approaches regarding wagon/bikes: using my dad’s old bike with the board on the back and sort of tying him on there somehow so he faces backwards and sort of leans on me.  he could even put his feet in the little saddlebag things for balance!  although again i’d be worried about the sheer weight and size if i’m basically just dragging this man like a deceased sack of meat all the way to the hospital.  so that depends.  one more for the list of could potentially work with stephen.  (although if he was anything less than utterly out i would have zero luck getting either of them to take part in any of these increasingly ridiculous plans.) (actually, depending on the situation it might work out if he was in a certain mood?  anyhow, did not come here for these considerations.  only for increasingly less reasonable methods of transportation.) 

okay forging boldly onward.  if i don’t want to try to do a huge hill with the wagon and my little noodle arms and hundreds-odd pounds of floppy boat lad i could try to rig up something where i tie the wagon to the back of a bike, but that wouldn’t end well because on downhills it would slide forward unless i distributed the weight somehow to make the front of the bike heavier than the wagon… which is not gonna happen because that would either be impossible with the supplies i have or render the bike entirely nonfunctional.  leaving the wagon to clunk back and forth is also an issue given that i am trying to get this man medical attention asap and not actively make the situation worse.  i’ve done this wagon and bike thing before when both people involved were starting out fine and even that didn’t end well.  (in case you were wondering, we careened down the street crashing into one another and came to a stop by hitting a parked car.  we are all fine now and so is the car and we do not do things like this anymore.  it was a terrible idea that i regret every day.)  no go.

vacuum cleaner: bad idea.  no.  did i think of these as an option just because i have one and it has wheels?  i did, didn’t i.  do not attempt.

razor scooter: no.  why.  how.  please stop this.

boards: possibly a viable option.  we got skateboards, we got surfboards, we got actual just plain old wooden boards.  (none of the ones in my home actually belong to me, but ignore that bit.  trying to save a life here.)  probably the best route would be to stick some skateboards under something big enough to bear up an entire human person, slap a few pillows or something over top, and get shoving.  don’t ask about what happens when we get to the big hills.  (yeah i live in an area made entirely of hills and it’s a long steep way down and a long steep way up to get anywhere of interest, and if you’re on wheels then sucks to be you i guess.)  in retrospect perhaps not as good of an idea.

so i guess four hours later i’ve come to the precise conclusion that you did.

put stephen on a bike.  put jack in a wagon.  maybe learn to drive?  jury’s still out on that one.  anyway that was a fun four hours that i won’t regret spending this way at all no sirree.

alright!  hope this wasn’t too strange or unreadable!  have a nice day, you’re wonderful!

[bucklesomeswashswan]

At the Beginning (4/11)

Once Upon a December Sequel

I am so incredibly sorry for the delay. I don’t have to tell you this has been a crazy time. My work has been slammed, the boyfriend is an ER doctor and he has been stressed, i’m worried about my family and my friends, I canceled my trips I’ve been looking forward to, there are people rioting in the streets.  Anyway there’s been some days ( a LOT of days) I haven’t felt creative or motivated to think about writing. I’m sorry. I know a couple people asked for an update as a distraction from the quarantine and the world, but I needed my own and i couldn’t find it in writing.

I hope 15k words (40 pages) makes up for the delay a little. ;)

This chapter is a fun one! And very dear to my heart. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew?

Rated M- earning this rating a bit here! AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3]

Chapter 4: Love is a River

Emma picked at the muffin in her hands as she watched the men unload the wagons outside the palace. A train had arrived two days ago in Steveston just as the storm clouds had started to build. All of their things brought to them just as the air turned even colder.

She shivered against the winter air that blew in through the wide open front doors. Snowflakes floated lazily in after heavy boots and slowly melted on the cold marble floor. She watched the piles of boxes in the entryway grow with mixed feelings.

It had been two days since she’d gone to the city with August, and it had shaken loose a storm of memories that still hadn’t completely settled. Seeing the city again had made everything feel real. Looking at those streets and buildings with new eyes, it felt so different than it had just a few months ago when she had arrived, alone, and desperate to leave. Now she wasn’t running. This was the place they were fighting for, broken and lost in the same ways she was. Struggling.

And yet she had also found a spark of hope there. She knew now there was a way she could learn to control her magic. Someone to help her protect everyone she cared about. She smiled around a bite of muffin. 

A warm weight of soft fabric settled over her shoulders as someone placed a jacket there protecting her against the cold. A small and welcome gesture. She pulled the coat a little closer, enjoying the comfort before turning toward the person who brought it.

“August,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect-”

She tried to ignore the sinking in her heart at the realization she had hoped it was Killian, that maybe it was a sign he had forgiven her.

“You looked cold standing here alone,” August said.

“Alone?” she repeated glancing at all the people all around them. “I’m hardly ever alone now.”

She saw him take in the bustle in the entryway, the looks sent at the two of them together. The way they always watched her, waiting, for some success or disaster, she wasn’t sure which anymore. The din of her new life.

“You know what i mean,” he said.

He meant Ruby and Killian. Ruby had gone to the Lost Boys, and Killian was giving her space. She knew he was upset that she had gone to the city with August. If she were being truthful, she knew she had been avoiding him too. 

“I’m fine,” she told him, as if saying it out loud would will it to be true. “We’re fine.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “Good. I wasn’t going to leave you here without any friends.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m leading the envoy to Ludgate Island. We need to secure the prison.”

She heard the words he didn’t say, we need to secure Gold. The memories of him squeezed at her heart: his voice taunting her, the feeling of the amulet pulling at her, fear creeping up her spine. If Gold escaped...

“When do you leave?” she asked.

“An hour.”

So soon. She thought of the map they had laid out in the library a few nights ago, the path south toward the sea and the strait of rough water to the rocky outcropping of Ludgate Island. It wouldn’t be an easy journey.

“How long will you be there?” she asked him.

His sad expression was answer enough. She frowned as she watched him, wondering if she would see him again once he left. Drifting out her life again.

“We all have our parts to play,” he said and his eyes met hers and held. “I need to protect Misthaven from him.”

The way he said it made it clear that he was going there to protect something, someone, more specific. It hung there, unspoken. That loyalty that never faded. The words he wouldn't say. 

She slid his coat off, the cold air making her miss it instantly. She carefully, slowly, folded it and pressed it back into his hands. “Thank you,” she said hoping he would understand.

He took it and then reached around to pull a pistol from his belt and held it out to her. An offering. A reminder of the danger that stood before them. 

“I don’t want that,” she said, stepping back. 

She remembered the train leaving Misthaven, the cold steel of a different pistol in her hands, taking aim at the blackguards chasing after them from the forest. She shivered at the memory. The sight of Killian’s wound, his blood dried on her fingers.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, “but I need to know you’re safe.”

Emma considered his words for a moment before she took the pistol, feeling its weight. Her fingers tightened on the handle. Muscle memory, muscles she had never wanted to develop.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he murmured and pulled her gently into a warm hug.

She held him tightly, silently wishing him strength and luck on his journey. Their paths splitting again, their stories tangled but not quite connected.

“Morning, Emma. August,” Killian said from beside them, startling her.

They broke apart and she swung around in surprise, she hadn’t heard him approaching. 

Killian’s expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on August even as he gently pushed the barrel of the pistol in her hand away from where it had been pointing absently at him when she turned.

“I was just leaving,” August said with one last look at Emma before he turned away from them.

Killian’s eyes followed him until he left the room before turning to her. 

“You could be nicer,” she scolded him, tucking away the pistol. “He’s on our side. We’re old friends,” she said.

He nodded. “Friends.” It sounded cynical.

Emma rolled her eyes, she knew that look. “Now’s not the time to be jealous, Killian.”

He didn’t respond. That irked her even more.

“I don’t get jealous of you and Ruby,” she pointed out.

Killian blinked. “Ruby is family,” he told her as though it were obvious. “He doesn’t look at you like he sees you as a sister.”

She shook off his comment, she wasn’t going to argue with him. Not over August. Not when he was leaving and there was nothing more to say. Not when there was so much the two of them needed to say instead. Everything they had been avoiding. She looked at him across the distance that had formed between them the last few days. 

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

His eyes widened slightly and she could have slapped herself hearing how her words sounded. He pulled back slightly, adding again to that distance.

Whatever she had expected or hoped his answer might be, it wasn’t the words that followed. “The Queen wants you to get ready. You’re heading into the city again today.”

“The city?” she asked. “Why?”

“To distribute the supplies and food from the train directly to the people.”

She glanced at the stacks of crates in the entryway.

“A publicity stunt?” she guessed. 

Killian frowned. “No. To help them, Emma. That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

Shame burned through her. She was still adjusting her perspective. She had been skeptical of authority for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember that not everything was a trick. She wondered how many of the people in the city would react the same way she had. Jaded. Betrayed too many times.

She looked at Killian, someone who struggled for everything he had. Who was more used to losing what he earned. And yet here he was, still able to see the good around them, to believe in a better future. 

“Of course,” she said. “When are we leaving?”

He looked almost guilty for a moment. “I’m not going with you, Emma,” he said.

Dread twisted her stomach making her feel faintly sick. She knew she had allowed this tension between them to fester but never had she meant to push him away in a meaningful way. Panic rose up within her. 

“What?” The word came out a little broken. “I need you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be seen with your family, Emma. There are already too many rumors. If we want to maintain any cover for me, or more importantly Ruby, about our loyalties, then I can’t stand in front of a crowd by your side and declare allegiance like that.”

She took a breath trying to calm herself. What he said made sense, he was thinking strategically. Still the thought of facing so many people and being the princess they wanted without him almost brought her to her knees.

“What if they didn’t see you with us?” she asked slowly.

He tilted his head, not understanding

“Follow after us, join the crowd, come with the guards. I don’t care how, but I want you to be there.”

He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh and nodding. He didn’t look glad for an excuse to go with her, he looked almost defeated. “Aye, love,” he said at last. “I can do that.”

It didn’t completely ease her worry or feel like a victory. Not when they were being twisted and pulled by loyalties and duties. Not when it felt like a chore or a gamble for him to follow her. Were there forces stronger than them that would tear them apart no matter how much they loved each other? Was their love only one that survived in quiet times and gentle hours?

She opened her mouth to speak, an olive branch, the words she hadn’t said for days on the tip of her tongue. They just needed to talk, a moment to themselves as everything swirled around them.

“Princess Emma,” a lady’s maid said appearing at her side. “You’re needed upstairs.”

Emma blinked at the girl, needing just another minute. But when she looked back at Killian she knew the moment had slipped away.

She was herded toward the stairs to prepare for the day, away from Killian. When she glanced back at the landing he was already gone.

Her mother was waiting for her in her room. Directing the others as the trunks of Emma’s things were unpacked, overwhelming her space with tulle and embroidery, gold and sparkle. Pieces of a life she hardly knew.

“There you are,” her mother said, coming over to pull her close. Her smile as she watched everything get unpacked was almost contagious. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“These are all mine?” Emma asked looking at the armoire already bursting.

Her mother just squeezed her arm, “Of course. Come on, we need to find one for you to wear today.”

Emma sat on the bed as she watched her mother flit between the fine gowns. Her fingers trailing down the fabric and straightening out long trains. This one would bring out the green of her eyes, that one would flatter her figure. 

Emma looked around feeling a bit lost. It was like trying to pass an exam after missing all the lessons.

“I’m not sure we can show up in intricate ball gowns,” Emma said at last. “Most of the people there are living off nearly nothing. Won’t it seem... uncaring?”

Her mother set down the dress that had been cradled in her arms. “It’s not uncaring. Today we are going to bring hope, because I love this kingdom and we have come back to see beyond the despair to what it could be again.”

Emma glanced away, looking at the dress lying beside her. Tried to see it through her mother’s eyes. A way to return to a time that had been better. Her family getting back everything it had lost. 

This dress was simpler, pale blue with embroidered silver flowers cascading down to the floor. “What about this one?” she suggested.

Her mother’s face lit up, pleased Emma seemed to be taking an active interest. “It’s perfect.” 

Emma had the feeling her mother would have said that about anything Emma had picked. Sometimes Emma wasn’t sure what parental love or approval was meant to feel like. Was it a desperate attempt at any connection after so long apart or was it genuine?

But there was something that felt right about letting her mother help her fasten the small buttons at the back of the dress. A vague memory of days long ago. For a moment she felt like this was something mothers and daughters were meant to do. For a moment she felt that sense of family.

Emma’s fingers played at the delicate threads in the flowers. It must have taken countless hours by a steady experienced hand. And now it was hers to wear. She wondered if it had been made with her in mind, or if it was something they were all hoping would fit. Something fit for a princess. 

She stepped over the mirror by the window. She thought of the gown she’d worn to the ball in Glowerhaven, when she’d fought Gold. She remembered how lost she had felt buried under all that fabric. This reflection looking back at her felt more familiar. Maybe she could do this, one step at a time.

She waved off the shining jewels they offered her. One small step at a time. She was still getting used to the weight of it all even without the added weight of diamonds and gems. She knew she would only get there by keeping in touch with who she was. And a part of her would always be that orphan girl. Two worlds in one person. Two lives coming together. 

Before she felt ready Emma had joined her parents at their place in front of the wagons. She looked back at the group of people who would follow them, seeing no sign of Killian. There were more faces than she had expected. She kept a close eye on them as they walked away from the palace toward the city, watching for any unease on their faces, any wavering of their conviction, any hint of a lie in their intentions. Any signs of danger.

But as they entered the city her attention slipped to her parents, curious what their reaction would be. She remembered the feeling of the city when she had first seen it. The way the buildings had pressed in around her, the hopelessness that permeated from all sides.

The city seemed to hold its breath as they breached its limits. The streets quiet, empty, people pulling back, hiding from the approaching mass, as if they were an invading army. 

She watched her mother as her eyes moved over the buildings, and how they rested on the faces peering hesitantly from dirty and broken windows. Shuttered behind their barriers, wary. Maybe they had been wrong, maybe there was no hope for them to regain the favor of these people who had learned over the years to hide and ignore the horrors just outside their doors to survive.

Emma sensed more than heard the sound from the shadowy corner of a collapsed storefront. She paused, wary of some threat. Everyone else stopped and followed her gaze, a few confused whispers echoed behind her. But instead of some hulking monster, a small shape stepped from the shadows. 

It was a young girl, her apron spotted and torn, her hair tangled from the wind. Emma knew the look of someone who hadn’t slept tucked warmly in a bed. How many times had she looked like that? How many people over the years had looked away as if she wasn’t there, wasn’t their concern. But now she stood frozen in place watching the girl approach curiously.

Her mother broke away from the group moving toward the girl, kneeling down, her skirts folding onto the dirt and stones on the street. She beckoned her closer. There was something so trusting in the motion. Every hard lesson Emma had learned on the streets screamed at her to haul her mother back. The weight of the pistol hidden in her cloak burned against her as the girl moved closer.

A guard appeared at Emma’s side moving to assist the Queen. He was not brandishing a weapon but instead held a small loaf of bread from their supplies.The Queen offered him a smile in thanks as she took it and held it out to the girl.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The girl’s eyes locked on the bread and she half ran the last few steps grabbing the loaf. She bit off a big chunk, a smile spreading over her lips.

“What’s your name?” the Queen asked the girl. Her voice was gentle, mothering in the way Emma had missed out on for so many years. She blinked looking away, a tightness in her chest.

The girl looked from the Queen to the group behind her. Taking in their clothes, the wagons. “Paige,” the girl answered softly.

The Queen beamed at the small girl.  “Hi, Paige,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Paige gave another shy smile and took another bite of the bread.

Emma couldn’t help but think her mother was good at this. Where Emma had seen only a possible threat her mother had seen the truth. Not someone to fear but someone to help. Was this who she had been when she had ruled Misthaven? Was this why people had loved them? Was this why they were so sure the people would follow them again?

“Paige, can you do something for me?” The Queen asked.

Paige nodded slowly.

“Go and tell your family, your friends, and anyone you come across that the King and Queen are in the city and they’ve brought food and supplies for anyone who needs it.”

Paige’s eyes widened rising to look at the wagons stacked high with crates.

“Those are full of food?”  she asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of food for everyone.”

She hardly needed any more encouraging. Paige turned and rushed up the street and out of view. 

It wasn’t long before the faces hidden behind windows and shutters became people stepping out into the street to see what was happening. To confirm the rumors. And their numbers swelled as they made their way through the city until like a strong current they flowed through the streets gaining momentum.

~*~

Ruby watched the sun rise through the morning. The way the sky had turned from blue to gray to rose and then to gold. The light shining off the metal gutters and shimmering on the canals. Before the city woke up and the bustle started there was a moment when the city was crowned in light and gleamed like treasure. And then the sun rose fully and showed the city for what it really was, the light exposing all the darkness, the fairytale burned away.

She shifted her position, the slate roof beneath her uncomfortable after hours tucked up on top of the old central train station. From here she could see the main avenues and canals. Even the silent rails stretched out from where she sat in every direction. She watched over the city like a spider at the center of a web, waiting for something to fall into her trap.

It had been two days of prowling dark corners and crouched between buildings relearning the pulse of her city. The mundane goings on, stolen phrases of a hundred passing conversations, cross sections of a thousand people’s lives. From this perch and vantage point she took in everything. 

It had been two days since she had gone back to the Breaker Street Factory and Peter’s knowing smile and this new assignment. Sentry duty. Perhaps a dull and unpleasant job, but she knew this task was a test of her loyalties and an assessment of her skills. It was what she would have done to test a new recruit. Besides, she didn’t mind it so much, it beat a council meeting. Hadn’t she been wishing for just this not long ago?

“So, I’m not the only person who knows about this spot,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Ruby jumped to her feet drawing her dagger as a figure moved from behind one of the gargoyles she had thought were her only company up here.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked wanting some clue as to how this person got up on the ledge without her noticing. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this sentry thing as she had thought.

The figure stepped further out of the shadow, light falling on a slim figure in woven armor. Her black hair lifted off her shoulders from the breeze. Her dark eyes cool as she looked at Ruby.

“Peter sent me,” she said.

Ruby glanced around almost expecting to see others, perhaps a whole group sent to collect her. But they were alone on the roof.

“Is he calling me back?” Ruby asked.

The newcomer shifted into a casual pose but her expression remained hard. “No,” she said. “He sent me to follow you and watch what you did.”

“He thinks I’m going to betray him.”

It made sense. Peter was covering himself. This was a test with multiple layers. He wanted to be sure of her allegiance. He had made it quite clear when they had met that he knew she had ties to the royal family. He certainly seemed to know about Killian and Emma. Her only play had been to try to convince Peter that she was disenchanted with all of them. That she wanted to strike off on her own.

The woman shrugged before moving with sure feet over the sloping roof. She eased down beside Ruby, her dark hair shining in the sun. Ruby’s gaze traced over her face, her sharp eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ruby asked.

She stared out at the city before sighing.

“Because I know who you are Ruby Lucas. And I don’t think you are loyal to the Lost Boys.” Ruby opened her mouth to make some sort of obligatory protest but she continued. “And that makes you my best chance at an ally.”

Ruby’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“My name’s Mulan,” she said, turning to face her. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Ruby wasn’t sure there was anything she could do about it anyway. After all Mulan had tracked her, scaled the side of a building after her, and knew her secrets. She was clearly skilled. That and the large sword strapped to her back. Ruby eyed it warily. If the armor was any indication she probably knew how to use it too.

Mulan noticed Ruby’s attention on the sword. She smiled and it transformed her, softening her fierce demeanor. If Peter had sent her as a trap Ruby was suddenly afraid of just how adept an opponent he might be because she could imagine herself falling willingly into this one if she let her guard down.

“Cursebreaker,” Mulan told her.

Ruby stared at her blankly.

“The sword,” she clarified.Trying to gain a little of Ruby’s trust with information. “It’s called Cursebreaker. It can cut through anything, any material and any magical enchantment. It’s been in my family for generations.”

Ruby traced the intricate engravings on the hilt, a mix of images of dragons and symbols in a language she didn’t know. It was a work of art, its history carved into it. It must have been valuable. And they had entrusted it to Mulan. That kind of faith told her a lot about Mulan.

“I don’t have any family heirlooms left, everything was lost in the revolt,” Ruby said. Though the way her grandmother had tutted about her clumsiness she probably wouldn’t have been given any even if she’d had the chance.

Mulan looked down at the streets below them. “You grew up here?” she asked.

“I thought you said you knew who I was,” Ruby challenged.

Mulan met her gaze. “I heard about the outlaw. I didn't know about before.”

The way she said it made Ruby curious what Mulan thought of her. Outlaw. It was a disapproving word, but her tone hadn’t been.

Some instinct told her to trust Mulan, sensed a similar heart looking back at her.

“My grandmother was a close friend of the Queen,” Ruby told her.

“That’s why you’re with the royals now?” she asked.

“A lot has happened since my grandmother died,” she said carefully. Not a confirmation and not a denial.

“And you chose to fight back,” Mulan said looking steadily at her. “That is very brave.”

Ruby blushed, being called brave by someone in armor felt like a big compliment.

“I’m guessing you’re something of a fighter too,” Ruby said trying to turn the conversation off of her to safer territory.

Mulan tugged at the gauntlets on her wrists. “The world doesn’t always lead you down the path you dreamed of.”

“What did you dream of doing?” Ruby asked, surprised by how much she wanted to know the answer, some insight into who she was.

Mulan leaned back a little, looking up at the sky. “I dreamed of making my family proud.”

“Are they not proud of you?” She thought again of the sword she carried.

Mulan met Ruby’s look. “I don’t know,” she said.

It wasn’t what she’d expected her to say.

“Where are they?”

Mulan’s expression darkened. “They’re gone.”

Ruby looked away. “Orphans of the revolution,” she murmured, Peter’s words. “I see why the Lost Boys recruited you.”

“There are a lot of reasons people join the Lost Boys,” Mulan said. Ruby perked up, this was what she’d said they needed to talk about.

“Why did you join then?” Ruby asked.

Mulan’s reply was interrupted by excited shouts from down on the streets. They both looked down at the commotion, people moving out into the streets beckoning others to follow, until at last the royal banners and guards turned down the avenue. The procession made its way over the wide stone bridge that spanned the main canal headed for the heart of the city.

Ruby stood up from her hiding place and slid to the edge of the roof for a better view of the square where the royals had come to a stop. She could just make out the gold shine of Emma’s hair in the center. A roar went up from the crowd as a large crate from one of the wagons was pried open and sacks of grain were pulled out and passed to the people there. She watched a small girl with curling brown hair scurry across the bridge to the edge of the crowd intent on seeing what was going on. Ruby instantly felt like she was looking back through the years at a younger version of herself. She even found herself scanning the surrounding people for a small Killian darting in between the crowd probably picking pockets.

“You have to tell Peter,” Mulan said quietly beside her.

Ruby looked at her, expecting to see judgement, waiting to see if she would go inform the Lost Boys. But there was only sadness. Like she understood exactly the position this put Ruby in. As if she had walked that very line before. Duty and betrayal.

She wondered what Mulan had traded to get into Peter’s good graces. 

“I guess I’ll see you around,” Ruby said standing.

Mulan watched her from where she remained sitting. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

She said it like this exchange was some habit they had formed over years. For a moment it was easy to pretend Mulan was someone she had known all her life. Ruby bit back a small smile and turned away.

Ruby dropped out of her perch and made to head back for the Breaker Street Factory. A part of her hated walking away from where she knew her friends were, away from what felt safe and deeper into danger. Her thoughts spun as she walked the empty streets. Something about meeting Mulan had left her feeling disoriented, confused, like she’d heard a joke but hadn’t understood the punchline.

When she entered the abandoned factory she found Peter easily enough in his office atop the spiral staircase. Sitting at his desk beside a roaring fireplace looking out the windows at the city like a hawk watching for scurrying prey. 

“Ruby,” he said in greeting before turning around to face her. An unnerving display of just how much he knew of what was happening around him.

“The royal family has entered the city via the east gate and moved to the central square,” she told him without any preamble. “They’ve brought food for the people.”

Peter turned to her and leaned back in his chair seeming many years older than he looked. “How many guards did they have with them?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

She weighed how much information to give him without compromising the royals’ security measures. 

“Around twenty,” she told him, hedging on giving an exact number, but supplied him a little extra information so he wouldn’t notice, “They’re armed with swords and pistols.”

“Industrialist weapons?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Traditional.”

He sneered, a wicked light in his eyes. “Fitting,” he mused. “At least we have a definite advantage there.”

Ruby’s chest tightened at his words, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the implication that the Lost Boys had the royals significantly outgunned or the way he seemed to be including Ruby in his ‘we’.

He reached into a compartment in the desk and pulled out a dusty bottle of triple distilled whiskey. He brushed the dust from the cap before opening it. Clearly he didn’t break this out often. She couldn’t help but feel a little honored when he pushed a glass toward her. She joined him as he took a large sip, enjoying the way the liquid burned down her throat.

A small comfort as her heart hammered in her chest under his watchful gaze.

“How will they leave the city?” he asked her

She frowned. “I don’t know, I came straight here to inform you.”

He took a sip of the whiskey and Ruby found herself copying him. “What would you have advised they do if they had asked you?”

She thought for a moment. Mapping the city in her mind, places she would have told them to avoid, the quickest routes. She took into account the number of people, the possibility the adoring public might follow them out.

“I’d tell them to follow the canal and circle back the way they came in.”

“But you don’t know the actual plan?” he pushed.

She shook her head. “It’s only a guess,” she told him.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass looking at it speculatively. “This isn’t an operation that is carried out on a whim. Gathering the supplies, intelligence, managing security. Surely they planned this at the council meetings,” he said.

She paused. He was right. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could have planned in the last day or two while she had been gone. And that meant they had discussed this while Ruby had been at the lakeside palace with them but they hadn’t included her. Ruby tried to ignore the sting. She took another sip of the whiskey.

“They wouldn’t leave something like this to chance,” Peter said, thinking aloud. “They probably tested the route, had someone case the area.”

He looked over at her. The question clear in his expression.

Ruby tried to remember if she had heard any mention of that happening, any mentions of people or guards leaving to go to the city since they arrived. Emma had been in the city with August. But August was leaving to Lydgate, they wouldn’t send away their source of intel. She tried to think if anyone else had been sent. And then her heart dropped. Killian.

She and Killian had gone to the city. The Queen had told them they were going ‘only to collect information.’ It seemed baldly obvious now. She remembered thinking Killian and the Queen seemed like they were hiding something. It all fit into place. Was he keeping secrets from her too? The thought cut deeper than she’d expected. She felt as if she’d been sliced open and her organs were falling out onto the floor as she helplessly watched.

“Maybe they don’t trust the council,” Peter said offhandedly but Ruby only heard maybe they don’t trust you.

There was a buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t focus. 

“They’d be right to be suspicious,” Ruby heard herself say as if she could dull the hurt of betrayal by striking back. “There’s more than a few council members who aren’t as loyal as the King and Queen think.”

Peter’s eyes flashed in the firelight flicking up from the glass in his hand.

He poured her another glass, she couldn’t remember finishing the first. She took another long sip. It seemed to help calm her. That burning rage settling into a glowing ember.

“They’re being reckless,” Ruby said, it felt good to finally say it. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. They think they can march in here and people will embrace them. As if nothing over the last thirteen years even happened.”

“There must be people on the council who have tried to warn them,” he prompted.

She shrugged. “I guess. But they’ve also surrounded themselves with people who think like they do. I suppose Emma is the best bet to make them understand. They will listen to her. Lord knows she has a good idea what this world is actually like.”

“I suppose their followers don’t trust Emma because she missed so many years of the training she was meant to have had to be princess,” he said.

Ruby shook her head with a bitter laugh. “Not exactly. I suspect a good portion of them would follow her, even over their loyalties to her parents.”

He took another sip of the whiskey as he pondered her words.

“I find loyalty is a tricky thing,” he told her thoughtfully. Like he was speaking to an old friend. “It is slowly earned and easily broken down. Too much pressure put on one person, too many lies, and suddenly it dissolves. I’ve had that problem in the Lost Boys. People I thought, I hoped, would rise to be top ranking members, important in our organization, and they let me down. I am much more careful who I confide in now.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, the steady way he was looking at her. The spark of hope in his eyes, as if maybe she was exactly who he had been looking for. 

~*~

Killian watched from the fringes of the crowd as people fawned over the royal family. Today the smiles he saw around him were real. People passed him clutching bags of grain and newly cobbled pairs of boots. They remarked to each other how good it was to have the royals back. 

It was going better than he’d dared to hope. His eyes were drawn once again to Emma. She shone at the center of the crowd, smiling brightly and shaking hands with anyone who came up to her. The crowd loved her, their beloved princess returned to them. The hero who had defeated Gold, the one who had saved them from the Industrialists. 

But as she hauled the large bags off the wagons beside the guards she didn’t seem so elite or intangible. Here she seemed like she belonged, one of the people who surrounded her. She could dress in elegant dresses, but he smiled as he thought how there would always be a bit of the scrappy girl from the streets in her. She wasn’t a delicate shrinking violet, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and that was exactly what the country needed.

A tall man pushed past him, knocking him back a step, and Killian might not have paid him any notice if not for the scowl on his face. So different from all the other faces around them that were beaming and delighted. Killian turned just in time to see the afternoon light glint off something in the man’s belt. It took a second before Killian realized what it was, an Industrialist pistol. He watched the man slink off, down one of the narrow streets off the square.

He looked around wildly for any sign they were under attack from Industrialist sympathizers. But there was no commotion, no uneasy faces in the crowd. No flashes of blackguards or black masks. He looked back just in time to see the man disappear around a corner, and he acted on instinct, turning away from the royals and the square and giving chase after the mysterious man.

He caught up to the man easily, keeping a safe distance as he trailed him through the city. At last they broke through the gridded city blocks to the docks. Killian paused. The area was emptier than he’d ever seen it. There were no airships docked, no workers bustling around, no raucous singing spilling from the row of taverns. This place had been the heart of Misthaven industry and trade. Now it decayed, empty and forgotten. It was another sure sign that the city was broken. 

He was struck by another thought: this was where he had first met Emma. Years ago, both of them living entirely different lives, neither of them knowing what dangers lay ahead. He remembered the sight of her, shining brilliantly as she stood against the blackguards. The old Misthaven going up in flames around them. It looked very different than it had that night.

Killian saw the mysterious man slip into the cracked doors of one the warehouses clustered by the docks. He sidled up the door peeking through the opening but the place seemed empty, no sound reaching him. His instincts warned him that this could be a trap, but he needed to know who the man was. If he posed any danger. Why he had that pistol.

Killian ducked inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. There were groups of dusty crates scattered about the room, pushed aside, forgotten. He took a few steps moving further into the cavernous room toward a flickering lantern at the far end of the room. 

Closer he could see the light was sitting on a table that had been fashioned into a workbench of some sort. Pliers and bolt cutters sat among gears and welding supplies. He looked around confused. The Industrialists hadn’t operated like this, they had centralized production in large factories, not a single workstation tucked forgotten into a warehouse.

“What are you doing here?” the man said appearing just to Killian’s left brandishing the very pistol that had caught his interest. “Answer or I’ll shoot you.”

“Hold on,” Killian said, holding up his hands. “I was following you.”

“Is that supposed to convince me not to shoot you?” he growled.

Killian turned to him with his hands still raised. He seemed only a few years older than Killian but his hair was graying at his temples and his small dark eyes and slight frame gave him a slightly manic look. His hand was shaking as he held the gun at Killian.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he told the man.

“I have the gun, if anyone is getting hurt it’s you,” he retorted, giving the gun a shake for emphasis which was not as menacing as it was meant to be. Mostly it told Killian that the man didn’t have much experience with firearms, which did nothing to explain why he was in possession of an Industrialist gun.

“Easy,” Killian said, taking a step toward him raising his arms a little further. “Let’s start over, shall we? My name’s Killian Jones. Who are you?”

“Walsh,” the man said.

He watched skeptically as Killian slowly lowered his right hand toward him. With a moment’s hesitation, the man reached out to shake Killian’s hand. Mistake two, Killian thought as he grasped the man’s hand, it would be only too easy to disarm him and pull the gun from his other hand now. But Killian simply shook his hand and stepped back, overpowering him and putting him on the defensive was not going to get him any answers. He sensed that letting Walsh believe he was in control would yield the best results.

“What is this place, Walsh?” Killian asked looking pointedly toward the workbench.

Walsh glanced from the bench and Killian to the gun and let it fall to his side. Mistake three. Clearly Walsh was not accustomed to dealing with unsavory people. 

“This is my workshop,” he answered.

Killian took quick stock of the room for anything else that might be a weapon, either one he could use or something that might activate against him. 

“What is it you make here?” he asked him, moving to run a finger down the edge of a set of intricate gears that looked like the locking mechanism of a complex safe.

“I invent things here,” Walsh said with a hint of pride in his voice. 

Killian turned to him. 

“I’m carrying on where the Industrialists left off,” Walsh continued.

Now they were finally arriving at it. 

“You’re an industrialist,” Killian said halfway between a statement and a question.

Walsh frowned. “The Industrialists are gone,” he said slowly in a way that sounded almost like pity, like he thought Killian might have been too thick to notice.

“Who do you work for then?” Killian asked.

“I work for the people,” he said. Killian waited but he didn’t elaborate.

“What do you make?” Killian asked again.

Walsh moved over to the bench straightening a few things and then wiping down the lock Killian had touched, cleaning off the spotless surface. “I make what is needed. That’s what true innovation is. That was what the Industrialists were doing, and now that they are gone I must continue. We can’t afford to let this much knowledge and progress be lost just because some man was defeated.”

Killian froze. For someone who couldn’t even hold a gun steady Walsh sure brushed off Gold’s existence like it had been nothing. It only added to the mystery and puzzle that only seemed more complicated with every small piece of information he provided.

“That is what innovation is all about: moving society forward,” Walsh continued. “It shouldn’t play to the whims of who is in political power at the moment. We can do things today we never even dreamed of ten years ago. We have access to manufacturing techniques that no other place in the world has. We have solved problems of transportation, sanitation, energy production, and medical care. We can’t lose those just because the Industrialists fell. Everyone has demonized them, but they did give us many things we never had before.”

Killian couldn’t deny there was some truth to his words. A perspective he had never considered before. But still his instincts warned him that Walsh’s free agent attitude made him too much of a wildcard to just leave uninvestigated.

“How many others are there, helping you?” Killian asked. He needed to assess the danger this kind of fringe group might be.

“Others?” Walsh asked, again looking like he thought Killian might be dimwitted. He gestured at the dark and empty warehouse. “You think there are so many left? That the engineers and inventors weren’t run off when Gold was defeated? You think the factories weren’t burned down? You think there are workshops hiding in every spare corner? You think there’s some weekly meeting I could attend? Maybe for tea or knitting circle? Perhaps we could start a cricket team, huh? You think I wouldn’t give anything for a sharp mind to collaborate with? To not be surrounded by weak, subservient, placated people who have no desire for progress?”

Killian worked to keep his expression unreadable as he felt a surge of indignation. This was the hubris and arrogance that had made Gold and the Industrialists unbearable. The way they could talk about helping the people and bettering society and then in the same breath insult and belittle the very people they claimed to champion. They cared only about seeing how far they could push science and the glory of discovery. They didn’t care about who was crushed to make it happen.

Walsh could wax poetic about innovation, but he could tell now that parts on the workbench were several pistols in various states of production. Walsh was making weapons.

“Who’s buying these?” Killian asked. 

Walsh half pushed one of the pistols under a rag before seeming to realize it was pointless. He didn’t bother looking sheepish.

“There’s always a buyer. Some will pay top price to be well outfitted.”

“The gangs?” Killian guessed.

“There are some who know the value of good craftsmanship,” he said. “The powerful gangs have been around longer than the Industrialists, older than the stones of the city and just as important to its structure. They were imbedded just as deeply with Gold as the Industrialist big wigs. And when the industrialists fell some ran but some adapted, blending into a new landscape. Wearing a new mask. It wasn’t hard to find buyers, hell, some found have been buying from me for years.”

“The Lost Boys?” Killian asked him point blank not bothering to veil his interest.

Walsh swelled with unmasked pride. “Peter has appreciated my work for some time. Now he contracts exclusively with me.”

Killian felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been blind not to see this coming. “You can produce enough weapons from this workbench for the entire gang?” Killian asked him.

“I’m very good at what I do,” Walsh told him.

Humble too, Killian thought. Walsh would likely be more than happy if Gold managed to escape imprisonment and rise again. Killian wondered again how many others like him there might be, biding their time in the shadows. He almost couldn’t believe it but he was actually glad for August, he only hoped he made it to Lydgate Island soon.

“So are you going to arrest me?” Walsh asked him.

“I’m not the police,” Killian said, he wondered for a moment when he had reached the point so far from who he had been just months ago that he could be mistaken for an officer.

“You are with the royals,” Walsh said, not quite a question or a statement. The mirror of his own accusation that Walsh was an Industrialist. An invisible line between them.

Killian smirked. “I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

Walsh looked him over one last time before he turned his back and sat at the workbench. “Then I’ll ask you to see yourself out. This is private property.”

Killian looked for a long moment at Walsh, back turned. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Completely engrossed in his work once again. His silhouette edged in golden light from the glowing lantern. 

He wondered for a second if he was making a mistake, not taking an easy opportunity, as he turned and walked away. Exiting the warehouse and leaving Walsh alone. The man determined to continue to change the world, but he was clinging to the past just as much as any of them.

He had to warn the others. 

On the streets the day was clouding over, promising snow. He had barely turned the corner from the warehouses when he ran right into someone. He  stumbled back in surprise before he registered the person in front of him.

“Emma?” he looked around. “What are you doing here? Why are you alone? Where’s your family?”

“I came to find you,” she said looking over his shoulder toward the docks. “Where did you go?”

“Followed a possible threat,” he said gesturing towards the warehouses. “I need to find Robin. We need to get a warning to Ruby. I don’t think we can trust Peter, he has a connection to Gold, and she’s walked right into his trap.”

“Killian, you can’t blow her cover to tell her to be careful of the person she is spying on. I'm pretty sure she already knows that. Besides you can’t just go walking into Peter’s stronghold and ask to talk to her.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need to find Robin. He’ll be able to pass a message to her from within the Lost Boys.”

Emma frowned. “But we don’t know where Robin will be.”

“Actually, I do.”

She considered that carefully, crossing her arms.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

He was surprised by her response. “No, Emma, not for this. It’s no place for a princess. You should go back with your family.”

“I’m going with you, Killian,” she said stubbornly. 

He sighed knowing she wouldn’t budge. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Please,” she said, making him look up because she so rarely begged. “I want to help Ruby. She’s my friend. Being a princess can’t stop me from helping people I care about. I don’t want to be just a figurehead, a symbol for people to use how they want.”

He thought of the way her face had fallen when he had told her he couldn’t go with her this morning. That fear of abandonment that gripped her no matter how much he tried to assure her.

“Okay,” he said at last.

She looked relieved, like she hadn’t expected him to agree. “So, where are we going?” she asked him.

He watched her carefully as he told her, “The catacombs.” 

He enjoyed the stunned way her jaw dropped open before adding, “and you’re going to need a change of clothes.”

She looked down at her dress. “Who’s going to care what I’m wearing? The dead?”

He chuckled. “You’ve clearly never been to the catacombs,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“What does that mean?’ she asked him.

He just turned and beckoned her after him heading for shops up the street. “You’ll see.”

Killian led the way into a store tucked into a dingy corner, there was no window display, not even a sign advertising their wares. A rusted bell clacked roughly above them as he pushed open the door. 

The room beyond the door was dimly lit with old gas fixtures, their light a slight green color. And everywhere there were crowded and cluttered shelves, stacks of moldering books and piles of wrinkled clothes.

“Is that Killian Jones?” the old woman behind a warped counter said. “I hate to think what i’ve done to earn this visit.”

“Miss Agatha,” Killian said with warmth in his tone. “Does a fellow need a reason to visit a beautiful lady?”

The woman’s eyes slipped past Killian to where Emma was standing just inside the door. “Seems you already got a beautiful lady.”

Killian struggled to hold back a smile. “Agatha, this is Emma,” he said gesturing to where Emma was hovering behind him.

“I know who she is,” Agatha said looking her over. “The whole city is buzzing about it.”

“Right,” Killian said. Agatha was always quick to get down to business. “That’s actually why we’re here. We need something a little less conspicuous.”

They all looked at Emma’s embroidered dress.

Agatha huffed a laugh, the sound of an engine backfiring. “I never knew inconspicuous to be your style, Mr. Jones.”

“Times change,” Killian said with an easy smile.

Agatha looked between him and Emma again. “That they do. I see you’ve lost your usual shadow.”

Killian shrugged. “Ruby’s on official business at the moment.”

Agatha seemed to file away that information, not everything she sold was as tangible as metal or linen.

“Shame, that girl knows how to spend money.”

Killian stepped forward and dropped a small pile of coins on the counter. “She’s not the only one. I’m trusting this will buy discretion as well.”

Agatha scooped up the coins almost as soon as they hit the counter. “Don’t insult me, Killian. We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Agatha, you are a true gem,” he said.

She scoffed but it didn’t cover her small smile. “Stop flirting or your girl will get jealous,” she said with a wink, easing gingerly off her stool onto arthritic joints. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll see what we’ve got that suits you. Follow me.”

Emma looked a little startled at being addressed and glanced to Killian who gave her a small encouraging nod. She followed Agatha around the counter along the racks of clothes.

Killian perused the shelves in the front of the store while he waited. Agatha’s had always been a place you might find anything. Usually at a good discount from the shops on the high street or the wide avenues at the center of the city. If you weren’t concerned with how the items got here or if the official tariffs had been paid or if the shipments logged with the authorities, then Agatha’s was perfect.

The shelves showed no sign of organization, antiques shoved beside cooking ware, hardware beside candles. You would be lost if you were looking for something specific. Here, you just happened across treasures, waiting for you even when you didn’t know you were looking. 

Agatha reappeared at the counter. “She’ll be a minute. She’s trying a few things.”

Killian nodded looking at a small metal box with an intricately carved keyhole. There was a note pasted to it that said unable to open, key lost. 

He stared at the metal box thinking of Walsh’s crowded bench. “Agatha,” he said. “Have you heard of anyone buying up old Industrialist parts.”

“Sure,” she said and he swung around in surprise. “Lots of folks are trying to get spare parts now that there won’t be any new production. Just the other day had some rich folks from the East Side going to every store trying to find a back up engine for their laundry washer. Guess they’re terrified they might have to wash clothes manually like the rest of us.”

Killian frowned. Maybe it was too much to hope it’d be easy to figure out how many Industrialist sympathizers were left.

“Will you let me know if someone comes looking for gun parts?” he asked her.

She put a hand on her hip tilting her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she laughed to herself. “Get trouble stuck to you like shit on a pig.”

Agatha, always delicate in her word choice. Closest thing he’d ever met to how Ruby described her grandmother. He thought they probably would have gotten along swimmingly, Granny and Agatha. 

“Don’t you go dragging that sweet girl into all that,” she said, her tone serious.

He heard Emma’s footsteps approaching. “Who says she’s not the one dragging me into it?” he responded.

Agatha shook her head pursing her lips. But before she could say anything else Emma appeared and he completely forgot about everything except the way her bodice skimmed her curves, tightly fastened with bronze buckles. Her skirt was patchwork but it hung on her like the finest silk. She looked like she’d be at home in the rowdy bars by the water making some steamboat captain fall in love with her. She looked like she was from the city, like this was her home. Like she belonged here.

“Well, that’s...” he trailed off, words escaping him, “much better.”

Emma walked toward him and he watched the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts over the corset. Gods above. 

She nudged him playfully. “My eyes are up here, Jones.”

He blinked letting out a weak splutter. He didn’t even bother looking over at Agatha; he could only imagine her expression. 

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, her hand finding his arm. “Thank you, Agatha. Truly.”

“Mmhmm, you take care, dear,” she responded, and yeah she was definitely laughing at him.

Small flakes swirled in the air as they stepped back out onto the street. He took a deep breath the cold burning his lungs, cooling a little of the fire that had roared inside him. Much as he might have wanted to explore each and every layer of Emma’s new look he knew they had something more important to do.

“Follow me,” he said, leading her back towards the central canal. The lamps were beginning to flicker on, casting a warm glow to the buildings, a substitute for the sunset that was hidden behind the thick gray clouds. He thought of the winter solstice only a couple weeks ago and he wondered if there had been a celebration this year. If anyone had put out lanterns and holly wreaths in the chaos of the Industrialists fleeing Misthaven. Winter Solstice had always been his favorite holiday.

At last the street they were following ended at the canal. Its murky water lapping at the stone walls. Emma followed him as he ducked under the small bridge at the next cross street onto a narrow path along the edge of the water until they got to a small opening in the stones in the bridge’s supports.

“This leads to the catacombs?” Emma asked, looking a little warily at the dark tunnel.

“There’s multiple entrances throughout the city,” he told her. “These tunnels run all under the streets. Some say they go all the way to the castle.”

“They do.”

Killian looked over at her, surprised by her matter-of-fact tone.

She caught his glance before adding, “It’s how my family escaped the castle during the revolt”

He stared at her. It had been a common theory that the royals had been smuggled out through the tunnels. But Emma had never spoken since about that night since her memories returned and it caught him off guard. 

“Come on,” he said and held out a hand guiding her the first step. “It’s okay.”

Emma took stilted cautious steps into the darkness. The sounds of the canal fading behind them.

“Do you have a light or something?” Emma whispered.

“Just a little farther,” he told her and sure enough when they turned a corner there ahead was a line of torches burning along the tunnel, out of sight from the hidden entrance but beckoning them on.

“Are they always here?” Emma asked

“Every night.” 

“How many people know about this place?” 

He knew she was asking questions because she was feeling out of her element. Nerves making her ramble. He remembered when she had stitched his shoulder, the words tumbling out of her to calm them both. He smiled at the memory of her touch.

“It’s one of the city’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean it’s a particularly well kept secret.”

They followed the torches through the maze of tunnels, the ground sloping up and down at times, occasionally sounds of dripping water could be heard leaking in from the canals overhead.

Finally the tunnel opened on a large cavern, a sunken chamber of the old catacombs. Already there was a large number of people gathered in the space. 

Across the crowd he could see the alcoves that were nestled in the walls and corners, bones scattered along the walls mixed with the rough stones all around them. Music hummed in a thumping rhythm. A pulse beating through the people. The flickering light flashed off metal buckles on a hundred coats and boots and the thick spectacles pushed up from the faces of the factory workers. And it made the bones in the walls appear to shift and dance until it was hard to tell what movement came from the living or the dead. It was the illusion, the magic of this place. Everyone was equal here, surrounded by so many reminders of death. The one thing everyone had in common. It should have made it haunting, but to Killian, this was a place people came to feel alive.

Emma looked around the room in obvious shock. He tried to see it through her eyes, tried to remember the first time he had been here. Sent to gather information about smuggled goods for the promise of much needed coin. He’d been only a boy and this place had seemed like something out of the novels he read. A place more wonderful and terrible than fiction.

“How are we ever going to find Robin?” Emma breathed hopelessly looking at the mass of people. Ever practical, his Emma.  Maybe she didn’t see the romance of this place.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the crowd.

She pulled back uneasily, her eyes darting around. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Blend in,” he grinned, leading her deeper into the cavern.

He grabbed two glasses of bubbling green liquid from a tray, slipping the man a coin. He passed one to Emma. “Cheers, love.”

She eyed the cocktail warily. “What is this?”

“This is how we blend in.” He lifted his glass and she tentatively touched hers to his.

He tipped the glass back taking a long drink. The burning taste was familiar to him but Emma coughed lightly beside him before putting on a brave face and taking another sip.

They wove between the people, Killian keeping a sharp eye out for Robin. Emma stuck close by his side and he became aware of the way the others were looking at them. No, at Emma. A mix of surprise and curiosity. It seemed no clothes or green drinks would allow her to blend in. Her identity shone from her, an integral part that could not be buried or forgotten.

A few people gave her smiles, nods of thanks. Whether for her efforts that morning or what she had done to rid them of the Industrialists he didn’t know. But for whatever their reason they seemed generally pleased to have her among them. One of them. Not above them, uncaring or disconnected, but here offering a shy smile.

“You’re causing a bit of a stir,” a voice said beside them. Killian turned to see Robin leaning casually against the wall of the cavern.

“Robin,” he breathed in relief. “We need a word.”

Robin cast a glance over their shoulders at the others in the room. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

He moved into one of the small alcoves, a narrow twist in the hewn wall of the cavern. Here too bones and skulls lined the walls. Small rivulets of water leaked down over the bones like phantom blood, and shadows clung thickly here tucked away from the torches.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to make good on this offer quite so quickly,” Robin said to Killian.

But Emma simply rushed forward pulling Robin into a tight hug. He looked a little surprised before tentatively returning her embrace.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling back. “For everything you did for us.”

“My lady,” Robin replied, bending his head in a small bow. “What’s a favor between friends?” he said, his eyes lifting to Killian.

“Actually, since you mentioned it,” Killian said. “We’re here for another favor.”

Robin smirked. “Sounds about right.” 

Killian glanced behind them but there was no one observing them. “It’s Ruby. I need you to pass her a message.”

Robin looked a little wary but he didn’t make any protest. 

“Peter has connections to Gold,” Killian said, not wasting any time. “I think they used to work together. He’s buying industrialist weapons. We are trying to secure Gold but even from within the prison he may make a move against the royal family. Peter knows about Ruby’s history. She’ll be in considerable danger while she’s there.”

Robin glanced at Emma beside him. “Peter has been working to acquire weapons for some time. I’ve been suspicious for a while that he plans to move away from petty smuggling and racketeering and use the Lost Boys as his personal army. I have a few allies within the gang, we are working to gather more information.”

“Will you watch out for her?” Killian asked him. “Will you get her out if this goes badly?”

He hated that he couldn’t be the one watching Ruby’s back. Trusting someone else with that job felt like being asked to wear someone else’s face, fundamentally wrong to his sense of self.

“Killian,” Robin said, pausing to wait until he met his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He tried to let that promise comfort him.

Robin pulled out a worn bronze pocket watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. Stay here a while longer.” His gaze moved again to Emma. “People seem receptive to your presence. If you want to harness that political power you should show them you can understand them.”

“Does everything need to be about politics?” she asked with a frown.

Robin looked at her steadily. “Your life will be endless politics, Your Highness. And in politics, perception is everything.”

“No,” Emma said meeting his gaze. “In politics your allies are everything. I am very lucky in mine.”

Robin chuckled. “You’re already better at this than you think you are.”

With a small nod he pulled on his hat and ducked out of the alcove and disappeared into the crowd. Killian turned back to Emma.

“I suppose we could stay, let you get the whole experience,” he said nodding to the crowd.

Emma frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen together.”

The words were like ice piercing him. He’d never meant for her to take his words from this morning that way.

“Emma, that’s not-” he broke off. “Robin will watch out for Ruby now. We might as well stop pretending. People have already seen you here, seen us together. Everyone already knows. I don’t want to act like this is something we need to hide.”

They moved from the alcove. The music had picked up and all the eyes that met his now had a shine from the effects of the brightly colored drinks. He could see Jefferson across the cavern with bottles of his illegally distilled wares, he’d probably make a good profit on a night like this. Tonight there was an infectious sense of celebration among everyone gathered. Nights like this were his favorite in the catacombs.

Taking her hand Killian guided Emma into the group of people dancing. If there was no need to try to conceal themselves any longer he wanted to make the most of this. Emma hesitated standing a little stiffly beside him as he came to a stop. He could see the uneasiness in her eyes.

He ran a hand down over the curve of her waist, as he’d wanted to all evening, the leather soft beneath his palm. He leaned a little closer to her. “It’s okay, Emma.”

“You trust these people?” she asked him quietly so they wouldn’t be overheard.

He glanced around, many of the faces ones he’d seen before, a few he could put names to. He’d squabbled and schemed alongside them for years, but trust?  “No,” he told her before adding with a smirk, “but I’m here to keep you safe.”

He bent his head, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. He felt her take a shaking breath. “Give in to it,” he told her, pulling her into the sway of the beat of the music. Give us a chance he begged her silently.

She relaxed into him, following his lead. His heart leapt at the feeling and he buried a smile into her soft hair.

Energy coursed around them, the drums beating a steady rhythm, vibrating up through the stone at their feet. It was like they had crawled beneath the skin of the city to find the beat of its heart. All around them the dancing was getting more uninhibited, freer. All the worries and fears that hung heavily in the streets were shed down here, as if they could all be reborn again to then return and face another day above.

This was not like the waltz he had taught her or they had danced at her parents’ ball in Glowerhaven. This was instinctual, sensual. The two of them moved together. He loved the feeling of her in his arms. His hands ran over her back as she lifted her arms twisting to the melody, her head falling back, her hair brushing over his knuckles.

This Emma, the one he had seen at the coast, was a favorite of his. The one who didn’t have the worries of the world on her shoulders. The one that let herself be vulnerable. He loved seeing past her thick armor. 

The crowd surrounded them, pulling at them like currents of the sea trying to pull them under. It would have been easy to be swept away. To get lost in the feeling as he had on numerous occasions in the past. To drink deeply from this dangerous draught.

But he followed her sparkling eyes, her hand tugging him gently. He needed little coaxing, it was always her, only her. And she was guiding him away from the tight press of the others. People moved aside for her as she cut a line through them. He noticed again the way they looked at her, admired her, but she had eyes only for him. She led them out of the crowd and the cavern up the sloping tunnels until the only sounds were the echo of their footsteps, the swish of her skirts, and pounding of his heart.

They broke the surface, the night air biting at them. He looked at Emma, the way her exhale swirled in the air. It was hours after the sun had set and the cold had settled heavily over the city in its absence. Goosebumps broke out over her bare shoulders and arms.

He shrugged out his jacket closing the distance between them, his arm coming around her, stepping into her space as he draped the thick material over her. She trembled next to him, his nose inches from her cheek. He could feel the heat of her skin, smell her perfume, feel her breath on his neck. His eyes found her lips, just parted, almost as if caught in a small gasp. He needed her.

“Killian,” she breathed so quietly he might have imagined it. A stray wish of his heart. But he could see that same desire burning in her gaze. There was no fear, no trace of uncertainty. 

She stepped forward, her hand against his chest and she pushed him back a step until he shored up against the brick wall. His surprise was instantly forgotten as her lips found his, hungry. He smiled as she nipped at his bottom lip. 

He bent down his hands sliding around her underneath his jacket gripping her tightly as he deepened the kiss. She melted, warm and pliant, into his embrace with a small moan that made his heart nearly stop. Her hands were everywhere, running through his hair, pressed into the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She pulled back a fraction breaking the kiss, her forehead against his.

“I don’t think we’ll make it back to the lake,” she said against his lips.

He breathed out a laugh nudging her lightly with his nose. “Eager, love?”

“I just mean it’s too cold,” she said with a breathless laugh. “We’ll freeze before we get halfway back.”

He smirked bending to place kisses along her jaw. “There’s ways to stay warm,” he said each word pressed into her skin.

“Killian,” she scolded.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I know a place where we can spend the night.”

She pulled back looking up at him. “Where?” 

With one last kiss he took her hand. “You keep forgetting, this is my city,” he said and as he led her away from the catacombs deeper into the city he melted into the shadows, skirting around places that were busy this time of night and carefully avoiding clear sight lines from the buildings around them. Falling back into old habits.

They crossed the main avenue and turned down an alley, ducking between broken slats of an old decrepit fence, weaving a path that had once been very familiar to him. Tonight had felt like reliving a memory from years before, except now Emma was here, something different from his memories. But she didn’t question him once, falling into step beside him, as if she had always been there.

When he came to a stop in front of weathered door tucked into the side of a leaning building he glanced over at her. 

He watched as her eyes moved over the chipped stones and dirty windows. He tried to imagine what she saw, a dingy slum, nothing like her palace by the lake. Creeping fears of inadequacy slithered from the corners of his mind.

“Was this your home?” she asked him.

He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Come on, with any luck it’ll at least be a little warmer inside.”

He pulled off his glove to pull out the lock picks that were tucked into the metal workings of his mechanical hand. With a practiced move he slid the picks into the lock and felt the pins catch, he turned the lock and with a firm shove of his shoulder the door opened.

He looked back to see her half-confused, half-impressed expression. “Ruby has the key,” he said with a shrug. He couldn’t have told her how much her answering laugh eased the pit in his stomach.

“Careful on the stairs,” he warned her as he moved inside the dark entryway, the only light was from a narrow window letting in a sliver of moonlight illuminate the uneven worn stairs.

The wood groaned with each of their footsteps. He paused at the top looking back just in time to see Emma’s foot catch on the last step knocking her off balance. She stumbled forward and he caught her, pulling her into him. She let out a shaking laugh as she righted herself.

“Sorry,” she said, still gripping him tightly, as close as they’d been when they were dancing, and kissing in the alley.

He leaned closer, brushing her hair back behind her ear and running his thumb down her cheek lingering at the soft skin just below her jaw.

He gazed at her, held in that moment framed in moonlight and dust. Ethereal. A single star in an otherwise cloudy night sky. She shouldn’t feel like she belonged here, he thought, but her eyes held that breathless look of wonder and warmth that felt more like home to him now than any four walls could.

“This way,” he said, reaching back to open the door behind him and holding it open for her. She stepped around him into the room beyond.

He moved by memory in the dark room to the fireplace on the far wall. He opened the chimney flue and swept the small pile of ashes and dust aside before stacking a few new logs and lighting them with the matches from the flint box in the crevice between stones in the hearth.

He turned back to Emma. She was standing in the center of the room he had lived in for years and he couldn’t quite decide how to react to the sight of her in his room. Emma, Princess Emma, the girl who had haunted him, an impossibility for the boy who had lived here. And yet here she was, her eyes moving around the room.

He lit a few of the candles scattered around the room, adding more warm light to the small room.

Emma dragged her fingers slowly over the surface of the desk, shifting a few of the papers there. And then she paused at the stack of books, a small smile tugging at her lips as she read the titles. A private memory. 

She looked over at him.

“I thought you were living at the castle,” Emma said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. “Just conducted some business there.” He took a step toward her, closing a little of the distance between them. “If you can break into the castle, people tend to believe you can do whatever else you say.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly, “All part of the act.” She glanced around the room again. “But this, this is the real you.”

He leaned against the desk. 

“It isn’t much,” he said.

She stepped closer with deliberate slowness into the space between his knees, her eyes held his. “It is to me.”

Her words flooded through him, drowning out everything else. “I love you so much,” he told her.

A wide smile lit up her face. “I love you, too,” she said.

It was the first time she had said it in weeks. He knew she had been occupied with everything else, but now, her voice echoing in his ears, the words hanging between them, he didn’t know how he had survived a moment not hearing her say them.

“Say it again,” he begged her.

“I love you,” she said, no hesitation or uncertainty.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands coming up to either side of her face as he kissed her, his fingers tangling into her hair. He had thought he knew what it was to love Emma, the weight and feel of it, but now as he kissed her he felt himself falling deeper, some depth there would never be any escaping from.

He pushed his jacket off her, his hands trailing down the length of her slim arms. Her hands worked clumsily at his waistcoat until with a shake of his shoulders he helped her remove it, tossing it onto the floor beside the jacket. 

Emma pulled back then, slowing them down. Her eyes moving over his face, her expression contemplative. Her fingers reached up pushing back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. They traced the edge of his brow, across his cheekbone. He held still under her featherlight touch. At last she brushed his lips, and he placed a small kiss to her fingertips. She smiled despite herself, her eyes flicking up to his in a playful scold before they dropped back to where her hand had moved to the line of his jaw.

Her lips parted absently, like she hadn’t noticed, as she moved down the column of his neck. He shivered beneath her fingers, her careful investigation driving him wild.

When she reached the collar of his shirt she slowly undid the buttons, carefully pulling open the fabric. She bent forward to place a kiss over each new inch of skin revealed. He wasn’t sure he was still breathing by the time she reached his navel, her fingers pulling the hem of his shirt from his waistband.

He captured her wrists pulling her hands away from him, unable to endure it any longer. He turned them setting her on the desk before bending her back onto it in his need to be closer to her. She seemed just as eager, reaching for him, their hands interlocking as he pushed them over her head. There was a crash as books and trinkets toppled over the edge.

“Killian!” she gasped. “All your things.”

He glanced at the mess of papers for a second before placing a kiss on the soft skin of her neck. Nothing in the world could have pulled him from his current task. “Everything I care about is right here,” he assured her.

He kissed down over her collarbones, down her sternum to the tops of her breasts, feeling her heart beating there. She arched beneath him and he kissed the leather edge of the corset.

“I love this,” he told her, leaning back to take in the sight of Emma spread out on the desk dressed like a tavern wench. “You look beautiful.”

She laughed. “Should have known you’d have a thing for leather given that ridiculous coat.”

His fingers moved over the corset, tracing the buckles, slowly opening them. “You don’t like it?” he asked, drawing little meaningless designs into the leather with his fingertips as he went.

“I’m actually a little worried about the damage it’s done to my spleen,” she huffed.

He chucked. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said before tugging it off of her. 

If he loved her in the leather fashion of the city, then he was hopeless for her bare skin. His hands skimmed up the sides of her ribs, his thumb dragging just beneath the swell of her breast. 

She sat up wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. He knew what she wanted without her needing to ask. Her body pressed against him, her skin warm, her heart pounding. He picked her up with an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. Honestly he didn’t think the desk could handle what he wanted to do to her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands finding his waist, tracing the lines of muscle there, following along the indent from hips. He bit his lip as his skin jumped, her gentle touch making him ticklish, not that he’d admit. He knew from her smile she knew, but she didn’t tease him. And this time he didn’t stop her as she loosened the laces on his trousers, pushing them off.

He leaned forward, moving to cover her body with his own, but she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled him under her. He laughed in surprise, looking up at her hovering over him. He loved when she used his own tricks against him.

She settled back onto his lap, her hands dragging down his chest as she held him still. Taking charge. Her expression was speculative, like an artist seeing a masterpiece within a blank canvas. In that moment he was ready to become whatever she wanted to make of him.

She bent down, her hair cascading down over him, strands of golden silk. Her kiss spread fire through his veins and he wanted to be consumed. His hands slid up her thighs bunching up the fabric of her skirt gripping her skin tightly as if it could anchor him to her. Everything in their lives seemed to be spinning further beyond their control, a thousand variables, a hundred reasons pulling them apart. He wanted this moment, this feeling, this night, just for them. And just let the rest of the world flow past. 

She gave a small gasp as he pulled her more firmly against him. And it was a wicked torture when she responded, rolling her hips. Emma was never one to be outdone, never backing down from a challenge. Her fingers moved quickly to undo her skirt, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress, leaving nothing at all between them.

“I need you,” she said breathlessly against his lips. It was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

His hands found her hips as she sank onto him. His breath escaping in a long shaking exhale. Her braced against his chest and shoulders as she began to move and he surrendered to the feeling. 

[itcars]

First Look: The Audi PB18 e-tron Concept

The all-electric Audi PB18 e-tron represents a radical vision for the high-performance sports car of tomorrow. Conceived and created in the new Audi design studio in Malibu, California, with the benefit of extensive experience gained in the wind tunnel and on the race track. The technical concept behind the PB18 e-tron has been devised using expertise gained during the Audi Le Mans racing program, and the realization of that concept was the responsibility of the experts at Audi Sport, the Audi high-performance subsidiary. The name “PB18 e-tron” refers both to the Pebble Beach venue for the premiere and to the technological DNA it shares with the Audi R18 e-tron LMP1 racing car.

Consistently focused concepts for use

At first sight, the Audi PB18 e-tron shows its kinship with another spectacular concept car from the brand – the Audi Aicon from 2017. This holds true not only for characteristic design elements like the side windows that angle inwards and the significantly extended wheel arches, but also in terms of their all-electric drivetrains using advanced solid-state battery technology for energy storage.

This, however, is where the similarities end. While the Aicon was designed as a fully automated, long-distance luxury vehicle – a business jet for the road – the creators of the PB18 e-tron designed it as a radical driving machine for the racetrack and road. Dynamics and emotion top its list of specifications. Parameters like propulsive power, lateral acceleration and perfect ergonomics determine each detail. And driver-orientation is in a completely new dimension.

The internal working title at Audi for the showcar project was “Level Zero” – as a means of explicitly differentiating its development focus from other Audi projects that are currently working towards bringing levels 3, 4 and 5 of autonomous driving to the road. In the Audi PB18 e-tron, the driver is the absolute centre of attention. There are therefore no complex systems for piloted driving on board and no comfort features to add weight. In their place are a driver’s seat and cockpit that are integrated into an inner monocoque shell that is moveable laterally depending on how many occupants are on board. When driven solo, the monocoque can be positioned in the centre of the interior as in a monoposto – the perfect location for the racetrack. This is made possible not least by the by-wire design of the steering and pedals; a mechanical connection of the control elements is not needed.

Gael Buzyn is Head of the Audi Design Loft in Malibu, where the Audi PB18 e-tron was born. He describes the most important item in the specifications: “We want to offer the driver an experience that is otherwise available only in a racing car like the Audi R18. That’s why we developed the interior around the ideal driver’s position in the centre. Nevertheless, our aim was to also give the PB18 e‑tron a high degree of everyday usability, not just for the driver, but also for a potential passenger.”

When the driver’s monocoque is moved into the side position, from where the PB18 e‑tron can be steered in everyday driving like a conventional road vehicle, there is room for a passenger. An additional seat can be accessed on the other side, integrated low above the ground and equipped with a three-point seatbelt. The driver also benefits when getting in and out from the easily accessible outside position of the monocoque, which can be moved when the door is open up to the sill.

Inspiration drawn from motorsport

The Audi PB18 e-tron package follows the traditional architecture of a mid-engine sports car with a cab that is positioned far forward. The car’s centre of gravity is located behind the seats and in front of the rear axle – which benefits the driving dynamics. This does not involve the engine-transmission unit, as in a car with a conventional drive system, but rather the battery pack.

A mix of aluminium, carbon and multi-material composites ensures the body of the Audi PB18 e-tron has a low basic weight, not least thanks to the innovative and comparatively light solid-state battery. A total weight of less than 1,550 kg (3,417.2 lb) can be expected.

The PB18 e-tron is 4.53 metres long, 2 metres wide and just 1.15 metres tall. These dimensions alone speak of a classical sports car. The wheelbase is 2.70 metres and the overhangs are compact. Viewed from the side, the eye is drawn to the gently sloping roof line which is pulled far to the back and features massive C-pillars. Together with the large and almost vertical rear window, this design is reminiscent of a shooting brake concept – the synthesis of a coupé with the rear of a station wagon. The result is not only a distinctive silhouette but also a clear bonus in terms of cargo space, which is usually at a premium in sports cars. Here, 470 litres is available, and can be fully exploited using the exclusive customised luggage designed to fit the cargo space – even if the luggage in this car frequently consists of nothing but a helmet and racing overall.

A flat red band of lights extends across the entire width of the rear and underscores the horizontal orientation of the vehicle body. The cabin, placed on the broad shoulders of the wheel arches, appears almost dainty from the rear. The rear diffuser air outlet has been raised high – another functional feature borrowed from motorsport. The diffuser can be moved downwards mechanically to increase downforce, and the rear spoiler can be extended rearwards for the same purpose.

The widely extended wheel arches located opposite the central cabin are noticeable from every angle. They emphasise the extremely wide track of the PB18 e-tron and thereby illustrate the dynamic potential of the car and the obligatory quattro drive. The large 22-inch wheels, each with eight asymmetrically designed spokes, are reminiscent of turbine inlets – together with the air inlets and outlets of the wheel arches, their rotation ensures excellent air supply to the large carbon brake discs.

The front is dominated by the familiar hexagon shape of the Singleframe grille, with an emphatically wide and horizontal cut. The brand logo is positioned on the bonnet, in the typical Audi sports car style. Large air inlets to the left and right of the Singleframe supply the necessary cooling air to the brakes and the front electric motor. Wide and flat light units with integrated digital matrix technology and laser high-beam headlights complete the face of the PB18 e-tron.

The laser high-beam headlight with its enormous range is especially emblematic of the transfer of know-how from motorsport: This technology made its debut in the Le Mans R18 racing car, where the maximum light output at speeds topping 186mph offered a crucial safety advantage at night as well.

The Audi designers have taken a new tack in the pursuit of optimal air flow through the bonnet, which dips sharply and acts as a lateral bridge running across the nose, connecting the two accentuated wings and also doubling as an air deflector - a design that is familiar from racing prototypes.

At the same time, this layout offers the driver a unique quality of visibility, and not just on the race track. Looking through the large windscreen from the low seating position, the driver sees precisely into the opening of the ventilated bonnet and onto the road, and can thus perfectly target the course and apex of the bend. Mounted within the field of vision is a transparent OLED surface. The ideal line of the next bend can be shown on it, for example, precisely controlled with data from navigation and vehicle electronics. In normal road traffic, on the other hand, the direction arrows and other symbols from the navigation system find a perfect place here in the driver’s field of vision, like a more conventional head-up display.

The large-format cockpit itself is designed as a freely programmable unit and can be switched between various layouts for the racetrack or the road, depending on the scenario for use.

Emotion without emissions: 3 electric motors & quattro drive

The concept uses three powerful electric motors – one up front and two in the rear. The latter are centrally located between the steering knuckles, each directly driving one wheel via half-shafts. They deliver up to 150 kW of power to the front axle and 350 kW to the rear – the Audi PB18 e-tron is a true quattro, of course. Maximum output is 500 kW, but with boosting the driver can temporarily mobilise up to 570 kW. The combined torque of up to 830 Nm (612.2 lb-ft) allows acceleration from 0 to 62mph in scarcely more than 2 seconds – a speed that differs only marginally from that of a current LMP1 prototype.

In normal road traffic, the driver can limit the maximum speed in favour of range. This limitation is easy to deactivate on the racetrack and can be adapted to local conditions.

The focus is not only on powerful performance but also maximum efficiency. While being driven, the Audi PB18 e-tron recovers large amounts of energy: up to moderate braking, the electric motors are solely responsible for decelerating the vehicle. The hydraulic brakes only come into play for heavy braking.

The concept of separate electric motors on the rear axle offers major advantages when it comes to handling. The Torque Control Manager, which works together with the Electronic Stabilisation Control (ESC), actively distributes the power to the wheels of the front and rear axles as needed. This torque control provides for maximum dynamics and stability. Thanks to the virtually instantaneous response of the electric motors, the control actions are lightning-quick. The drive concept of the Audi PB18 e-tron adapts perfectly to every situation, whether involving transverse or longitudinal dynamics.

The liquid-cooled solid-state battery has an energy capacity of 95 kWh. A full charge provides for a range of over 310 miles in the WLTP cycle. The Audi PB18 e-tron is already designed for charging with a voltage of 800 volts. This means the battery can be fully recharged in about 15 minutes.

The Audi PB18 e-tron can also be charged cordlessly via induction with Audi Wireless Charging (AWC). This is done by placing a charging pad with integral coil on the floor where the car is to be parked, and connecting it to the power supply. The alternating magnetic field induces an alternating voltage in the secondary coil fitted in the floor of the car, across the air gap.

High-tech from the LMP1 class: the suspension

The front and rear have independent suspension on lower and upper transverse control arms, and, as commonly found in motor racing, a push-rod system on the front axle and pull-rod system on the rear – in both cases with adaptive magnetic ride shock absorbers. The suspension of the Audi R18 e-tron quattro Le Mans racing car served as the model for the basic architecture.

The wheels measure 22 inches in diameter and are fitted with 275/35 tyres in the front and 315/30 in the back. Large carbon brake discs with a 19-inch diameter, in conjunction with the electric brake, safely and steadily decelerate the Audi PB18 e-tron even in tough racetrack conditions.

The path to volume production – electric mobility at Audi

Audi has been developing vehicles with all-electric or hybrid drive since back in the late 1980s. The first production offering of a car combining a combustion engine with an electric motor was the Audi duo from 1997, which occupied the body of an A4 Avant. A landmark technological development for electric cars was the R8 e-tron, which was unveiled at the 2009 Frankfurt Motor Show and in 2012 set a record lap time for an electric car on the North Loop of the Nürburgring.

Audi added a first plug-in hybrid to its range in 2014 in the guise of the 150 kW (204PS) A3 e-tron – its battery units can be recharged by recuperation and cable, and give it an all-electric range of up to 50 kilometres in the NEDC. The Q7 e-tron made its debut in 2016: It is powered by a 3.0 TDI engine combined with an electric motor, with a combined 275 kW (373PS) and 700 Nm (516.3 lb-ft) of torque. It accelerates from a standing start to 62mph in 6.2 seconds and is particularly efficient. In all-electric mode, it has a range of up to 34 miles while producing zero local emissions. It is also the world’s first plug-in hybrid with a V6 compression ignition engine and quattro drive.

Another concept car unveiled by Audi in 2015 at the Frankfurt Motor Show, was the e-tron quattro concept – the forerunner of the brand’s first all-electric-drive production automobile.

As a radically reconfigured SUV it offers a range of more than 248 miles in the WLTP cycle with the spaciousness and comfort of a typical full-size automobile from Audi. The production version of this groundbreaking e-SUV, named Audi e-tron, will debut in September 2018.

Roadtrip, circuit or piloted city-mobile – a new mobility service

Audi has meanwhile been building a new family of visionary automobiles since 2017 as a preview for the next decade – electrically powered and precisely focused on their respective use scenarios. Cars currently in the market are always conceived as a versatile synthesis between highly conflicting requirement profiles – in practice, this often means compromises must be made. In contrast, the current concept cars will occupy a new, consistent position in an increasingly diversified market. The Audi Aicon long-distance luxury vehicle started things off at the IAA 2017; the PB18 e-tron is now marking another milestone. Additional vehicle concepts, such as those for example for urban traffic, are already being developed and will make their public debut in the coming months.

As part of a premium sharing pool with highly individual models, they will all sharpen the profile of the Audi brand even further in the future – as custom-tailored products and services for highly demanding customers who want to combine mobility, emotion and experience in every situation of their lives. These customers can then decide whether they only want to use the vehicle of their choice temporarily and exchange it for another when needed, or if they would rather purchase it permanently, as today.

[ask-de-writer]

ON THE ROADS OF EQUESTRIA : Origin of the Rom, part 4 :  MLP Fan Fiction : Part 2 of 5

ON THE ROADS OF EQUESTRIA

The fourth part of the Origin of the Rom

ORIGIN OF THE ROM SERIES in reading order.  (will be completed as the stories are posted in linked form)

Part One : NORE’S CHOICE, which starts HERE

Part Two : WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA! which starts HERE

Part Three : FAIR AND UN-FAIR, which starts HERE

Part Four : ON THE ROADS OF EQUESTRIA, which starts HERE

Part Five : THE FIRST ROM HEARTHWARMING,  which starts HERE

Part Six : SANDO’S LAKE, which starts HERE

Part Seven : A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ROM, which starts HERE

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7755 words

© 2016 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 01/08/16

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Bringing them back to the cook fires, she chirped, “Look what I found!  I think that I saw a stand of nettles back there in the woods, too!”

Heads all turned to stare like compass needles!  Nore just put aside our other lunch fixings and got out our big baking griddle with its cooking covers.  She set it over the fire to heat.  Sarel, Maina, Malit, and Phappa made a beeline for the woods.

Nore happily showed Shehan how to mix the sorrel and leaves of the nettles and mash them to a fine paste-like mix.  They formed the mashed leaves into patties and baked them on the griddle, under covers.

“We keep this a secret, Shehan, dear. When the patties are toasted, they will be Ka'check.  We can eat them as is or make a flour of them to make our many other snacks and good foods.”

Shehan, the pretty leather and gilt Freedom on her head glinting in the sunlight, nodded.  “I understand, Nore.  Mothers Maina and Malit have carpentry and wheelwright secrets that we keep from the town ponies too.”

Sarel set up her portable retting vat, a small two wheeled trailer wagon with a tightly lidded tank.  She loaded in all of the stripped nettle stalks and set weights on them. She added water to help break down the stalks and free the fine fibers that were one of the bases of her excellent weaving.

As she helped Nore to bake up the Ka'chek patties, Shehan looked about at our encampment.  Even though the stop had not been planned to go this long, her adopted mother Maina had a carpentry project out and was serenely shaving two small planks for an exact fit.  He other adopted mother, Malit was happily chiseling the rough work on a new wheel hub.  Big Phapa, our blacksmith, had out an iron strip that she was cold hammering into the circle of a new iron wheel tire.  Sando was working on a drawing for some device and Rom, their leader, was passing quietly between the industrious horses, seeing all that was being done and offering some advice on what might be needed next.

Since the batter was already made up, I got busy dipping chunks of dried fruits on the tips of skewers and toasting them for any hungry horse to eat.  I may appear to be a donkey but that does not change a thing about food.  I like the same things.

Happily, our filly pointed out to me, “I don’t really understand why you want to find us some place to buy and settle down to farming or some such.  I was an orphan in Haulmarket.  They never treated me well.  The only good ponies I ever met were here.  The Rom on the roads.  

“The Royal Road Police have been good to us.  We have met some others that were nice too.  None of them had anything to do with running a town.  My mothers have told me how Sunbreak and her Royal Armored Pegassi unit saved them and their caravan when it looked like it was going to fall down the slope at Riten’s Notch.

“Why do you want us to settle in with ponies that don’t like us, Marchhare?”

That stopped me cold.  I smiled at our perceptive youngster and told her, “You have just ruined my whole day, Shehan.  You have got me to thinking!”  I thumped the top of my head with a hoof.  

Shehan giggled at my antics but persisted, “I really do not understand why you want us to settle down somewhere.  When we do a fair, if there are ponies that we don’t like, we can just leave them behind.  When we meet some that we do like, we can come back to them at the next fair. “

I gave her an appraising stare.  “Those are actually good points, Shehan.  I will seriously think about them. It may be that I will need to change how I am guiding the band.”

Shehan booped me on the nose as she pointed out another thing.  “I am only a filly.  In towns, nopony takes what I say seriously.  That only happens here, among the Rom.”

I wrinkled my brow as I asked, “THE Rom?”

Shehan nodded.  “All of the town ponies call us that.  It is just them shortening the Band of Rom to Rom.  Some of us are going along with it because it is easier than trying to correct them all the time.”

I twisted a lip sourly as I agreed, “I have heard it among the town ponies.  I did not expect to hear it here.”

Rom, overhearing, offered, “It makes it easy for them.  Why not let them?  It also gives us a short and clear identity.”

I nodded at that one.  “It makes sense, my friend.  Too much sense.”

Rom sat next to me and got out a map of the Royal Roads.  He was pointing to a possible problem.  “Marchhare, to get to the Haymarket Fair, we are going to have to pass through Haulmarket again.  We had so much trouble with them at their Summer Fair.

“I have noticed that Haulmarket has notices up for their big Autumn Fair.  They have put it on the same days as the Haymarket Fair.”

Nore, leaning her head over to look at the map, observed, “The Haymarket Fair was created by a Royal Decree to help the village to recover from that disastrous flood last summer.  Haulmarket will have to change the date of their Fair.”

Rom, showing the wisdom that caused the others to follow him, pointed out, “How they treated us last summer was a violation of Crowns law too, Nore.  It did not stop them.  What stopped them was the Royal Road Police.  We may want their aid again.”

Nore, remembering well how Haulmarket tried to cheat us, nodded.  “I can see how that could be.  Perhaps if we had a few of the RRP officers hide in our caravans, they could overhear the problem and do whatever is needful.”

I nodded.  My friends and wife were sorting things out on their own.  Such help as I could give would only be if they suggested something illegal or wrong.

I did not really think that I was going to be needed at all.  Except for Pulling the caravan.  Actually, considering the sheer size of my dear wife Nore, I probably wasn’t really needed there either.

Nore almost seemed to be reading my mind.  She was good at that!

She leaned down an nuzzled me.  “Dear Love, never forget that however well we learn the ways of Equestria, we ALWAYS need you.  We know what happened, that last day on the Desert of Celestia’s Anvil.  You came back for us, after … your nap, to guide us.  We need that guidance now and likely always will.

“It is a great comfort to us to know that you will be with us always.”

I noticed that everything was being packed away.  Rom saw my glance and confirmed, “We have harvested and prepared what we can.  It is almost time to for us to hitch up and Pull.”

I noticed that Sando was watching the whole procedure as we hitched up.  Lively interest was writ wide across his face.  As Nore and I finished our hitch, she began our starting cadence.  “Lean left!  Lean right!  Pull left!  Pull right!  Pull!  Pull!”  The heavy caravans of our whole band got smoothly underway.

Little Shehan, hitched just ahead of her adoptive mothers, began to sing the Shehan Ja Rom in perfect Gyptian.  The whole band picked it up.

They moved seamlessly to other chants. The band called them Road Songs.  I was especially fond of one that they were still hammering out to perfection.  They called it the Two Green Vines.  The songs by any name made the kilometers seem short and the Pull easy.  The ponies of hamlets and small villages, too small to have fairs, nevertheless lined the road to cheer us on.  

With only one fly in the ointment, a Haulmarket Fair flier just posted in the village of Clover Hill, we made our way toward the Road Section Toll Gate.

It was not too long before we pulled over at the local Royal Road Police headquarters.  The desk pony looked up from his solitaire game in mild irritation.  I hoofed over the Clover Hill notice board announcement of Haulmarket’s illegal fair.  I pointed out, “They are advertising our singing, dancing, snacks and unique hoofiecrafts.  The only flies in their ointment are that we have already signed contracts with the Haymarket Fair and it is cross scheduled with a Fair set by Royal Decree.”

Little Shehan, standing beside me, giggled.  “He really blew his stack, didn’t he?  Took that flier straight back through that door!”

I nodded.  “What did you expect?  Who is the High Commissioner of the Royal Roads?  Princess Luna.  Whose idea was the Royal Decree to give the Village of Haymarket a Fair to help it recover from this summer’s Red Branch flood disaster? Princess Luna.”

The door opened.  Sargent Convoy came out to meet us.  He said, “Marchhare, Sir, do you have actual contracts signed or just promises made?”

I pulled out our ledger and removed the contracts from the back pocket of our account book.  Sargent Convoy looked them over and nodded grimly.  “I was afraid of this.  We have the service receipt for the Royal Order demanding them to move the date of the Haulmarket Fair.  

“This flier shows that they have directly violated a Royal Decree.  We are going to have to close their Fair.  Whether they retain town status and the right to have Fairs at all, will be put under the Royal Wing.  Princess Luna will not be a happy pony!”

Rom had come in and overheard the Sargent’s statement.  Sargent Convoy regarded Rom for a moment and said, “As I recall, you are the leader of this band of  pon … horses?”

Rom agreed, “I am.  What would you have of us?  The RRP has always done right to us.  Few others in positions of power have done so.  What you need, if we can do it, is yours for the asking.”

The Sargent relaxed.  “I was hoping that you would help us.  The Haulmarket Fair is advertising your activities at their event on the same day that you are contracted to be at the Haymarket Fair.  Considering how they misbehaved at their Summer Fair, I want to see how they plan to get you to do it.

“Would it be possible to hide myself and some troopers equipped for trouble in your wagons?”

Rom looked blank at the word wagon. Little Shehan spoke to him in Gyptian, “<< He means our caravans. >>”

Rom nodded then.  “You may.  Those caravans are our homes but we will trust you and your ponies in them. We were trying to think how to ask that very favor.  Thank you.”

We were almost to the Haulmarket Fairground cutoff when Foulip and his cronies stepped out of the brush lining the roadside.  Two of them were armed with military pikes, their long, needle like points glittering in the sunlight.

Grinning meanly, Foulip declared, “You are going down the cutoff to our Fairground.  Got it?  We are generously going to allow you to keep a third of all the coin that come your way.  Out of that, you gotta pay the Fair fee.  You also got to pay us Firewood and Water Access charges!”  He stuck his head forward, low, lips protruded in insult as he finished, “What do you think of them apples?”

I regarded him calmly and retorted, “Not much.  Those pikes have to be an empty threat.  Try to use them and the least charge will be attempted murder.

“We are contracted for the Haymarket Fair, which is the ONLY legal fair in the Red Branch Section, this coming weekend.  Your terms are completely illegal and amount to Slavery under the Crowns Law.  Slavers get the Traitor’s Drop.”

Foulip glared at me and snapped, “The fat bottoms up in Canterlot gotta find it out and they won’t!  We are here!  They ain’t!  You are a mere donkey.  Those so called horses of yours are not registered either!  They dance for us or you die! Nopony will miss a lousy donkey!”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[the-firebird69]

Recommend you shut up you two snot nose kids if you don't you're done and you're not so I'm sending people will get to the bottom of your plan it's in the last two idiots it's good deception I've heard it works and he says it works cuz you people are dumb.

Now we are in a position to send him something and yes it's his batteries amazed yes amazed not really not many are usually a whole bunch of people start working to get it to him off and on and as is the case now and we're sending it as soon as we can because a whole bunch of people are crabbing here about him being able to go somewhere and we're starting to get a little nervous because they're a bunch of assholes about it I'm going to fix their wagon even though they are snappy about getting the two inner tubes and other things to him which doesn't make sense they're sitting there saying we're going to keep him here and put him in prison like his brother and all this other stuff you can buy and grab them we'd like to grab all of them so the battery is here we can do that we can take a nice trip and punta Gorda or something in and comes back and clean them out it's a way to do it a whole bunch of times in a week so sick of you people a bunch of jackasses and do it anyways when you go up there to the Winn-Dixie.

It is moving and we saw the movie and several times too it's gone from where it started to a distribution facility for Amazon and it's gone to a smaller shop in the Amazon and it's prepping to go to the Post office this time and it's moving because he got up in the horn this morning and he pointed out with a worm stuff is and that's one of the last post you put up was about dune and we're going to go to nuts probably trying to get that really going it's absolutely miserable in California but the Chinese are pouring in and that's a relief and they find that this warm stuff is a relief although it's a hazard because the idiots are so hot. Mean tempered their woman too and they're ugly a sin as these alien Nation people they look pretty bad already in this makes it look terrible so they keep on yelling at their husbands which one now that's what the husband's don't care that much because they're kind of idiots and sick pigs. So it loaded up with tons of corky and they're all going at it finding it and refining it and they're mining it pretty soon they can be dying in it and it's still going to be grabbing it because there's tons of it all over the place actually it's a huge mining operation going on gigantic machines gigantic piles of idiots tons of them just eating it and they die pretty quick and then they throw them into the hole and it's going to create a vortex shortly you're not smart enough not to and they're all looking as weird but they're the ones who the problem so Chinese pouring pretty soon they're going to pour themselves into the hole and be over.

You can hear all sorts of things happening over here some people are whining and complaining and dying from all sorts of things that they've been fester and they're getting weaker and weaker. Foreigners are pouring in and they're helping him and they're trying to get him the battery and they got on the wheel and the motor and it's impressive because it came right away and it was inexpensive and it looks like decent quality and weighs a lot and he knows it's powerful because of the weight and it needs it to be powerful because he's big and heavy and things are starting to work in that department where he's getting stronger and the actual muscle is forming and he feels a little better because of it nothing foreigners have to work pretty hard these people keep pouring in so we have a program and it's up and running and the ships are falling down and it's nice.

I'm avoiding the lawsuit talk because it's kind of going crampily it's slow and it's difficult and there aren't many advances made on a day to day basis. But we have some we won one lawsuit and it's going through and we're also defeating bja on all of his lawsuits and tons of people want to give us money because we won the lawsuits and they explain it'll attract them to him and that's what BJ wants but he can't do it because he's some sort of invalid and we're not so sure it's the best thing to do because he's such a pain it does keep Max away from him so he's saying to try a small one and probably just end up wiping BJ's people out but they're getting his stuff and then do a few and meter them and Thor's approved that we test it so we're going to go ahead and do that this bja was sitting there stealing all sorts of stuff and max were having them to take stuff from bja ideas and concepts and inventions and personal things.

He's very pleased and tells me yes what cash and doesn't really think he's serious about it because they'll never be able to get it to him until a lot more than are done and it's absolutely true and Ken is asking too he's making fun of ken is finger and he's jumping and he felt bad because it's kind of like Dad and some ways not that harmful so we asked him how and he says how and you say well it worked once but we really don't want to do that and this is okay accidents and terrible a waste of time so he says I'd rather do something else other than the cash in the bar thing and we say it's not really you doing it it seems like you're behind him and you're supposed to find out what it is you enter and everybody looks at you and you're separate at that point but maybe you go there a little and maybe two or three times to have a little dual get out of town and he says that sounds right and it does sound right that I'm there singing cuz a lot of bands are going up there and it's possibly going to be these two owning it and they would do something like that and it sounds like them and then they would be paying the price and they don't know it cuz they're arrogant I guess they are let me think you would hire me somehow and people would seek it whatever it would be and basically I wouldn't believe it so much so that hardly anybody would bother me and it might be just now so it's a ruse. Because I say I caused him harm and all the stuff and it's like it's just a matter of time you sitting here if you assholes forced to get every day and I'm sweating up to figure out one and two they don't care of course and they swear revenge and so forth so they're seeking away to try and own that place in Sarasota and as a dealership and they think they found it and it turned it over from a hard knock certified dealership to a Hard knock assembler dealer and that's what they want to do we say you can't do it there because that's a certified Hard knock facility can you be like riding their wings and they say that's why I said that's why so knows the deal on that put it somewhere else like they did with this Italian place and they do with Publix one exit down it's the same thing and they laughed and said okay you know where the idiot broke all those trucks with an excavator and start laughing and said well that might be the next one and get the health people out of there. So what's going on too it's a lot of work it takes forever and we've got his bike under wraps and it's off of the Woody harrelson shortly first the Nimrod there Peter the Great is going to drive around San Francisco and he says is it really necessary for it to go into is it necessary for it to touch the street to be in that air and we say well maybe you're helping it but not really necessary I feel bad for it I don't know if I want to touch it after it's been there and we're laughing because it's almost the worst thing you can say but it's not the worst actually Christopher Watkins been there you should probably go back now I'm starting to laugh mostly been there you can stay there

And it wants a bigger things and I'm suing all sorts of businesses for all sorts of people of ours and we're using demons to do it and we're bringing them to their knees and we're taking over businesses every day tons of them all over the world meet people are caving in and we're keeping the economy going and we're keeping businesses going and we're keeping the world turning just as we should it was showing up and suing you for things that you're doing here too and we're getting your money and we're getting your stuff because we're doing childish evil mean things and we're putting you in jail and we're terminating you as well all of that's happening to you here whether you think it is or not

Bitol and Goddess Wife

And we appreciate all your work and he's thinking it and I'm saying it and I'm sending you a gift package of sim stuff to where you are and it's going to include some things that you really want and I know what they are because I started to try and figure it out and I asked your Goddess Wife and she's listed off a few things and I'm acting like Santa Claus he says but no this is serious and we're going to thank you.

Hera Zues

I snivke say let me go and say no I can't it's not that bad is it I say it is it's horrible it's terrible I'm going to do the job and I'm doing okay and we're going along and making sure it gets done and you're right this is the best training I could ever get but it's also torture and you say it's going to be torture for everyone and you've reached that and you're getting help for yourself and then I needed cuz I was being tortured the same way you are and I'm not restricted down telling people of ours because that's horrible you two have gone through this is terrible this is the worst thing I've ever seen I'm going to hit you people that's what they need he says. Now I won't go ever but he knows what I'm saying it's terrible here and people are horrific beings you're not human anymore and he's right you cash it all in to get a high and most of the math is reverse and it will work if you use it and we are using it we've got tons of shows coming up in my area is starting to look up we got huge amounts of things going on and we've got the worm and it's kind of my stuff too because age is just full of worms and he says it's not his stuff but he's like a worm expert so he's full of crap he worms his way into practically everything you're doing just like Kingsley. And he was so cute when he's driving down he warmed his way through there like 10 times finally laid down like you wanted then put his hand on the gear shifter and started throwing it neutral every so often they said you stay over there you got real mad at him try to put his butt on it and he had the force him to not do that funny he showed it to him he said no this is dangerous very bad and he made the engine rev and he goes oh so he understood it he's looking around he says it's okay I had a good time like two guys he says that's what he wants to do and be free and be free with Hera who's much more than Kingsley of course so comparison but he's a friend I want to see your abuse him and we go after you. We now turn our sites on you and we're starting to issue more lawsuits and we're gaining ground and we're winning he's got a whole list of things you want me to do and I'm doing it and he's got a list of lawsuits and class actions and we're launching them and one of them is risperdal and you just mentioned and he wants to start winning lawsuits because he has nothing and he can't count on money here because you guys are a bunch of assholes and always try and cut it off and we have to have redundancy and we're going to call his people cuz he says they're redundancy fanatics and saved humanity with it as a matter of fact cuz he made a foundation of redundant things and Thor Freya knows about it he was doing it too. Thank you sir and he said thank you because Hera stopped him from talking bad to Freya. And we do have a class action suit about risperdal and ask Ken if he wants to sign up on it and kind of like how do I do that and it's like you're off and your other persona or something and you sign on is you and talking to the same or some something like that that's about a million ways to do it and only a few ways not to he's so slow and said yeah it's probably true so he wants to do that cuz he hates them and you need to suffer and there's a lot of them it says they change the name and it's all over and he wants to sue Prilosec too as our son does so I'm going to present those lawsuits because they're huge ongoing and successful and people win him all the time and it might actually call in some of the lawyers at one of them already include a group on there if there's well you too and we're going to start working on that right away cuz we need to do that and we need to get into pharmaceuticals more I'm getting the green light and I'm getting some teams they're coming in and we're going to organize it

It's very productive meeting and he agrees and he's done business with us I guess since he was born and she has as well.

And I'm not just a she of Hera. It takes time and he's right these people keep interrupting him and messing around with him and ruining his day all that took time from us he kept telling us and we're working on it but it's something we have to get on

She says Hera that is

Bitol and Goddess Wife

[bigyack-com]

Europe and the U.S. Share a Lot, Except When It Comes to Cars

The 2020 Geneva International Motor Show is over before it began. A victim of Covid-19, manufacturers have retooled to unveil new releases “digitally.” We Americans may shrug our shoulders because unlike viruses, many European cars and brands can’t cross continents.Sure, the new Kia Sorento, Volkswagen Golf GTI and Mercedes E-Class that were scheduled to debut on the Geneva show floor will be coming to America, as will the BMW i4 electric sedan that was to be shown as a concept. But the new Seat Leon hatchback and Renault Captur Hybrid will be no-shows here in the United States. There are many reasons there will be no Dacia Dusters in Delaware driveways.First off, Americans are not starved for choices. As the second-largest automotive market in the world after China, the United States has dozens of brands to browse.“As attractive as the U.S. market is, it’s saturated,” said Stephanie Brinley, principal analyst for IHS Markit. “In the States, consumers are confused with all of the choices; it can be overwhelming.”True enough. In the past 25 years or so, Suzuki, Daewoo and Daihatsu have left our shores. Scion, Geo, Saab, Eagle, Plymouth, Mercury, Saturn, Pontiac and Oldsmobile have joined Studebaker on that great off ramp.For some European brands, coming to the United States means new dealerships and parts distribution. That’s expensive. Vehicles must pass our government emissions, safety and lighting requirements. That’s very expensive. And how does a company market an expensive product to consumers who are loyal to existing brands? That’s bottomless-money-pit expensive.Even with Fiat Chrysler Automobiles’ existing network of Chrysler, Dodge and Jeep franchisees, it has struggled to get Americans to fully embrace the Fiat and Alfa Romeo brands. A newcomer to the U.S. market would need a Caddy full of euros to introduce a brand. And by Caddy, I mean the Volkswagen Caddy, which is a small van used for deliveries and family hauling. And no, we don’t get it either.People of each continent use their vehicles differently. “Americans like large vehicles and S.U.V.s that do 100 percent of everything,” Ms. Brinley of IHS said. “We plan for the most extreme-use case, while Europeans are more comfortable squeezing things into a small space.”While traveling in Slovenia recently, I met the musician and Wudisban Records executive Marko Kocjan, known as Emkej, who drives a Skoda Octavia wagon, a VW product the size of the Golf SportWagen (that just left our market because of sluggish sales). In Ljubljana, Slovenia, the Octavia is a popular, though larger, choice.“Me and my fiancée, Ajda Perme, came to the conclusion we needed a safer car and wanted extra room in the back for snowboarding and transporting music equipment to concerts. I love its space.”American musicians would probably find the Octavia wagon far too small to haul keyboards, guitars, drums and amps. But like many European buyers, Mr. Kocjan makes the Skoda work.“It is a car we can afford, plus the tax rate and fuel costs are in our range,” he said.Many European countries tax vehicles on size, weight, engine size and fuel consumption at a far higher rate than our states.So while there’s a more powerful 2-liter engine, Mr. Kocjan’s Octavia is driven by the smaller, more efficient 1.6-liter diesel with a five-speed manual transmission (rowing your own gears is much more popular in Europe).Americans would find that powertrain pokey and inconvenient. It might be more appealing to Missourians — who pay around $2 per gallon, according to AAA — if they had to pay triple the price. That’s what Italians pay when filling up. You’re more likely to see Bigfoot sipping espresso there than a thirsty Chevrolet Tahoe.And size matters to both continents, just not in the same way. No one needs to point out that America likes its trucks. Ford’s F-150 has been the best-selling vehicle (not just pickup truck) in America for over 30 years, but it is not officially sold in Europe.With low fuel prices, we’re more likely to pick something larger and more comfortable to cover that ground. “We have a lot more room to spread out,” said Ray Telang, U.S. automotive leader for PricewaterhouseCoopers. “The U.S. market is filled with buyers who value size, they want S.U.V.s. The footprint of the U.S. has more rural areas. We are not as constrained by space.“The European buyer drives narrower roads, pays a lot more for fuel and has to find a place to store the car in more crowded cities. Smaller works better there.”But Mr. Telang also said the tastes were merging a bit. “As crossovers become more fuel efficient, the demand is accelerating in Western Europe, just not to the same level as in the U.S.”Hatchbacks and wagons have always been popular choices overseas, and it can be argued those are close cousins to crossovers when it comes to usability and practicality.Generally, European S.U.V.s are smaller than three-row models such as the Chevy Traverse, Honda Pilot and Toyota Highlander that we buy in droves. Ford is a popular brand in Europe, but there are few Explorers there. And you will see far more Jeep Renegades overseas than Wranglers.The huge VW Atlas that’s built in Chattanooga, Tenn., has been rebadged the Teramont in many foreign markets. And even though VW makes the midsize pickup Amarok, it’s not sold in our truck-loving country.And then there’s design. In the home of the brave, we’re timid when it comes to styling.Our roads are crammed with Honda Accords, Toyota Camrys and Nissan Rogues that roll with safe designs.We would rather be seen in a Pontiac Aztek than the Fiat Multipla, which is best described as the only transportation device with a muffin top. A Citroën Berlingo would be roomy enough for our market, but the sheet metal would probably be ostracized.Europeans are often willing to try different things, like the old three-wheeled BMW Isetta and Reliant Robin. The elfin Smart car made a noble stab at our market, but is leaving it while remaining in Europe. The oddly cladded flanks of Citroen’s C4 Cactus crossover would probably not generate much U.S. interest.We don’t see Vauxhall or Opel cars circling cul-de-sacs, but the best of Europe’s automotive industries have influenced our cars in many ways. Volvo and Saab pioneered many safety technologies we now take for granted. BMW fundamentally changed the way cars performed with firm but comfortable suspensions.It forced Cadillac (which has a minor presence overseas) to abandon its soft floaty ride for a much crisper dynamic. Americans wouldn’t rule out Peugeots or Skodas because of the way they drive. On my last visit to Europe, I enjoyed the dynamics of a rental Renault Clio. The small four-door hatchback was comfortable on the highway and attacked curves with spunk. The small engine did not pack much punch, but I appreciated its efficiency after pulling into gas stations with fuel prices at $1.45 a liter. Yeah, remember, there are nearly four of those in a gallon.It’s human nature to desire forbidden fruit, but maybe it’s best we stick to what we have. Automakers know their markets very well.Mr. Kocjan of Slovenia said: “I wanted a Cadillac Escalade when I was a kid, but now I see how big they are and I don’t know. I would love to have a Mustang … for a few days.”Years ago, an Opel Insignia wagon cruising through Rome caught my wife’s eye. She was tempted to buy when the stylish machine ended up stateside rebadged as the Buick Regal TourX, but she did not pull the trigger. That’s what counts.After just a few years it’s been discontinued, partly because of, you guessed it, lack of sales. Read the full article

[weabbynormalblog]

#James Corden, fat shamming-is Horrible!!!

People who shame others are in fear of something.

I too struggled with my weight a good portion of my life. At my heaviest I was over 300 pounds. I've been bullied and harassed about my weight. I made the healthier changes to my lifestyle for me.

This process below helped me maybe it will help you too.

For starters forget everything you know about food. Forget about any kind of diet. Forget about the bullying or being different. You have to be open to changing your beliefs about food not just your choice or portion of foods. Let it all go! You have everything to gain with good balanced nutrition. It worked for me. I'm as healthy as can be.

Change your thoughts, you change your life!

We aren't just what we eat, we are also what we think. That record that plays in your head. The line "We struggled with weight " for all kinds of reasons over and over,falling off the wagon. List them somewhere. Then safely burn them. It's time for a new paradigm.

When we change our vocabulary about our relationship with food we give ourselves permission to accept who we are. No more judgement, no more guilt, no more putting yourself down. No more chastising what we put in our mouth.

Give yourself a way to plot to your short term and long term goals without the shame and embarrassment. Just start with 1lityle step towards a healthier you...cut down to eventualy give up salt or sugary drinks. Think of it as small step to a healthier future self. Be prepared for a long love afair with yourself. Do right by yourself as you would your best friend.

Start small. We know what we shouldn't eat, its because we've made it taboo, and also because we don't set realistic or healthy limits and that when we start to have issues. We need boundaries so we can do away with limiting beliefs like "no diet has ever work for me", I can't stick to eating healthy". Feeling guilty get to the root of why and take steps to eradicated it. When depressed or sad also releases cortisol a chemical in our brain that actually helps us retain water and weight... It's partly our beliefs about food and inactivity that makes us overweight. By this it translates as what is a healthy weight distribution to height? Everything with moderation is just fine, balance that with more physical activity and water. The goal is not to loose weight but to take small step towards a healthier lifestyle.

Anything thats gonna stress you out and forces you into a colum A to Z won't work. This is also the reason that the majority of diets don't work. Often they are too extreme in comparison to our current eating habits. To have lasting effects you must keep up your healthy ways a minimum 6 weeks to make any substantial lasting change. Bull! Or you can keep on trying to add or remove unhealthy to healthier alternative over time. Don't eat stuff you don't like. Don't eat be cause you "have too" either. We are all a product of our environment, don't beat yourself up about it. People acts as mirrors often showing us what we don't want to see but often it's what we want to change the most. It's challenging to eat healthy, not hard. And certainly not rocket science. What's another way of thinking about it? Develop your palate to being open to trying new cusines. You know how to motivate yourself. You are a beautiful, talented and funny person!

We are way more than how small minded people perceive us. List all your good qualities. Celebrate you!

The goal and emphasis should always be about good health on your terms. Cheers!

If there's a type of take away that you like, why is that? Does it tug on your comfort strings? Does it bring you pleasure? Do you feel guilty? If you do Why? I'm guessing someone else made you feel that way which wasn't very nice, they also may have a love hate relationship with food too. Have a bit of this and that and your fruit and veg too. Is it possible to enjoy this "type" of food all the time? Is it not unrealistic to enjoy the devil chips once and a while be realistic about portioned amounts that you eat mindfully with enjoyment. Learn to cook your favorites remove the bad stuff and add healthier ingredients or find a healthier way to cook it? Like air frying Fish and Chips. Ask some of your friends to get involved. It's not about starving. It's about feeding yourself the good stuff to keep all those bells and whistles going. Raw Food is medicine. Think color and abundance. Analyse what you are all about. Educate yourself about the building blocks of human anatomy, what does your body need to run smoothly? Be your own personal project, think pro active. You are the best expert on you! Screw everyone else! (Even me a well wisher-this is about you not me).

Slowly integrate healthier options into your lifestyle. Park the car a bit further, always have snacks and water so you always have healthier alternatives on hand. If you are perfectly happy the way you are, then don't change a thing. Walk and swim if you can. Good health is not a race, its a journey and a state of mind. Be mindful of everything you eat and drink. Keep a journal. Ask yourself questions. Am I really hungry? Am I drinking enough water. Am I eating as healthy as I can? What's at the root of this food issue behavior. The miss use of Food is just a symptom for want or missing something else. Vitality and prolonged health is the goal to eating healthfully. Where can I consume less bad fats and insert the good ones. Eating healthy does not mean following a diet or limiting what you love to eat, when and how you eat it, thats just ridiculous. Eat when you're hungry. Not cause your sad, go for a walk instead, and have a glass of water too.

When we hunted and gathered we ate 12 -14 times a day. A handful here and there, fruit, veg,dried meat, fish and foul. We eventually settled into 3-4 meals a day and a more sedentary lifestyle too. Us humans need physical activity and good food.

Want chocolate go ahead, have a bit today, some tomorrow, really enjoy it, savor things without the abuse. Have a good port with that too as you slow down at the end of the day. The darker the chocolate the better too. Push past these stupid health myths and dieting taboos. Good nutrition is actually about eating as much as you want and need; its about getting healthy. It's not about starving.

I promise you will never struggle with your weight or yourself again.

Practice good sleep hygiene too! Be mindful of what your eating and when and question yourself. most importantly Enjoy!!! No judgment!!! Get to the root of questioning your eating habits, how they evolved and how its intergrated into your life.

Life is meant to be enjoyed with balance in all things. Food, drink, entertainment, rest, activity and self love. We don't get this way over night. Be good to yourself first by making small better health choices on your long term goal of being healthy. Give up process and convenient ready to eat foods. They are loaded with preservatives, salt and sugars. Eat more fruit, veg and nuts too! More water, get a step counter. Encourage and treat yourself often! And it doesn't have to be food, a book by a favorite author, a massage etc. Everyone deserves the best life and long lasting health regardless of where you are.

[beckettllie635-blog]

How To Win Friends And Influence People With Freight Trucking

In today's world, dump trucks are trucks who have a special dump bed connected to the chassis and it is accustomed to haul materials including dirt, sand, rocks, gravel or another material for a number of industries from farming to construction. There are single axle dump trucks, tandems, tri-axle dump trucks, Quad -Axle, Quints, and off-road dump trucks; anywhere there is something to be hauled, you'll be able to bet there's a specific dump truck for the task. There are also dump trailers which hook up towards the 5th wheel on a tractor and so are operated by a hydraulic pack additionally known as being a wet line kit.

First Dump Trucks

Before gasoline or diesel engines powered dump trucks, there was dumping carts of the sort pulled by horses. These horse-drawn dump trucks were a tub like a body by having an opening rear gate on hinges that worked by the force of gravity. When top was locked down, it stayed set up and carried the fabric for the worksite. When it premiered, it dropped down and dumped it out. These were invaluable in their time and were chosen considerably from the railroad companies to haul materials. By 1900, the dump truck carts had graduated in a larger flatbed cart that required four horses to get it. It was caused a unique hand hoist inside the front. Besides these horse-drawn dump trailers, trains and trolleys also were utilized to carry and dump loads.

First Real Dump Trucks

A several years later in 1904, the dump truck as we know it started to appear. It was still determined by gravity to dump the types of materials, but it was a dump bed mounted on the truck body. The Mann Company from England was responsible for that first gravity dump truck in 1904. As improvements were made, hydraulics started to replace gravity being a force to activate the dump. The gravity system created not just a problem with weight distribution, nevertheless the majority in the load also had to be beyond the wheels so as to dump. Also if the lock in the front broke or located lose you'd probably lose your load. One of the first dump trucks made by using this was developed by Robertson Steam Wagon coupled with a hoist run by hydraulics plus a steam engine for that truck. Another hydraulic run dump truck was developed in 1907 by Alley & McLellan of Glasgow that's also powered by a steam engine.

Industries That Benefited with the Use of Dump Trucks

By the 1920s, dump trucks that we might work faster and more efficiently arrived and were accustomed to haul coal. Thus, the coal industry benefitted, just as the railroad industry did years before when they had primitive dumping carts. The coal industry used an exclusive kind of dump truck that was similar to some hopper railroad car. This form of dumping mechanism were built with a body raised with struts and beams which are arranged scissor-like underneath its body. When they desired to dump your contents, they pulled the beams closer together to create in the dump bed, which permit the load-free and gravity did the others.

Pioneers in Dump Truck History

One with the companies considered being a pioneer in making the dump truck is Euclid. A hydraulics engineer named George Armington Jr. is credited with bringing into being the version of today's heavyweight, off-road truck as well as the wheel tractor style dump truck. The first of such became available in 1934 and was referred to as a Trak Truk and was an off-road dump truck. The other followed in 1936 and was an IFD truck that weighed an astounding 15 tons. This beauty of your dump truck ran with a diesel engine, together modern features like leaf spring suspension, pneumatic tires, and modern drive lines.

The bottom dump truck was considered an enormous jump forward and Euclid's version could haul its load much beyond other trucks had in the past. The next couple of decades brought even heavier and larger dump trucks into the industry. US made dump trucks were beginning to lead those by the 1950s making use of their bottom dump trucks. The 50s brought several kinds of dump trucks including one that could hold 20 tons and was developed by Faun, in 1958 a dump truck referred to as AP40 Autocar that was considered the largest single-engine dump truck of the time at 600 horsepower. In 1957, an enormous improvement called the Haulpak is made by Ralph Kress, a consultant for Komatsu, which had hydro-pneumatic struts, and can haul 32 tons and in addition pull a trailer that weighed 75 tons. This eventually ended up being to develop in to the dump truck style of option for mining along with other industries.

Other Dump Truck Manufacturers

Many other businesses made and continue to generate a myriad of dump trucks. Some of the include Freightliner Trucks, which were only available in 1929 by Leland James. It was originally called Consolidated Freight Lines. James was a pacesetter of his times and was always trying to discover ways to customize and earn his trucks better. Freightliner Trucks built trucks that carried cargo and the man wanted to produce lighter, yet stronger trucks that may carry many go further. By the 1950s, the corporation made about 100 different types of custom trucks. During this timeframe Freightliner Trucks partnered with White Motor Co. of Cleveland in1951. By 1960, they were accountable for selling 1,000 tracks using their new lines. In the 1970s Freightliner was a well-known truck making company which was famous for his or her successes within the business. During that timeframe, they ended their partnership with White Motor Co.

Freightliner continued its success by acquiring other trucking companies through the next 20 or 30 years, including American LaFrance, Thomas Built Buses, Western Star Trucks, and Ford Motor's heavy trucks. Today, they are called Daimler Trucks North America along with 2007, the corporation had sales over two billion dollars.

Kenworth Trucks

Another truck manufacturer is Kenworth, which makes several forms of trucks, including dump trucks, which entered 1923. They designed custom trucks inside the 1920s and 30s and were the 1st truck company inside the U.S. to use diesel engines. Over the next several decades they made several advances within the trucking industry and helped result in improvements like better fuel mileage, more cargo space, and less wind resistance. They have continued to bring about other improvements during the 1990s with dump trucks including the Kenworth T800 T/A dump truck. Today, they focus on selling trucks worldwide. International Trucks International, is the one other truck manufacturer that creates dump trucks, straight trucks, road tractors, school buses, and specialized military vehicles. They also make diesel engines. Today, Navistar, Internationals parent company, has over 1,000 dealerships all over the world. All in all, dump trucks have helped the trucking along with other industries develop and turn into extremely effective. Even in today's modern computerized world, dump trucks are doing site work and hauling loads to and from construction sites all in the world.

[martysweeny]

Weight-loss Tips - As Well As Diet Plan is NOT One of Them

There are all kinds of weight loss pointers I could offer you. Most of them have one point in usual. They AID you shed weight, yet in only a few cases will they ever actually offer as THE MAJOR CAUSE of weight loss.

To put it simply, while complying with the majority of weight-loss ideas might assist you LOSE A FEW POUNDS, and possibly that's all you require or desire to shed, healthy permanent weight management is typically achieved by executing 2 way of life modifications.

You see, fat burning tips such as eating off smaller plates or drinking a glass of water before meals might help you at the moment they are applied, yet they are just reliable if implemented on a regular basis, their results are not irreversible, as well as, for lots of people, their specific results are very little at finest. The exact same can be stated of a lot of weight reduction supplements and also diet plan pills as well.

Whatever is completed at the moment is typically minimal as well as will be virtually undone really rapidly after you stop taking the pill or making use of the brand-new size order a dish in a dining establishment.

Neither will certainly all the pointers, tablets, remedies and/or magic necromancies resolve the source of being overweight. We do not come to be overweight due to the fact that we consume off of huge plates any more than we end up being obese since we do not use Hoodia Gordonii, or some other weight-loss supplement regularly.

We, as individuals and as a society, become obese since we select, purposely or not, to eat even more of the wrong foods than we need to as well as to lead inactive lives.

I am not condemning the specific members of our society anymore than I would criticize a participant of any other society for acting in a given fashion since that's all they understand. We do know much more, or must understand extra, concerning how to remain healthy, Idealica Review and balanced and handle our weight.

Even on the labels of weight-loss items or within the articles which provide a shopping list of weight-loss ideas, two directions, tips, information surfacing: Workout as well as appropriate nourishment.

This item of understanding has become so self-evident and also approved that also lots of supporters of particular diet plans have given up touting their solutions as having the ability to produce optimal outcomes without workout and proper nourishment choices. Very sight will certainly assert that to reduce weight in a healthy permanent way you can adhere to the standards of their specific diet regimen all the staying days of your life.

Diet regimens just do not work! Oh, you might shed a few extra pounds and be able to get on the next smaller outfit, or drop a couple of inches before your following high school get-together, but the only 2 diet regimen pointers that developed long-term healthy weight reduction, as well as a healthier post weight management condition, are to obtain more exercise and also to eat sensibly.

Because I have actually written about them in deepness so numerous other times, I am not going to cover the unfavorable results of diet regimens below due to space restrictions as well as. Nevertheless, for those that may not know,

1. You are not going to stay on a diet regimen, and also you understand this.

2. Also if the diet regimen works, you will certainly not wish to eat that way for the remainder of your life.

3. When you fall off the diet plan wagon, you will gain back the weight you commonly much more.

4. Diet regimens can really instruct your body to manage on fewer calories, making it less complicated to put on weight.

5. Diet plans, which decrease the intake of nutrition, can minimize your consumption of essential nutrients.

No, when it pertains to distributing diet plan tips, I typically stick to the two primary ones ... exercise and nutrition.

You don't have to sign up with a gym or end up being a dietitian. Just make the option to get up as well as move even more as well as to pay even more interest to what you eat as you "workout" fully grown judgment and self-control.

Incidentally, no one has actually claimed that you can NEVER consume ice cream or pizza once more. Simply consume it in practical sized parts and ensure that the mass of your food mainly included the kinds of food you should be consuming.

There's been a lot of buzz about "The Secret" as well as "The Regulation of Attraction" over the last number of years. The key to both is to take charge of your life and also stop allowing points simply occur to you as soon as you steam it all down. If you consume anything placed prior to you without making an aware choice and also if you "choose" NOT to exercise, you stand a better possibility of not having the ability to lose, or a minimum of control, your weight as well as you will most likely mature much more swiftly than necessary as well as with even worse repercussions than if you pick currently to take back your life as well as, as Spock would certainly state, "Live long and also prosper".

There are all kinds of weight loss tips I could provide you. Most of them have one point in usual. They HELP you lose weight, yet in only a couple of cases will they ever before really serve as THE SIGNIFICANT REASON of weight loss.

When you steam it all down, the secret to both is to take cost of your life and also quit allowing points just occur to you. If you eat anything placed before you without making an aware selection and also if you "pick" NOT to exercise, you stand a higher possibility of not being able to shed, or at the very least control, your weight and also you will most likely mature more rapidly than necessary and with even worse consequences than if you select currently to take back your life and, as Spock would say, "Live long and also succeed".

[topicprinter]

Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Michael Hagen of Hagan Ski, a brand that sells backcountry ski touring equipment.Some stats:Product: Backcountry ski touring equipment.Revenue/mo: $35,000Started:Location: BreckenridgeFounders: 1Employees: 1Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?Hagan makes ski mountaineering gear—exclusively. We focus without distraction on alpine ski touring. We don’t make downhill skis, clothing, hiking boots, or running shoes.Our focus is entirely on backcountry ski touring/ski mountaineering — especially light and fast backcountry skiing. Hagan skis are intended for the alpine lifestyle — long and adventurous ski touring. To the big companies, ski mountaineering is a curious, insignificant aside. They make a few products and stick them at the back of their catalogs. Ski Mountaineering isn’t insignificant to Hagan. It is all we do — our life blood. We have the world’s widest selection of mountaineering skis.Our focus on high-performance ski mountaineering gear is recognized and appreciated by devoted backcountry skiers and has 50% annual growth in recent years. Hagan is Pure Ski Mountaineering.imageWhat's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?I remember “learning” to ski in the backyard at about the age of 3. My initial love of skiing came from stories my parents told of skiing in Colorado in their 20s. We grew up on a farm in very flat south central Minnesota. It was almost two hours to the nearest ski hill (valley) so I spent a lot of time skiing behind a snowmobile, making jumps in the fields. Being pulled by a rope engrained a back seat skiing style that I am still fighting to this day.When my brothers and I got older, we took a few family trips in our station wagon to Colorado and I was hooked. I couldn’t believe how big the ski areas were. Extremely impressive coming from farm land so flat I could see three towns from our house. For several years I read every single word, including the ads, of Ski and Skiing magazines.I served in the U.S. Army for 23 years, primarily as strategic intelligence and special operations. While in a Special Forces unit I learned and then taught ski touring and winter warfare techniques. I also began competing in triathlon and had some higher level success.I was proud to represent the U.S. at the World Military Championships and regular World Championships several times. Towards the end of my Army career, I taught physical education at West Point and then commanded the U.S. Army World Class Athlete Program (a program to train Soldiers for participation in the Olympics).When I retired from the Army I started coaching endurance athletes of all stripes, which I still do today, including quite a few ski mountaineering (Skimo) racers. I race regularly myself.While I first learned ski touring in the Special Forces (on old style and dangerous Ramer bindings) it wasn’t until I met my wife Eva in Austria that I became hooked on backcountry ski touring. Her entire family ski tours and exposed me to experiences that were simply wonderful, not just for the skiing but also for the lifestyle. Her father skis regularly, usually over 100 days a year and last used a ski lift in 1962 when he was ordered to during his mandatory military service.Growing up a flatlander in rural Minnesota I dreamed of spending time in the mountains. Now my family (my wife is from the mountains near Salzburg, Austria) and I live in the mountains and follow an alpine lifestyle where almost all of our leisure activities involve skiing, bicycling, running or hiking in the mountains. Starting Hagan Ski Mountaineering (and coaching endurance athletes) enables me to combine business with passion, and helps justify the significant time and energy investment.Take us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing your first product and launching the business.Our race ski is what helped me establish my initial foothold in the North American market. I brought Hagan to the U.S. just as SkiMo racing was taking off and found a very receptive audience for a quality, lightweight and excellent handling ski at a price much lower than what was available at the time. Our initial X-Race evolved into our current Ultra 65 race ski. We have continually improved performance while reducing weight.The Hagan race team is an integral part of our product testing and development. Subjecting our test products to their tough use shows us how to reduce every last unnecessary gram while not losing focus on durability, safety and performance.Over the last several years we pushed the weight of our race ski to its lowest practical limit. To offer our athletes the best performance and durability, we don’t participate in the low weight at all costs madness — which sacrifices reliability, durability and downhill performance for the sake of a few grams. We would rather have the best performing skis than a rather empty claim of the absolute lightest skis.We use our expertise from developing race skis and apply that technology to our wider backcountry skis. Originally we just had skis, but we now have backcountry ski touring bindings and boots. Our new race binding is among the lightest, and certainly best performing, bindings available. It is simply outstanding. We now have 9 different ski touring bindings. While race skis established the foothold here in the U.S. (my family and I participate in many of the races and have many great friends in the small field of participants) the full range of Hagan skis and bindings is gaining recognition and sales. We have three specialty skis including two approach skis that are ideal for mountaineers and ice climbers. Our new Boost Series skis are fantastic — great shape, weight and width for backcountry and powder skiing — popular and helping us make additional headway into the market beyond ultralight and narrow skis.Costs, in general, must be carefully controlled. Lacking economy of scale, costs, especially transportation and marketing expenses, take a big bite out of income.Launching the businessI started selling to specialty retailers, friends and racers I got to know at competitions. I didn’t have a website. After a couple of years, I created a website myself, using the old Apple website builder. I can’t even remember the name. It didn’t have an online store. I took “direct sales” via email and phone calls, and tracked sales on a spreadsheet.The whole process has been self-funded. I took out a small business loan at one point of tight cash flow, but have managed to avoid any other financing.Two years ago, I updated by website with e-commerce capabilities. (Using the Shopify platform.) That has created much higher, and more efficient, direct sales.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?I contact specialty retailers personally, largely in conjunction with travels to ski mountaineering races. Quality independent retailers who know their products well, and base their business on educating their customers, quality and service over volume are the type of retailers Hagan matches up with well.Currently, Hagan Ski is my family and me. My next step to increase wholesale distribution is finding motivated, knowledgeable sales reps particularly outside of the Colorado and Utah region.The future, though, is definitely direct online sales. I am trying to increase online sales without damaging relations with my retailers. It is a difficult balancing act.I tried Amazon but it failed. Amazon’s orders were piecemeal. The shipping costs, following all the specific and demanding Amazon requirements, etc. made the workload much too high for the measly if any profits. I am considering using Amazon Seller Central, but while it appears to have advantages for my product niche, I’m still not convinced it is a great fit.I have quite a few Hagan Ambassadors - fans and users of Hagan that help spread good word of mouth. I reward good ambassadors with discounts and free gear.I am also currently setting up accounts with online services that cater to Pros - Backcountry Guides, Ski Patrollers, Ski Shop personnel, etc. This is another effort at increasing word of mouth referrals.How are you doing today and what does the future look like?I study and try to emulate the success of brands who have earned a solid reputation with a focus on quality and specialty products instead of following the mass market routine. I have no business or marketing background. I’ve relied on word of mouth and referrals for a lot of growth. That demands outstanding service and quality. It isn’t a fast growth path and it isn’t a plan to create a huge money-making business, but it is an approach and philosophy that I am comfortable with.With the big corporate downhill brands jumping onto the backcountry skiing bandwagon, it is difficult to make headway. I am relying on a slow, deliberate growth strategy. The one hook I am hoping on is for customers and retailers that appreciate and respect a company with a heritage that specializes in ski mountaineering. Hence the tagline on my signature block and elsewhere - Pure Ski Mountaineering. Hagan is also appropriate for specialty retailers that want to be unique, offering a brand that isn’t available in big box and chain retailers.There is no doubt that a retailer has to work more for a less known brand. Some are ready to do that, some not. Specialty retailers who want to stand out are open to new and innovative brands, otherwise only big and established brands would be sold. In that way a good shop can steadily sharpen its competence and profile. Also, smaller brands are not so exposed towards price competition. And last but not least, not all consumers enter shops with predetermined opinions. Many rather expect good and sound advice from a shop — and have a bit of an independent streak themselves — and prefer a lesser-known product that better suits their needs.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?I made a bunch of mistakes along the way. With no business or marketing background, everything was self-research and learn by doing.The most costly mistake was a $3000 contract with a service that promised to help me create more sales to retailers. It was a complete, and at the time very heavy, loss.We try to keep costs down by focusing intently on performance and value — and then letting the skis speak for themselves. We don’t do much marketing and admittedly are not great at it. Word of mouth is our most effective advertising.We aim to provide backcountry skiing's best value and combination of weight, durability and performance and make our fans eager to spread the word.What platform/tools do you use for your business?I use Shopify and write all the product descriptions myself. The Shopify apps I’ve had the most success with are Conversio for reviews, abandoned cart emails, etc. and Make an Offer.Make an Offer does what it says. It does lead to some sales, as well as some ridiculously low ball offers.The prime benefit for me is obtaining email addresses. I use MailChimp for email, and am in the process of automating emails, but could much improve this.What have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?I listen to a variety of podcasts from time to time. I use the Overcast App and listen to them in double time.Podcasts include:Unofficial Shopify PodcastShopify MastersOne Stop ShopSide Hustle ShowI also read a lot, too much, marketing advice online.Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?Move fast and don’t try to be perfect. I spent (and still spend) far too much time researching/studying and delaying implementation. I’d have been better off just doing things imperfectly and then improving, instead of trying to determine the absolute best approach from the start.I probably tried to do too much myself (which is almost everything.) Not having any business experience, there weren’t a lot of people I could reach out to for assistance.Don’t use too many apps on your Shopify store. In line with the above, I spent too much time researching and installing apps. Many made little to no difference on sales and slowed down the online store.Are you looking to hire for certain positions right now?I’m at the point of having enough success that I can’t do everything myself. I am looking into hiring assistance with marketing and social media, and customer service. I am considering virtual assistants.My products are so specialized and niche though, that the learning curve will be very steep. It will be difficult to find assistants with subject matter expertise.Where can we go to learn more?www.HaganSkiMountaineering.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/haganskiusaBlog: https://www.haganskimountaineering.com/blogs/newsInstagram: @haganskishaganskisinfo@haganskimountaineering.comIf you have any questions or comments, drop a comment below!imageLiked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.For more interviews, check out r/starter_story - I post new stories there daily.Interested in sharing your own story? 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