#when the reality is it's the land of cost cutting and very little consumer rights

[marlinspirkhall]

I admire your commitment to calling both petrol and CO2 gas, to cause the maximum amount of confusion possible. Those tourists had just adapted to the fact that petrol stations were called gas stations over there, and then you apologized for not putting it in their drink. And judging by his reaction, that poor Scottish guy probably assumed you had put it in there /j

As far as I can make out, American lemonade and chocolate don't necessarily taste bad, they just contain (much) less sugar than they do in the UK, which is not what you'd expect when travelling to the land of added fructose syrup in everything. So ordering a lemonade and expecting something sweet only to realise you've ordered something bitter is an unintentionally perfect prank.

The breadsticks thing to me is hilarious I think it must be another Europe/America thing bc my whole life ‘breadsticks’ have been these hard crunchy thin stick things you buy them at the supermarket and it says breadsticks on the box Never in my life has anyone around me referred to an actual stick of bread as a breadstick lmao But then we don’t have Olive Garden either

[demoanais]

This will all be moot in a month but I feel like I'm in danger of being misunderstood so I wanted to make my position more clear for the record:

I AM happy Sharon is shown to be hurt, angry and cynical. She's more than earned that. EVC is perfect for playing with the dark side of her character, she has plenty of great experience to tackle that duality. Exploring deeper layers of Sharon is a welcome shift.

I AM happy that the show acknowledges that Sharon was wronged after merely doing the right thing and has long been suffering the consequences of a punishment that vastly exceeds the crime. Of course that's changed her outlook, how could it not?

I AM happy that Sharon has still managed to build a stable life for herself despite all this pain; she is extremely self sufficient and capable and takes great pride in that. It's the emotional blow that stings her the most - she has survived but it never needed to be this hard.

I AM happy that she didn't welcome sam and bucky with open arms and chat like nothing was wrong. She gave up everything and look where it landed her; they were being naive and insensitive to think she'd so happily jump back into the fray for their sakes with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

I AM happy that despite her misgivings and distrust, she still lent her strength to sam and bucky's efforts because at her core, that's who she is. She hasn't lost her sense of morality even if her heart isn't exactly in it like it used to be.

I AM unhappy about the execution of all of the above.

For example, you have Sharon ask about new cap. Before bucky can elaborate, she cuts him to the quick by accusing him of blind loyalty to the mantle. But that isn't accurate. If bucky's so-called arc is anything, it's demonstrating how his insecurity and lack of direction are causing his grudges to overtake his better judgement.

For him, *everything* is personal. He was steve's friend before he was captain america's, and that's where meaning dwells for him. He doesn't want the shield back or blame sam for giving it up too easily because of some idealogical obsession with 'stars and stripes bullshit' - he thinks it's a slight to steve that sam didn't honor his choice and that it's more than just government issue gear to be passed around. It represents many things (many of them bad, as the show points out) but he doesn't care about all that. To bucky it may as well be a family heirloom, considering what little he has left from his former life.

Of course, this is all what he has to overcome, to (re) establish his own position and identity in the world, and sharon isn't as privy to those struggles as the audience is. Allowing bucky and/or sam to actually elaborate on their issues with walker could have created an in for her to point out some hypocrisy or naivety on their part. But the opportunity was swiftly torpedoed because we really, really need the audience to get that sharon 2.0 is 'awful' now.

So what could she have criticized bucky for instead? Lucky for her, that problem was looking her right in the face drinking her expensive liquor. There is very little justification for the stunt bucky pulled behind sam's back by freeing zemo, and I can only assume consequences are around the corner. Yet again, bucky isn't seeing big picture, he's consumed by his own personal relationship to zemo and the super serum. He acted unilaterally based on his own fears and self doubts but wants to present his actions as logical and well reasoned. Zemo can help in the short term, but what is the cost?

Sharon, being the seasoned cynic she is now, would have seen through that in an instant. How difficult would it have been to jab at the irony, bucky being 'free' according to his therapist but chained to this person who used him as a tool, who continues to exploit his weaknesses, who seems to be far more in control than bucky is in the situation they're all in. Bucky is trying to prove something, he doesn't seem to be sure what that is yet, but he's stubbornly blinded himself to the possibility that he's going about it the wrong way. That is something that sharon could have rightfully called out, but for some reason bucky's most egregious flaw is presented as.... being steve's best friend.

Then you have her dealings with sam, who's problems are more from the other side of the spectrum. He isn't really allowed to bring his personal feelings to the table, he has to deal with the intense pressure of taking on a loaded persona when it may not actually ring true to him in his heart. He also trusted steve and had faith in what that specific cap stood for, but does that mean he's willing to put the whole system on his own shoulders now? He's trying to think above and beyond, about the legacies before him, about his own place in history when all is said and done.

Sam is all about big picture at this stage, and his journey would presumably have him work from the outside in. That's why the glimpses of his family life are invaluable, they give us that contrast between his day to day realities and the loftier, more abstract idealism of the falcon's (or cap's) heroism. His exploration is about staking his own personal claim on the symbolism of that shield, not just for his own sake but for the sake of those who will now look to him as a leader and an inspiration.

To be fair, I think some of sharon's dialogue with sam is marginally better, but still ultimately misses the mark. I envisioned an exchange where she might belittle his decision to continue acting as a representative of the same organization that failed her so spectacularly, suggesting he should tread carefully lest he find himself discarded once the government no longer finds him useful or compliant.

She...sort of got close to saying that? If I squint really hard I guess? But it's off because it's less about the posturing and politics of their roles and of 'the machine' so to speak, than it is about striving to do right when you can. It feels like she's criticizing the inherent value of what they try do rather than the shortcomings of the framework itself. If I get vibes that this sharon seems to waffle on whether or not she regrets what she did in CACW, that's not a good thing.

Bureaucracy, red-tape, iconography - all of the things walker is being parceled with; can you disentangle yourself while refusing to leave the system in the same state as you found it? If I want to be charitable I can chalk this up to semantics, but they haven't given me many reasons to be charitable so far.

Then you have the whole utterly nonsensical bargaining over her pardon (the stupidity of that particular exchange pointed out multiple times on reddit, of all places) and sharon's not-so-subtle suggestion that sam is basically lying to her when he says he can get her pardoned.

If she's trying to say she doesn't believe he actually has the pull to accomplish that, or that he's underestimating how difficult it would be, it's one thing. But saying that he's merely 'pretending' to clear her name is completely unfair. I don't care how ~jaded~ sharon is, there's no plausible reason for her to consider sam capable of such a lie and I find that an insult to them both. Naturally, I place blame squarely on kolstad's writing, and not on sharon herself. It's plain as day he didn't give a wink to a single implication he made with his script, nor does he care to do so.

Am I foolish for thinking her arc could be handled with more coherence? I like to think I'm already controlling for the lackluster quality of MCU writing in general; this actually surprised me. I expect basic and juvenile, but at least there's consistency. Frankly, I think Feige put a little too much slack in the reins here and the characters are paying the price.

Could I be crying wolf too soon before giving everything a chance to pan out? Of course, that's always a possibility and I'd be more than glad to eat crow if things turn out palatable in the end. Are the odds favorable that this will happen? Magic 8 ball says don't count on it, and I'm not in the habit of constantly lowering my standards until they're miraculously met.

[runnfromtheak]

tagged by @icosagens!!! such an eloquent and stunning writer with a sharp sense of humor srsly go check him out on ao3! <3 Specifically check out his JayDickDonna fic, CHCl3 which is beautiful and painful and just E V E R Y T H I N GGGGG.

I'll put everything under the cut so there isn't a terrible amount of scrolling for those wishing to skip <3

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Anchors of Mortality

AKA my new passion project where Dick has a savior complex and no self-preservation skills featuring a Constantine who just wants to Tap That, a Zatanna who is tired and also wants to Tap That, and a host of resurrected characters because Dick can't let things lie or die. Ships include JayDick and Magic^2Dick (or Dick/Zee/Constantine)

Life ends and life begins in rain, at least as far as Dick Grayson is concerned. His parents died on a rainy day, ice-cold droplets seeping in through the bright, thick cloth of the circus tents. A drizzle, Haly had called it beforehand, telling them not to worry. But rain is an omen – a warning – of an uncertain future, of conflicting emotions and thoughts. It had been a sign he’d been foolish to ignore, a sign Haly had been foolish to ignore.

everything casts a shadow

AKA SladeDick with Slade being the Worst and Dick straight up not having a good time

Zatanna used to say that rain has a cleansing effect on the heart and the soul – and the cock, Constantine would always interject with a filthy leer of promise. Rain purifies negative energy from a space, murder or magic, and rain settles the anxious mind. The three of them had made love in the rain once, intertwining limbs and the glow of magic refracted throughout the cold droplets. Three hearts aligned in a crystalline world of skin and water, for a perfect moment.

a prayer for which no words exist

JayDick where Dick has issues and needs therapy. Like a true emotional support/projection character, he reads instead.

On nights he can’t sleep, he reads.

Dick’s always enjoyed books, had grown up with yellowed pages musty with the scent of age as comfort and entertainment, but he’d stopped reading frequently when he’d grown up. With everything else, with responsibility atop responsibility atop responsibility as he’d aged, he hadn’t the time or the mental capacity to love reading like he had before. He hadn’t been able to focus or concentrate, always oscillating between too keyed up and too exhausted. The words, when he’d try and sift through the neurochemical adrenaline high and sift through the luring temptress of melatonin and sleep deprivation, would float and float and float away like distant birds migrating to a new land.

i'm addicted to the way you hurt (i don't mind if you fuck up my life)

JayDick where Dick is a female and also depressed but not in a sexy way. Very Spuffy s6 vibes if ya know what I mean.

When she comes back to life, her world is a nuclear green.

She’s embraced by something; it cradles her, like she’s a precious bundle of jewels, like something perfect to be coveted. There’s warmth where she rests her head, breasts pillowed beneath her, and she’s held close enough to feel that rhythmic cadence like a siren call to life.

warning signs can feel like they're butterflies (i won't stop 'till i get where you are)

Johnlock fic because I got into the fandom late where Sherlock just can't say no and everyone is sad.

He shoots her blackmailer on Christmas Day on the front porch of a cold mansion.

It’s a good shot – clean, precise – with an entry wound and an exit wound. Bits of brain matter coated in blood spatter at Magnussen's back, a dead-eyed look of shock in his empty eyes.

hold your breath 'till we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

JayDick where Dick just wants to love Jason and people (*cough* Jason *cough*) make this a difficult venture.

The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.

The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.

The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.

i wanna waste my youth on you

DickDonna where Dick Grayson is a fucking simp for Donna Troy but aren't we all? (the correct answer is yes. if you said no, only god can help you now.)

He’s ten and she’s eleven and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved (running in circles now look what you've done)

Johnlock and Adlock where Sherlock picks sex over drugs and John is Not Pleased.

It starts right after the funeral dressed up as a wedding. Tables of decorations he’d picked, dishes he’d selected, color pallets he’d painstakingly coordinated and plotted. John and Mary’s song, weaved from his tears and his blood spilt like ink over the dancefloor as his violin grieves with him.

She’s pregnant. Sherlock smiles, as the best friend is meant to, and John smiles, as the father is meant to, and Mary smiles and it’s all normal and proper and Sherlock’s frozen before she pulls John away with something so horribly knowing in her eyes, before they kiss sweetly on a dancefloor he’d helped pick and lose themselves in throngs of friends and family.

light at the beginning of the tunnel (but he tells me that i'm dreaming)

Johnlock where Sherlock pines and does drugs post T6T.

He hadn’t intended to return. Victorian London holds its own sort of allure, delicious danger at every corner, nothing but pure intellect unaided by modern machinations to solve puzzles of every sort—

(a John Watson that still looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars just for him, like you’re the center he orbits, a gravity he doesn’t care to escape. A place where deductions still evoke tenderness, approval. Where John Watson still wants to hear your voice and cares for you, even with Mary.)

—but it had been dangerous. It had been utterly reckless, a calculated OD with no less than five compounds of varying effects, each boosting the others into a delightful failing of his heart that hadn’t lasted because his transport’s tenacity outweighed his mind’s desires. The fanciful realm where his life hadn’t gone to complete and utter shite had never been a conscious plan. Sherlock hadn’t intended for his brain to grasp for a chain, a link to reality in the form of delusions and hallucinations and awful attempts at honesty. He hadn’t planned for a did you miss me? Despite all his claims to the contrary at the time.

me and you are such a beautiful tragedy (in love with agony)

JayDick Jason wants to be a good person but he's horny. AKA the new pitch for evil: come to the dark side, we have great sex or your ex that can and will kill you if you don't.

The thing about the Lazarus Pit is it consumes you. It’s greedy, like Midas’s touch on a cellular level. It replaces the old with the new – with it – carving a home in blood and soul for its will. For its intentions, passive though they seem at first. Mental stability is only one cost of such a bargain, but it’s by far the worst.

I mean, I used rain as a symbol/parallel twice but mehhh. I don't think I'm super duper set in any formula as far as first lines go. I think my fave would either be the Lazarus Pit line or the nuclear green one. I love my Pit consequences, okay?

Tagging @boyblunder-thedarkheir, @behindtherobinsmask, @luthienluinwe, @stevieraebarnes, and @bitterleafs!! <3

[constablegoo]

@astralglam​​​​ filed a report .

mint: does your muse view themself as virtuous & moral? what do these words mean to them?

OHOHO. hey hi ily. this is, of course, one of odo’s deepest ongoing battles, and the moment he stops questioning it is the moment he becomes a founder.

the founders grant themselves god status.  GOD!  status. they just reach out and pluck it. Within their range of power, the founders become unquestionably Just and Virtuous and Moral, their Word becomes Law, it becomes “the way things are” and “fact” and they create their own reality stemming from thousands of years of intense xenophobia. they’re above it all. gods don’t make mistakes, right? sure, maybe changelings were hunted and feared ages ago but they still fear it, and that drive for Order and Control over the galaxy is now encoded into their genes and they place a companion structure into the genes of every other species they control, subjugating them to the founders’ own cozy position as Gods, or-- ‘gods’. the founder (i rly don’t like saying “female” founder so she’s THE Founder. she speaks for the link.) makes it quite clear on many occasions that the founders are not here to negotiate. they fully intend to control EVERYTHING at any cost. it is absolutely  chilling  when she cuts garak down with: “they’re dead. you’re dead. cardassia is dead.” and draws the line between the dominion and everyone else miles deep into the sand.

that same genetic coding is one of the first semi-concrete things odo comes to understand about himself and, horribly, he’s landed into conditions under the occupation that very easily could have taken advantage of a less meticulous or stubborn changeling. no, odo says initially (and incorrectly), i am not bajoran** and i am not cardassian and i stand apart from either side of this conflict and so i am bound to PURE Virtue and Morality because of it. he can’t be bribed or bought or won over, and he won’t allow for anything less than a kind of incorruptibility. this effectively wins him allies (and enemies) on both sides, however -- that’s just not how the universe works. the truth of it is that no matter how much he tells himself he is not a part of their regime, his working with the cardassians makes him a collaborator in that he has then recognized their authority and ultimately upheld their legitimacy, even if he never agreed with the cause, even if he was also on some level a casualty of it. at some point when he moves past ‘contract’ investigation and begins to work permanently, he falls into the trap of thinking Order is the same thing as Justice... huge yikes. in that moment he becomes a true and apathetic villain, but he’s subsequently haunted by the resulting execution of innocents. it shakes something up in him. years pass and he still wonders, what other mistakes has he made? what other less direct consequences of his ‘neutral’ arbitration exist? he (and everyone around him) has to live without really knowing, and it’s a constant reminder to him of the power he holds and it informs his understanding of what Real (and imperfect) Justice Means.

**sidenote but later in s7 he introduces himself as ‘from bajor’ and AAAAAA. its good. very good. yeah, you’re bajoran, odo. he gets it now.

Mirror odo is really the ultimate example of an odo having taken those instincts to extremes in an environment that rewarded him for them -- there is no guilt there, and even a sadistic kind of pleasure in it. i’d argue that gaia!odo is another, less extreme example of an odo who’s been alone too long and lost sight of things when he single-mindedly (and against kira’s wishes) chooses her (one person) over 8000. like holy shit? NOT ok? uhhuhhhhfff. anyway. very fortunately, neither of these are OUR odo, but act as great foils to reflect on the worst (bastard cop) qualities or potential qualities of our goo pushed to highly visible extremes, which star trek just loves to do all the time.

but regular/prime odo isnt exactly a rule-follower, either. throughout his life, he frequently takes things into his own hands, uses his abilities to his advantage, spies, wiretaps, eavesdrops, and yes, harasses [quark] sometimes -- he develops his own set of values and personal rules and follows them; even starfleet comes in wary of him and how he operates and hes on thin ice. but because of possibly his most redeeming quality, odo is able to adapt those self-ordained values toward something increasingly honest: for how rigid he can be in personality, he is HIGHLY influenced by the world around him,  listens hard  to what his friends and allies have to say and adapts that feedback; this allows him to evolve and grow and take important matters to heart. he becomes more flexible and better able to hold onto what’s really most important after locking into a decision, because above all else, he is passionately committed to doing the Right Thing. he PLEADS with himself in things past, “your job is to find the truth, not obtain convictions.” by his tendency to push back against what is laid down as ‘law’ (something he becomes more and more aware of and effective at doing) as not always being good or right, or necessarily even creating Order (the thing he’s driven genetically to want), he prepares himself to challenge the most deadly voice of authority -- that of his own people.

so... yes and no. odo’s role and persona as ‘your average security chief’ might dictate that he be virtuous and moral, but he so obviously can’t fit the same exact mold as others in his position -- he has these insane abilities and this mind-consuming nature and it requires he tread with extra care, but he also has a potential for more adaptive, more nuanced morality. he has to build up his own definitions to the words, constantly examine and tease and test them, or else he risks straying too far from what he really wants to achieve -- harmony, honest justice. he has to accept that he’s a part of the system he operates in (not, in fact, alone or isolated! something he actually wants), and know that he is not exempt from making the wrong choice, just like anybody else.

carnation: what is your muse’s relationship with their gender? how do they express or not express this relationship?

ODO AND GENDER!!! i love odo and gender. let’s take this one step at a time. he starts out as an amorphous glob -- he has no gender. there’s no basis for assignment, no culture of difference, and all the goos are goo. odo takes on the shape of the first living thing he sees / the thing he sees most frequently: dr mora. he adopts an image of masculinity from mora and he adopts the hair. that’s about it, and it’s pretty much arbitrary. (maybe the hair is simple enough for his skills, too?) the next people odo meets are also these very masculine, military, cardassian leaders, so again -- this is all he knows! this is neutrality. i imagine it takes him some time to work out what the differences in gender are, and sex, and orientation, romantic vs sexual stuff, all of that. it’s all got cultural baggage he knows nothing about and does not experience, and he’s also dealing with multiple, clashing cultures to boot. since he doesnt have any strong inherent leaning, he simply opts out. he/him becomes his default because thats where he started, thats what he’s been able to successfully present and how people know him, and, terrifyingly, under cardassian rule, it probably offered a bit of safety, too, which was obviously something he needed at the time.

way way way way way down the line in season seven, odo asks kira to (paraphrasing) look at me. what do you see? [i see you.] but this is NOT me, this is only a shape ive assumed in order to fit in. she says, yes, i know that. but this is who you have chosen to be. “a man. a good and honest man.” (i knowww shes not really talking abt gender here BUT) its hard as a trans person not to read the metaphor. he’s chosen to express SOMETHING. he’s chosen something other than what he was given (neutrality) and although he doesnt personally buy into what ‘masculinity’ “should be” (ie the ferengi, smh) / would certainly not argue he doesnt feel non-binary, this is how he has presented all his life, its how hes been treated, and it is what he has chosen to adhere to. there’s a choice in that, kira’s right, and now it reflects something about him.

parallel this, i’ll mention the “female” founder again bc of course there is no discernable reason for her to have a gender -- other than to appeal (im not talking sexually here although there’s,, obviously weird shit happening with the link... yike) to odo in the sense that until that point odo has lived with “gendered” individuals and, i think importantly, kira is with them when they first meet. i think its safe to say the founder saw her, figured she was a friend/ally to odo or at least familiar to him, and took her general representation to appeal as a friend/ally.

otherwise... why, honestly? the founder’s got NO love of humanoids lmao why would she bother.

anyway i’d like to see odo experiment a bit. because when hes safe, he can!! aside from his own doubts and insecurities about shapeshifting, at some point he really has no reason not to, at least a little bit. really, it should just be another thing to practice, much like becoming a convincing rock or a leaf, its just that there are other significances in the cultures around him. i’d just like to see him loosen up a little. have fun. grow ur hair out a bit, odo, why are u still looking like ur terrible dad.

[kosmossolarus]

Benefits of Solar Panels 2021

A Residential Solar Panel In Fort Worth board is a gadget that is utilized to assimilate energy from the sun to create heat or by and large power. It is additionally alluded to as a photovoltaic cell since it is made of numerous cells that are utilized to change over the light from the sun into power. The solitary crude material for these sunlight based boards is the sun. it is made so that the cells point toward the sun to empower most extreme ingestion of the sun beams. The more noteworthy the energy from the sun is, the more the power that is produced. Sun based boards are utilized in many properties on the planet because of their numerous geniuses that are definitely more than cons. A portion of these stars are talked about beneath.

One vital benefit of utilizing sunlight based boards is that they don't emanate any gases that are normal in green houses. The boards don't discharge any smoke, substance or substantial metals that can be hazard components to human wellbeing. Sun oriented boards are consequently natural cordial when contrasted with consuming of petroleum products to create energy. This is vital since fossil fuel byproducts are hazardous and keeping away from their emanation helps in shielding our present and future climate. Being climate agreeable is significant since the public authority is continually thinking of approaches to control an unnatural weather change and the utilization of sun based boards is an extraordinary method to begin. The sun powered boards thusly keep a perfect setting and they leave the air new. All the more significantly they help in counteraction of numerous disease occurrences. This is on the grounds that a few items from certain wellsprings of energy like thermal power have been said to cause malignancy because of inception of changes in cells.

Also, utilization of sun powered boards guarantees progressing free energy for the individuals who use it. This is principally on the grounds that the lone expense caused is that of establishment. When the establishment has been done the energy is free since the board doesn't need ordinary support or fuel to run it. It likewise requires no crude materials for its activity. It fills in as long as there are sun beams which is something ordinary in many pieces of the world. In our current reality where equivalent appropriation of assets is consistently being looked for, this is vital since each and everybody has equivalent rights with regards to utilization of sun based energy. This is on the grounds that the energy from the sun falls on all. This is a decent method to keep up with uniformity as contrasted and energy from petroleum derivative which low pay residences don't bear as a rule.

There is additionally the benefit in that, the utilization of sunlight based boards empower the decentralization of force. This is vital since it is exceptionally modest. This is primarily on the grounds that when force isn't decentralized, it must be shared by all and is therefore moved to numerous spaces. With this occurrence, there are a lot of costs that are brought about. These incorporate; the mileage of vehicles, the air contamination among others. These expenses are completely fused in the power bills of people as the public authority doesn't cover the costs. It is in this way more profitable to utilize sun based boards as a saving arrangement and to make a feeling of decency since people with significant influence will in general exploit and utilize their situations to steal reserves. This isn't reasonable on the residents' part. This is on the grounds that the greater part of them battle to earn a living wage.

A sun based board can be worked off lattice. This is an extraordinary benefit for the individuals who live in extremely secluded regions or in country locales. Off network implies that the house isn't associated with the state's power framework. This enjoys the benefit of minimal expense since establishment might be pricey for those living in detached regions. These people have their electrical cables detached in many cases because of the way that it is some of the time more expensive for some. Sunlight based boards offer an answer for this since they don't need as a lot to be introduced. Nonetheless, those living in towns can likewise utilize the off-network procedure. An additional benefit in this is that there are no guidelines administering whether one needs to work off-network or on-matrix with regards to utilization of sun oriented boards. This anyway is an issue when utilizing non-renewable energy source created power.

Sunlight based boards create open positions. This is critical since there is an extremely high pace of joblessness on the planet today. These positions are happened through, assembling of the sun based boards, research about additional enhancements, support, improvement and social incorporation. With the proceeded with presence of the sun, these positions are ensured since there is progressing upgrades and change of this gadget. Occupations like support and establishment don't need a drawn out preparing and are thusly more invaluable for the individuals who don't have numerous abilities and are jobless.

Utilization of sunlight based energy is protected from value controls and legislative issues. The way that there are no crude materials that are exclusively constrained by imposing business models guarantees that there is no control of costs just like the case with petroleum derivatives. With non-renewable energy sources, the costs can ascend as high as the hoarding powers controlling them need. There is additionally less seriousness with utilization of sunlight based boards since there is no battle about such things as oil fields and other crude materials. Albeit the public authority has begun resolving the issue of sunlight based boards, there is little impact they can have in value control. This is on the grounds that nobody controls the primary crude material.

There is additionally less natural annihilation with the utilization of a sun based board. This is on the grounds that there are no instances of mining or extraction of crude materials that in the end lead to annihilation of woods and water catchment regions. With the utilization of sun powered boards, there is less of this and thusly there are consistent rainfalls that significantly support creation and subsequently the public pay of every single country. Numerous nations deal with issues of starvation because of annihilation of timberlands to get fuel. This can be forestalled by utilizing sunlight based boards.

There is a benefit of unwavering quality in utilizing sun based boards. This is on the grounds that there is capacity to foresee the measure of sun to anticipate every single day. Consequently one is has assurance of energy. The gadgets are additionally made so that they can ingest sun beams in any event, when there a couple of mists and the sun beams are not exceptionally solid. The sun based energy is likewise sustainable. It can subsequently be utilized endlessly without getting exhausted. Albeit sun powered energy can't be utilized around evening time, it works full power during the day which is critical. The energy can likewise be put away in type of batteries for use around evening time.

Everybody adores some harmony and calm. This is something you get when you utilize sun powered boards. This is on the grounds that they are extremely quiet. There is no clamor that parts with the way that the sun oriented board is there separated from the way that you can see it. This is something worth being thankful for since it makes the climate quiet contrasted with wind and water created power supplies which have moveable parts that are very boisterous and destruct the harmony. Sunlight based boards are hence useful for use for individuals living in domains where hoses are near one another. This is on the grounds that with quiet, harmony is kept up with between the neighbors.

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Sun powered boards are sturdy. This is on the grounds that there are no moving parts in the gadget. This consequently lessens its opportunity being destructed. It is feasible to utilize a sun powered board for an extremely extensive stretch of time without buying another, contemplates gauge that it can keep going for more than ten years. Such a gadget is valuable since it diminishes the pressure that comes about when a machine quits running since something became lose or exhausted. There is additionally diminished support cost since it is less inclined to wear. This for the most part makes the gadget extremely simple to deal with for an individual with very little abilities in taking care of a sunlight based board.

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[iturbide]

Hfjdhjf can I please have more information?? I think the reason I managed to float by so spoiler free was half because up until recently I never was super interested in Three Houses, and my knowledge was limited to what I was told about the routes. WHICH WAS APPARENTLY VERY LIMITED. V E R Y.

friend of course you can have more information

legit though I am so impressed that you’ve managed to stay spoiler free regardless of the context, I am massively spoiled for fandoms I’m not even in and yet you’re managing to come at it fresh like I did when I started my Golden Deer playthrough.

also this came in and frankly your wish is my command

But okay.  So.

Dimitri is honestly fascinating and a tragic, deeply flawed character in his own right.  But understanding his break requires backstory.  His mom died when he was still pretty young due to a plague that swept through Faerghus, and when he was around ten his father re-married an Imperial woman named Patricia von Arundel (who is also Edelgard’s mother, hence the step-siblings thing).  Edelgard, as it happens, had come to the Kingdom with her mother and uncle, Volkhart von Arundel, in order to escape the chaos caused by the Insurrection of the Seven, where the Imperial nobles seized power from the Emperor (Edelgard’s father), and the two became friends: she taught him to dance during the three-ish years she was in the Kingdom, and just before she left Dimitri gifted her a dagger, symbolic in the Kingdom of a hope for someone to cut their own path forward.

Two years later, Dimitri’s life basically becomes hell.  While he and his family are traveling through the neighboring lands of Duscur, their caravan is attacked: his father Lambert and his bodyguard Glenn are both brutally murdered, his step-mother goes missing, and he is the sole survivor.  He witnessed the people responsible, but although he tried to tell people what happened, the people of Duscur were blamed for the attack, and the genocide soon followed.  The whole incident came to be known as the Tragedy of Duscur, and it left Dimitri with massive trauma that went completely unaddressed: he suffers from survivor’s guilt and PTSD, he completely lost all sense of taste, he’s had a constant headache since the incident...oh, and also he sees hallucinations of the people who died.  So there’s that.

Now, because Dimitri was only 14 at the time and he couldn’t take the Faerghus throne until he reached his majority at 18, his uncle Rufus stepped in as regent in the meantime.  Rufus is pretty fucking terrible!  In fact, he sent Dimitri at age 16 to go put down a rebellion in Western Faerghus -- and again, Dimitri is a traumatized teenager who’s been getting no help or support.  The people around him, notably Gilbert and Felix’s father Rodrigue, are trying to foster him into the next King of Faerghus rather than tending to his very real mental and emotional needs following the events of Duscur, so Dimitri has been silently bottling up all of his problems for the better part of two years.  He...kind of snaps during that rebellion, and it ends up as a brutal slaughter; Felix bears witness to it, and ever after he treats Dimitri like a wild animal, calling him a beast and a boar.

This is all just piling on the trauma, as you probably noticed.  He manages to hold it together and keep up a calm exterior, though he’s deeply afraid of the darkness within him, and does his utmost to bury it and keep it under control.  At age 17 he comes to Garreg Mach, and over the course of the school year things just get progressively worse: he starts slipping and growing more violent over the course of repeated encounters with the Flame Emperor, since he recognizes the masked mages from the attack on his family’s caravan in Duscur and believes that the Flame Emperor must have been responsible for the Tragedy.  But he pretty much snaps during the revelation at the Holy Tomb, where Edelgard is unmasked as the Flame Emperor -- in the Blue Lions route, he literally crushes an Imperial soldier’s skull with his bare hands in his attempts to get at Edelgard.  It’s shocking, especially since up to that point the super strength that came from his Crest was played for laughs more than anything else.

He continues slipping in the weeks leading up to the attack on Garreg Mach, publicly alluding to his hallucinations and how they whisper to him and vowing to take Edelgard’s head himself.  CF is the only route where he actually stays pretty sane, so we’re going to focus on non-CF routes: in the battle for the monastery, Edelgard’s forces end up victorious, and he’s forced back to Faerghus, expecting to take the throne and rally a counterstrike against her...only to arrive and be accused of regicide when it’s revealed that his uncle Rufus has been viciously murdered.  Cornelia (who is, in fact, a Twisted agent) takes power in the Kingdom and basically hands it off to Edelgard as the ‘Dukedom of Faerghus,’ then orders Dimitri be imprisoned and later executed; but before he can be killed, his vassal Dedue manages to break him out of prison, though the escape attempt apparently costs him his life (he can be saved by other Duscur survivors depending on the results of an earlier paralogue, though -- the important point is that Dimitri thinks Dedue is dead).  After that, Dimitri spends the next four-ish years wandering alone in the Faerghus forests, the isolation exacerbating his already poor mental health until he’s openly conversing with his hallucinations; he also starts attacking Imperial forces he comes across in Faerghus and basically ripping them apart, leading to a lot of rumors about a wild beast on the loose.  Also, somewhere in this five year span he loses an eye.  No, we have no idea how.  Fandom burns for answers.

Now, Dimitri’s fate varies significantly depending on playthrough here.  In Silver Snow and Verdant Wind, he’s literally consumed by his rage and guilt and his desire for vengeance on behalf of those taken from him, and he ends up dying in pursuit of it.  In Azure Moon, he’s lost any real ability to tell reality from hallucination, and believes even Byleth is nothing more than a figment; he continues his single-minded pursuit of Edelgard, committing atrocities of his own and admitting to being nothing but a base murderer, the beast Felix accused him of being so long ago.  But eventually, through the intervention of Byleth and his classmates, he starts to come around a little more -- though it takes Rodrigue’s death and his final words, encouraging him to live for himself rather than those who have already gone, to really wake him up and get him moving forward.  The game takes the turn a little fast, but it’s still really touching to see Dimitri coming back from the edge and recognizing the importance of his own desires.  The campaign continues, they retake Fhirdiad, there’s a parley with Edelgard where she refuses to back down and continues to insist that war is the only option, things get crazy with the final boss like holy shit, but in the end after Edelgard’s been defeated, Dimitri offers his hand to her...and her final act is to throw the dagger he gifted her when they were children at him, and he instinctively kills her in retaliation.

Look, Dimitri doesn’t come out of this smelling like roses.  He killed a lot of people in very, very violent ways.  But he recognizes that what he did, even if he wasn’t mentally sound at the time, was pretty atrocious and spends the rest of his life seeking peace with as little bloodshed as possible.

But okay I have gone on for a long time about Dimitri so if you’re still here, congratulations let’s talk about my favorite Lord.

Claude is a mystery wrapped in an enigma.  That’s literally how he’s presented in the game, and it’s great.  He’s sociable, amiable, friendly, mischievous, and has a reputation as a schemer.  He jokes about his own reputation a lot, especially when he’s called out, but he’s wickedly smart, especially where tactics, information gathering, puzzles, and secrets are concerned.  We literally go through the whole first half of the game getting only the tiniest hints about him personally and what his aspirations are -- we don’t even know where he came from, he legit just showed up out of the blue when Duke Riegan named Claude as his heir -- and meanwhile he’s out there trying to unravel the mystery behind Crests, the Church, and the Flame Emperor -- and while he doesn’t manage to succeed before the timeskip hits, he manages to uncover an alarming amount of information.  Also, despite his reputation as an untrustworthy trickster, he cares deeply about the people around him and does his best to keep them safe, even if it means resorting to underhanded (but ultimately non-lethal) methods.

Once we hit the timeskip, we find out more of the secrets that he’s been hiding.  For context, Fodlan’s neighbor to the east is Almyra, and relations between the two nations have been...tense, to say the least: a few hundred years ago Almyra invaded Fodlan and a bad time was had by all.  In order to prevent it from happening again, the Alliance built a fortress called Fodlan’s Locket in the pass connecting the two nations (the pass being called Fodlan’s Throat).  Presently, the Alliance is headed by a communal council of nobles from the major families, who meet at regular round tables in order to debate business that affects their territories and pass legislature; the round table is headed by Duke Riegan, who had two children, a son set to inherit the title and a daughter who went mysteriously missing years ago.  Unfortunately, House Riegan and House Gloucester have never been on the best of terms, and when Duke Riegan’s heir was attacked and killed on the road while traveling to visit Duke Gloucester, there were a lot of rumors that Lorenz’s dad might have been involved, though nothing was ever proven in that regard.  It left Duke Riegan in a tough spot, though, since he was getting on in years and suddenly had no heir...at which point, Claude ‘miraculously’ steps in with his Crest and is named heir to House Riegan.

Turns out?  Duke Riegan’s daughter didn’t go missing: she eloped with an Almyran.  And that Almyran, as it turns out, became king of Almyra.  So Claude’s an Almyran prince.  Turns out, he didn’t exactly have a great time growing up, though: Almyrans view the people of Fodlan as cowardly and weak, so they viewed Claude’s mom as such...and Claude himself, too, since he was half-Fodlan.  No matter how much he argued or fought, it never seemed to matter.  He got bullied a lot, and started picking up tactics and poison mixing as ways to defend himself...but more than anything, he hated how small-minded Almyrans were when it came to him and his mother.  Then Duke Riegan’s heir died, and his grandfather reached out to his daughter, hoping to have Claude tested for a Crest -- which, as it happens, he bore.  Claude was so excited, believing that things in Fodlan would be different, better...

...and instead, he found that things in Fodlan were exactly like they were in Almyra.  People hated him for half his heritage -- just this time, it was for his ‘savage’ Almyran half instead of his ‘cowardly’ Fodlan half.  It was hilarious, in a sad way, how alike the people of Fodlan and Almyra were when it came to hating things they didn’t know...and that was how he decided on his goal.  What Claude wants to do is destroy the borders between people and forge understanding between them.  He found through hard experience that people always fear the outsider -- but if you break down the walls, there’s no ‘inside’ or ‘outside’ anymore.  There’s just people.  What he wants to do is unify the Alliance, then Fodlan, then perhaps even the world...not through force or subjugation, but by bringing them together, uniting them through what they share in common and helping them understand and find value in their differences.  His aspiration is to ensure that no one has to suffer like he did growing up.

And so, once things are all settled in Fodlan (and he’s assured that he managed to achieve his goal in small scale with his friends in the Alliance), he leaves Byleth in charge, forgoes leadership in the Alliance, and heads back to Almyra to continue working toward that aspiration.  He becomes the king of Almyra so that he can start working toward that larger goal from the other side of the border, intending to open roads toward peaceful diplomacy and trade with Fodlan.  He knows their bonds are strong, even when they’re apart, and he knows that they’ll all be reunited someday.  Also Claude is the only Lord who has the possibility to live in all routes (barring Silver Snow but he’s only listed as ‘missing’ not ‘dead’ so I hold out hope) which I think says a heck of a lot about how great he is.  He’s just so good and so kind and cares so much about people and he makes my heart warm and yes I’m done yelling about how much I love Claude for a moment.

So hopefully that fills you in a little on the other Lords at least in part please enjoy my novel-length ramble.

[thecursedhellblazer]

{ @imthebatman​​ }

(( Look at me actually managing to respect a deadline outside university ones...well, more or less ^^” In my defence, this turned out to be much more than I had planned for it to be, but well, it’s done xD Good thing you told me about the bday thing in advance, otherwise I would have never been able to put this together and I would have gone for something easier and less time consuming >.> ))

(( So, first of all have a shitty edit of a Beebo ready to party: ))

(( But the real present is under the cut. I was kind of tempted to post it elsewhere, like on Ao3, because it came out much longer than I thought and Tumblr posts kinda sucks, but I decided to shove it down here anyway. And yep, I did write you a song fic u.u ))

(( Happy b-day, Palps! ))

“Everyone of us hides a story made of scars and sometimes shelters in a corner„

Thick grey clouds cover the sky, heavy with a rainstorm they might never truly deliver, not a single crack of blue in sight. Then again, the sun has never been a common presence in the sky of Gotham. It would feel out of place in the gloomy atmosphere that surrounds the city and among its many, dark moods. There’s little space for light when the air is so heavy, even in the moments of apparent peace. They are, after all, nothing but an illusion, yet another calm before the tempest comes back raging again, just as the silence of that slowly dying afternoon is.

John Constantine lights up a cigarette, letting the flame linger on its as he inhales the first mouthful of smoke. In the descending darkness, his mind finds it easy to overlap the hostile skyline that stretches before his eyes with his memories of London. Another city known for her gloomy weather, for the fog that so often lingers over her buildings, soaking the people she shelters in her bosom with humidity and cold. If he closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can still feel it, that wet sensation that dives deeper and deeper, until it settles in your bones with the silent promise of never leaving you, no matter how far from it life will take you.

He lets his head fall back slightly, slowly blowing out the smoke towards the sky, watching as it fades, confusing itself with the clouds. He misses London, hell, he misses England in general. The country was never been kind with him and most of his worst memories belongs there, together with all the unsatisfied and sometimes vengeful ghosts he has left behind, but whether he likes it or not, it still is and will always be home. Assuming that there is a single place, in this world and all the others, that he can call such. He can’t deny that it’s fitting, though. A land that has brought him mostly pain and regrets, just as the physical house he has grown up in has been his personal hell ever since he can remember.

The magician grits his teeth, mouth curling in a frown. That is a whole other set of memories that haunts him and he doesn’t even need to make an effort to recall them. Every sleepless night spent in terror. Every hit, every bruise, every insult. Every time those hands touched him, brutal, merciless, unrelenting. The images and the sensations can get vivid enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake, even after so many years. That’s the reason why he doesn’t dwell on them, the reason why he never talks about it. Repressing is easier. It’s almost like forgetting, with the different that the phantom burden never goes away. However, the heaviness Is something he is almost used to, by now, since he is constantly carrying on his shoulders the weight if not of the world, at least of all his mistakes and bad choices. And damn, most of the times he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two.

“So vulnerable, human heart’s an animal that doesn’t want to break cover„

It makes him wonder why he is still there. He has closed his case, the umpteenth clusterfuck that has brought him back to that city and to its lurking shadows. He has no reason to linger, especially not when that darkness calls his personal one out, causing it to resonate in tune with it. And yet there he is, perched on the railing of that balcony, skin and clothes stained with mud and blood. Not his own, for the most. It almost never is and, even when that’s the case, he always finds a way to be the last man standing, at the end of the day. The price for his life? Everything that can be taken from him and, especially, from the people who are unlucky enough to be around him, and then some more.

Constantine’s eyes slide close as he brings the cigarette back to his lips. The truth is that, despite what he tells himself, despite all the horrors and the losses he has faced, despite every lesson he has sworn to learn, he is weak. Selfishly so. He is so quick to deny others, and he is so harsh and unmovable in doing it, but with himself, oh, he has always been far too lenient. How that fits with his constant self-hatred, he isn’t completely sure. Perhaps it’s because he inevitably ends up losing everything he allows himself to have and keep, one way or the other. They have a cost, those indulgences, one that he cannot pay because he doesn’t have the means to do it. So Fate or Chance or whoever for them comes and snatches them away, sudden and violent, leaving yet another tear in his already far too broken core.

He bites back a scoff. The approaching night he’s watching now is nothing but yet another of indulgences. He knows where he wants it to lead him and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. He should climb down the way he has climbed up, like the thief he is, and leave Gotham without looking back. He should and he would if he was enough of a decent person, but it’s been years since he has had any real shred of decency left in him. So, instead, he’ll stay and wait, as he always does. He’ll stay and take everything he can get his hands on, enjoying comforts and pleasures he has done nothing to earn. He’ll take and take and take, until the day when the tiny breach he has been using to crawl inside that small world where he doesn’t belong will be closed and he will find himself in the dark once again, alone and with yet another deep crack in his soul.

Blue eyes lock on the grey, threatening sky. It will happen, eventually, but not tonight. So, for now, he sits and soaks himself in the advancing shadows, his back to the lights that start to colour the windows of the manor. The symbolism isn’t lost to him, it never is, even if most of the times he pretends not to notice it, just to end up mulling over it later on. It’s a taste of what’s waiting ahead for him, once his time would have run out. It won’t be this quiet, though, and it won’t be this painless. The torment that fills his chest, however, that will be there, his eternal companion in death as it has been in life.

“If you want to back down I’ll try to understand but I just can’t help it I would, if I could give you a new innocence so, please don’t fear my caress„

The hand that descends on his shoulder is expected and by now very familiar, just as is the figure that presses up against his side. He has heard, or rather felt, the other man approaching him, even while lost in his thoughts, but he hasn’t turned around. He hasn’t needed to, not when he can easily imagine the whole scene in his mind without having to see it taking place in reality. Oh, his bloody imagination is just that good, but it’s a double-edged sword. His nightmares and lucid dreams are proof enough of what it can do, just as it is of how much it can wreck him when it chooses to.

Strong fingers travel down along the magician’s spine, taking in the tension that lingers in his muscles and the new tears that have been ripped in the worn material of his trench coat. However, in particular, they don’t miss how the exorcist initially reacts, stiffening even more under the touch, struggling until he manages to make himself accept it. It’s been months since they have agreed to let that thing between them officially exist, but the doubts and the reluctance are still almost as palpable as the bumps of his vertebrae.

Bruce bits back a sigh, deciding to pay no mind to it. He has almost resigned himself to the fact that there will always be a part of Constantine that will never accept his most gentle touches. The magician seems to instinctively recoil from them, as if they somehow hurt or as if he expected to get pain out of them. He has tried to bring the subject up, but John can be as stubborn as Batman himself when he chooses to and that has never led them anywhere, if not into an ugly fight. He is tempted to try again, but by now he knows the older man well enough and he can tell that, whatever he has faced that day, has been hard on him. A fact that inevitably destroys the already limited fertile ground there usually is for discussion. So, instead, the vigilante just keeps caressing, until the body under his palm has become as pliant as it’s capable of being.

“You’re a mess, Constantine,” he comments at that point, one eyebrow slightly raised and the lightest hint of amusement in his voice. What he doesn’t say is that he knows. He knows about the missing pieces and the darkness, about the stains and the scars. And he is fine with them, whether John likes to believe it or not, because he himself is far from being unblemished. He will be fine with them as long as the magician is aware that there’s no reason why he should fear Bruce and what he is willing to offer. He isn’t going to press, not even if he wishes he could, not even when he has all the rights to. And he isn’t going to ask for things that Constantine cannot give in exchange. What he demands, however, is to not be shut out and that’s something that it’s not up for discussion.

The exorcist finally turns to face the vigilante, an unimpressed look on his face. It’s a mask, a façade to hide all the thoughts that have been storming inside his mind, and they both know it. However, from Bruce’s indulgent expression, John can tell that, at least for that night, he will be allowed to keep his act up without having to try hard. It makes him feel both relieved and pained, because he has once again wrapped his hands around something he hasn’t earned and he will shamelessly drain that privilege until there will be nothing left to get out of it. Story of his life, really.

“Are we playin’ again that bloody game where we state the obvious? I know ‘m a mess, Wayne. But now, when am I not, hn?” He shoots back with an exaggerate eyeroll. He is hyperaware of the skilful hand that’s still working on the length of his spine. Bruce’s touch is always so warm and welcoming, despite the fact that he is always abusing the younger man’s time, his patience, his presence. That awareness is yet another torture for him, but at the same time he can’t help being greedy for it. “How did you know I was up ‘ere? Didn’t come in through the main door.”

The vigilante rolls his eyes, clearly making an effort to mimic exactly the gesture that has just been addressed to him. “Oh, you know. Alfred mentioned that he has seen someone in a dirty trench coat climbing along the front of the mansion,” he replies and his fingers dig in the magician’s side. It’s a playful gesture and he is pleased to see the obviously exaggerated reaction his lover offers, to play along with him. “I guessed that it had to be you.”

“Bullocks.” Constantine scoffs and turns his eyes back towards Gotham’s skyline, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “The ol’ codger ‘s always in my bloody way. Damn him.”

“Everyone of us has to face more than once that feelings are just a delusion„

Bruce’s lips curl in the shadow of a rare grin at the comeback, but when the silence threatens to fall upon them, he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he removes his hand from the older man’s back in favour of leaning against the railing with his elbows, eyes locked on the slowly darkening horizon before them. He makes sure to keep touching, his side still pressed up against the magician’s, close enough to feel him twitching and shifting. Movements so subtle that would have been lost to him if he hadn’t made sure that they shared the same space.

He bows his head slightly, to be able to run a hand through his dark hair. It’s odd to be there, willing and somewhat content, with someone who’s so radically different from. John Constantine is a continuous, often rabid flood of energy, always moving, always changing, and he has, more often than not, felt like a rock in the middle of a turbulent river. Unmovable in its stillness, because that’s what he is compared to the other man, firm and steady where the exorcist is constantly shifting and fluctuating. However, even the sturdiest rock is fated to be affected by the constant, abrasive touch of the water and, to an extent, he has known it since the very first time their paths have crossed, among the smoke and the loud music of a London night not so different from many others. Of course, he didn’t realise it, back then, but it has taken him to meet John again, several years later, and be faced with a much darker version of him to understand how deeply under his skin the other had already crawled.

His mind flies back in time, to the years that have preceded that fateful meeting and to the ones that have followed it. He remembers the people who have touched his life, the women he has courted, mostly for fun and to keep his reputation up. Their names are mostly lost to him, aside from the two he’ll never forget, because, despite the bitter end those relationships have met, they have played an essential part in making him into whom he has become.

Selina was everything his younger self has never been allowed to have before her abrupt arrival in his life. Freedom and mischief, broken rules and total disregard for the conventions of the society he has grown up in. She was the adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. Her kisses used to taste like fresh air and carelessness. Her touches were sweet oblivion from the responsibilities. Taking her hand was stepping into new, unexplored worlds. In the end, she had slipped from his fingers while he was distracted by Gotham’s call, going where he couldn’t follow, just as the wild animal she has always been.

Rachel, on the other hand, was sweetness and stability. She was a bright light against Gotham’s endless gloominess, a gentle warmth capable of heating up the coldest night. Kissing her brought back, for the illusion of a moment, the innocence he lost at a far too young age. The way her hands moved on his body whispered promises of a home where he could have, if not forgotten, at least finally moved on from the pain and the losses. Holding her hands used to bring him comfort as nothing else in his life ever has. In the end, she had been a painful but necessary sacrifice, because the world she was promising him, as desirable and tempting, would have implied abandoning his cape and his duty to the city.

“So much wasted time making a fool of our pride just to come to the bitter conclusion„

Bruce slowly licks his lips. Now, both women are gone from his life. They linger, though, as ghosts from his past, reminding him of how fleeting feelings can be and what delusions they charm you with. Leaving them behind has been hard, it has taken a long time and, in the aftermath, it has pushed him to come to the conclusion that the only one he would always be faithful to, the only one he would never be able to resist would be Gotham.

Thinking about it now, he can tell that it has been easier than expected, to choose to wear the mask and the cape and to dedicate all of himself to the Night. She has always welcome him with open arms, with her secrets, her dangers, her battles. It has always felt right, like nothing else ever has. And so he has been fighting the madness that sprouts from her shadows ever since. Or, perhaps, the truth is that he has started his fight much before choosing to become Batman. Perhaps he has been sworn to the city and to its darkness since that night in that alley, when he has been left on his knees, between the lifeless bodies of his parents, screaming at the sky in agony for what had been so brutally stolen from him. Maybe it has been then that he signed his destiny, without even realising it.

A bitter, pained smile touches his lips at those thoughts. Even nowadays, despite everything he has gone through, he can tell without a doubt that he has found his calling and that the prices he has paid to follow it have been worth what he has got. It doesn’t make the sacrifices less painful, it doesn’t make the solitude less heavy to bear, but he is aware that, at the end of the day, the regrets won’t be burdening him enough to cause him to fall in the abyss he can see under his feet.

“I know, it hurts to mend all the shattered hopes but would you truly tell me that it isn’t worth pricking yourself with its thorns if it’s done to pick a rose?„

Bruce’s eyes leave the now dark sky and land on John once again. The man sitting next to him is the one variable he could have never predicted. He materialised on his path like a bolt from the blue, and definitely as dangerous as one. A walking bunch of cigarettes and arrogance, dressed in a trench coat that has seen much better days, incomprehensible but powerful words between his lips and nothing less than real magic on his fingertips. A ticking bomb shaped like a man, dragging the chains of a mysterious and yet obviously wrecked past and of his literally damned future. And yet, there he stood, still managing not to give a flying fuck about everything and everyone.

He remembers very clearly his own reaction, the first time they met after so many years. Batman was utterly annoyed by his flamboyant, caustic attitude and Bruce, from behind the mask, wondered where the messed up but still somehow hopeful young man he had found himself entangled with in London ended up. Constantine is not what he used to be, not even close, not even behind the parts of his act that are just for show. The sharpness and the cynicism in his eyes immediately made it clear, more than any rude word or flare of anger could ever have.

Peeling off all those crusted layers of smugnesss and exaggerated self-confidence hasn’t been easy, especially since the magician has fought him back at every step, but, all considered, it hasn’t taken too long for the self-loathing, the scars and the endless pit of regrets to emerge. John hasn’t lied, with his earlier answer. He always is a mess, a bunch of shattered pieces held together by a lot of bravado and willpower, and none of them is where it should be. He has seen the never healed wounds and the blood on the magician’s fingers, the only results of his vain attempts to get the shards back into a semblance of wholeness. And, before he could realise it, he was being overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and take his hands, mend the cuts, stop him from giving up on himself over and over again.

The truth is that he is still trying. Trying to make himself respect the limitations he has been given, trying to make it be enough, despite wanting so much more. However, Constantine has been adamant and he knows what it would mean breaking the rules he has willingly accepted. For all the contingency plans Batman has, Bruce himself tends to be defenceless, when his feelings are on the line. And he has seen how vengeful John can be, never above playing dirty, never above stomping over every single boundary, if it means achieving his goal. He would have found a way to get back at him, of course, eventually, but the irreparable damage would have been done anyway.

On good days, he tells himself that seeing the shock on the older man’s face that day, when he has chosen to put his heart in his callous hands, when he has chosen that “nasty piece of work” over everything else the world has to offer, has, on its own, almost made it worth the fights, the pain, the struggling. Then, there are the rare times when he has been allowed to see John blooming, with power, wits and a determination as bright as the light of his spells. In those moments, watching his shattered soul soaring, even if just through the hellish sky it is trapped in, aside from making him fall a bit more in love each time, vanishes every lingering doubt.

“I can’t promise you eternity but bare your soul for me Whatever it takes, you won’t regret having yourself let go once again„

“I’ll never bleedin’ get what you find so enticin’ ‘bout this soddin’ place.”

The exorcist’s voice breaks the silence and he turns to find Bruce staring at him. Oh, he has been aware of those eyes locked on him for some time now and that’s the reason why he has decided to speak up. There is something, in the younger man’s expression, that’s making him uneasy. He knows that look far too well by now and that’s the problem. His lover gets it every time he is thinking about something deep, something that involves him, or, rather, them. It doesn’t always lead to an attempt of conversation, thankfully, but it always gets too close to his sore spots for comfort.

His words gain him a raised eyebrow and he shakes his head because, despite what he has chosen to say, he doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. Also because, among the other things, it would have forced him to admit that his statement is, for the most, a lie. He does understand the dark charm of Gotham far too well, not because he experiences it himself, hell no. As much in tune as that place can be with his own darkness, he is more than content to fuck off somewhere else whenever he has a chance to. No, the reason why he understands the strength of Bruce’s sense of duty, the reason why he knows exactly why the city will be, always and anyway, the younger man’s first priority is what John himself feels about magic. It’s not the same, and in his eyes Batman’s mission would always be, in spite of everything, much purer, less selfish, less corrupted. However, it’s the closest thing to a reflection of his own twisted existence that he has ever found in someone else’s life. And it’s why, perhaps, he shouldn’t be so surprised to see how willing the vigilante is to keep him around, to cherish him, despite all the deadly warning signs. They can be together while still prioritising their respective calling over everything else.

He chews the butt of his cigarette for a moment, and his eyes are looking lost once again. What they have couldn’t be further away from perfect, but, then again, it couldn’t be otherwise when people like them, all bruised and broken in different ways, are involved. It’s part of the reason why it works, even if all the odds are against it. And yet, he still feels bitter, now that he knows the stories behind Bruce’s past relationships. The way life has forced the younger man to choose or put a limit to the time he had to enjoy the bright sides of those bonds. John might have given up, at least for the most, on trying to push his lover to not choose him, but he cannot do the same with the time limit. There’s a clock ticking above his head, eating up, one by one, the seconds that separate him from that spot in Hell that has had his name for a long time now. And he will get himself damned again and again and again, endlessly, before he takes Bruce down with him. Denying the so often sung shared eternity of love is a gift, in their case.

He sucks in the last mouthful of smoke, hard enough that he can feel the burning down his throat and against his fingers, where his skin meets the burning hand of the now finished cigarette. There is no space for wistful poetry in what they share. Everything is harsh and desperate, ruled by the awareness of its limits, even in their quieter, warmer moments. Their shared passion always tastes like stolen time, and each kiss might as well be the last. It’s all just another story damned to end in tragedy, in flames, swallowed by the darkness. And yet, despite what he keeps saying, despite what he believes, there is still a part of him who wants to make it worth. For Bruce, mainly, but for himself too. He ascribes it to a streak of his selfishness, because that’s all it is…isn’t it?

But can it really be just selfishness, when you are fighting to make things better, even knowing that you won’t get to get an advantage for yourself out of it?

“Take me and make me as you want I’ll feed your dreams with my love„

Bruce feels the change in the mood even before John moves. There’s a sudden spike in the buzzing energy that constantly surrounds the magician and it usually indicates that he is about to do something either reckless or stupid. Or both, since when Constantine is involved the two things are, in most cases, the same. He isn’t sure what to expect, because his lover has the bad habit of being too hard to predict, and that’s one of the many things that Batman hates about him, because it makes the exorcist an incredibly volatile, untrustworthy ally. However, there is no cape or spell standing between them in that moment, and so, when the older man climbs off the railing, sets his feet down on the balcony and then lunges at him, he lets him, without a split moment of hesitation.

The kiss is bruising, hard, merciless. All teeth and tongue, no finesse, no patience, no softness. But it’s filled with scorching heat and the vigilante can’t stop himself from going weak, even if he would never admit it, because, when he can’t hold back the intensity that characterises all he is, John Constantine kisses both like a drowning man, lacing to the last gulp of oxygen he is being allowed, and like a starved demon, hellbent of devouring his soul.

Despite the force of the contact, though, he can feel the magician’s hands shaking, from where they are wrapped in the front of his jumper, pinning him against the railing. If it wasn’t so tragic, he could have appreciated the irony in seeing someone so arrogant and bold, a man who has gone as far as conning the Devil himself and mostly got away with it, so terrified of something as natural as love should be. If Bruce didn’t know exactly how it feels like, he would have been fascinated by how something human as emotional closeness can rip apart every barrier Constantine has so carefully built around himself, revealing the vulnerabilities, the fragility and the open wounds that are hidden under it.

He knows all of that, just as John is aware of it as well. It’s a struggle for the magician to keep himself there in those moments, because there is nothing he dreads more than feeling so exposed. It makes him want to fight and, if he can’t fight, then it makes him want to run. And he has, at first, denying the feelings he felt coming from Bruce, denying the ones that have been growing inside his own chest. Now, trying not to is part of the terms of their deal he has to respect, even when the instinct screams so loud inside his mind that he can’t hear his own thoughts.

And yet, here he is. And yet here he stays. It might be a selfish choice, it might be stealing what he doesn’t deserve, but there is more to it, for them both. There is a something new budding in the time and in the space they shared, stubborn as just the two of them can be. It’s a feeling, it’s a reality, it’s a dream. Its nature is hard to tell, so foreign and yet so familiar. One thing, though, seems certain: it might be doomed to meet a tragic ending, but that doesn’t stop it from fighting to survive everything that’s coming in its way.

“You’re trembling and I can see what you feel inside you a shy bud’s already blooming„

[ffxivimagines]

FFXIVWrite 2019 | Prompt 27: Poor Unfortunate Souls

FFXIV Write 2019 | Prompt #27: Palaver | Rating: T

Warnings for: SHB spoilers, very possibly OOC emet, vague body horror (very vaguely creepy mer designs), Emet/WoL, general Emet-Selch related psychology

((If anyone would like continuations or to yell about the detailed designs I have for this, feel free to message or send an ask!))

Emet-Selch knows himself to be a rather generous individual. He has a gift, the power to spin countries into being, and uses it to help others. He charges a price, of course. Any self-respecting witch would do the same. The lawfulness of his contracts is known, each of them fulfilled to the last letter. He is fair with his terms. An eye for better hearing, a name for the ability to shapeshift, a voice for legs. That kind of thing. 

He has seen many an unexpected customer wander into his city, but the champion of Hydaelyn? He’s positively tickled. He flicks some poor, unfortunate specter aside and dismisses them without thought. It wouldn’t do for him to welcome such a prestigious traitor with his home in such disarray.

He does not hurry to greet them, but it is a very near thing. He covers his lack of regular nonchalance with a quick summoning. “Lahabrea.”

His fellow Amaurotine slithers out from Zodiark-knows-where and grins, rows of teeth peeking out from betwixt his lips at the expression. He doesn’t mind how his scales scrape against the walls (and Emet-Selch buffs those! He aims for authenticity since exile and he would suffer no immature immortals ruining it!) when he slithers forward to rest against the smooth surface of some nameless, faceless statue. “What is it?”

“They are here,” Emet-Selch replies, “and wish for a deal. Do not interfere.”

“Your Pers─”

“They are not deserving of that name,” he hisses. “Begone with you and take Elidibus with you. Sentimental fools, the lot of you.” Lahabrea shrugs and swims his way down the halls, cutting out via a window with a powerful flick of his tail. For a snake, he is so very prone to fits of unadulterated affection. Even more so toward Emet-Selch’s ex-intended. 

What a pair they’ve become; an exiled architect and an ostracized sentry of the state. He only wishes he had the person who forced this upon him stuck at his side. They could suffer together through the eons while the world completes its sundered death throes. Him and his actualized lover. 

The one coming to see him, only a handful of times Rejoined, cannot compare. 

They speak to him with hesitance and confidence bundled into one and glance all too openly at his many fins and stiletto-like claws. He can see the tremor in their gossamer aether where it ebbs and surges against his own. It’s too gentle, to intimate of them to let it loose in that way, but they do not seem to notice how they instinctively reach out toward him. Searching. Seeking. 

He will not allow them any of him. They are wholly undeserving of even so much as a fraction of his devotion.

He draws his aether back inside and allows it to burn hot inside his core. It would not be the first time he has spat out boiling water or allowed himself to flare brilliantly. His photophores light as if in warning, a low glow lighting his face eerily when he answers their query for his assistance. “What is it you desire that Hydaelyn has not yet given you? Beauty? A lack of chronic pain? Your true memories?”

“Mortality,” they respond, following after him and struggling against the current he creates. Ah, they’re so small like this. A truly pitiful being. “I know you can grant it to me, Hades.”

He frowns and looks down at them, snagging a long line of octopus eggs as they pass through one of the many caves among his domain and drapes it about his neck and robes as if playing at mortal fashions. There is not a bit of care in his voice when he warns, “Now, that’s a dangerous wish. Are you so keen to squander what little favor Hydaelyn has given you that you would forsake your fate for a Spoken princeling?”

They flush from their cheeks down to their chest, even their fins flicking about in agitation at his guess. “Yes,” they confirm. “What will it cost?”

“Well, only your heart,” Emet-Selch says, “which is a small price to pay, really. I am an exceedingly reasonable man.” He snaps and unfurls the length of a shimmering, golden contract before them. “All I need is your signature right here─” he instructs, tracing a line with one taloned finger “─on this contract and I can begin.”

“A heart, only?”

“Your heart, yes,” he clarifies. “Given willingly. You’ll have it back the moment the contract terms are completed.” He hands them the contract and they read through it. He can all but hear their brain attempting to process Amaurotine language and chooses to play the part of lawyer to break it down section by section. By the end, he’s tired and dead set on keeping them within his grasp (which is to say, within the Tempest. All those on land are far from his reach unless he is in the mood for a masquerade). It’s a shame they aren’t quite what he can trust with his beloved’s memories quite yet. Maybe one or two more Rejoinings and they would have been a passable vessel for such knowledge. In the meantime he asks, “Do you accept?”

They flounder before accepting and signing with a flash of aether from the tips of their fingers. “Three days. You’ll give me back my heart in three days.”

“As soon as the contract is fulfilled, yes,” he agrees. “Now, be grateful. I’m giving you a chance at mortality like your dearest little… what is its name again?”

“G’raha.”

“Like your G’raha,” Emet-Selch continues. “I do believe you’ll find it lacking, but never let it be said that I am not, at least, kind.” He sorts through a great number of materials, tossing potables and herbs into a cauldron of sorts, and pays no mind to the worryingly acidic taint to the water that is a result. Hydaelyn’s champion simply sets their jaw and watches him brew them the curse fit to steal their heart and grant them such a handicap as true mortality. They can already bleed. What else could they wish for? Death? A want to grow old? Wrinkles are passé among that society as much as they are among Amaurotines.

He reaches toward them and they press their hands to their chest when their heart jumps. He would have it as collateral at the least. It’s a foolish endeavor, their want to court and live with that Allagan prince (nevermind how Emet-Selch had allowed his family such a thing as the schematics for that empire) but he does not break his word. He’d hold their heart until the contract is fulfilled one way or another. 

If they manage to have their love reciprocated, he will give them back their heart and watch the Allagans crumble just to bring them despair. If they fail, well… he can keep all of them. It’s a win-win situation when either outcome will have them come crawling back to him like the imitation immortal they are. 

He pulls, rending their vital aether from their chest and watching their magic short circuit at the loss. They could die without, but that is none of his concern. It wouldn’t break the terms and he would still have what he wanted. With something like their heart, he could find the remaining pieces of them and slot them all together by force. The vessel may have perished, but he is not above making them a new one (a better one, the one that matched him in size and prowess). 

He inhales, consuming what they’ve given, and the cauldron fizzles, aether settling down into a stable curse. “Come here, little one, and let me grant your wish.”

They do and he watches them change. What blasphemy it is to discard their semi-blessed form for something so wretched as legs and a need for air. Their fins run ragged, thin membrane melting into the waters while bones merge and shift, until the thing before him is some combination of man and immortal. 

They struggle, a hand already wrapped about their throat for need of oxygen, and he allows them a breath of it in a current to sweep them off to the nearest beach. He settles down and watches, day by day, as they struggle against the growing stagnant aether in their body, limbs leeching of all color and veins turning golden. He watches them press closely to that princeling and kiss him, believing it to be a solution to their need for love, but he simply stares at them and asks if he knows them. 

They had dragged him from the depths and imbued his soul with their own aether and he does not know them? Emet-Selch laughs to himself. How frail mortal minds are to be manipulated by a lack of that same life-giving aether. Only someone like his Persephone could doom themself so thoroughly. 

He watches them transform back and rises from the waters to collect them. “Have you had enough fun, little fool?”

They quake at the reality that they’ve failed, but their heart rushing back into their body is more of a concern when it sets recognition filtering through their princeling’s eyes. He reaches for them, attempting to take them back and to give them the love he holds, but Emet-Selch simply snaps. 

They vanish from the land and the Allagan empire falls the very next turn of the century, a newborn immortal nestled among the halls of a necropolis oblivious to that which they’ve left behind. “Dearest Hades, have I been gone all that long?”

“Only a few millennia, nothing much. Elidibus has missed you.” He offers a hand when he asks, “Would you like to visit him?”

They smile, happy and oblivious, and take his hand.

Askbox | Ask Rules | Commissions | FFXIVWrite 2019 Fills

[magmagruntalayne]

Heart of the Sea

The Sharpedo's Den was like most bars on this side of the mountain; so dimly lit, full of alcoholics whose disease was born out of tragedy, and hazy with cigarette smoke. Very few of the patrons were talking, most of them too focused on their drinks or their thoughts to bother trying to make friends. Hell, nobody was interested in making friends anymore since it was just as likely that the bastard that was making you laugh tonight would be dead by Thursday. Maybe he'd drown, or his debts would finally catch up with him; of course, that's if he was lucky. Most just starved to death or became the victim of someone, or something, that was hungry enough to see if they liked the taste of human flesh. It was like the Arceus-damned Donner Party out here nowadays.

Team Aqua had certainly made sure of that.

When Alayne had first joined Team Magma she had thought that the team rivaling her own was fairly harmless. Just a bunch of trainer dropouts pretending to be pirates while using the thin excuse of trying to clean up the oceans and making it a safer place for all sea-dwelling pokemon. Harmless, disorganized, and annoying. The complete opposite of Team Magma, the cause she had sold her soul to, which was a well-oiled machine: ruthless, tactical, and organized to the point it was almost maddening at times. A team dedicated to cleaning up the environment so that people and pokemon could live in harmony without the clash over land that was happening more and more often as people began to spread into wild areas. On paper, it was actually rather surprising to learn that Aqua and Magma were not actually two branches of the same team but competitors. From what she gathered they were one team, at some point long before she took up her red cowl, but the rift came from infighting over resources. Money, after all, was just as much of a necessary resource to a cause as clean water is to a living creature. Either way, the teams split and when she was approached with the offer of bettering not only her own future but the future of pokemon, Alayne sided with Maxie and the rest of Team Magma.

That's why she was so good at her job. She had been clashing with the members of Team Aqua even before both leaders had gone off the deep end. It was hard remembering just where both teams had gone wrong because the changes had been very subtle at first. Hell, she couldn't even remember which team had started this suicidal plunge that would ruin the world forever. Her head always said it was Archie since he's the one who had ruined the world after all so he was obviously the most logical choice, but her gut always said it was Maxie. Not that it mattered much, somewhere along the line both men began the hunt for the legendary pokemon: Groudon and Kyorge. Creators of the land and sea respectively.

At the time she never actually believed that either team would find the legendaries. Yes, she had believed they existed but at the same time, part of her believed that they were either dead, or gone, or because they were literal gods that they would never be found, let alone be bent to the wills of mere men.

Arceus must have been laughing its ass off when she first laid eyes on Kyorge.

Somehow, despite the ragtag nature of Archie's group of merry-men they actually did it. They found and summoned Kyorge to the surface in an attempt to have the god of the ocean cleanse the water of all the toxins that man had dumped into it. They had won. It was a fucking shame that it would come at the cost of the whole world.

Now instead of the world being made up of about 70% water, the currently estimated percentage was closer to 80% water, because who could have foreseen that a drawback to summoning the god that created the fucking oceans would lead to the water level rising by way fucking more than the world could take.

The waves and wind had torn Pacifidlog to pieces, ripping the wooden structures off of the Corsola colony it was founded on and dashed everything against the other rocks and islands nearby. Dewport and Slateport were just swallowed by the tide, although Slateport's famous lighthouse can still be seen when the tide is low, apparently, Dewport wasn't as lucky. Nothing was left of the little seaside town, not any kind of infrastructure either above or below water. If it wasn't for the fact that it was still in the memories of any who had ever visited it could almost be said that the town never existed. Not that Alayne could speak from first-hand experience. Exploring ruins for the lost hadn't been part of her job when she was still apart of Magma. Instead, her job had been trying to protect those places that Kyorge hadn't finished sinking, places like Rustboro, Lilycove, and her hometown of Mauville. The last of which had basically lost its whole east side due to the water rising out of Route 118. It was in the wreckage of her old home that she had been approached for a second time by a man with a job opportunity- only this time it wasn't some misguided attempt to try to save the world.

The same job had led her to leave Magma and its attempts to save the world it just as easily could have destroyed, to sipping cheap whiskey in the Sharpedo's Den as she watched the blond at the bar order another round for him and the brunette at his side.

"Ya know, you don't have to do this, right?"

The only sign that Trey's voice had startled her was the slight ripple in her cup from the tiny jerk she had given and the way her eyes cut sharply away from the couple at the bar to her companion. They both knew that she'd gotten so wrapped up in her work and brooding that she'd forgotten he was there, but he wasn't the type to complain, at least not anymore. Before the end of the world, he would have given her so much shit for it. Teasing her relentlessly until she was forced to silence him either with a look, a drink, or a kiss. The last being his all-time favorite. Not that she blamed him since it had been her favorite way of shutting him up too. Not that she had kissed him since Kyorge had resurfaced. That had broken them like it had broken all things. It didn't help that Trey had been considered Aqua's golden boy before Archie destroyed the world.

"I know," She replies, speaking mostly into her glass to avoid meeting his too green eyes.  It had been a long time since she had been able to meet his gaze, even though he was trying desperately to meet hers now.

"Then don't. Nothing's stoppin' you from walkin' out right now. It'd be easier." He leans back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head. He was trying so hard to sound nonchalant about the whole thing but Alayne wasn't stupid. She knew he was trying to talk her out of it. It was a neat trick that she always seemed to be able to do with Trey, most people had always told her that he had been hard to read. Always putting up a happy front that few people, if any besides her, could see past. He was deeply troubled under all the smiles and the party vibe he used to give off.

Right now, he was scared, which meant that her contact had been right, the couple at the bar were Team Aqua members- and Trey knew them.

"Easier would have been killing myself a long time ago." She shot back, a surprising amount of venom in her voice.

"Hey," He drops the nonchalant act and reaches across the table to grab her free hand, which had been resting on the tabletop, "Don't talk like that, Laney. Please."

Alayne wanted to fucking cry. She wanted to crawl across the tabletop, into his arms, and cry until there was nothing left to cry about. This is why they couldn't keep doing this. One little touch and she was back in the world before- before the world forgot what the sun looked like because the rainclouds had blocked it out. Back when she was happy for the first time in her life. Magma had given her a job, friends, Pokemon, and in its own way, it had given her Trey. Aqua had stolen all of that.  Faces flashed through her mind of all the people and pokemon that she had lost. Misaki and Kira to the first failed attempt to retake Sootopolis. Adrian, Anders, and Oz to the mudslides. Kanno, Abrus, and Blue to the plagues. Leo in the riots. Ever starved and Ethan killed himself soon after. Milo to the bandits. Maxie to an assassination. Courtney, Tabitha, Cole, Mary, Lori, Felix, Bryan, Sandy-

She physically recoils from Trey's touch, spilling some of her drink, but successfully ripping herself from the flood of memories that threaten to overtake her. She couldn't do this. This is why they had to stop. He reminded her too much of all the things she lost, and they both knew that he was in part to blame for the reason they were all gone. Yet, as much as she couldn't stand him touching her because it grounded her too much in her shitty reality, Trey was the one thing that kept her from actually killing herself. And she was pretty sure that keeping her alive was the only thing that kept Trey from being completely consumed by the guilt of being a part of the reason the world had gone to shit. It was as if keeping her alive was the one thing that could redeem him in the end. Two desperate souls that couldn't be together but couldn't be apart either. It was fucking pathetic but it got her through. So she'd take it.

"Laney? Are yo-"

"Don't touch me." Alayne couldn't look at him, instead focusing on a spot on the floor, ignoring the way her vision swam with unshed tears.

She could almost feel him withdrawal his hand from her personal space even though he never touched her. She could hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he settles back into it. Alayne closes her eyes. She couldn't afford to do this. Not now. She still had a job to do. If she was going to fall apart she could do it later.

"…Laney, please don't do this," His voice was a strained whisper, like a ghost trying to communicate through the void. It made something twist in her chest painfully, "Not them. They don't… Kegan didn't have a damn thin' to do with anythin' that happened. Let ‘em go."

She sets her drink down on the table, it was the first time she set the glass down all night, asides from the two times she had made the bartender refill it. Alayne drops her head into a waiting hand, covering her eyes so she could discreetly wipe the tears away. She was glad that she had decided to forgo wearing any kind of eye make-up tonight; it was always a good idea on nights like this. Not that seeing a woman with smudge make-up was anything anyone paid attention too anymore; likely she was either a prostitute at the end of her shift or mourning another soul that was lost to the endless rain. Arceus, she was so fucking weak for him. "You know if someone else catches up to them, they won't be as kind. You may be condemning them to the same fate as Shelly."

"Yeah, but they at least get a chance if you let ‘em go."

Alayne was quiet for a long time. She hated this part of her job, especially on nights when Trey was with her. She already had to go through this moral dilemma every-fucking-time she caught up to an ex-Aqua member but Trey always added an extra ton of guilt whenever he decided to tag along. One would think that with her kill count these debates would fucking stop, but it felt like they were only getting worse. She could barely even justify to herself anymore that she was merciful compared to most other bounty hunters. Well, she was now. She was a lot more violent when she first started taking revenge on old Aqua members. Now the poisons she used were always fast acting and were so painless that sometimes her targets even smiled at her when their hearts finally stopped. Hell, the fact that she was going so soft was probably part of the reason Trey had decided to show up tonight. He saw who her targets were, and knew he could probably talk her out of this. Bastard.

"I fucking hate you,"

"It’d be easier if you actually did." He uses her own words against her. It was so sudden and out of character that it made Alayne lift her head out of her hand, and actually look at him for the first time that night. Trey was watching her with such sad eyes and a matching smile. Even though she knew she looked as rough as the rest of the patrons in this hole in the wall, he somehow managed to look exactly like he did before the end of days. Complete with that green t-shirt with the kecleon silhouette she bought for him on his last birthday. Looking as if he was unfazed by all the tauroshit around them- unless you were looking at his eyes. They were just as haunted as everyone else’s, only his seemed to corrupt every expression that crossed his face, even his smile. Arceus, what she wouldn't do to make him smile like they used to.

Alayne sighs wistfully and glances over her shoulder. The brunette was sitting alone at the bar. Looks like she had missed her chance. She had been planning on ambushing him in the bathroom, then catching the girl when she came looking for her friend. She stands, noting the way that Trey seemed to jerk like he was going to try to stop her until he noticed that she was already waving him off. She missed her chance, and she was pretty sure that if she killed these two Trey would make himself scarce for a while. She wasn't sure what either one of them would do with the silence. It had gotten so bad last time that they had stopped talking- she really had been close to killing herself before Trey appeared to literally talk her off the edge. She wasn't ready to chase him away again.

Grabbing her glass and her purse, the ex-Magma made her way over to the bar and leans the gap between the seat the blond had been sitting in and the brunette's spot as she waits for the bartender to notice her. She didn't miss the way that the girl angled herself away just slightly or that she was only drinking a soda instead of something a little more… alcoholic. The bartender appears in front of her, and instead of exchanging words, she fishes her wallet out of her bag and passes him her credit card. He nods, shuffling farther down the bar to close out her tab. She takes a sip of the last of her drink as she watches him head to the register. "You two need to get out of here."

The girl next to her startles, turning to actually face Alayne. She was adorable. All freckles, big brown eyes, and a pretty round face that probably lit up a room when she smiled. There was no doubt about it now that she could actually see the girl up close. It was, in fact, Kegan Roth, ex-Aqua grunt, and close friend to Trey. She hadn't been a hundred percent sure that this girl had been Kegan but she had just assumed the moment she laid eyes on Blake, that his companion had been the farm girl. It seemed that once again her instincts had been right on point.

"W-what?"

"You're being hunted. Or at least were, but people will figure out sooner or later that I missed my mark."

The blood drained from the girl's face and Alayne eyes her as Kegan reached for her jacket. She either had a weapon in there or was just going to bolt. Judging by the look of pure terror in her eyes, she was betting on the latter rather than the former. Funny, she had always thought Trey's old friends had more moral than this. Then again, she did have the poor girl cornered, and the gentleman who had probably kept her safe all this time wasn't around to protect her. Although he'd be back soon enough, and she'd rather be gone by that time. She glances up to the mirror behind the bar her subconscious telling her that she was being watched. Trey was still sitting at the table, staring at her, and when he sees her looking waves at her with that same tragic smile.

"Trey says hi, by the way."

This stops Kegan in her tracks. The country girl sits up straighter and twists to look around the bar. She had this look of excitement on her face that made everything in Alayne's chest twist painfully such a way that made her want to drop to her knees and sob. It had been so long since she had seen such pure hope like that. No wonder Trey wanted to protect her. She was so innocent and open. "Trey's here? But I thought he'd-"

"He did." Alayne cuts her off quickly, breaking her gaze from Trey's in the mirror. She closes her eyes and slams back the last of her drink. It burned as it when down, but it chased the taste of acid out of her mouth. The glass hits the counter with more force than she intended, and when she opens her eyes the bartender is standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. Waiting for her to take her card and receipt. Kegan had gone quiet and was bowing her head.

Alayne takes the paper and plastic, shoving it into her pocket. She nods at the bartender and turns her back on the two. "Good luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blake coming back down the hallway from where the restrooms were. She could feel his eyes on her and even though he moved out of her line of sight, she had no doubt he was already back at Kegan's side- being filled in about the current situation and how their lives were spared mostly on a whim. This would most likely be the last time she would ever see the two. Even if she was instructed to keep them as a bounty Alayne doubted that she would ever chase after them again. Somehow it felt right. Maybe because in a previous life, she had been expecting to be on the run like they were. Although she always expected it to be because Maxie had figured out that she had fallen in love with Trey, and by some twist of fate he had fallen for her too-not because she was at fault for ending the world.

She passes by their table which was empty, minus Trey's untouched beer. Without thinking she reaches out and snags the bottle, bringing it to her lips. It was warm and the taste made her crinkle her nose in disgust but she still drank it. Part of her was expecting the bartender to try to stop her as she pushed open the door to head out into the rain, bottle still in hand, but he didn't. Just another example of how much of a shit people gave now that they realized that the world was on borrowed time. Pausing under the tin awning, Alayne carefully swings her purse around and with her free hand began the dig for her umbrella. Like all necessary things it somehow seemed to have ended up at the very bottom of her bag, regardless of the fact that she had just used it a few hours ago.

‘Thanks.'

The voice was so quiet that there should have been no way that she heard it over the sound of the rain beating on the metal overhead. Then again she guessed that was the upside of having voices in one's head. No matter how softly he spoke, Alayne could always hear him.

For a long time, she's silent, just rummaging through her bag. Finally, she unearths her prize, still damp from her walk to the bar. With the press of a button, the travel umbrella unfolds, snapping into shape with a click that was drowned out by the rain. Alayne shoulders the umbrella, before bringing the bottle back to her lips to finish it off. One day, she probably would be able to enjoy drinking beer but for now, it was just another reminder of the fact that Trey… wasn't actually here anymore. Once the bottle was empty, she set it gently on the edge of the steps before stepping out into the downpour.

"You're welcome."

[osmw1]

Poison-Wielding Fugitive   Chapter 9

“That’s just about all I can help…” “Yes, you really helped me out!”

While acting as that we don’t have anything else to our relationship, I turn towards and look at Arleaf’s father.

“I heard that you buy marphina, so I gathered and brought some here…” “Ah, ahhh. Marphina, huh?” “Eh? You were out harvesting marphina? Are… are you okay?”

Arleaf asked in a worried tone after hearing us discussing buying and selling marphina.

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be so energetic up ‘til now.” “Wow… you really are amazing. You must have a really high tolerance to poison if you were in that toxic swamp where marphina grows.” “Alrighty then, show me what you’ve got. We’ll be measuring it in grams.”

By the way, while I hear them say “gram,” it’s actually translated by Veno, so it’s probably some other word. It’s nice that it’s changed into an easy-to-remember word. Concluding that I know how storage magic, Arleaf’s dad brought out a set of scales. I pop out the marphina from thin air and load up the scales.

“You’ve picked a whole heck of a lot, hey? Even if you could cure poison with magic, it would be awfully tough work too.” ‘Just so you know, dried marphina is very much a luxury good. If consumed by humans, it will send them to the grave. It can also relief pain and stop bleeding, amongst other uses, but it is quite the difficult ingredient to use.’

Veno’s explanation is considerably worrying. Is this safe at all? This kind of stuff feels really outdated by modern Japanese standards. I see. As expected, I’ll be selling this for a lot of money. Well, for now, at least, I’ll just gloss over it. I wonder if it’s okay to be touching it so much.

“I can somehow deal with it with my magic, but it still makes me uneasy to hold it in my hand.”

I’ll try pretending to be experienced with this.

“Hmm… well, I don’t know your circumstances. Aye… you’ve wrung it out well. Some people like to water it down to make it heavier, but you’ve done your best to process it, huh?”

Process? I was just scraping it off however I could though. … ah, Veno must’ve done it for me.

‘I had the time to spare. I could also bring out the water wrung out from it too, if you wish. Though it is toxic.’

I don’t need that right now. The apothecary measured out the marphina I’ve brought and then places a bag of coins on the counter.

“The marphina this time comes out to 36,200 lag. Go on and count it carefully.”

It seems like lag is the denomination for the currency in this world. He then lines up each coin for me, but I don’t know the value of any of them right now.

“Wow… how incredible, Yukihisa. Even with you helping me out, I only managed to earn 3,000 lag today…”

What?! With a mountain of herbs in that basket, she only earned that little? I made nearly 12 times of what she did.

“That’s because you’re comparing yourself—an inexperienced girl—with a skilled adventurer who can cure poison well enough to harvest marphina. That’s the difference. Arleaf, we’re also apothecaries; to harvest raw materials isn’t exactly our job either.”

Would it… be a good idea to give Arleaf a cut of my profits? I’m getting that kind of feeling, but… I’ll be stuck as a novice for a while. Which choice would turn this into easy mode? It seems like Arleaf is helping her dad out for the time being.

‘Well, it is toxic moss that grows in a poisonous swamp. You will need to invest in specialized tools in the future to harvest it.’

Ugh… Poison Absorption (Weak) is pretty great, huh. Simply having affinity with poison might not be so bad after all.

‘While it is my intention for us to fulfill high-paying requests, the weapon I supplied is also worth a lot. I would not be so opposed to you doing so.’

You’re right. But, well… it isn’t like we brought back really valuable herbs either.

‘Not only are weapons expensive, but you also cannot underestimate the costs of lodging.’

That’s true. In RPGs, staying at an inn is fairly cheap, but in reality, inns are quite pricey. Then again, I don’t know how much adventurers can earn.

“Umm…”

I store away the money I received and turned to Arleaf.

“Shall we split this?” “No, no! You’ve earned that money all by yourself, Yukihisa! Rather, I should be the one thanking you for bringing all the herbs here and paying you instead.”

Arleaf’s head shakes from side to side, refusing the money.

“Nah, I was just on the way here anyway. Plus, you’re the one who saved me, so please don’t worry about it.”

After showing off how much more I made, I can’t possibly take any money from her. I’m not that shameless, and since I was a corporate slave doing software engineering, I like things to be fair. Above all, it’s important to help people in need. When I had time to spare, I would always help my coworkers out.

“I would feel awful taking money from you, so while I really appreciate it, no thank you.” “Arleaf. Perhaps it’s better for you to. You don’t get many requests, so if you earn some now—”

Her father stepped in and was about to say something, but he dropped it after sensing Arleaf wanting to murder him.

“… Father?” “Eek…”

Her father said no more, feeling the pressure coming from her. What is it? Is there something more?

‘A—Aye? She is considerably adept at displaying her urge to kill. I am sure that this girl would make for a fine warrior.’

I ignore Veno’s uncalled-for analysis. Maybe Arleaf has secrets she doesn’t want others knowing.

“Umm… aha ha ha.”

Arleaf forced a smile to hush up any more talk of this topic. I haven’t known her for long, but I get that she’s a good person. And being able to venture alone to a place like the swamp, that in itself makes her pretty powerful. It wouldn’t be good to make her feel indebted to me.

“Oh, right. Arleaf, I’m wondering if you have any acquaintances who run inns. It would really help me out if you could introduce me to them to get a good price.” “You’re cunning.”

Arleaf’s father spoke with vigilance. Dick. I’m the one who was unreasonably summoned to this alternate universe. Even if I were to admire your beauty of a daughter, you don’t think you’re being unreasonable to punish me for that?

“I—If that’s the case, then let me show you to one in the village.” “Mm, thanks a lot.” “Then, thank you very much for fulfilling the request. I hope you will help us out once again.”

What a canned line, saying it all monotonous like that. He’s basically chasing me out of the store with that. It seems like he would even throw salt over his shoulder after I leave.

“Hmm… I wonder how long you can ogle her for.” “Father!”

How unnecessary. What was that for? I guess she’s having some kind of problem? She looks so innocent, but does she have some sort of tendency to play around?

‘She is toxic, just like you.’

Shut up. Don’t defile her.

‘I thought you were the one to suggest it first?’

Since I have some money in my wallet, I can get Arleaf to show me an inn in the village. On the way, I verify the village a second time. It really is kinda… yeah, as I thought, deserted and giving off a bad vibe. Everybody’s also coughing like they’ve all got a cold. At least I can find solace in Arleaf. And so, Arleaf brought me to the village’s largest inn… or rather, one that’s two buildings down and kinda outdated.

“Welcome. Oh, it’s you, Arleaf.”

A slender middle-aged lady, looking like the proprietress, greets Arleaf from the counter. She seems like she’s got a cold too. She’s coughing once in a while.

“My medicine hasn’t run out yet, though?” “No, it’s not that. I’ve brought you a customer.” “Oh? Is that right?”

Arleaf gestures her hand towards here to introduce me.

“This is Mr. Yukihisa Cohgray. Would you please give him a good room?” “I—It’s a pleasure. I’m Yukihisa Kogure.”

Damn, I got tricked into introducing myself.

“Mr. Cohgray, is it?”

Arleaf does it too, but why do they turn Kogure into Cohgray? Is it pronunciation? It’s like they’re foreigners, pronouncing Japanese names all weird. Do they hear Kogure as Cohgray?

‘Kogure, like Kogure, aye?’

Veno only calls me by my name when it counts. But you say it right though.

‘They are both the same though. I am but using the translation skill I know.’

So, you mean you can speak both Japanese and this world’s language? How convenient. Man, I’m jealous.

“Umm, my first name’s Yukihisa, last name is Kogure.” “That’s quite the strange name. Do you come from foreign lands?” “Well, umm… yeah.” “Is that right… well, how about that far room down the hall on the second floor? Since Arleaf referred you here… with breakfast included, I can do 1,600—no, 1,500 lag per day.”

That’s half of what Arleaf earned today. Is that cheap? Should I show how generous I am and pay for Arleaf’s stay as well?

‘Did you see the prices at all? It says it is 2,000 lag per day with breakfast included. I briefly glanced at the big inn two buildings down when we passed by. A good room there will run you 6,000 lag. This is an extraordinary deal you are getting.’

I see. She’s giving it to me that much cheaper. It really shows how well-connected Arleaf is. It’s hard to get my head wrapped around how these prices are, but no choice but to take it.

“Thank you very much.”

After having Veno checking it over, I put 1,500 lag down on the counter. I received the key from the proprietress-like woman.

“If you would like hot water or a cloth for bathing, just let me know. I can prepare you bathwater for 30 lag.” “Alright.” “Are you planning to set up base in this village for a while? We do long-term stays here as well.”

Seems like she’s gonna sweeten the deal for me. However… will I make this village my base? Veno did say people are after me. If I have to avoid those guys, I think it would be dangerous to stay at the same place. Might be better to move on quickly…

‘At this stage, we are still gathering information. We should go by our circumstances in two, three days’ time.’

Understood.

“Alright, thank you then.” “You can pay me day-to-day. Adventurers like you often go away for days. It’d be great if you could tell me when you won’t be staying here.” “I understand.”

After greetings and introductions, I look towards Arleaf.

“Then, now is where I’ll take my leave.” “Yeah. We’ll see each other if we do.”

It would be great if everyone would be nice to me.

‘You, too, are being nice to that girl. For now, let us get to our room.’

Yeah, yeah. With that, Arleaf waves her hand, and I walk up the stairs in front of me. I head to the room at the end of the hall, like the proprietress told me to. It’s a relatively simple room, but it’s pretty big. The bed is… stiff. With that said though, the room seems to have been taken care of.

Well then… my clothes still feel pretty damp, but if I take them off and hang them by the window, they should dry up. I’m alright with jumping in a poisonous swamp but being all wet like this feels gross. I hurried to flop down on the bed. Ahh… I feel so at ease. Up until yesterday, I had been a corporate slave working on a hellish schedule. In comparison, this is comfortable.

‘You have been fighting on a difficult fight.’

Heh, don’t underestimate a corporate warrior. Whatever I was thinking about before, I snap back to the present. I have about enough money to stay for a month. The problem is whether my wanted poster is circulating yet. Until then, though, something’s gonna happen.

previously: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /next/ (full list of translated chapters) (discussion thread) (support Average Translations)

[emmaline91]

Hopin’ and Prayin’ and Wishin’

Here is my @lovefromoq gift for @findingtallahassee 😘

The shadows blanket the road this far out. They stretch from the tops of the evergreen trees and cast most of the road in darkness. Except for tonight, there are a few bright beams filtering down from the full moon in the sky. The only sounds come from the crickets and wildlife beyond the pines and it’s a solitary, lonely kind of peaceful.

She’s made a habit out of coming here; slipping out just after Henry’s gone to sleep and spending a precious few hours hoping. Hoping for what, she isn’t quite sure. Maybe for the resolute acceptance of how things have turned out. For her heart to stop aching and move on already. Sometimes even, she’s loathe to admit, she wishes for a freak accident that would take Marian away and right the universe again.

But mostly, she hopes he’ll appear out of thin air, grinning how he does, as he steps back into Storybrooke and into her life.

She knows it won’t happen, that he might as well be in another realm altogether. She understands why he’s gone, respects it even, but it doesn’t keep her from peering out down the road and wondering where on the other side he could be tonight.

The pavement is cool beneath her thin slacks but she likes sitting at the very edge where she can pretend the red line in front of her crossed legs is the only barrier keeping them apart. As if the two of them sit apart, the protection spell a curtain that only need be pulled back and they’d be face to face. She lifts the flask next to her and the moon beams off its shiny surface as she indulges in another sip. She’s not drunk, but the alcohol numbs things just enough, blurs the edges so she doesn’t actually cry. And it would be all to easy to let herself embrace her emotions and sob in self pity.

He was supposed to be her second chance; her redemption for the awful woman she’d been—and he was, for however brief a time. His integrity made her better. His morals brought her back to that seventeen year old girl she once was. Just “Regina”, not “Her Majesty” or “The Evil Queen”. He saw the real Regina under all those layers of guilt and anger and regret. And perhaps what makes her feel more despondent than anything is that she’ll never get a third chance. She got so unexpectedly lucky with Robin. She didn’t deserve him to begin with, but only he could have been her soulmate. Only he could understand every sordid detail of her past and still have the audacity to not only love her, but choose her.

Regina runs a hand through the front of her dark hair as she sighs. She misses him. She misses having another person unconditionally in her corner, misses not always feeling like the third wheel, misses the smell of damp earth and aged redwood.

She wants to scream to the heavens, or this “author”, or whatever higher power there might be that it’s so unfair! Only she knows damn well how fair her pain is; how cosmic and condemned her story has read. It’s her punishment for choosing revenge when she could have chosen forgiveness. Daniel’s death was the great catalyst of her life. And while she knows there are many who let their grief morph into hatred, there had been another way. It would have been harder, maybe taken longer, but she might have come out the other side a better person; a hero.

She won’t make that mistake again.

While it feels just as bad as it had years ago, even worse actually; she cannot tarnish what Robin stood for, just to try to ease the ache. If anyone was undeserving, it was that man. He had made mistakes the same as any of them, sure, but he worked for his redemption. Robin had found a way to do what she never could. He turned his pain into purpose. A purpose full of love and selflessness and renewal.

And now he’s been hurt once more, entangled in the web of her retribution; collateral damage for the penance she was paying. He had not known just what loving the Evil Queen would cost him, even if she had truly made a change. Yet, he had opted to accept the shit hand he was dealt and if only it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be hurting because of it. He might even be overjoyed to have his late wife back; his family reunited.

She prays for that as she slowly pushes herself to her feet now. She decides it’s the only thing she can do to wish him well, Marian too. If only she could have granted him a memory spell before he’d gone so he could forget about the wreckage she’d brought into his heart. Of course, her thief would never have taken the easy way out. And Regina can’t help but to hold on to the thought of him remembering her, remembering the true, sacred, magical connection they shared.

She suddenly has to lift her fingers to her face to brush away an errant tear. She will not feel sorry for herself, at least not anymore tonight.

Staring out down the still, vacant road out of Storybrooke, she sniffles and squares her shoulders to reign in her emotions and she hopes above all else that Robin finds the kind of happiness she knows he deserves.

This chapter of her story is closing, and she needs to let the dust settle on the pages and find a way to move on. If her heart is going to take it’s time mending, then she must stop her late night visits. She has a son at home and new, delicate friendships, and a town that seems forever under threat, and a population of people who she owes debts so great she may never repay them. But she must try.

She turns on her heel and heads back to her silver benz parked just off the shoulder, opens the door and gives one last, longing gaze down the vacant road.

In her mind, the protected barrier shimmers and parts and her handsome thief appears, Roland at his side, tiny hand clutched in his. Regina abandons the door, unconsciously letting her feet carry her forward a few paces. She let’s her eyes slip closed and smiles wide with the image of them behind her lids.

“Regina”, he says.

And it’s not until she reopens her eyes that it occurs to her the tone of his voice had not been quite right.

“Regina!”

As if awaking from a dream, her focus snaps back to reality and he’s still in front of her, rushing towards her more accurately, his arms outstretched. The the next moment she can feel him against her chest, can smell his woodsy scent right under her nose.

“Oh thank God, Regina!”, he nearly cries in relief and it’s all she can do to catch her brain up to what’s happening. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought? He pulls out of the embrace, but doesn’t completely withdraw his touch. He must have sensed her shock, perhaps too overwhelmed to see her to notice she didn’t hug back.

“Regina?”

Her eyes scan over his body, willing herself to believe it’s really him, but they land instead on the dimple faced child grinning up at her.

“Gina! We come to visit you!”, his little voice hits her ears and she raises her eyes back to Robin’s anxious gaze. The acceptance breaks around her and she throws her arms around his neck, afraid he might disappear.

“Robin!”

It’s the only thing she manages to say while she’s this overcome with emotions. He holds her back, just as tight and whispers her name quietly against her head and she finally finds her voice.

“Wha—why—what are you doing here?”, she breathes in disbelief. Her hand falls to Roland’s head below and caresses his locks to finally acknowledge him, but she needs to grasp her current reality before she makes a fool of herself.

“It’s Zelena”, he tells her with a bit of disdain, “We’re all in danger. I had to come back to warn you all, to help fight”

He glances down at his now frightened son and lifts him into his right hip for a soothing hug while Regina blinks in confusion.

“What are you talking about? Where is Mari—“

“We can’t talk about it now”, he cuts her off urgently, gesturing with a discreet nod to the boy in his arms. “Listen, I promise I will explain everything later. But we don’t have a lot of time to gather the others and make a plan”.

He slides a gentle hand down her arm as if to assure her it’ll be alright despite his ominous warning. Roland wiggles in his grasp and his father sets him on his feet a moment before he bounds off a yard or two and squats down to examine a rock on the pavement.

“I’m just so happy to see you, Regina”, Robin cups her cheek in his chilled palm, “didn’t think I would again”.

His words rush off his tongue before his lips are pressed to hers, desperate and needy, fueled by the current perils only he knows they face and his all consuming love for her. It is a reunion kiss that can only come from resolutely believing they’d be separated permanently.

Regina responds with all the heart she can muster, their lips moving fluidly together as if the last few weeks had not eclipsed. When they finally break for air they are both grinning like fools, foreheads resting together as their breathing falls in sync, and she swears she suddenly feels whole again, as if her arm had been missing and has just now been returned. She lets the feeling wash over her, soaks it in selfishly for a minute because she knows how fleeting this absolute contentment is now.

There are still a thousand questions running through her head, a dark cloud churning and billowing over their little town and every life in it, but with Robin’s hand in her own things feel possible.

She tightens her grip and they start toward her car, ushering Roland away from his picture in the dirt as they go. They let their hands slip apart to round the car and Robin opens the back so Roland can hop inside excitedly, insisting that he’s mastered belting himself in. Once he’s safely buckled and shut in, Robin pulls his handle but catches Regina’s eyes over the hood.

They both have a flurry of emotions hidden in their expressions, but one sticks out above them all and Regina knows this one to be the only true importance in the world.

“I love you”, Robin declares, the lines around his eyes wrinkled from the joy on his face.

Her chest swells with such happiness that her dark eyes moisten with tears and she doesn’t care that her voice cracks when she finally speaks the words herself.

“I love you”.

Fin.

[publishingsolo]

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2. Does the Ghostwriter Properly Price Their Services?

Recognize that when hiring a ghostwriter, this will cost you. Expect to spend, at the very least, $4,000 for a small, 20,000-word book. Writing a book is an understandably labor-intensive, detailed, and time-consuming project. A 6x9 inch (standard size) 100-page book contains roughly 20,000 words. You can ascertain a ghostwriter does not know their craft if they charge less than $0.25 per word. A natural English-speaking writer and college graduate, would not accept less than $0.25 a word—even for their first project. Do not expect your book to be finished if someone is charging too little. Cheap ghostwriters easily become exhausted and run off with your down payment.

A seasoned professional knows their value and understands the work involved, will charge between $0.40 to $0.50 per word. Well-known and experienced ghostwriters may charge up to $1 per word—which is not unusual. Flee from those who charge “by the page.” You will not know the actual price in these cases because a page could include 100 to 500 words depending on the size of the font and book. Therefore, “by the page” services are misleading and ambiguous—avoid these at all costs.

3. How May You Evlavaute a Ghostwriter's Experience?

Look for a ghostwriter with writing experience in the field of your book's subject. Do not hire someone who bites off more than they can chew. Although enthusiastic at first, those without solid writing backgrounds will easily give up. The reality is, writing a book is intense and comparable to having a baby. Seriously. During your first meeting with a ghostwriter, request links to books they have written. I recommend you read the first and last chapters of their works to understand their writing style and strength.

4. What do the Ghostwriter's References & Testimonials Say?

Inexpensive ghostwriters from foreign countries may quickly turn your book project into a nightmare. You must hire a natural-born English-speaking writer with at least three books under their portfolio. Ensure they do not take your deposit without producing by checking their references and testimonials from previous clients. With all of its twists and turns, the digital publishing industry attracts various scammers. Do not let unvetted ghostwriting services trample on your dream to publish a book.

For steps 5 to 10, read WHAT IS GHOSTWRITING?—PART 2

I also recommend reading SELF-PUBLISHING FOR DUMMIES—PART 1 and SELF-PUBLISHING FOR DUMMIES—PART 2 to further educate yourself about the digital publishing process.

Explore Wikipedia's definition of a ghostwriter. Then, read The Exhilaration of Being a Published Author.

[rulystuff]

https://servicemeltdown.com/is-the-united-states-at-end-of-empire/

New Post has been published on https://servicemeltdown.com/is-the-united-states-at-end-of-empire/

IS THE UNITED STATES AT END OF EMPIRE?

America’s economic primacy is pretty much behind us. And, I don’t believe there is any chance of reversing a trend that began thirty plus years ago. The best-case scenario for the nation is to slow the rate of economic decline – never mind social and cultural decline, which are probably lodged in irreversible decay.  As Robert Kaplan says in his book, The Revenge of Geography, we might prolong our position of strength by preparing the world for our own obsolescence and thus ensuring a graceful exit.  But even this outcome will require the strength of will that has yet to be demonstrated by leaders in business, education, and government.

Economic primacy might be measured along many fronts – income per capita, rate of growth, productivity, foreign exchange reserves, among others – but if one looks at Gross Domestic Product (GDP), perhaps the coarsest measure of a nation’s economic well-being, then the United States has lost its economic primacy to China when compared on a purchasing power parity (PPP) basis.

The PPP approach levels the GDP calculation to each country’s relative price of goods. So, if a television set costs $500 in the United States while the same television costs $250 in China then, theoretically at least, we’re under counting China’s GDP by $250. Using the PPP rationale, China’s GDP was approximately $23.5 trillion in 2019 compared to that of the United States which came in at $21.4 trillion.

Some politicians, economists, lobbyists, and others, like to use a different measure of GDP to suit their own purposes. The nominal GDP, which looks at the total of goods and services produced at current exchange rates yields a substantially different calculation. The nominal GDP of the United States in 2019 came in at $21.4 trillion, a number which is identical to the nation’s GDP on a PPP basis. The reason for this is that the nominal GDP calculation is based on the dollar and so there is no currency conversion rate difference. By comparison, China’s nominal GDP came in at $14.3 trillion. If we only look at nominal GDP, it is clear we are being lulled into a false sense of economic security.

Diplomatically, China might also have an edge on the United States. In the 1980’s, the then leader of the People’s Republic of China, Deng Xiaoping, enunciated his famous maxim of tao guang yang hui. Interpreted variously, the maxim is meant as a foreign policy directive that regardless how muscular the nation might become economically, geopolitically, and militarily it is always best to keep a “low profile diplomatically.” No more beguiling example of Deng Xiaoping’s maxim is in evidence than in China’s Belt and Road Initiative. Simply put, China plans to build one “road” from China to Europe and thus control all manner of transcontinental commerce. Already, China controls or has a presence in ports that handle about two-thirds of the world’s container traffic. In Greece, the port of Piraeus, a storied port dating to the Fifth Century B.C., is majority owned by the China Ocean Shipping Company (COSCO) which makes Greece a strategic entry point for China into the heart of Europe.

IF WE’RE NOT MAKING STUFF WHAT ARE WE TO DO?

Let’s face it, manufacturing was lost to our shores for all intents and purposes several years ago. In 2015, China displaced the United States as the top manufacturing nation in the world. In 2019, China’s value-added output – in essence, the difference between price and the cost to produce – in manufacturing amounted to $3.9 trillion compared to $2.4 trillion for the United States. That gap will doubtless continue to grow.

There are now roughly 15 million workers in the United States engaged in manufacturing down from approximately 18 million in the 1980’s – President Trump, to his credit, was determined to revitalize manufacturing, steel, and coal but despite gains in these areas total employment numbers will continue to slip on a trend line basis.  When one considers that China has approximately 112 million manufacturing workers, the competitive disadvantage for the United States becomes palpably clear.

In 2019 our nation’s goods deficit with China was approximately $345 billion. That gap is not likely to be made up in any of our lifetimes. So, that leaves Services as the new game in town. In 2019, Services accounted for roughly 69% of our nation’s GDP. And, as a nation, we better excel in that new cycle reality. It is true, the United States ran an annual balance of payments surplus in services with China of about $36 billion in 2019 – with U.S. exports amounting to about $56 billion and imports from China totaling $20 billion. But don’t let that fool you as a $20 billion gap will be easy for China to make up especially when one considers that China’s Services sector is growing at an average of 2% per year. And, unless we accelerate the rate of growth of exports – the rate of growth is about even for both imports and exports – we might soon be facing a deficit in this sector of the economy so crucial for the good health of the nation in the twenty-first century.

THE NATION FACES SOME VERY STIFF HEADWINDS

The United States economy has structural defects which will not go away simply by holding rallies and mouthing rhetorical flourishes in the halls of Congress. Decline might be inexorable but we should not stand by as mere spectators. The will and purpose to restore our economic vitality must be marshaled by every American. It must begin, first and foremost, by demanding of our leaders, our institutions, and ourselves to be unafraid to serve in keeping with American priorities. It is the remotest possibility that we can salvage the service economy and consequently our nation unless our standard of performance is nothing less than service excellence in everything we do.

We don’t have a lot going for ourselves: Labor productivity growth is stalled at near zero levels; the rate of household savings is paltry; regulation and taxation still suffocates businesses and individuals despite President Trump’s initiatives; unemployment – not the nominal rate but the U6 rate which measures the unemployed, those that are not looking for work, and those who have had to settle for part-time work –  is mired at levels of 7% (during the Obama years the U6 rate never got below 9.2%); the national debt is on the order of 80% of GDP; entitlement spending is approximately 70% of our budget dollars and is likely to increase with both a growing number of baby boomers reaching retirement and the population’s longer life expectancy; and fraud and corruption run rampant among other serious afflictions.

Perhaps the most troubling portent for the nation’s future is its inability to clamber out of a deep and black hole in education. Among the 37 industrialized nations which comprise the Organization of Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), for example, the United States ranks 31st in mathematics and roughly in the middle on science. Clearly, all of the monetary and fiscal policies in the world will hardly fix this crippling deficiency which has more to do with a cultural indifference to serious and rigorous education.

Prior to Mr. Trump’s coming to office, the federal government was hell-bent on redistributing wealth rather than getting out of the way so that risk capitalists could create wealth. Unfortunately, President Trump’s reforms designed to bring back a full-throated and free market approach to the nation’s financial issues died the moment President Biden came into office.

Meanwhile, in the corporate world, business leaders are fixated on how quarterly earnings affect their pay packages, and when push comes to shove, cutting corners and worse. How else can one explain the utter disregard American companies operating in China have for the human rights abuses perpetrated by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) on its people. Abuses such as forced labor (unions are illegal in China), the internment of over a million Uyghurs and other ethnic minorities, bans on religious freedom and free expression, arbitrary arrests, and the repression of Hong Kong citizens seem not to bother the likes of executives at Caterpillar, General Motors, Ford, AMD, Micron Technologies, Intel, Texas Instruments, Nike, and many others which are doing a land-office business in China. Apple, most notably, has raised to an art form tax, regulatory, and labor dodges which allow it to stash hundreds of billions of dollars overseas while paying little or no income taxes in the United States. The company, apparently, is nonplussed by the fact that its armies of workers in China are employed for wages and benefits that would be in contravention of United States laws. How the CEO’s of these companies can live with themselves knowing full well that they are profiting from someone else’s misery is a testament to their greed and lust for power.

WHERE DOES THE CUSTOMER FIT IN?

From the way we treat our veterans, clients, patients, students, donors, and citizens – customers, all, to my way of thinking we have a lot of work to do before we can claim to excel in service. A survey by consulting giant Accenture in 2007 showed that 41% of respondents described service quality as fair, poor, or terrible – more recent surveys suggest service is worsening. Perform any human endeavor at that level of proficiency and you are an abject failure. In the services sector, however, that is par for the course. In the Far East, cultural determinants do not confuse service with servitude. As a rule, suppliers will go the extra mile to please a consumer. In the West, and particularly in the United States, the most that a service worker can muster when asked to perform a personalized service is to utter something like, “no problem.” That kind of indifferent attitude is ingrained and certain to keep our level of service quality from climbing out of the aforementioned levels of mediocrity.

In the meantime, off-shore locations feast on our indifference to service and do whatever it takes to secure and maintain a customer relationship. The oft-cited explanation for the comparative advantage of off-shore locations, namely, their low cost, is a facile response to a more complicated dynamic. It is true that off-shore locations enjoy all-in cost advantages vis-a-vis the United States. It is also true, that President Trump worked hard to enhance our competitiveness on the world stage by reducing the oppressive web of regulation; reducing our world-leading corporate tax rates; negotiating better trade deals; exiting globalist compacts financed on the backs of American taxpayers; offering a tax holiday for repatriated corporate profits, among other initiatives. Those initiatives, however, have either been rolled back or will soon be under President Biden’s Administration.

My experience is that, particularly in technical disciplines, services delivered by off-shore locations are superior to ours. An apprenticeship initiative, if it were aggressively expanded to include science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM) occupations, might make us more competitive in this area. In the rarefied world of supercomputers so critical to pushing the frontiers of science and technology, for example, the United States is out-produced by China on the order of two-to-one. So, until and unless we grow a much larger crop of more competent technical workers we will continue to be outperformed by nations more determined, better educated, more dedicated, and hungrier than we are.

CAN THE UNITED STATES GUARANTEE THE PEACE?

If the nation has ceded its economic primacy, its military primacy is being severely tested. United States’ land-based forces are heavily committed to counterinsurgency operations to fend off non-state actors while conventional warfare strategic planning appears to be dead. In Europe, a likely conventional hotspot, NATO and U.S. forces are outgunned and outmanned by a factor of at least ten to one by Russian forces.

Our ocean defenses are in no better shape. The nation’s principal bulwark protecting our shores is in steep decline. The United States Navy is but a ghost of its former self. The nation now has fewer vessels than it had before World War I. Most notably, our aircraft carrier fleet which must number sixteen in order to patrol three separate ocean theaters now numbers ten or barely enough to protect two theaters. In the Mediterranean, the U.S. Sixth Fleet is a non-entity the result of which is to have created a vacuum that is now filled by the Russians, Syrians, and Iranians. In the South China Sea, where American Navy vessels seem unable to sail without colliding into tankers and containerships, the United States is being challenged by a territorially aggressive and technologically advanced Chinese Navy. Already, an armada of sophisticated dredging vessels is reclaiming land from the sea for the sole purpose of building military airfields and naval port facilities. More worrisome, Chinese fighter jets and bombers now violate Taiwan’s air space with impunity and regularity.

Former U.S. Undersecretary of the Navy, Seth Cropsey, in his chilling and sobering account, Mayday the Decline of American Naval Supremacy, reminds us that China was the naval hegemon in the fifteenth century. Under the leadership of Admiral Sheng He, Chinese sailors coursed the oceans from their territorial waters to the Strait of Hormuz. Chinese vessels of the time were of a length and tonnage that were not to be seen in the West until centuries later. China’s naval supremacy only came to an end when civil servants forced severe budget cutbacks on the kingdom. Does our own budget sequestration of 2013, with its mandate to, in effect, disarm the military, ring a bell? The results of each nation’s budget missteps are eerily similar. China, for its part, will probably not repeat its mistake.

In all likelihood, it will take the United States a generation, assuming proper funding and political will, to restore the U.S. Navy so that we can confidently state that the nation can project power and protect seaborne commerce beyond the horizon.

Just as troubling as the rickety state of the nation’s military naval forces is the state of the United States Merchant Marine. The Merchant Marine fleet hauls cargo during peacetime and is attached to the Defense Department during wartime to transport troops and supplies into war zones. The United States should hope it does not get into a major conflagration oceans away as it has experienced a dramatic attrition in its Merchant Marine fleet and manpower inventory. In 1960, the United States had nearly 3,000 vessels in the Merchant Marine fleet. Today, the nation has fewer than 175 vessels or less than one-half of 1% of the total vessel count worldwide. Worse, United States-flagged vessels carry a mere pittance of the total volume of goods and materials that transit through the nation’s ports. The consequence of what is obviously a weak flank in the nation’s defense posture is that in the event of a major outbreak of hostilities the United States would be reliant on foreign-flagged vessels to carry troops, armaments, and supplies with all of the attendant security risks.

One can argue that China’s bellicosity toward the United States is as asymmetrical as it is frontal and direct: China’s theft of roughly $225 billion, at the low end and as much as $600 billion at the high end, annually in counterfeit goods, pirated software, and theft of trade secrets from the United States; its monopoly of rare earth metals critical not just for consumer products but for Defense Department applications; its financing of over fifty Confucius Institutes on college campuses and schools designed to spread CCP propaganda; and its unleashing of the Wuhan virus which has cost the lives of more than five-hundred thousand innocent Americans is proof positive that China’s strategy is to envelop the United States on all fronts.

AMERICA AT A CROSSROADS

In sum, if as the great military historian B.H. Liddell Hart suggests, a nation’s Grand Strategy is a composite of its political, military, economic and diplomatic tools in its “arsenal” which can be brought to bear to advance a state’s national interest then the United States appears to be convulsing in its gradual decay. As I have argued in my essay, The United Kingdom Is Resurgent, the former world economic power, lost its supremacy because it failed to adapt to the winds of change which buffeted its shores long after the economy reached its apex in the early twentieth century.

It is also provocative to think that there might be a “natural” life cycle to nations as there is to human beings that is irreversible. Regardless of one’s view in embracing one or another theory that might explain the demise of nations, there is no reason to remain indolent in resisting such decline even if there is only the remotest possibility of such an outcome. Keep in mind that the demise of Rome was hardly cataclysmic but the result of a long succession of imprudent decisions made by the Empire’s leaders.

[justanoutlawfic]

Happy OQ Valentine’s Day!

So, this may be a complete wreck but I’d like to draw your attention to a few things before you read you’re present ;) 1. Im pretty sure I gave away my identity already because... 2. I’m working off my iPhone (it’s sad but it’s true lol) and... 3. Mobile Tumblr just refusesss to make things easy on me. 4. And also, I waited to write this last minute like most other things in my life. But aside from all that, I do hope you find even a tiny bit of enjoyment in this. Our beautiful sunken ship deserves a bit of light today ❤️ P.s. I’d love to write for you again in the future if you’re ever interested. HOPIN’ AND WISHIN’ AND PRAYIN’ (An Outlaw Queen fic) The shadows blanket the road this far out. They stretch from the tops of the evergreen trees and cast most of the road in darkness. Except for tonight, there are a few bright beams filtering down from the full moon in the sky. The only sounds come from the crickets and wildlife beyond the pines and it’s a solitary, lonely kind of peaceful. She’s made a habit out of coming here; slipping out just after Henry’s gone to sleep and spending a precious few hours hoping. Hoping for what, she isn’t quite sure. Maybe for the resolute acceptance of how things have turned out. For her heart to stop aching and move on already. Sometimes even, she’s loathe to admit, she wishes for a freak accident that would take Marian away and right the universe again. But mostly, she hopes he’ll appear out of thin air, grinning how he does, as he steps back into Storybrooke and into her life. She knows it won’t happen, that he might as well be in another realm altogether. She understands why he’s gone, respects it even, but it doesn’t keep her from peering out down the road and wondering where on the other side he could be tonight. The pavement is cool beneath her thin slacks but she likes sitting at the very edge where she can pretend the red line in front of her crossed legs is the only barrier keeping them apart. As if the two of them sit apart, the protection spell a curtain that only need be pulled back and they’d be face to face. She lifts the flask next to her and the moon beams off its shiny surface as she indulges in another sip. She’s not drunk, but the alcohol numbs things just enough, blurs the edges so she doesn’t actually cry. And it would be all to easy to let herself embrace her emotions and sob in self pity. He was supposed to be her second chance; her redemption for the awful woman she’d been—and he was, for however brief a time. His integrity made her better. His morals brought her back to that seventeen year old girl she once was. Just “Regina”, not “Her Majesty” or “The Evil Queen”. He saw the real Regina under all those layers of guilt and anger and regret. And perhaps what makes her feel more despondent than anything is that she’ll never get a third chance. She got so unexpectedly lucky with Robin. She didn’t deserve him to begin with, but only he could have been her soulmate. Only he could understand every sordid detail of her past and still have the audacity to not only love her, but choose her. Regina runs a hand through the front of her dark hair as she sighs. She misses him. She misses having another person unconditionally in her corner, misses not always feeling like the third wheel, misses the smell of damp earth and aged redwood. She wants to scream to the heavens, or this “author”, or whatever higher power there might be that it’s so unfair! Only she knows damn well how fair her pain is; how cosmic and condemned her story has read. It’s her punishment for choosing revenge when she could have chosen forgiveness. Daniel’s death was the great catalyst of her life. And while she knows there are many who let their grief morph into hatred, there had been another way. It would have been harder, maybe taken longer, but she might have come out the other side a better person; a hero. She won’t make that mistake again. While it feels just as bad as it had years ago, even worse actually; she cannot tarnish what Robin stood for, just to try to ease the ache. If anyone was undeserving, it was that man. He had made mistakes the same as any of them, sure, but he worked for his redemption. Robin had found a way to do what she never could. He turned his pain into purpose. A purpose full of love and selflessness and renewal. And now he’s been hurt once more, entangled in the web of her retribution; collateral damage for the penance she was paying. He had not known just what loving the Evil Queen would cost him, even if she had truly made a change. Yet, he had opted to accept the shit hand he was dealt and if only it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be hurting because of it. He might even be overjoyed to have his late wife back; his family reunited. She prays for that as she slowly pushes herself to her feet now. She decides it’s the only thing she can do to wish him well, Marian too. If only she could have granted him a memory spell before he’d gone so he could forget about the wreckage she’d brought into his heart. Of course, her thief would never have taken the easy way out. And Regina can’t help but to hold on to the thought of him remembering her, remembering the true, sacred, magical connection they shared. She suddenly has to lift her fingers to her face to brush away an errant tear. She will not feel sorry for herself, at least not anymore tonight. Staring out down the still, vacant road out of Storybrooke, she sniffles and squares her shoulders to reign in her emotions and she hopes above all else that Robin finds the kind of happiness she knows he deserves. This chapter of her story is closing, and she needs to let the dust settle on the pages and find a way to move on. If her heart is going to take it’s time mending, then she must stop her late night visits. She has a son at home and new, delicate friendships, and a town that seems forever under threat, and a population of people who she owes debts so great she may never repay them. But she must try. She turns on her heel and heads back to her silver benz parked just off the shoulder, opens the door and gives one last, longing gaze down the vacant road. In her mind, the protected barrier shimmers and parts and her handsome thief appears, Roland at his side, tiny hand clutched in his. Regina abandons the door, unconsciously letting her feet carry her forward a few paces. She let’s her eyes slip closed and smiles wide with the image of them behind her lids. “Regina”, he says. And it’s not until she reopens her eyes that it occurs to her the tone of his voice had not been quite right. “Regina!” As if awaking from a dream, her focus snaps back to reality and he’s still in front of her, rushing towards her more accurately, his arms outstretched. The the next moment she can feel him against her chest, can smell his woodsy scent right under her nose. “Oh thank God, Regina!”, he nearly cries in relief and it’s all she can do to catch her brain up to what’s happening. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought? He pulls out of the embrace, but doesn’t completely withdraw his touch. He must have sensed her shock, perhaps too overwhelmed to see her to notice she didn’t hug back. “Regina?” Her eyes scan over his body, willing herself to believe it’s really him, but they land instead on the dimple faced child grinning up at her. “Gina! We come to visit you!”, his little voice hits her ears and she raises her eyes back to Robin’s anxious gaze. The acceptance breaks around her and she throws her arms around his neck, afraid he might disappear. “Robin!” It’s the only thing she manages to say while she’s this overcome with emotions. He holds her back, just as tight and whispers her name quietly against her head and she finally finds her voice. “Wha—why—what are you doing here?”, she breathes in disbelief. Her hand falls to Roland’s head below and caresses his locks to finally acknowledge him, but she needs to grasp her current reality before she makes a fool of herself. “It’s Zelena”, he tells her with a bit of disdain, “We’re all in danger. I had to come back to warn you all, to help fight” He glances down at his now frightened son and lifts him into his right hip for a soothing hug while Regina blinks in confusion. “What are you talking about? Where is Mari—“ “We can’t talk about it now”, he cuts her off urgently, gesturing with a discreet nod to the boy in his arms. “Listen, I promise I will explain everything later. But we don’t have a lot of time to gather the others and make a plan”. He slides a gentle hand down her arm as if to assure her it’ll be alright despite his ominous warning. Roland wiggles in his grasp and his father sets him on his feet a moment before he bounds off a yard or two and squats down to examine a rock on the pavement. “I’m just so happy to see you, Regina”, Robin cups her cheek in his chilled palm, “didn’t think I would again”. His words rush off his tongue before his lips are pressed to hers, desperate and needy, fueled by the current perils only he knows they face and his all consuming love for her. It is a reunion kiss that can only come from resolutely believing they’d be separated permanently. Regina responds with all the heart she can muster, their lips moving fluidly together as if the last few weeks had not eclipsed. When they finally break for air they are both grinning like fools, foreheads resting together as their breathing falls in sync, and she swears she suddenly feels whole again, as if her arm had been missing and has just now been returned. She lets the feeling wash over her, soaks it in selfishly for a minute because she knows how fleeting this absolute contentment is now. There are still a thousand questions running through her head, a dark cloud churning and billowing over their little town and every life in it, but with Robin’s hand in her own things feel possible. She tightens her grip and they start toward her car, ushering Roland away from his picture in the dirt as they go. They let their hands slip apart to round the car and Robin opens the back so Roland can hop inside excitedly, insisting that he’s mastered belting himself in. Once he’s safely buckled and shut in, Robin pulls his handle but catches Regina’s eyes over the hood. They both have a flurry of emotions hidden in their expressions, but one sticks out above them all and Regina knows this one to be the only true importance in the world. “I love you”, Robin declares, the lines around his eyes wrinkled from the joy on his face. Her chest swells with such happiness that her dark eyes moisten with tears and she doesn’t care that her voice cracks when she finally speaks the words herself. “I love you”. Fin

[alli-howard]

Let’s Talk about Repentance

In Christianity, repentance is the word used to describe the intentional act of turning away from sin and following God in obedience. While it is a crucial step in any Christian’s journey, it is probably the least appealing. The promise of unconditional love and eternal life sound good, but sometimes the cost to get there just feels too steep. We have a tendency to focus on our own wants and needs more than those of others, which isn’t surprising to anyone who even occasionally watches the news.

The Gospel tells us that despite our self-centered natures, Jesus has made a way for us to be in relationship with God. Though we didn’t go looking for Him nor did we really want to find Him, Jesus stepped out of Heaven and came to Earth in search of us. Because of His great love for us, He took the punishment our sins deserved on Himself, and made a way for us to be in relationship with Him. The “catch,” if you will, is that He asks us to take an honest look at ourselves to determine which parts of ourselves don’t align with His Word. In light of eternal life and love, that trade-off is pretty small. So why does repentance seem so unbearably difficult at times?

One reason that repentance is so challenging is that when we come to know Christ, many aspects of our identity are already formed. Maybe you like drinking excessively, even though you know the Bible tells you not to. Your response could either be to say “well that’s just who I am, I like to drink” or you could repent and make an effort to honor God through what you consume. Or maybe you are prone to anger. Will you just accept that as a part of your personality and say, “I am just an angry person,” or will you give it to God and allow Him to heal you and make you new? Sin is tricky because it can present itself as something that is just a part of us. Repentance requires painfully honest self-examination. 

I have always had a delicate conscience. Even as a little girl I was terrified of breaking the rules. I remember hearing someone pray that God would forgive us for our sins, both known and unknown, and I was very concerned. Could I be sinning without even knowing it? How could that be? As I’ve matured, I realized that this fear of wrongdoing stems from both my personality and my desire to honor God. But the question remains, how could we possibly be sinning if we are not even aware of it?

There are a few things I’d like us to consider here. First of all, I am a white Christian, and many white Christians were raised to have what was referred to as a “Christian worldview.” In reality, there is no one Christian worldview. While Christians believe that the Bible is infallible and inerrant, the way we process and understand it will inevitably be filtered through the lens of our time period, geography, and life experiences (including our racial experiences). Additionally, there are different types of laws — the moral laws the Bible calls us to obey and the laws of the lands that govern us. When there is conflict between moral and legal laws, Christians are compelled to live in obedience to God by following the moral law rather than the law of their land. 

Let me give you an example. A Christian serving in the Germany military during the rise of Adolf Hitler would quickly find himself in a situation where he would have to choose between following the moral law which says “do not murder” and his job, which required him to follow orders and take the lives of others. The appropriate Christian response would be to affirm the inherent dignity of every individual and refuse to follow orders, regardless of the personal sacrifice required. If he chose to obey the law of the land and follow orders, he would be sinning. 

Why am I bringing up Nazi Germany, you may ask? You might remember people saying that the Trump campaign paralleled the rise of the Nazi party in many ways. They were told to stop being so dramatic. Why, people asked, do we always have to be so extreme??

The reason this is relevant is because our country has more in common with Nazi Germany than we care to admit. The Nazis were enthralled with the way the American legal system was created to benefit some and marginalize others. They were so enthralled, in fact, that Adolf Hitler sent Heinrich Himmler, who later became the main architect for the Holocaust, to America to learn about our system so that they could implement a similar one to accomplish their goal of racial purity. Often when they rejected our policies and practices, it was not because they were too equitable and fair, but because they were too harsh. 

When Germany lost the war, they denounced Nazism and all symbols associated with it. I toured Berlin a few years ago and I walked through The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. I stood on the parking lot that now sits on top of the bunker where Hitler took his life. There was no plaque to commemorate it. Why? Because they lost. Germans understand that what they did was atrocious, and they have disavowed it completely. Nazi flags and swastikas are illegal in Germany because they don’t want to provide any opportunity to rally the call of an ideology that is both dangerous and failed. 

So what does this have to do with repentance? I once heard the example of sin being like a cancer. When sin is given free range inside of us, it kills us slowly from the inside. If you went to the doctor about the pain resulting from your cancer, you wouldn’t ask him to numb the pain. You would ask him to cut the cancer out completely so you can begin to heal. The same is true with sin. We cannot allow sin to fester in our lives or in our land. It will always seek to destroy us and it won’t stop until it’s done. 

What does this have to do with America and our current circumstances, you may ask? We are in the midst of the largest civil rights movement of many of our lifetimes. This movement has illuminated how far we need to go to cut the racial sin, bias, and prejudice from our lives. As we eliminate racial bias and sin from ourselves, we also need to cut the sin out of our systems and communities. This is not explicitly a policing issue — though the stakes are higher in policing and criminal justice than in other industries. We need to cut the sin out of the systems that exists, and we need to eliminate symbols of it that still remain.

If you didn’t learn much about the Confederacy in school, I advise you to brush up on it. The Confederacy represents a movement to dehumanize black people in order to accumulate wealth for white people. Rather than acknowledging this deeply-rooted sin, like Germany did, we make swimsuits and playing cards out of the Confederate flag, allow it to fly in public spaces, and even made it a part of the Mississippi state flag. Do you realize what that means? Racism is so integrated into parts of our society that to eliminate signs of it, one of our states would have to create a whole new flag. We allow monuments of men who committed treason against our nation in order to continue making money at the hands of their slaves to stand in public spaces, where children can see them. Imagine being a young black child and asking your parents who the man in a statue was. How do you tell your child that the man in the statue fought to keep people like you as his property without harming your child psychologically? Imagine being a parent who is forced to answer that question. You shouldn’t have to. No one should. 

Now explain to me, why is free speech of all kinds more important than eliminating explicit symbols of hate and dehumanization? If you choose to make that argument I’d love to hear it, but because I am a Christian, if I am given the choice between someone else’s rights or my own freedoms, I will choose someone else’s rights every time. 

So in conclusion, I humbly ask you, as I ask myself, to repent. Cut the cancer out. Understand the role you play in the process. Demand repentance of the industry where you work. Urge your church to join the call for lament. Insist that your local and national government acknowledge and right the wrongs of the past. Our intentional refusal to recognize the inherent dignity of black Americans is abhorrent, and insulting to God, who does not show favoritism.

As many of us read for the first time about the atrocities that have been committed against black Americans, it is easy to say, “How could “they” (the white people of that time) let that happen?” It’s important to realize, as we have seen all across our nation over the last month, that our nation’s dark past is not our past. If we stay silent, we will be the “they” that our kids read about in their history books. Our children will ask us how we let this continue. So will God.

Black people are still killed unjustly in America and justice is still denied. We must repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near. 

[davewakeman]

3 Strategic Reasons Major League Baseball's Attendance Is Free Falling...

  Let’s get right to the point here:

No one outside of the teams themselves knows exactly how bad MLB’s attendance really is because the reported numbers are all built around tickets distributed and not tickets used.

Many of the examples that are thrown out in these lists of think pieces about what’s up with attendance are largely tactical and might act like a dose of sugar to an 8-year-old.

As someone that works with companies all over the globe, I look at Major League Baseball and I don’t see a tactical problem…I see a strategic problem and one that hasn’t been framed properly to this point.

In my view, the challenges that MLB is dealing with comes down to 3 things:

Value proposition: 

Let me ask you a question: what is the value proposition of going to a Major League Baseball game at this point?

No one really knows.

Are you purist that is going for the love of the game?

Are you a family, enjoying a night at the ballpark?

Are you a business, entertaining clients?

All of these things might happen, but the reality of the situation is that no one really knows the point of view of Major League Baseball for why you should attend a game.

Looking at this challenge through the lens of the larger business community, we need to recognize that most teams and leagues don’t do a very good job of initiating a story about why someone should be a fan of the game or attend a game in person.

This is partly due to the fact that most of the teams have standardized their websites and content under the idea of making things uniform and simpler to create…with the unintended consequence being that, unfortunately, a lot of the brand personality has been squeezed out of the leagues and teams.

Outside of this reason though, the more important issue is that if the value proposition of what you are selling isn’t present from the first image on the landing page, you are likely costing yourself tons of money because as consumers shift more of their recreation dollars to experiences, you aren’t just competing against the in-home experience, you are also so competing against things like concerts, arts, festivals, road trips, and more.

Check out Disney World’s website: 

Clean homepage with almost everything dedicated to highlighting the value of the Disney experience

Video

Strong language about the experience and limited time, to create urgency

Images of people having fun and some of the things you’ll see

I mean, I’m not going to Disney. But it looks fun!

Contrast that with the landing page of the Washington Nationals and what do you see:

Cluttered home page with nothing specific to draw your attention towards a game

Scrolling headlines that are likely interesting if you are a Nats’ fan, but if you aren’t…

A clear call-to-action about “Vote Daily! Vote Nats!” that would likely be better positioned to sell the in-stadium experience or tickets.

Best practices around the world of marketing and sales tell you three things:

Your message should be clear.

Your message should be compelling.

Your message should be consistent.

A critical eye on the website of most MLB teams would show that it varies whether or not teams are using a pop-up to alert visitors to a special game, series, or offer.

Within those that offer, there is also a wide variation of the pop-ups being good or bad.

This is hard to explain in a blog post, but if it is me…I’m starting out with 3 things to drive home the value of the in-game Major League Baseball experience:

1. Start by laying out a clear value proposition: The team side needs to be all about winning. To quote Al Davis: “Just win baby!” But on the business side and the fan experience side, my goal is to be to provide a world-class entertainment experience. Then I benchmark myself against what other experiential businesses are doing.

If I am selling premium seating and suites, I’m not looking at what other teams are doing in sports…I’m going beyond that to look at what the Four Seasons is doing.

When I’m looking at the presentation of my game, I’m looking at what Disney is doing, in their parks, on their cruises, and all the other places they entertain.

This goes on and on because every aspect of the experience matters and people’s expectations are growing as they are exposed to what experiences are like in other towns, countries, and areas.

2. Paint a compelling picture of why going to a game matters: 

I did a keynote speech in the UK in 2017 that focused on the community and the connection of the live experience.

I didn’t do this for any other reason except for I’d seen a lot of reports and data that stated pretty emphatically that people want, yearn for a community and connection to the world around them.

Contrast that information with the way that is often presented when we are selling sports.

One isn’t reflected in the other.

If it is me, I’m beating people over the head with the excitement of the in-game experience:

I’m showing fans jumping up and down with joy at an exciting play.

I’m highlighting the goofy dancing and antics of fans during breaks.

I’m pointing people to see the ways our guests interact with each other in the concourses.

To put it another way, I’m putting everything out there like you have the chance to be at the best party in town 81 days a year.

To me the challenge looks like keeping demand up at a nightclub when you have 365 nights a year to get people to come to your party.

3. I’m going to deliver this message consistently:

While there may be some variation to the specific message, I’m going to be going crazy with the repetition that you need to come out and see the Orioles this weekend because the Royals are here for their only weekend series of the year and we are going to be throwing Baltimore’s best party all weekend long…and, best of all, it is family friendly.

Every message you get from me is going to be you are getting world-class entertainment that you can’t get anywhere else…best of all, bring the entire family.

…best of all, bring a client or prospect and share a one-of-its-kind experience.

On and on and on…

Customer Focus:

I’m pretty certain that if you just spent a little time going through the value proposition and really digging into how you could amp that thing up, you’d get a long way down to the point of solving many of the issues at the heart of baseball. Because out of understanding the value proposition you are likely to see that you aren’t really doing a good job delivering for your customers and you aren’t marketing very well.

Back to the customer.

There are 2 points here:

Who is MLB’s customer today?

What does their customer value?

First, does anyone really know who Major League Baseball is targeting as a customer today?

I certainly can’t tell.

Is your customer a high-end professional taking family or clients?

If so, you may be priced things the right way, but your stadium isn’t really built to encourage those fans to attend because if that was the case, you’d likely need to cut the size of your stadium from 40,000 to 4,000.

Is your customer the discount shopper?

Great!

You’ve now taught your market that if they stay away long enough, they’ll eventually get a better deal.

Is it someone else?

Who knows?!

The other point is that what do these customers value?

Without understanding your customer, you can have no idea what is valuable to your customer.

Worse even, how often are executives and marketers and sales folks just chatting with their customers, understanding what they like and don’t like, what they find valuable, etc.?

If I were to ask you the question in a workshop, I can guarantee everyone’s hand would go up.

I’m also betting that a lot of people are thinking that they do enough…and my challenge would be to do more.

Then there is the likely majority of people that aren’t really doing this at all and need to start ASAP.

The general idea being, MLB has a customer problem and it is that they don’t know who their customers are.

As far as I can tell the majority of their customers are TV partners, business sponsors, and brokers.

But if you want to get people back in the ballpark, start with your most valuable partners and ask these 2 questions:

What is the value that you receive from working with us?

What do you wish we could do better?

From there, let’s go to people you want to come to the ballpark:

Families

Young adults

Business folks

Other

Ask them what they are doing now. Why are they doing it? Why aren’t they going out to a game? What would they like to do more of?

And, on and on.

You want to understand what people find valuable.

What will cause them to come out to your venue?

What they are doing currently?

This isn’t rocket science though maybe it feels like it sometimes.

But the secret to generating demand is:

Understanding your market

Understanding their needs

Designing something that fills those needs based on your knowledge of your product and your customers.

Marketing!

Everyone knows how to market…I get it!

At least that is what most people think.

I’d argue most of you are wrong.

I go between two definitions of marketing:

Marketing is about selling shit! And, making boatloads of money! (Credit this one to Mark Ritson.)

Marketing is about creating discomfort. The discomfort of knowing that you could have something better if you’d only take action: buy it, vote for it, do it…you get the point.

I believe they are pretty similar, but too many people roll out the garbage about social purpose and brand identity and all these other things that really mean that people don’t know how to sell something or get someone to take action.

My perception of the situation is that there are 3 big marketing challenges facing MLB:

For a long time, MLB’s partners have done a great job of promoting the game, the players, and the story of baseball that the chops to market holistically just aren’t there. Look at the NHL’s decision to hire from a background outside of sports and how that has improved their marketing dramatically in a year or so.

Marketing and advertising are looked at as cost centers and boxes to check, not profit centers.

The art of storytelling has been lost.

How do you solve those 3 challenges?

First, you need to get some new life ideas into the marketing rotation.

Having the opportunity to do things across industries, I get to see the best and worst of marketing from all over the place.

Here are 3 ways to dramatically improve the marketing of baseball:

Expand the types of advertising and marketing that you are doing. I’ve used Alan Weiss’s concept of Marketing Gravity as a jumping off point of my own marketing and he lists 24-26 ways to promote yourself. I also keep a list in my folder with 125+ different ways to create content. So baseball needs to get out of the same old, same old emphasis and be creative in sharing its message.

Do better with your email marketing: email marketing for MLB is bad! Fix it. People buy from emails ask Kirk Bentley. He works with nonprofits, but I’m telling you his advice works…

Be consistent in telling the story of the game and link it to the emotional: nostalgia, experience, and community: emotions get people to act, period. Advertising and marketing is about striking an emotional chord with your target audience to get them to take action in a way that you need them to. It might be a decision ladder like I need you to go to the site, buy tickets, come to the game, repeat. Whatever it is, tell your story…over and over with an emphasis on what is going to create emotional reactions in people and get them to take action.

These things aren’t happening today. And, they are limiting the impact on what MLB is able to do from a marketing perspective.

I’ve done nothing here to cover other important parts of the issues confronting Major League Baseball like scheduling, pricing, and more.

In truth, if you knew your customers or were more in touch with the people that you need to come into the ballpark, some of these issues would be resolved during the designing an experience for your customer phase.

But this is my take on MLB’s attendance challenge from the POV of a strategist.

What say you?

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3 Strategic Reasons Major League Baseball’s Attendance Is Free Falling… was originally published on Wakeman Consulting Group