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firehousewithaview · 3 years ago

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It’s Just A Day (But It’s Your Day)

It’s taken so so so long, but I’ve finally finished the prompt that @justsmilestuffhappens sent in so very long ago. Like, it was before season 5 even started airing, that’s how long I have been slamming my head against it. But I finally got it to an acceptable enough stopping place. I’m so sorry this took so long and I really appreciate the prompt. Hope you don’t mind I got a bit carried away.

The prompt was: Eddie planning buck's birthday maybe? But not sure if canon s5 or not because Maddie might be M.I.A. for a bit Would he go all out as buck's 30 or something more simple just him Christopher buck and or the other immediate firefam

It’s posted to AO3 here

it’s posted with a second chapter where I put in the totally self-indulgent Eddie & Maddie scene I wrote that didn’t really fit the story but I liked enough to keep anyways.

Eddie never quite understood the big deal with birthdays until he became a father.

Until then, he was ambivalent to the whole concept, taking each one as it went past and celebrating other’s when he was invited. His opinion on them took a full about turn when he realized he was missing the celebration of his son being on this earth a full year while he was in a desert half a world away.

Since coming home, or at least to LA, Eddie has made a concentrated effort to celebrate his loved one’s birthdays, much to Pepa and Abuela’s frustration. Pepa still hasn’t forgiven him for his attempt at a nice dinner his first year in LA, though now she brings it up with a teasing look in her eye instead of looking vaguely nauseated over the memory.

Which might be why he feels blindsided when Christopher tells him, in no uncertain terms, that they are having Buck’s birthday sleepover at their house at the end of the week.

A thousand responses form then float away as he stares at his son. He’s standing at the edge of the couch with his arms crossed and a no nonsense expression, and Eddie gets the uncomfortable thought that he learned this particular pose and face from him.

“We are?” He’s pretty sure they hadn’t made plans, is very sure he would remember a birthday party he is supposed to host for his best friend while there’s still a virus out there, but at the same time, the frown on Christopher’s face is set in a way it rarely is.

The look he gets for that is definitely something Christopher picked up from him. “Yes.” He stresses as if this should be obvious. “I asked if we could have a sleepover on Friday and he said I have to ask you.” He must see that Eddie is about to say something because he rushes on. “And Friday is his birthday and when I asked him what he was doing, h-he said he didn’t know.” He huffs a bit and sticks out his bottom lip. “He doesn’t know, dad! On his birthday!”

Finally catching up, Eddie feels his mouth start to pull down because he actually hadn’t realized Buck’s birthday was so close.

And then hits keep coming because Christopher, seeing his face, seems to think a no is on the horizon, so he starts babbling faster. “And- And- We never celebrated Buck’s birthday together before!” He seems genuinely distressed by this, hands starting to flutter. “Last year I was still with Abuela and before that he was still gone where we couldn’t call him, and before that I didn’t know his birthday, and we only knew him that long, but he should still get to have a good birthday here with us because we love him and you need to make people you love feel special so they know we’re happy they were born!”

By the end of his rant, Christopher has his hands flying through the air in a way that screams Buck so much, Eddie has to clear his throat a little to beat back his emotions. He really lucked out with this kid. “Hey, bud, take a breath.” Eddie soothes, reaching out in a placating gesture. “Yeah, we can have Buck here for a birthday sleepover.” Which is a bit surreal to say because Buck has stayed over a lot in the last few months, especially after the shooting and during Eddie’s healing, but in all that time, it wasn’t necessarily a sleepover, more of a convenience or reassurance reason.

Christopher lights up. “Awesome!” He bounces a bit and windmills his way into a hug when he almost over balances. “It’s going to be so fun!” His back patting from the hug becomes insistent slapping as he pulls away. “We need to tell him now!”

Seeing the time, Eddie smothers a laugh. “It’s time to get ready for bed, but we can see if he can do a video call to tell him and say goodnight.” Squinting, Christopher peers at him for a few beats longer, as if gauging how likely he is to get away with insisting on now, before letting out a big sigh and leaning his head back. “Fine.” He relents, turning to head back to his room.

Eddie stretches for his phone on the coffee table, noting he already has an unread message from Buck.

do you think a goose electrocuted on a powerline is cooked enough to eat

With the instincts of a father of a 10 year old, Eddie is hitting ‘call’ before he really thinks it through.

“Please tell me this is one of your hypotheticals.” He starts in as soon as he hears the line connect.

Buck lets out a laugh on the other end. “Hi, Eddie. Good to hear from you too, Eddie.” He mocks. “No, Eddie, I’m not actually eating electrocuted goose.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, falling back against the couch and craning his neck to see where Chis is and if he actually went to start his night time routine. “We both know I’m over half of your impulse control, Buckley, and I have a healthy paranoia over the times I’m not there.”

Buck laughs. “I’ll have you know my impulse control works just fine when you aren’t here.”

“Really now.”

“Yeah,” Buck says brightly, “It’s not my fault the little voice in my head is starting to sound like you when you’re using your ‘very disappointed dad’ voice.”

That rips a laugh from Eddie too. “Yeah, well, you’ll be happy to know that one finally came back to bite my ass.”

“What?” Buck’s confused voice has Eddie picturing the exact face he is making, including his head cocked to the side a little. He stopped denying he finds it cute ages ago and now just lets the fond smile slip onto his face as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, Chris pulled out all the stops today.”

Across the line, Buck sounds a bit awed. “Now I’m kind of wishing I’d seen it.” He still has laughter in his voice. “What did you do to him, Eds?”

Eddie lets out a squawk of indignation. “I didn’t do anything!” He huffs. “He was just very insistent about this birthday sleepover on Friday and thought I was going to say no, I guess.”

“He has a birthday party on Friday?” Buck asks, laughter finally gone.

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Like you don’t know that.”

“No?” The confusion is back again. “He asked to have a sleepover on Friday when I was leaving yesterday, but I’m sure we can move it.”

Now Eddie’s confused. “What? Why would we move it?”

“So Chris can go to the birthday sleepover?”

The pieces finally click. “Buck.” Eddie sighs, exasperated. “That is the birthday sleepover.”

Well. The pieces click together for him. “Chris’s birthday was three months ago?”

The genuine confusion, that Eddie knows well enough to hear concern starting to creep into, in his voice sends a wave of fondness rippling through him. “Yeah,” He leads patiently, “which means the person we know who has a birthday on Friday is…?”

There’s a few beats of silence before Buck says, “Oh shit, it’s my birthday.”

That’s not the reaction Eddie was going for. “Did you just forget your own birthday?” He demands. The determination on his son’s face makes more sense now.

“Forget is a strong word.” Buck says sheepishly. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

Which is fair, but also a bit frustrating. Buck has the whole station’s birthdays memorized, down to Alan the grouchy maintenance man, and insists on acknowledging them. For his last birthday, Eddie came home to a family dinner with Pepa, Abuela, Christopher, and Buck arranged in his backyard so they could socially distance but still be together. And they combined forces for Christopher’s last birthday, trying to make it as special as they could while still being safe, which meant a cabin out near Sequoia National Forest, a telescope, and a big book of California native wildlife that Christopher was over the moon to use. And the first year had included Disney World because, as Buck put it, “It’s his first birthday in Cali!”.

So Eddie can understand being busy, but at the same time, what the hell. “Then I guess it’s a good thing Christopher has your back.” He teases, going for light but landing closer to sharp. “So you have plans for Friday now.”

There’s something almost reluctant about Buck’s voice when he says “Yeah, it’s a plan.”

It’s weird, but not weird enough to call him out on, so Eddie just heaves himself off the couch as he says, “Chris wants to talk to you too.”

All weirdness has gone from his voice when Buck demands, “Then switch me over and pass me to my favorite Diaz.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie walks into his son’s room and forgets any weirdness at all.

~`~

Eddie thinks nothing of it when he mentions Buck’s birthday sleepover at work, but clearly that was a mistake.

It’s one of those ‘death by a thousand cuts’ kind of days, where people are being stupid just to be stupid but they all happen to be doing it today. The calls aren’t hard, necessarily, but they are tedious. They’re fresh off a minimal injury car wreck where a driver was arrested after going after the person he hit and all Eddie can think of is getting himself another cup of coffee. It looks like Chim had the same idea while Hen and Bobby are scrounging for food. Buck is on the couch with his headphones already back in, determined to finish the documentary he started earlier. Chim had been jokingly lamenting how none of them know how to make normal friends anymore and turned to Eddie to back him up.

And now the silence in the kitchen is deafening because Eddie said, “My best friend is choosing to celebrate his 30th with a sleepover with my son, so I really can’t help with this whole normal friendship thing.”

There’s still movement outside the loft but all the people in his immediate vicinity are statues, which is beginning to freak Eddie out, so he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “What? It’s not that weird.”

Finally Hen seems to break herself out of it, a massive smile taking over her face. “I can’t believe you, Eddie!” She’s close to a cheer, but keeps her voice down with a quick eye flick towards Buck. “How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Eddie asks, confusion thick in his voice.

Chim goes back to pouring his coffee. “Get Buck to see you on his birthday.” He shakes his head, leaning back against the counter and keeping a steady eye on the couch. “He’s been militant since he started about having it off and usually no one can reach him.”

Eddie feels his face crumple even further into confusion. “Really?” He muses around another sip of coffee. “That’s weird, Christopher just asked him and Buck agreed.” No need to mention it seems like Buck forgot about his own impending birthday.

Understanding alights all three faces near simultaneously, even Bobby who has yet to enter the conversation officially. Eddie doesn’t need to be psychic to know they’re all thinking about Buck doing anything for Christopher.

Just as Eddie opens his mouth to see if anyone else knows why, the alarm sounds.

He can just ask them later.

~`~

Later never comes because the rest of the shift is rough.

A house fire takes them nearly 5 hours to finally put out, and they only had fifteen minutes at the station before a car wreck involving a motorcycle called them out again until the sun had set.

No one is in the mood to talk after that one, everyone pulling themselves back together in their own ways. Chim and Hen have both taken off to call their families while Bobby is standing in the kitchen and contemplating the contents of the fridge.

And Buck is on the couch staring blankly at his phone, hair curling where he hadn’t bothered slicking it back after his shower.

Eddie had been the one to all but throw him into the showers.

One of the car occupants had still been bleeding a little as Buck had reached in to help her, and flecks had gotten on his face above his face mask. He hadn’t reacted besides a small flinch, but Eddie found himself unable to look at his face yet unwilling to stray further than arms length away. He’s also trying not to think about the pinched look Bobby had gotten when he saw Buck’s face afterwards, mostly because there are too many things he could be thinking about to count and that’s not conducive to being functional for the rest of the night.

Pausing, Eddie gives himself a few beats to really appreciate that they’re here, back at work with his family right next to him, lets that begin to chip away at the tangled web of steel wool that had curled around his throat earlier.

Then he throws himself onto the couch next to Buck, close enough that his thighs are aligned all the way up and his arm is on top of the other’s.

“So it’s about 8:45,” Eddie starts, already wiggling around to get his phone out of his pocket because he had been distracted as he sat down and now has to basically prop himself into Buck as he digs in his pockets. “I think we can catch Chris before he’s asleep.”

Buck huffs out an amused sound. “Was just thinking that.” He holds out an airpod into Eddie’s peripheral vision. “Here, I can call on mine.”

Finally getting his phone free, Eddie turns to face his friend. “We are not doing that again.” He deadpans. “I learned my lesson. You keep your phone to Google things on and I will keep my peace of mind.”

“Eds,” Buck sighs, all longsuffering, like Eddie is being absurd. “Are you still on that?”

“You left up pictures of maggots on my phone!”

“Well Chris asked what kind was in her cheek!”

“You’re the one who forgot to close it.” He presses the video call next to Carla’s name. “Too late.”

There’s a series of grumbles from Buck, but nothing concrete enough to respond to. At least he hopes so because Eddie definitely got distracted by a warm arm suddenly wrapping around his waist and his back being covered in warmth.

His distraction doesn’t last very long because Carla answers after 3 rings. “Just in time if you’re calling for Christopher.” She laughs. “We were just getting ready to start reading.”

Buck props his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie feels his brain short out a bit, so he misses most of what is actually said. He comes back just in time for Carla to pass the phone to Christopher. “Hi dad!” He says from where he’s obviously tucked in bed. “Hi Buck!”

Eddie doesn’t need to see it happen to know Buck’s face just melted. He also didn’t need to know his body does pretty much the same physically as it does visually, but thanks to his perch almost in Buck’s lap with the other man nearly wrapped around him, now he does. “What’d you get up to today, superman?”

Chris starts detailing all the separate parts of his day, taking time to update Buck on how the seating drama at school is shaping up, and Eddie lets himself bask in the little bubble of comfort made by being so close to Buck and the excited voice of his kid.

He hates that he has to be the voice of reason sometimes, which means he’s caught off guard when Buck is the one to say, “Alright, bud, it’s time for bed if you want to get any reading in.”

“Aww, really Buck?”

“Really, Christopher.” Buck chuckles.

Eddie finally finds his voice to jump in. “Buck’s right, kiddo.”

Though he pouts a bit, Christopher relents fairly quickly. They say their goodbyes, with plenty of ‘I love you’s to go around, and the screen goes back to the call screen with a final ‘be safe’ from Carla. He isn’t really paying attention to the world around him as he locks his phone, which means the arm that comes off the back of the couch to around his waist is a surprise, the tight hug he’s being pulled into even more so.

“Thank you.”

Buck’s voice is muffled where he’s jammed his face against the back of Eddie’s shoulder, but he catches it all the same. There are so many responses that go through Eddie’s mind at that. Jokes to try to add some levity to the moment, playful scoffs that would give him some emotional deniability. But all of them feel like cop-outs, like he’d be spitting in the face of Buck’s sincere gratitude.

So instead he leans back into the hug a bit, curling his arms around the arms around him. “Anytime.”

~`~

Eddie forgets about asking about Buck’s birthday weirdness. To be fair, he doesn’t forget about the birthday itself, which he’s taking as a win.

It’s not that he isn’t beyond curious, more that he’s a father and a firefighter and got very busy across the few days between the end of that shift and Friday morning.

It’s as he’s packing Christopher into the car to get him to school that he remembers.

Or, that he’s reminded. “Did you get Buck a present, dad?”

Shit.

Eddie adjusts the rearview mirror a bit. “Not yet, I’m going today.” He was going to run errands today, so it isn’t a lie. “Any ideas on what he’d like?”

Which wasn’t his best plan because Christopher spends the whole ride to school outlining all the gifts he thinks Buck would like. By the time they pull into the school, he’s telling Eddie that Buck might like an ant farm(“They build their own homes and we get to see it from the outside!”), which is actually probably true, but also means that Christopher would be the co-owner and Eddie is not about to enable that.

Probably.

He’s helping Christopher down from his seat when he hears his phone ping. Figuring it’s Buck hashing out plans for later, Eddie ignores it until the teaching aide and his son make it inside. A horn from behind him startles him enough for him to automatically start driving, but not before he sees the text isn’t from Buck.

It’s from Maddie.

A cold knot forms in his chest, but he tries to force it down. Just because the only times Maddie has texted in the past are for Buck-injury related reasons doesn’t mean she can’t text him about other things too. But the little voice in the back of his head reminds him that Maddie hasn’t willingly reached out to anyone in weeks, something he’s been hearing Buck worry over at least once every two days.

Another ping sends his pulse up and Eddie finds himself pulling into the closest parking lot, cursing when he realizes it’s a Starbucks and he immediately gets caught in the line.

Another ping sends him reaching for his phone even though he’s in the drive-thru line. Usually he refuses to touch his phone if he’s behind the wheel, the scenes of too many wrecks flashing before his eyes when he tries, but he’s starting to see the worst case scenario behind his eyes anyways. Besides, he’s basically parked right now, the line hasn’t moved since he pulled in.

Is Evan really spending tonight with you??

Howie told me he promised Christopher, but I need to check for myslef

I know we don’t really talk but I’ll leave you alone after this

Oh. Well that’s worlds better than anything Eddie could have hoped for. Also worrying and endearing in equal measure. Endearing because it turns out Maddie spirals about her brother in the same way he does for her.

Worrying because, well, Buck’s whole weirdness with his birthday seems to extend to Maddie as well, who is usually the exception for Buck.

Driving. Call?

It isn’t a lie, per say, but for some reason it feels like one.

His phone lights up, still connected to the hands free screen, and Eddie accepts.

“Hey,” Maddie sounds… tired is the best word for it, but not the kind of tired Eddie is used to hearing from her. He’s seen her going on two days of no sleep, seen her in a hospital bed, but she sounds more tired than either of those times. “I didn’t realize you were driving, I wouldn’t have texted.”

Eddie cringes a bit as he eases his truck forward. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. “It’s alright, I was just pulling in to get coffee.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “You want anything? I may as well make this wait actually worth it.”

Maddie lets out what might have once been a laugh but now more closely resembles a sigh. “No, thank you though.”

That right there is a warning sign to Eddie. One of the first real conversations he had with Maddie was about the worst coffee they’d ever had while they waited for the coffee pot at the station to finish. They had both made faces at the other’s story, but agreed even shitty coffee was better than no coffee.

He decides to pick his battles. “So you were asking about my plans with Buck tonight?”

“You guys actually have plans?” She gasps, the first overt sign of emotion she’s shown since this phone call started. “He hasn’t canceled them?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie asks, confused. “Why would he cancel? I’m pretty sure it took a plague to keep him from movie night the last time.” It’s an exaggeration, but a small one. Buck is just as invested in the plans they make as Christopher.

And Eddie, but he isn’t ready to admit the whole story there to anyone, let alone Buck’s sister.

“Oh wow.”

Eddie feels his face scrunch up in confusion. “You’re not the first person to react like that.” He tries not to grumble, but he isn’t sure he’s doing such a good job. “Why is everyone so shocked that Buck has plans on his birthday?”

There is silence on the other end for a moment. Then, “Eddie, Buck doesn’t celebrate his birthday.” She’s a bit choked up. “He hasn’t since I left for college.”

Oh. He lets that sink in for a moment, really contemplating what he knows about the Buckley parents. His palms start to itch the more he thinks about it. There is a part of Eddie that screams to fly to Hershey and fight them, but he beats it back. A cross-country flight would mean he misses tonight.

“So when I said Christopher invited Buck for a birthday sleepover and he accepted…” He trails off. Luckily, Maddie seems to know what he was going for. “You basically announced that your kid had pulled off a miracle, yeah.”

“Huh.”

What does one say to that? ‘He’d do anything for Chris’? ‘Glad we could help’? ‘I’m about ready to lose my mind over how much your brother loves my son and will do literally anything for him, up to and including forgoing personal traditions’? All are true, but the degree of intensity in all those responses is a little much.

So he switches gears. Buck is important in his life, more important than Eddie is willing to admit to anyone but himself, and so he makes the decision to make sure Buck never spends another birthday alone.

Which is not the kind of revelation he intended to have in the drive-thru lane of a Starbucks, but there are worse places.

Like bleeding out in the street.

“Okay.” Eddie takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out. “Are there any birthday traditions you started?”

Maddie sniffles over the line. “Yeah, a few.”

The original plan had been errands, but plans change. “Do you have time to tell me about them?”

“I can do you one better.” She’s still sniffling, but Maddie’s voice is stronger and more like herself than she’s been this whole phone call. “If you have some time for a store run, I can talk you through the recipe for the cake I made for him when he was a kid.”

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie begins trying to hype himself up to do his usual round of cooking failures.

“Better yet, if you have some time to drop off some things I need, I can make it.”

Eddie’ll take that sigh of relief to his grave. “Absolutely, I have time.” He hesitates, but still asks, “Mind if I stick around for the process?” He knows for a fact Maddie has been alone with Jee- Yun a lot over the past few weeks while Chimney gets back to work.

There’s a very loaded pause. Then another. And another. Then, “Sure, as long as you’re willing to help with Jee when she cries.”

“Deal.” He promises quickly. Jee-Yun has to be one of the cutest babies ever, second only to Christopher in Eddie’s eyes. “Now what can I get you from Starbucks? You can even see it as payment for taking over your day and saving me from baking humiliation.”

The laugh Maddie lets out is stronger than the last one and stays firmly in Eddie’s biggest accomplishments of the month.

~[***]~

The cake is finished with just enough time to spare for Eddie to run the two most immediate errands before he has to pick up Christopher. The kid is practically vibrating with excitement as Eddie makes sure he’s strapped in properly.

“So what did you get Buck?” He demands before Eddie has even had the chance to shut the driver’s door.

He really did end up with the best kid. “You see the box on the floor there?” Eddie asks, biting down on a swear word because navigating the after school traffic is a level of hell. “Maddie made the cake she used to when they were kids.” He pauses to focus on executing a turn. “And the bag next to you is what we’re going to use to make his other present.”

The rustling of a grocery bag sounds from the back seat. “What is it?”

Eddie finally gets the chance to safely peek at Christopher in his rearview mirror. He’s bent almost into the bag. “I’ll explain more when we get home, it’s easier to show you.” At his son’s whine, he can’t help a small grin. “Now, tell me about school. Did the seat problem get fixed?”

The resulting dramatic retelling is about as close as his son has ever come to going on a tirade.

~`~

A few hours, a few glue sticks, more stickers than Eddie wants to consider, and a small mishap with scissors that had them both laughing until their stomachs ache later, Buck’s present is ready and the time they arranged for Buck to come over is quickly closing in. Christopher is playing the Switch on the couch, occasionally commenting to Eddie about what’s happening. He places the online order at Buck’s favorite take out because it’s Friday night and that means it’ll take probably an hour to get here.

He’s done well up until now not letting the doubt creep in, but Eddie is only human, so as the clock marches closer to 5, he tries his best not to worry.

According to everyone, Buck hates his birthday, goes out of his way to avoid everyone usually. The only reason he hadn’t this year is for Eddie’s son, which leaves both a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and a pit in his stomach. Because, on the one hand, Buck could have just rescheduled, called this whole thing off and stuck to his normal routine, but on the other, he really couldn’t because Christopher is so important to him that he would fight anything to keep a smile on his face, even his own discomfort.

As the clock ticks past 5, a whole new worry begins to gnaw at Eddie.

What if Buck just doesn’t show up?

Even if he isn’t known for his punctuality, Buck is almost pathologically early for the plans he makes with them. When Eddie asked him about it, he had just shrugged and said, “I never want you guys to feel like I don’t want to be here.” then moved on like he hadn’t just given Eddie an emotional sucker punch. So that Buck still isn’t there at almost a quarter past without a call is unsettling to say the least.

Eddie is scrolling through his phone, debating calling, when the front door has something smack against it, drawing the attention of both father and son. Moments later, Buck falls through the doorway, rubbing at his forehead where a faint red mark of recently abused skin is starting.

There’s a moment of comical silence when seems to realize they’re both staring at him from the couch before, “Uhm,” He starts, hand going to the back of his head, sheepish expression playing across his features. “Nobody saw that.”

Christopher loses it first, laughing uproariously before launching himself at Buck with a scream, “Happy Birthday!”

If he weren’t watching for something, Eddie would have missed the flinch. “Thanks buddy!” Buck enthuses back. “What are we doing tonight?”

Christopher finally pulls out of the hug, curls flying as he makes his way over to the couch, on a mission. Eddie takes the chance to step up next to Buck and clasp his shoulder as the other man takes off his shoes and puts his keys and wallet on the table by the door. “Happy birthday.” He says quietly, heart breaking a little at the small flinch that gets. He catches Buck’s eye and holds it. “I’m glad you came.” I’m glad you’re here with us.

From the look that crosses Buck’s face, he hears what Eddie didn’t say. He ducks his head around a small smile. “Nowhere else I want to be.”

The moment ends as Chris barrels into Buck. “It’s Buck Day!” He cheers, smile a mile wide. “That means it’s all about your favorite things!”

Buck’s face is going to be the death of Eddie tonight, he can already tell. There is nothing in that sentence that should make Buck look like he’s going to cry, but here we are. “Do you have Buck’s special hat?” Eddie cuts in just to take the pressure off Buck answering.

Christopher proudly produces a cheap plastic firefighter helmet from behind his back. It was originally a bright red, but Christopher went at it with his big book of stickers and now has almost no red left. Instead, the front part has ‘30’ written out in Sharpie while the rest of it is covered in stickers that reminded his son of Buck.

Eddie definitely didn’t have anything to do with the golden retriever stickers that surround the 30, really.

Buck takes the hat, beaming. “This is so cool, Chris!” He’s genuinely enthusiastic about it, eyes bouncing from sticker to sticker rapidly. “Did you do all this?”

Nearly delirious with the praise, Chris starts pulling Buck over to the couch. “All the stickers!” He bounces a little as he sits down, crawling almost into Buck’s lap to point out some of the different stickers before the other man is even seated. “Dad wrote the numbers and said we sh-should put the dogs around it.”

Busted, Eddie thinks as Buck’s head snaps around to look at him with an exaggerated incredulous face. “ Did he ?”

“What can I say?” Eddie teases, leaning against the doorway because he knows the second his ass hits the couch is when their food will get here. “We had to properly represent you.”

Buck’s eyes are suspiciously glossy, but he places the hat on his head with reverence. “It’s perfect, guys.” He grins. “I love it.”

With that statement, he digs his fingers into Christopher’s sides, eliciting a series of mingled shrieks of laughter and shouts of betrayal. Christopher, who was already almost in his lap from his excited explanation of the stickers, curls further into Buck on reflex. Both of them are red faced from laughing, crumpled in on each other. A stray slice of sunlight streams through the curtains, high lighting both their curls and the red of their faces. Buck opens his eyes and meets Eddie’s, smile still splitting his face and popping out his dimples.

It isn’t a moment, it really isn’t anything, but Eddie suddenly feels all his doubts about tonight leave him.

Buck’s right where he belongs, and more importantly, where he wants to be.

~`~

Even though Christopher wanted to do something big for Buck’s birthday, Eddie managed to talk him down to a just slightly altered movie night. He had the sneaking suspicion that this would be hard for Buck, even if everything went well.

Now he’s glad he did.

Christopher had demonstrated his mastery on the subject of Buck’s favorite child appropriate movies while they waited for the food, listing movie after movie as possibilities while Buck had tried to present Christopher’s favorite movies as alternatives. It was silly and if Eddie were less aware of what he felt for his best friend, then the night might have ended differently because of the weird things his heart kept doing as he listened to his boys try to outwit the other about their favorite things.

But he does know, so around the sixth round of it, in the middle of a loud exclamation about Buck sobbing over movies where animals die, Eddie had put his foot down and made Buck pick from what he knows his three favorite movies are that Christopher is allowed to watch.

Just as Buck was protesting, the doorbell rang with their food and Eddie left Christopher with the task of extracting an answer.

The loud cheer from Christopher carried to the front door as Eddie accepted the bag.

Now, with the food all gone and Jurassic Park paused on the scene where the can of embryos was buried in mud, Eddie herds them to the table for dessert, Christopher bouncing excitedly in his seat.

From the kitchen he can still hear them as he carefully picks up the cake box. “-thought a dinosaur cake but dad said you would like this one better because it’s special.”

“Oh?” Buck asks, a slight strain to his voice. “Well, I don’t know what can beat a dinosaur cake, but your dad’s pretty smart so I guess we can trust him.”

“Yeah,” the agreement is a bit lacking, “But I did make sure he didn’t make it all by himself.”

“Good plan, bud.” Buck, the traitor, praises. Then, “Wait, is it homemade?”

Eddie makes his grand entrance back into the room before Christopher can answer. “Alright, mijo, are you ready to sing?”

Christopher’s enthusiastic agreement covers up Buck’s slight noise of protest, but Eddie sees the unease he’s trying to hide. There isn’t much Eddie can do about that because everyone knows a birthday in the Diaz house isn’t over until the song has been sung at least once. Even if he wanted to let Buck off without it, Christopher would riot. Still, he casts a look to Buck that promises it’ll be over fast.

Buck flashes him a small but thankful smile before looking down at the cake on the table that Eddie had just unboxed.

Everything about him tenses. “Is this… Maddie’s recipe?” His voice is suddenly thick, not even trying to hide the tears.

Shit.

Both of the Diaz boys freeze, not quite sure what to do. Eddie, as the adult here, takes the plunge. “Yeah, uh…” He swallows. “Apparently Chim mentioned this was happening.” Buck’s eyes snap to Eddie, still filled with tears but none have fallen yet. “She wanted to help.” He doesn’t say all the other things he wants to. Things about everyone wanting to celebrate him but no one wanting to push him about it. Things about Maddie loving him but still wanting to respect his choice about this. Things about how loved Buck is, even if he doesn’t see it.

Buck must see some of it at least because he lets the tears fall even as he says the most heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Eddie says. He means it too. Anytime, anything, he’d do it, if it would give Evan Buckley even a fraction of the elated glee that’s taking over his face.

The moment is broken by the off-key opening of ‘Happy Birthday’ Christopher begins.

Eddie joins in, clasping a hand to Buck’s shoulder.

Oh yeah, Buck is right where he belongs tonight.

~`~

They finish the movie, Buck helping with Christopher’s sugar high by spending some time running around playing dino hunter before they sit down again. Once again Buck nearly gives Eddie palpitations when he runs the usual bedtime arguments off at the pass.

“What do you think about reading that cool dinosaur fact book for you bedtime story tonight?” He asks over the end credit music, lighting up in a way far too genuine to be any sort of fake. “I think we can convince your dad to make the sounds with us if we ask nicely enough.” It’s a pale attempt at a whisper and Eddie knows him well enough to see it’s Buck’s way of giving him time to come up with an excuse not to.

As if Eddie would miss time with his boys tonight, even if it means he has to make the dinosaur noises.

Christopher is obviously torn on the subject, but eventually decides this is the best deal he’s going to get out of them tonight. “Okay.” He agrees. “But it’s at least six pages.”

Buck pretends to put on a thinking face, his eyes going to Eddie for permission before he responds. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.” He pretends to grumble. “But lucky for you, I think six pages sounds like the perfect amount.”

Eddie can't help his fond smile as he nudges Christopher in the side. “Okay, PJs then teeth then pages.”

“You’re going to come and read with us, right dad?”

Pretending to think for a moment, Eddie finally nods. “Yeah, I can’t miss the dino facts.”

Satisfied, Christopher wiggles his way off the couch, down the hall to get ready for bed. Which leaves Eddie and Buck alone together for the first time tonight.

They’re quiet for a little bit, the sounds of Christopher brushing his teeth and humming the Jurassic Park theme the only thing to break the silence.

“Thank you.”

Eddie wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that neither of them had moved away from how they usually bracket Christopher on movie night so they’re leaning almost into each other. He rolls his neck so that he can look at Buck, only to find that Buck has done the same. There’s less than half a foot of space between them. Eddie stamps on the urge to close it.

“You’re welcome.” He says instead. Hesitates, then continues, “I meant it, you know.” He pauses to swallow, Buck’s raised eyebrow spurring him on. “Anytime. We always want you here. So many people do. I’m selfish enough to be thankful we’re the ones you chose to be with today.” Eddie doesn’t know how to say it in so many words, but he hopes it was enough to get across how much everyone loves Buck.

Buck opens his mouth to say something, but a summons from Christopher’s room cuts him off. They share a fondly-exasperated look before they both move to stand.

No sooner than he’s fully upright, Eddie is being pulled into a hug. Buck always buries his face into the closest part of whoever he’s hugging and this is no exception, face firmly planted into Eddie’s neck. “There was no choice, Eds.” He murmurs. “There never is when it’s you guys.”

Eddie stands there a few moments even after Buck’s gone to get his emotions in check, getting the goofy smile to leave his face.

Because no matter what else happened tonight, Eddie is sure of one thing.

Buck is never spending his birthday alone again.

#911onfox #911 fic #Buddie fic #pre-relationship #911 writing #evan 'buck' buckley #Eddie Diaz #christopher diaz #Maddie Buckley

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punkasshunter · 4 years ago

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Hey I was talking about this earlier and since now I guess I’m hanging around tumblr again I’m gonna subject you all to it, but

Different niche specializations (ha) in the special infected to fill different roles in the spread of the virus hcs let’s gooo

I think there’s a couple of loose categories the different specials fall into, the first being primary vectors meant to transmit to as many people as possible while there’s still a relative abundance of healthy potential hosts around. Namely the ones who produce a lot of bodily emissions, the Spitter, Boomer, and Smoker.

The fact you can get an achievement for “contracting a rare strain of the infection” by being vomited on in Versus seems to support the bile being infectious to me, and like. We know the green flu is transmissible in a lot more ways than the traditional saliva-to-blood (or consuming infected brain matter, which is a little less likely) spread of rabies.

And besides the fact it would really, really hurt, I feel like the Spitters would actually be one of the most horrendously effective vectors. The acid almost definitely carries the pathogen, but it’s also creating a ton of open wounds and removing the barrier that someone’s skin usually provides from contagion.

The Smoker’s spores that they release seem like they’d have a pretty similar function, to make the virus transmissible by air.

They’re all sort of tied together, I think, because they’re also on the more “fragile” side of the specials. They don’t have to be very built for long-term survival, mostly to contaminate as many non-immune as possible in their lifespan. Beyond that, the mutations don’t seem to particularly “care” if the host, say. Eventually erodes their own internal organs or is strangled by rampant growths. They’ve even got that sort of “kamikaze” trait, that on their death they all sort of burst, releasing as much of the pathogen as possible in their vicinity. I’ve got this hc too that these three become even more hyper-aggressive when they’re badly injured, to ensure that they’re in very close contact at that time.

Then there’s a few who seem like they’d be more suited to killing immunes/people who aren’t a host for the virus, with infection as a secondary priority. The Tanks and Witches both, for sure. If they get ahold of you, you’re not surviving to turn in all likelihood. I’d put the Charger in this category too and what tracks is the fact that the ways they attack aren’t really conducive to spreading bodily substances, either. They work by either pulverizing or mangling someone instead.

The Hunters and Jockeys, I’d think are sort of somewhere between? I’d place the Jockey closer to the side of a vector, because of their tendency to steer uninfected into hazards like a Boomer’s vomit or the Spitter acid. With the Hunter, they’re closer to the side of culling the immune, although we do see them actively bite, so if you survive the attack you’re still likely to have contracted the infection.

Anyways if anyone else has any theories I’d love to hear them I’m still thinking entirely too hard about the infected in this game from 2008/9

#Left 4 Dead #T plays L4D #Is it almost 1am maybe

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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I have no idea if you can help me, but I am working on a short story that starts after a Sami girl is recovering from being tortured by Christian police after her father is put on trial for witchcraft. This is during the witch trials in Norway. I wanted to focus on recovery in the community and her animistic religion. However, I don’t know what kind of torture she could realistically be recovering from and if, aside from punishment, it should religiously motivated. Do you have any English links?

I put this one off for a long time hoping that the virus situation would improve enough for me to a) have less stress at work and b) be able to access the university library in my town. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

Norwegian history in the 1600s isn’t my strong suit. So my focus here is going to be advice on how to research this. I’ll also include the bits I found and some tortures so common that you can throw them in to virtually any setting without it standing out or being inaccurate.

Before I get any further I don’t know anything about Sami culture. I’d strongly recommend trying to find Sami sensitivity readers if you haven’t already. Because it can be bloody hard to get accurate information on some of Europe’s oppressed minorities and I’d say the Sami fall squarely into that category.

Historical research is fraught with pitfalls and when you’re starting out it can be really difficult to figure out which sources to trust. This only becomes worse when you’re working across a language barrier. And when the focus is torture it gets even more difficult.

Torture has always been a hot button issue.

The fact that virtually every culture has a history of torture doesn’t change that. Cultural ideas about what was ‘more painful’ or ‘more brutal’ or ‘shaming’ have all played a role in what was deemed ‘acceptable’ cruelty. So has the idea of who is an ‘acceptable’ or ‘deserving’ victim.

And that means that misrepresenting the typical tortures of different countries, cultures, religious groups or past regimes has been part of political practice for literally hundreds of years. It is a very easy way to direct people’s hate and elicit an emotional response.

I can’t stress enough how important it is to consider an author’s motivations, biases and abilities when you read historical sources.

Think about whether an author was actually there for the events they describe. Think about their political and religious positions and what they may have to gain by pushing a particular message.

Apologies if some of this comes across as teaching you how to suck eggs, but I know a lot of people don’t get this lesson in their history classes. So sources-

Historical sources can be broadly categorised into primary and secondary sources. A primary source is something produced at the time. A secondary source is something produced later.

Both can be untrustworthy/biased but a primary source gives you information about how events/practices were interpreted at the time, while a secondary sources tells you how they were remembered later.

Primary sources can be things like diaries, court records of witch trials and objects produced in areas like Finnmark (northern Norway where most of the witch trials took place) at the time. Secondary sources might be things like how the witch trials are discussed in Norwegian history books and local history or stories about the witch trials that are told today.

By reading about this in English you’re mostly being limited to secondary sources. The danger here is that secondary sources can misrepresent the time period they’re describing, deliberately or not. Authors make assumptions about how historical people lived, thought, what their actions meant and how their beliefs influenced their actions.

Primary sources can also misrepresent what happened (deliberately or not) but with primary sources they are at least displaying the biases and concerns of the time.

Generally historical research is about the collation and interpretation of primary sources. Which is a lot of work, requires a degree of expertise and often demands fluency in several languages.

That level of work and knowledge appeals to some authors of historical fiction. But it isn’t for everyone. There’s nothing wrong with choosing to rely on history textbooks and the like instead of digging through transcriptions of things written back in the 1600s.

Here’s the problem when you’re doing that for another country: English language sources are often very very biased in favour of other English language sources.

This means if some bored academic in the 1930s made up a bunch of fan theories based on very little evidence it will probably still be used as a source today.

And without having another language (with access to other sources it provides) it can be really difficult to spot that kind of fuckery.

I am not saying that you need to learn Norwegian and believe me as someone with only one spoken language I understand how tackling a new one can be crazy intimidating.

But I think you do need to know Norwegians. Particularly Norwegians with an interest in history.

That’s all general stuff about researching historical periods in different countries.

For torture in particular… I’m not gonna lie it’s a sack of angry snakes.

Both primary and secondary often have considerable motivation for lying about torture. Historical accounts routinely downplay or outright lie about the damage different tortures cause. They are heavily judgemental about victims.

And they run in to exactly the same issues we have trying to study use of different tortures today with the added difficulty that accounts from torturers are preserved far more frequently then accounts from survivors.

It’s only once you start getting to the 1900s that you really start to see multiple survivor accounts of events. For the 1600s as a general period I can think of witness accounts and multiple accounts from torturers or their bosses in various countries. But the testimony of survivors is very very rare.

This is an issue because we know from modern research that torturers routinely lie about what they do.

There were laws in most European countries in this period that cover torture. They tend to define a sort of ‘accepted practice’: what torturers were supposed to do and for how long. And don’t get me wrong these are useful historical sources.

But we know from comparing similar torture manuals used in the 1930s (and indeed more recently) to multiple accounts from torture survivors that torturers do not follow their own rules. I see no reason why torturers today would be less likely to follow ‘the rules’ then their historical predecessors.

Looking up the laws of the land at the historical time period you’re interested in is a good place to start. But it won’t actually tell you everything that torturers did and it may not represent the most common tortures.

It will give you a list of things that were definitely used at the time in that place though. Which isn’t a bad place to start.

Look for history books that cover crime and punishment. If you can’t find one broad enough to do that (or give you a helpful summary of laws at the time) then I’ve found that accounts of specific historical figures in the relevant area/time often contain some of that information.

The next major pitfall when researching historical torture is the bane of my existence: euphemisms.

A lot of historical sources use vague or euphemistic terms for different tortures and then leave it up to the reader to figure out what they mean. This was probably perfectly clear at the time but now… less so.

To use an example from something I’ve been trying to research for a while now I can tell you that the Ancient Egyptians definitely used torture. They say as much in surviving accounts of their justice system. They used it to punish, force confessions and attempt to gain information.

They definitely beat people with sticks. They say they did, in multiple accounts. There are also wall carvings and paintings that show prisoners of war and enslaved people being menaced with sticks.

However, I can’t find any definite suggestion that they used falaka, ie beating the soles of the feet with those sticks.

Did they just hit people at random? This seems unlikely from a practical viewpoint as that’s a very easy way to kill someone. Did they ignore the feet and concentrate on other areas of the body? Did they use falaka and also beat other areas? Do I bring too much bias into this question because I’d love to find a historical point of origin for a torture that’s common throughout the Middle East today?

Historical sources often just don’t contain the details we need to be certain about what torture they’re describing. Terminology is often vague. Descriptions can be contradictory. Often the only way to be certain is to come across an illustration or surviving device and even then this does not necessarily represent common practice and either piece of evidence could be contemporary propaganda rather then something that was actually used.

When you’re talking about historical torture it is essential to find multiple sources and make sure they agree.

Vague terminology like ‘water torture’ can cover a host of different sins. Finding a vague term or euphemism multiple times doesn’t even tell you if this was the same practice carried out in different areas or different practices with superficial similarities.

If a source doesn’t give you enough information to be sure don’t use it. If a source suggests the meaning of a euphemism based on no clear evidence from the time period don’t use it.

What I’ve found in my own small collection of books on witchcraft is very sparse on details.

One of the older books I have suggests that there were almost no witch hunts or witch trials in Scandinavia which is complete bollocks. The book was published in 1959, so I’d suggest being wary of English language sources from that date and earlier.

A much more recent (2017) Oxford University Press book on the subject gives an estimated 400-500 executions for witchcraft in Norway during the period of 1601-1670.

This might seem like a small number compared to the thousands that were executed throughout the Holy Roman Empire but it seems a significant number given that the Norwegian trials were so concentrated in a small, sparsely populated region.

Unfortunately this book is a very general overview of the perception of witchcraft and magic throughout Europe from the ancient world to the present. So it doesn’t really give any details of the kinds of tortures a Norwegian accused of witchcraft might endure.

The author of the chapter on the witch trials was Rita Voltmer, University of Trier in case that’s helpful. She has published several papers on witch trials and the use of torture and at least one on witch trials in Norway. However a lot of her work is in German.

These two papers/chapters in particular may be of interest: the english language document on torture and emotion in witch trials and the German paper on Norwegian and Danish witch trials.

Several of the books I’ve got access to confirmed that Norway burnt witches and provided stories focused on shapeshifting and causing storms at sea. They also confirmed the use of torture in witch trials but nothing so helpful as the kind of tortures employed.

I found multiple references to ‘water torture’. One of these implied that the particular torture was waterboarding alla the historical Dutch method. But the same source said this caused vomiting or possibly diarrhoea which seems to imply pumping.

At a guess I’d say pumping is less likely because waterboarding can cause vomiting and so far as I know pumping wasn’t common anywhere in Europe during this period. However absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

‘Water torture’ could also potentially refer to: a temperature torture, near drowning, a method of sleep deprivation or even dehydration. Without more detail it’s really hard to say which of these is being referenced.

I found one mention of ‘burning torture’ a reference that I think referred to tearing the flesh with hot pincers based on the description of a torn wound. However given I only found this referenced once and I’m unsure of the source I found it in, I would not say this is a good one to pick.

Which leaves me with common tortures.

Whatever the time period, whatever the place, beatings the most common torture. Easily.

If your character gets repeatedly hit, whether it’s clean or not, you are not being historically inaccurate. And I’ve got a lot of posts on beatings generally and clean beatings that can help you write that.

Starvation and dehydration are also both really common regardless of culture and time period. So are temperature tortures or exposure though I think different countries have favoured different methods at different times.

Torturous cell conditions were incredibly common across Europe historically. Lack of sanitation, wet cells, inadequate bedding, over crowding and conditions amounting to a temperature torture were all really common. They were also often happening alongside starvation.

I have a masterpost on starvation and tags covering temperature tortures, exposure and prisons. I think the ‘prisons’ tag should give you most of the posts covering poor cell conditions, ‘historical torture’ and ‘historical fiction’ may also be helpful to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with anything more specific.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

Edit: So this should be my week off the blog but I’ve seen a lot of the responses to this. Most of them are extremely helpful, thank you to everyone who knows Norwegian that is offering to help.

However: if your instinct is to say that any torturer, historical or recent, is ‘honourable’ and follows a code of conduct then this blog is not the place for you. I don’t tolerate that kind of apologia or people using my work to spread it.

#writing advice #tw torture #tw racism #tw sectarian violence #historical torture #historical fiction #Norway #witch trials #witchcraft #historical research #behaviour of torturers #attitudes towards torture #National Styles #writing victims #writing torture #Sami #the inconsistencies in this field in academia #and the lack of adequate accessible translations #will eventually make me turn into a livid ticking column of smoke

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katiebruce · 4 years ago

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adios, amigo.

Well, 2020. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said, tweeted or Instagram-ed a thousand and two times about you? I’ll save us all the generic stuff—“unprecedented,” “nightmarish,” “absurd”—yes, 2020 was all of those things, but on a deeper, more personal level, there is so much more I have to say that doesn’t fit quite into those clichés.

So, this will be my attempt to document and reflect upon one of the strangest years I’ve encountered in my thirty-one years on this planet. Buckle up, buttercup.

Like many others before me have frequently observed, the way I spend my New Year’s Eve has always set the tone for the year to come, and boy, was this year a picture-perfect example of exactly that. Because I had to work on January first, I spent my New Year’s Eve at home watching a depressing movie with T, quietly kissing on the cold back patio as fireworks went off in the distance. I remember feeling both happy and sad about this evening (a duality that was a major theme for me for the fifty-two weeks to come, if only I had known). I was sad not to be celebrating my favorite holiday and even remember telling T that I didn’t want the year to come to be one I spent not going out, staying home, and becoming reclusive as I finished up the stressful process of finishing my MFA thesis in the course of ten (or, what I thought would be ten) short months.

But on the other hand, being held in T’s arms, I remembered feeling so happy that I could have this little quiet holiday—something that felt so private and personal—so entirely our own. It really set the tone for our relationship for the year, and for the obstacles we not only overcame together but dominated, one right after the next.

January was cold, snowy, and full of flight cancellations, which I remember to be something worth celebration at the time. I stayed home and snuggled my way into Aquarius season, the time for me and my brethren to shine, feeling positive that I had lived my thirtieth year to one of great satisfaction and maximum travels taken. (If only I had known then that that late-January El Paso layover where my crew and I walked across the border into Juarez to eat street tacos and laugh over Mezcal would be one of the only times I would leave the country for the year, well, I might have taken a few shots of tequila and really enjoyed my stay abroad just a bit longer).

February came, and with it, the promise of friends. My darling Kristopher, as always, flew to Chicago on the day of (also the day I completed and passed my eighth recurrent [!]) and, thanks to my other darling baby, Nicole, scored tickets to one of the highly coveted format reunion tour shows happening in March* for me, her, and my momma.

(*It did not, in fact, take place in March).

I turned thirty-one in the way I’ve come accustomed too—surrounded by my favorite people (this year at Dorians—a jazz club to end all jazz clubs) too drunk and too smiley to even coherently remember the evening properly. As much fun as I remember having, I told T that I thought it was my last year to host some sort of birthday gathering, and to hold me to it come next year. (He did very well—a few weeks later, after spotting an ad in a discarded newspaper for the Chicago tour of Moulin Rouge happening on my birthday weekend, we bought tickets and I sat peacefully with the fact that one of my new year (or, new age) resolutions was so quickly and poignantly adapted).

By this time, I was already deep in the throes of my first thesis writing course, meaning that I was pretty stressed out all of the time and surely a misery to be around (sorry to those of you who were). Basically, in three semesters’ time, I was expected to draft, edit, and rewrite a fully formed novel (70,000+ words) and the idea of accomplishing such a feat felt like a ton of bricks being carried on my shoulders. I had at least four mental breakdowns in the beginning of the year (again, we all know what lays ahead for the year, I know—but at the time, this seemed like an unbearable amount of stress for one person to have to carry. The joke is not lost on me).

In the coming weeks, things began to get even weirder. Covid scares began sprouting up in cities all around us, and as the government asked people to stay at home, airline ticket prices became massively reduced, so more people began traveling. I mean, this shit was like spring break on acid—it was hugely stressful, and though the threat of the pandemic had yet to reach Chicago, I felt more and more at risk with each passing day as careless amounts of people cashed in on what they thought was the deal of a lifetime.

By the time March reached its midpoint, I, like so many others, was terrified. We had no PPE at work—literally nothing. No gloves, masks, or even hand wipes. Cleaning the aircraft still wasn’t considered a “no-go” item, as far as regulatory practices go. I remember watching the news on my layovers only to keep myself up at night wondering if the virus was going to take hold of me or anyone around me, and if so, how long until they would recover, or perhaps wouldn’t.

St. Patrick’s Day came, and after fighting about whether or not to go out with friends (we didn’t—and for the record, T and I rarely fight—but this was, after all, his first St. Patrick’s Day as a Chicagoan—so his resentment was more than justified) we saw a matinee movie (Onward) and while in the theater, read about how Chicago restaurants, as a precaution, were shutting down the next day due to rising concerns about the spread of the virus. We reacted by grabbing drinks & lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood eateries and tipping the waitstaff more heavily than I think I’ve ever tipped anyone in my life (not mentioning this to brag, or whatever—just remembering what it was like to feel utterly helpless and unsure of what to do or what was to come—we had to find our positivity in some way, and on that day, this was how we saw fit, and it helped).

Then it all sort of happened at once—Lauren’s store was closed with no impending reopening date. The grocery stores (and I swear to god, I will never forget this) became a madhouse—people taking things out of other people’s carts when they weren’t looking. I remember going into Mariano’s with T and insisiting we tie bandanas around our faces for safety, feeling like a goddamn bank robber about to make a heist. But there was nothing left to even take. Frantically, we got what we could and got out of there, and I went home to have a full-fledged panic attack about the state of the world we were currently living in and what we were going to do if things didn’t turn around quickly.

As if overnight, everyone cancelled their airline tickets. It was for the better, and though it put my job in serious jeopardy, I was in massive support of it but still felt an eerie sadness looming around the countless empty airports, airplanes, hotels and city streets. There were times when my crew and I were the only guests in a place—times when I had zero passengers on a revenue flight. And then came the mass flight cancellations—and I mean mass. Everyday became a battle of anxiety as to what was going to happen to my job in the next twenty-four hours, and then cooing my stressed-out thoughts to sleep, only to relive the anxiety with every phone buzz waiting to find out if I had lost my job overnight. By mid-spring, I was hugely considering dropping out for a period of time, just due to the stress of it all, but thanks to support from my friends, family and T, I chose to stick it out and roll with as many punches as I could until I was finally knocked-out.

Quarantines were happening all around me, and without the ability to travel or the (former) grueling expectations of maintaining a social life, I started to reconnect with myself in ways that felt both organic and new, yet much like returning home after a long time away. Lauren taught me to knit, and we celebrated her birthday on the floor of our apartment in an Indian-food induced daze renting Emma and making thousands of tiny knots onto needles that would eventually become blankets. We took walks, did puzzles, and Lauren drove me to and from the airport on the rare occasion that I actually had a flight to work, as the CTA had, unfortunately, become a cesspool of targeted attacks on flight crew members (seriously) because they were often the only person in any given train car.

A rare glimpse of optimism then presented itself via two different opportunities: a chance to take a ninety-day leave from work, and a job offer in the form of editing a book for publication. I said yes to both and hoped that I would be able to take a step back and deal with the crumbling world around me easier with both of these opportunities now on my horizon.

This period of the year (May-July) started off swimmingly. Knitting, reading, and even smoking weed for the first time in nearly a decade (I took two hits and spent the rest of the evening sinking into the couch painfully aware of how bad I am at breathing and worrying that I might stop at any given moment). I fell in love with yoga and felt myself loosening up parts of my body and my mind that had been twisted into a series of knots for god only knows how long. I spent days reading in the sun, baking bread like everyone else in the world, and learning to make my own pies. Things were going really well, and I was even ahead in school, now on track to graduate in August—when things started getting heated.

I’m not going to go on a rant about race, although I very much could, but I will say this—the fact that we are still in a race war in this country in the year 2020 (and even now, a few days into 2021) makes me so sick to my stomach I don’t know what to do. Every injustice that passes by us, overshadowed by the next untimely death or wrongdoing makes me angry in ways that I cannot even fathom putting into words. It burns the color red that is so hot and so vibrant that I can see it soaking through my eyelids even when I squeeze them shut. This country lost a lot of love from me this year, and even more respect. There are not only things we can do better—there are things we must change. And honestly, most days, I don’t think most of the country is ready to not only admit that but to also work for. And that not only sickens me, but depresses the living hell out of me. I feel so stunted all of the time when I picture a world so at peace with its own injustice. It’s just so unfair.

I watched as the world was (rightfully, although woefully) destroyed around me. My neighborhood turned into a desolate, looted shadow of itself—one where Lauren and I could sit on our back patio safely until dusk, when the crime and gunfire became so rabid that on occasions, we sat in the living room in total darkness, listening only to the radio, afraid to let anybody at street level see that we were, indeed, at home. The opportunists that took advantage of the message of this movement made me numb to such a large demographic of the population, and I found myself crying myself to sleep enough times that I thought it might be time to leave the warzone that had become Chicago for a little while as escape down to Florida. So, we packed our bags and left. It is not lost on me that so many did not have this option, and for so many minorities, just simply existing during this time was enough to cause assault. I know I am fortunate—I carry it like lead in my pockets every day.

While in Florida, the first retailers began to reopen and I found myself waiting in an hour-long line to buy soaps and hand sanitizers, and to get a glimpse of what this “new normal” might look like when things started picking back up again. Like many, it was jarring to see empty tables, capacity limits on items, cashiers behind plexiglass sheets shouting to be heard over both the physical barrier and the cloth one strung across their faces.

By the time T & I arrived home, Lauren was already making plans to reopen her store “safely” and I felt sorry for her. How could anything be safe when nothing had changed? Why were companies acting as if business could go on like before—even though nothing had gotten better?

My final months of my MFA were just ahead of me, and I had one month remaining free from work to finish my first full-length novel, and I all I really remember is stress stress stress.

And then Andrew, being Andrew, offered a glimmer of hope, in the form of a drive-in concert celebrating fifteen years of Everything in Transit in southern California, a mere matter of hours from where Nicole had been working. It took a matter of two or maybe three text messages to confirm that we would be attending, and once the ticket was purchased I practically packed my bags and headed off to visit her and try and make light of my heart.

As suspected, the trip was magical. Being around Nicole, per usual, was magical. My heart felt so fully aligned seeing a little piece of her story and getting to experience her way of life once more—drunken hot springs and all their glory. There truly are few things in my life I love more than sitting in the passenger’s seat as Nicole drives us all over the country, and experiencing it again felt so right and so perfect that I honestly thought it was one of the happiest experiences of my life. Because I had requested so, she drove me all the way to Venice Beach the day of the concert so we could see where the infamous album cover was taken. We ate cbd gummies and listened to jack’s and ate in-n-out burger like our lives depended on it. When the concert began, it was eerie, yet hopeful to see all the new protocols of something that had become so familiar to me in my former life. Drinks were ordered through an app and delivered, as was merch, and clapping was replaced by the exuberant honking of car horns. We streamed the sound through the radio and laid the in the back of Nicole’s converted SUV as we cried and sang along to the songs that made everything, even just for one night, feel like it was all going to be okay again. We ended the evening marking ourselves with our first stick and poke tattoos—hers a sun to my moon, positioned to kiss one another when we stand next to each other on our preferred selfie side (lol). I left worried about how long it might be before I could feel her warm embrace again, the embrace of one of the truest friends I’ll ever know, but also recognizing that we were lucky to have had such an experience at all during such an insane year and feeling eternally grateful for its memory.

The last weeks of what I referred to as my Rumspringa were ahead of me, and one sunny afternoon I wrote the final pages of my novel. In a mad rush to edit, revise and complete my portfolio for official review, I never really sat with myself and what I had accomplished or congratulated myself; I wrote a book in seven months’ time, and even though I am unhappy with it (more on that later) there’s no denying that I actually did it. I did it, and nobody can ever take that away from me; it’s an accomplishment I will forever have, and it’s all my own. And I need to remind myself of that. I need to let myself feel proud.

I was back to work in September and taking a huge pay cut, though working the same hours. It was stressful, but once I found out my portfolio had been accepted and I, indeed, would be receiving my MFA I felt a bit at peace for a while. I had let my hair grow long all summer, and all but stopped wearing make-up (mascara makes me feel entirely dolled up now). I felt in an odd way free—almost bare.

The fall came and went fairly quickly—the weekends alone at home and grocery-store-only outings feeling more and more like normalcy. It had been such a tough, trying year, that it suddenly felt nice to just stand still for a bit. So, I did.

In a brief amount of time, I watched (safely) as friends got married, got sick, got older and fell in love. I watched, with great anxiety, as our country voted in the most important election of our lives so far and took the deepest breath I’d ever taken as I watched that man face defeat—although he’s yet to swallow it. I watched as ex-lovers had babies, got engaged and never really stopped to think twice about any of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the safety (and not in a lame, “safety-net” sort of way) of having T in my life has turned me into someone who not only craves quiet time at home, but really also sort of fell right damn into it very easily, though unexpectedly. I’ve heard the saying so many times before, but you really don’t realize everything is different once you find the right fit because that place feels like it’s always been home. I am grateful to not only have that now and moving forward, but most certainly throughout the trying, unstable times of 2020. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without it.

The holidays always creep up on me, and after being dealt a shitty hand from work (don’t even get me started, I’m still fuming) they came that much quicker. T & I were lucky enough to spend the holidays back home in the swamp, visiting my parents and his Dad. The time went by fast but was relaxing, fun, and reenergizing. We spent New Year’s Eve playing giant Jenga and yard Yahtzee with my parents in the cool, tropical winter of Florida. It was nice. We got tired right around 11, so we laid in bed until midnight talking, staying awake just long enough to share our new year’s kiss. It felt right—a proper send off to such a strange and unusual year. I was exctly where I needed to be—wrapped up in a blanket of T’s embrace, comfy in a bed in my childhood bedroom.

So now, here it is: 2021—the supposed upgrade to 2020, or so everybody secretly hopes. So now, as I sit here, drinking a warm, soy-chai latte (homemade!) I find myself having great difficulty setting an intention for the days ahead of me. I feel so beaten and bruised and physically fatigued for no reason but the experiences of 2020 and the courses they ran all over my life. I’m feeling reflective of having finished yet another year of my life (and my Saturn return! Halleluj!) and finding it hard to be anything but fatigued. I guess it’s from the year that’s just finished—more so than any other year it physically pained me at times to be alive at times. I’m missing so many of my friends who I haven’t been able to see for extended months at a time now. I am craving a sense of normalcy, of safety, so that I can feel better about making plans, but as for right now I just don’t have it. I am quietly trying to make subtle changes within myself and how I react to the world around me, but just like the start of this new year, that process is a slow one.

One of my resolutions (though I’m growing to hate that word more and more with each passing year) is to get back to writing. I had a good, albeit stressful, thing going while still in school, and after finishing my novel and receiving feedback, I couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute failure. It’s still there—it’s really hard to try and celebrate an accomplishment when you don’t feel like your work was good enough to warrant anything at all—especially not a fine arts degree. I never said I was a fiction writer—I just wanted to get better at writing fiction—so I need to remember that and allow myself to veer away from that for a while, to work on something new. Something I’ve been saying I’m not ready to write for many years now, something that when I now say that is just a plain old lie: My memoir. I’m ready to close the chapter in my life where I am a flight attendant, so the timing feels more than perfect.

I learned so much about what I want to do within my career and what sort of boundaries I don’t want to place on myself—and I’m trying, I really am. T gifted me with my own pottery wheel for Christmas and we are going to set it up this weekend and I am so excited to get my hands muddy and start creating. Until this year, I didn’t realize how much I needed a creative outlet other than writing—I had been depending on it for too long, my little cup felt bone dry. So, I’m excited to see where this new hobby takes me and how it influences my ability to return to the blank page—quite literally.

I know this year will not be the quick fix that so many are hopeful for—I think quite the opposite, actually. But here are some things I know for sure will happen: I will move out of my apartment and in with T. We will then, immediately get a dog and a new apartment. This, alone, feels like enough to fill the pages of the blank year ahead of us. I will go long periods of time without seeing my loved ones, and without traveling (bleak as this lifestyle may be). I will write, even when it’s hard to. I will publish something—I’m at work submitting pieces as we speak, and though the process is slow, I can tell this is my opportunity—I am ready t fight for it. I will turn 32, and the numerology of my life will seem more aligned. I will spend my birthday at home, alone, because of course Moulin Rouge has now been cancelled (I’m fine with it). I will learn more about myself the more I use my hands to create, to plant, to sculpt, to mold. I will love with fervor. I will smile more, because it’s actually healthier for you, even though my black heart hates to admit it. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to attend a live concert, though I realize this might be wishful thinking at this point. I will do mushrooms and giggle with the colors. I will cry. I will hurt and I will cause harm. But through it all, I will persevere. Because if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of regenerating into new versions of myself that I didn’t even have the time to dream up. I can adapt to whatever is thrown at me, though it will often times feel impossible. I can, and will, create. I can be reborn (as many times as I’d like to, too).

So, thanks, 2020, for teaching me more about myself than any other period of five years has ever taught me. I definitely feel like I’ve been through the ringer a couple of times, yet I find myself still standing day after day. It must be the way a domino feels, standing up, time after time, knowing that something right in front of you is about to knock you down. But instead of thinking about what I’m bringing down with me, I’m thinking of the entire collective as a whole—we are all experiencing this together. And maybe, just maybe, on the other side, there’s a kid with a smile waiting to do it all over again. And that’s perhaps where the beauty lays: we have to tear everything down in order to do better, be better, make change. Nobody likes to catch fire, but everyone loves rising from the ashes. We’ll all get to where we’re headed, one way or another. And eventually, I hope, we’ll see that the other side is better than we could have ever dreamt of.

I hope that 2021 is a bridge that brings us from destruction to creation. I hope the journey is long, so we all appreciate the outcome.

I love you all and wish you warmth and wellness into this year and beyond.

Happy new year—honor the circumstances you have around you and let them help you grow.

#me #personal

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lakelewisia · 3 years ago

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A Lewisian Year

Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library

Sponsored by The Historical Society

Hello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.

OCTOBER

Lights on the Lake

You don't know for sure what brought you out to the lake, this cool and misty Halloween night. There are so many bright delights to be enjoyed in town, more festive settings than this stretch of pebbled shore. The moon, already set and no more than a sickle anyway, would do little to illuminate anything more than the glassy surface of the lake nearest to you. Farther out, even that fades into a wall of fog. You just knew, somehow, you were supposed to be here. And you aren't the only one: other people assemble on the shore in uncertain silence. You all look out across the lake, wondering why you are here.

You don't have to wait long. Something appears in the fog out on the water. Just a patch of brightness that could be no more than a particularly thick clump of mist, if it weren't for the way it slowly approaches the shore. It bobs a little as it comes--something is floating toward you. Several somethings, you realize, as more lights emerge from the fog. Soon, a whole flotilla of lights can be made out. And now, by their collective glow, you can see how they are traveling to you.

Each light rides within a pumpkin, a little ship of hollowed squash. Tiny Jack-Be-Littles, great lumpen Knuckleheads, frosty blue Jarrahdales. The ghostly white of Cotton Candy, and the iconic roundness of Baby Bear. Some pumpkins carry but a single ethereal light, while others are crowded with a dozen. They drift in a wobbly, uneven way, suitable for a squash attempting to cross a lake, and yet they also approach so quickly, you have hardly had a chance to look along the length of their assemblage before they are nearly to the shore.

Already, with the pumpkins still several yards out, people have begun to stumble into the water. In the dark on either side of you, some give little cries of recognition as they lurch forward. Others splash out to meet their pumpkin, their lights, in silences grim or reverent. In time, you too will realize which little harvest ship is yours. You too will wade out into the water, heedless of soaked shoes and heavy pant legs. Because you understand, now, in the dark and the mist, what the lights are. You know how far they've come to be here tonight.

It is Halloween, and your beloved dead have come out to see you again. The pumpkins ferry their little soul lights from the misty underworlds and afterlives they inhabit, on this night when such visitations are possible. I will not hazard a guess as to who has come for you this year, nor speculate about what messages they might bring. No matter how many assemble on the lakeshore in a given year, we all meet the lights alone.

Search and Rescue

As you make your way back through town, you watch the more mundane joys of Halloween, in all their glittery, sugar-stuffed glory: trick-or-treaters. Even before the night itself, there are harvest events all month to draw out crowds. It's easy to get lost in such a crowd. Easy for a group to get smaller by one or two people without anyone noticing right away. Easy for someone to get lured away from the group and the safety of the path when there are so many delights to look at.

When that happens, someone has to track them down. Enter the Lewisia Search and Rescue Collective, a loose association of public servants, private trackers, and independently operating animal guides. Given the unusual terrain of the Lewisia area, both physical and ethereal, it takes more than just a sniffer dog and an unwashed shirt to track down a missing person. The LSRC can handle everything from underwater searches (trained kingfishers and a pair of selkie sisters) to dimensional rift retrievals (several retired time travelers and the single skinniest, most disreputable- and ancient-looking black cat I have ever seen). They even have multiple successful faerie abduction recoveries in their history, but they declined to give any details about whom of their associates had handled those cases.

October sees more mysterious disappearances than any other month of the year in the greater Lewisia region. The town's ability to draw in outsiders raises the statistics for seventeen counties beyond its immediate reach as well. (Your humble host has spent a lot of time looking at microfiche records of missing person reports in the last month. A lot.)

Of course, a missing person isn't always a bad thing; a mysterious disappearance isn't always an involuntary one. Whether it's down to October's metaphysical properties, the changeable fall weather, or just the prospect of facing the coming winter cooped up somewhere, or with someone, you hate, this is the time of year when people make their escapes. Plenty of fairy rings are approached with clear eyes, rather than blundered into. Sometimes maw-like eldritch portals swallow a person AND the suitcase they packed ahead of time. Sometimes, a missing person does not need or want to be found. After all, sometimes those missing people end up here in Lewisia.

Mating and Migration

While we're on the subject of local population fluctuations, I have a repeated and intense reminder from Dr. Ben Langston in the Biology department of the community college regarding mating and migrating creatures this autumn:

If you encounter a local animal, cryptid, ambulatory plant, or other apparently non-rational life form, and it seems like it really wants to eat, breed with, or flee from you or anything else in the immediate area? Strongly consider getting out of its way.

This time of the year, several of our local species leave on their yearly migration to warmer climates in the south. Tawny unicorns and scorched-beak falcons have both already left us. Snowy púki and glass bats will likely be seen headed along their usual paths bordering the Briarwood district. These habits are driven by seasonal changes both obvious and subtle, written into the genetics of creatures and taught from one generation to the next.

It is a drive stronger than your desire to cross a particular road just then. It is an impulse older than your ideas about private yards and landscaping. Let them pass.

All of which is nothing compared to the mating impulse in some creatures. I don't think I need to explicate the mortal danger faced by anyone who gets between a bull moose and his paramour. And while Old Tommy, the goblin crane who lives out by Stoneheart Manor, is generally friendly with the public, that dance he's doing for the next month is not for your benefit, and you should consider using an extremely long lens if you feel compelled to capture his moves on film.

If anything should decide that you are, in fact, the intended subject of their amorous attentions, it is recommended that you seek shelter indoors. Cars are not the deterrent you might hope, except in cases of relatively small unwelcome suitors. A sturdy door and/or high fence will offer more protection until their interest turns elsewhere.

Of course, if you decide you quite fancy one of the human-compatible creatures currently seeking mates, we won't stand in your way. Advice and resources for negotiating an interspecies relationship and parenting any resulting hybrid children can be found through the library's life skills programming.

This Month in History

October 17, 1937 saw the first public distribution of the newly developed vaccine against Custler's Influenza, also known as Gothic flu. Symptoms of Gothic flu include paleness, wasting away, light aversion, mysterious billowing winds centered around the afflicted, and a compulsion to find moorland and cliffs on which to wander. Though not directly fatal, the impulses caused by the disease frequently lead to misadventure. Several of Lewisia's older architectural wonders are thought to have begun as visions of designers suffering from undiagnosed cases of Gothic flu, as the disease is also known to cause obsessions with houses.

Efforts to explore a vaccine or even study the disease had been hindered for years by the tendency of any laboratory setting to go moderately weird within six months of introducing live virus samples to the space. Teams of sensible researchers were assembled based on testing for resistance to romantic notions and delusions of grandeur. Special ultramodern workspaces had to be built, including numerous south-facing windows to counteract the dark and withdrawn tendencies brought on by proximity to the virus. Thanks to their efforts, Gothic flu is now a rare, and rarely life-altering, affliction that seldom does more than cause a temporary flare for flowing poet's shirts and antique literature.

That's a taste of what October has to offer us. See you next month, when November replaces werewolves with regular wolves, donates an hour, and once again brings a covered dish.

#fiction #microfiction #magical realism #holidays #history #October #Lake Lewisia #demifiction #A Lewisian Year #bonus material

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pigstepping · 3 years ago

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I've decided that I want to start posting about my WIPS on my blog more, so it's SBI Vigilante AU worldbuilding hours! Time to bust out that biology degree \o/

So the system I developed has powers that stem from genetic predisposition + environmental factors. Kids who are predisposed to developing powers have a critical period around age 8 during which, if they have a significant-enough need, they can create a pocket of influenceable physical reality around themselves which allows them to develop superpowers.

Dense worldbuilding notes under the cut for those interested:

Genetic explanation

The gene that causes kids to be predisposed to developing powers is what's called a "repeat expansion mutuation." (This is a real thing, which causes a number of real neurological diseases!) Basically what that means is that this gene has a bunch of different versions (alleles) that are differentiated by how many copies of a particular sequence of DNA are present in the allele. The more copies, the stronger the expression of the trait along a spectrum of intensity.

In this particular case, the repeating sequence was introduced to the human genome around 40 years ago via an engineered retrovirus (famous example: HIV) that was designed and accidentally released by the government. The retrovirus was spread via contact transmission between adult hosts, who had no way of knowing they were carrying the virus as it only has affects on children. The retrovirus inserted varying numbers of copies of itself into the genome of infected individuals, and those individuals passed the mutation to their kids. Children who inherit the mutation cannot spread it to others, as they are born with the DNA sequence integrated into their genome rather than existing in transmissible viral form. In the current day AU, around 20% of the population in the country where containment was breached has at least 1 copy of the retrovirus in their genome, and the virus is slowly spreading via reproduction and residual viral transmission to other parts of the world as well.

The presence of even a single copy of the retrovirus in someone's genome is enough to give them a window of opportunity during childhood in which they have the ability to create a localized pocket of spacetime that allows them to alter reality. If this pocket manifests, both its duration and the degree of influence the child has over reality within the pocket are determined by the number of retrovirus copies in the host's genome. However, environmental factors determine whether the pocket manifests in the first place, as well as determining the nature of any resulting power.

Environmental explanation

If a child has 1 or more copies of the retrovirus, they enter a developmental critical period around the age of 7-8 years old. During this period of time, the kid will manifest the reality-altering pocket if they ever feel a sufficiently strong unmet need or desire. They will subconsciously use the pocket to alter reality in a way that they believe will improve the odds of their needs being met.

In practice, this means that healthy, happy children with capable guardians are less likely to manifest pockets, because they usually don't have strong unmet needs or desires. There are exceptions, such as kids who are extremely passionate about an interest or hobby, kids with particularly vivid imaginations who desperately wish they could live out their fantasies, etc. But a moderate majority of kids who manifest pockets do so because of trauma.

Generally, the nature of the need determines the nature of the power, although not necessarily in predictable ways. A kid who lacks food security might develop photosynthesis so they can "eat" without needing food at all, or they might develop the ability to digest things that don't normally give any nutritional value, or they might develop mind control that can be used to convince strangers to give them food. In addition, not all kids who manifest pockets will develop powers based on their needs during that time. If the need that triggered the pocket gets addressed before powers develop, the kid might develop powers that are completely unrelated, or they might not develop anything at all.

Mechanics of power development

The powers developed within the pocket are determined by three factors: the intensity of the trait's expression per the child's genome, the subjective manageability of the unmet need according to the child, and the way the child views the world around them.

As previously mentioned, the more copies of the retrovirus you have, the stronger your influence over reality, which means that kids with several copies will generally have the capacity to develop more outlandish powers than kids with only one or two copies. An example might be the ability to turn invisible vs the ability to blend into crowds. Both result in the child being less noticeable to the people around them, but one is clearly further outside the bounds of normal reality.

However, more outlandish powers don't always equate to more "powerful" powers. If a child believes, correctly or incorrectly, that they can handle their problem on their own, they will usually develop a "weaker" power regardless of how closely that power adheres to the normal contraints of reality. A weaker power might have a smaller area of effect, a longer cooldown between uses, a more significant physical or mental cost to use, or some other limitation.

Powers are also limited by the child's imagination and base of knowledge. Power development is subconscious and can't be consciously controlled or guided by the child, so powers will be shaped by the subconscious assumptions a kid makes about the world, as well as the ideas and concepts they've been exposed to. A kid who spends a lot of time thinking about animals might develop an animal trait as their power, while a kid who spends a lot of time thinking about cars might develop a knack for hotwiring. Likewise, a child will develop powers based on what they subconsciously believe will help them, even if this turns out to be inaccurate. For example, a child who is insecure due to irrationally critical parents might develop a skill they believe will make their parents proud of them, despite their skill level playing little true role in the criticism they receive.

Additionally, because kids at age 7-8 don't generally have a solid grasp of science or the limits of physical reality, it is very rare for their powers to develop with clear biological/physical mechanisms. This can make it difficult to study how powers operate, because powers usually have no associated concrete phenomenon with a function or structure that can be examined.

Because of this lack of any biomarker, it's often impossible to determine whether someone has a power unless it includes an obvious body modification or the person uses the power in front of others. The closest approximation is genetic testing which can tell whether a person is predisposed to developing powers in the first place. However, as only about 50% of people with the necessary genetic makeup go on to develop powers, this method is imperfect.

In fact, many people with only one or two retrovirus copies will develop subtle powers without initially realizing. There is no clear indication that a child has manifested a reality-altering pocket, so if they develop a non-obvious power during this time, they may go their whole lives without realizing they have a power at all.

Sociopolitical implications

Because the retrovirus responsible for superpowers only breached containment ~40 years ago, society is still trying to grapple with the ramifications.

The immediate response of the government to the breach was to try to suppress information, limit the viral spread, and limit the development of powers. One of their earliest steps was implementing a secretive parallel foster care system for genetically predisposed children, designed to minimize stressors during their critical periods to prevent power manifestation. Foster parents were sourced from the ranks of the economically and politically powerful, both because this was the population the government trusted most with information about the outbreak, and because this was judged to be the population with the best resources for minimizing stressors. However, this plan backfired badly due to poor vetting of prospective foster parents, leading to an influx of powerful adults intent on deliberately depriving their foster children of basic necessities with the goal of manifesting powers the foster parents could use to their own benefit.

This miscalculation, in addition to the rampant spread of the virus to unaware carriers who then went on to have children, led the government to decide to give up on limiting the outbreak. Instead, they covered up the unchecked abuses of the parallel foster system and turned their attention to recruiting powered people into voluntary government service where possible, and capturing and experimenting on the rest.

The recruiting process was initially slow-going, and both powered crime and powered vigilantism were rampant. A breakthrough was made with the launch of the hero guild, a powers-centric branch of the police force which was designed with a built-in PR apparatus to entice powered people into working for the government, as well as turn public opinion against powered people who choose to use their powers without government oversight. Powered heroes are highly praised, while powered civilians are often regarded with suspicion and powered criminals are particularly reviled. Powered vigilantes were relegated to the outskirts of society, trusted only by the small areas they serve, and they have become increasingly criminalized over time with the aid of anti-vigilante government propaganda.

The hero guild also instituted a separate "penal" system for powered individuals, particularly for powered "villains" and vigilantes. To the public's knowledge, the guild conducts trials behind closed doors to protect the identities of the defendants. The public also believes that powered criminals are kept in a separate set of prisons with special security measures to counteract power use. However, this serves as a smoke screen to conceal the fact that most powered criminals don't receive a trial at all, instead becoming unwilling subjects in a system of laboratories where the biology and mechanisms of powers are studied using experimental methods ranging from benign to horrifically inhumane. This reality is an open secret in the vigilante community, but pervasive anti-vigilante propaganda makes it difficult for vigilantes to blow the whistle. The guild carefully keeps the lab system hidden from their powered heroes to avoid widescale rebellion.

On the international stage, the containment breach country is serving as a case study in managing powers. Other countries, aware that their own population of powered individuals will only continue to grow, are watching carefully in order to learn from the original country's mistakes.

SO, that's the bulk of my general worldbuilding for this AU so far! I'm still fitting the backstories for SBI and Beeduo into this setting, as well as various background characters, but this will serve as a good scaffold for further world development.

#m #my fic #vigilante au #that foster system is definitely gonna fuck over bench trio in a major way #and the adult members of SBI are going to have a very complex relationship with the guild #it'll be fun to pit all those dynamics against each other

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iamvegorott · 5 years ago

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Hidden Romance Ch. 11

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Siblings

“I’m going to warn all of you that this might get a little strange,” Dark said, standing in the middle of the living room with a vial of Alice’s blood. The others were gathered around him;

Anti was sleeping on the couch with Chase and Marvin, still recovering from earlier. Robbie sat between JJ and Henrik on the other couch. Edward was sitting on the armrest next to Henrik while Wilford was on the other next to JJ. Bing was sitting in a chair with Google behind him while Yandere and Bim were the same in the second chair. Host sat in the third chair with one hand towards his lip in thought. Phantom was sitting on the ground with Blank while Mad stood between Mare and Jackie behind them.

“I don’t think anything could weird us out.” Marvin chuckled.

“You’ll be surprised.” Dark held the vial towards RJ and CJ. “Tell me what you know.”

“Okay!” RJ and CJ both perked up and took the vial. RJ popped it open and they both took a deep sniff.

“Smelling blood? I’ve seen worse.” Henrik shrugged.

“Wait for it.” Wilford placed a hand over JJ’s eyes.

“Wha-” Henrik stopped himself when RJ put some of the blood on his finger and stuck it in his mouth, CJ doing the same. “I mean, it’s not the weirdest, but it’s up there.”

“Alice Angel,” RJ and CJ spoke in unison, lifting their heads up and showing everyone that their eyes had glossed over and became a cloudy, light blue.

“Now it’s weird,” Chase said.

“Alice Angel.” The twins said again.

“Age; twenty-seven,” RJ said.

“Sex; female,” CJ said.

“Gender; female,”

“Sexuality; heterosexual,”

“Romantic; heteroromantic,”

“Race; ink.”

“Species, magic.”

“Scared of being forgotten.” The twins were speaking together once more. “Scared of being alone, scared of not being heard. Hatred for being an outsider, hatred for Blank, hatred of being second to Blank. Soft spot, brain.” The last word became a cough from the two and the vial was dropped. Yandere went to CJ while Bim went to RJ.

“How we feeling?” Yandere asked CJ, getting no words, and CJ just wrapped his arms around Yandere, closing his eyes.

“Tired.” Was all RJ could get out before resting against Bim.

“Get them to bed,” Dark said, picking up the vial.

“Up we go.” Yandere lifted CJ up and she and Bim carried the two out of the room.

“I gotta piss.” Phantom bluntly said and followed them.

“Host, did you get anything from them?” Edward asked.

“RJ and CJ weren’t able to complete their processing before exhaustion took over.” Host stated. “Host will have to wait until they’ve rested and finished the job before trying to get his own information.”

“There’s only a touch of blood left, but it should be enough if they need more,” Dark said.

“I have several questions,” Henrik said.

“Are they like Host?” Chase asked.

“Not really,” Edward said. “Host is able to look into the future and can get a general read on people but he’s usually stopped from being able to say it to anyone. It’s rare when he can give a prophecy to us or a full reading. The twins, on the other hand, can gather information from a person with a look, it’s usually one big thing of information and then the top layer of it. Like how they knew Anti was a Virus, or Marvin having magic or Chase being bulletproof.”

“Then what’s with eating the blood?” Jackie asked.

“To get more on the person they’re studying, they need a close, personal contact to the person. Usually through something physical.” Edward scratched at his jaw. “And what’s more personal than someone’s blood?”

“What else are they going to be able to tell us?” Chase asked, running a hand through Anti’s hair when he started to stir.

“It a game of chance.” Dark went over to the couch and crouch down in front of Anti, placing a hand on his cheek. “Anti, are you awake?” Anti just opened one eye and stuck his tongue out when he saw Dark.

“Someone take a picture, this is the softest I have ever seen Dark,” Wilford said, a laugh following.

“Can you come with me?” Jackie whispered to Mad. Mad stiffened a little but nodded, tapping on Mare’s arm and gesturing with his head that he was going. Mare only nodded as well, looking away when he saw that Mad was leaving with Jackie.

“What’s up?” Mad asked when they got out of the room.

“I could tell you were getting uncomfortable,” Jackie said.

“I wasn’t really…” Mad chewed on his lip. “I’m getting used to their stuff.”

“Their stuff?” Jackie asked with a raised brow.

“It’s hard to explain how all of this works in one go,” Mad said.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Jackie gave Mad that smile, that same damned smile that still warmed Mad’s chest, twisted his stomach with butterflies, and made him want to act up.

“Maybe after dinner, we could-” Mad slapped a hand over his mouth when a sudden strong wave of emotion hit him. He bent over and started coughing.

“Hey, you okay there?” Jackie placed a hand on Mad’s back, which somehow cued another wave.

“I-I…” Mad tried to speak but his throat started to close and he started to wheeze. “M-Mare.” Mad managed to choke out before his body started to heave as it tried to get air.

“Oh shit!” Jackie scooped up Mad and rushed back into the living room. “Mare! Mare, help!” Jackie cried out, placing Mad down.

“What happened?” Chase asked as Mare knelt down next to Mad.

“We were just talking and then he just stopped breathing.” Jackie was hugging himself, trying to prevent himself from shaking. Did he do that? Was he to blame?

“Try to lift your head.” Mare was the only one calm in the room as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an inhaler. “Here.” Mare pressed the inhaler to Mad’s mouth and that got Mad to lift his hands and take over, pressing the top of it several times as he took deep breathes. “I’m going to step outside with him.” Mare helped MAd to his feet. “Blank, come get us in five minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” Blank had curled up where he was sitting.

“I got you.” Mare walked with Mad out of the building, closing the door behind them. “We’re going to sit here.” He said as he guided Mad to sit down a few steps away from the door, leaning him against the building’s wall. Mare plopped down next to him. The two sat in a calm silence for a long while. “You good?” Mare asked softly.

“Yeah,” Mad said, clearing his throat when his voice came out clogged.

“I thought you were getting used to them,” Mare said.

“I am.” Mad sniffed and took one more take of his inhaler. “We’re going to need to get me a refill soon.”

“I’ll ask if they know a good place around here,” Mare said. “And if you’re getting used to them, what caused this attack?” “Something new hit me.”

“Something new?”

“There was a new and strong feeling of affection.”

“Affection?” Mare pressed his head back against the wall. “Where could that come from? Most of them are paired off already and if there were hidden feelings, you’d feel them a while ago.”

“The weird thing was, it was new but familiar. It wasn’t one of the others, it felt like one of us.”

“One of…” Mare swallowed thickly, thankful when he hear d a soft knock.

“All okay?” Blank asked, peeking around the now open door.

“Do you mind sitting out here with him for a little longer? I need to check something.” Mare got up and went back into the building, not waiting for an answer. Mare saw that Phantom still wasn’t back and he powered straight through. Marvin caught the anger and urgency in Mare’s steps and he slipped away from the group, who were all now talking to Anti and working out what to do with the twin’s information.

Marvin was practically gliding across the floor as he followed Mare, stopping when Mare went into Phantom’s room and slammed the door shut. He slid to the door and pressed his ear against it.

“Give me your phone,” Mare said.

“What? No.” Phantom scoffed, his voice giving off as if he thought MAre was joking.

“Give me it, now.” Mare was not joking.

“Dude, the fuck you on? Hey!” There were sounds of a struggle and more curses from Phantom. “Don’t read those!”

“Who the hell is Illinois!? Mare shouted.

“Why do you care!?” Phantom shouted back.

“Because you haven’t told me about this! What happened to telling each other everything!?”

“Don’t pull that shit on me when you know damn well you have never told me about your-”

“Marvin?” Chase’s voice pulled Marvin away and he didn’t hear the rest of the sentence.

“Give me a moment,” Marvin whispered and went back to listening.

“That is not true!” Mare sounded shocked by what Phantom had said.

“Don’t give me that bullshit and give me my phone instead.”

“Not until you tell me about him.”

“There’s nothing to tell you!”

“You’re blushing.”

“Give me my phone!”

“Mad said he felt a new strong wave of affection coming from a familiar source, it wasn’t me and it wasn’t Blank. So, again, who is this Illinois?”

“Fuck off!”

“Who is he!?”

“You’re just pissed that-”

“We really shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” Chase said.

“It’s too late.” Marvin tried to catch the rest of that sentence but only got the ending.

“-instead of you!” There was suddenly a harsh silence. A painfully long pause before there was a crunch. “My phone! Mare! What the fuck!?” Chase and Marvin stumbled away when the door opened and Mare stepped out.

“Were you listening to us?” Mare’s voice was harsh and sharp, his eyes starting to go red as if he was holding back tears.

“We-uh-were just-walking-passing-”

“What did you hear?” Mare stopped Chase from rambling.

“Noth-”

“What did you hear!?”

“Phantom has a possible thing with a man named after a state,” Marvin stated.

“That’s it?” Mare swallowed thickly and Marvin could tell he was about to lose his internal fight.

“That’s it.”

“Okay…” Mare sniffed and he lifted his hand, a crushed phone in it. “Could you ask Anti or Bing and Google to see if they can fix this? Or at least make sure nothing gets lost if I need to get him a new phone?”

“We’ll take care of it.” Marvin took the broken phone.

“Thanks. I’m...I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Mare walked away with slumped shoulders.

“What do you think Phantom said?” Chase asked Marvin.

“It’s none of your damn business.” Phantom hissed and slammed his door shut.

——————————-

Tag List: @thesinginggal @ninazappy @takethepainawaybae @classy-birb @madallice329 @m0th-goo @always-in-a-fandom @such-a-dumbass @mirrored-calamity @thelonelycreature @grnpurplgrmln @shamelesscollectorpiratesstuff @antibeaneverybody @constantgaycrisis

#danti #undercover love #hidden romance #long chapter #like #double #so much happening #evil veggie wiggles be happenin #going from yanois to phanois is a shift

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replicantdeviancy · 5 years ago

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Sanguine Stained | Vampire AU

OUTLINE:

The year is 1838 and the night is treacherous. Detroit is a budding mecca of modern industry, a shining beacon amid the wilderness of northern Michigan. Yet beyond the cities borders the land still holds a wild spirit and the legends of the Natives still haunt with ancient whispers of supernatural forces both good & evil.

‘ Here there be monsters. ’

Connor is an enigmatic young man of unknown origin. Exceptionally beautiful yet emotionally stunted, seemingly of education & money. He speaks little of himself or his past, only showing a keen interest in expelling evils from the land as intently as he keeps his secrets. He is rarely seen during daylight hours, preferring the darkness & solitude, though he is remarkably sociable. Endlessly polite but withdrawn, he is almost distrusting, though not of others. He is distrustful of himself.

Hank Anderson is a US Marshal haunted by the spectres of his personal ghosts. Drawn to the darkness he holds no particular tie to life, yet he shows an exemplary set of skills accumulated over the many years of his career. Tasked with keeping the peace, more often than not he finds himself battling the darkness of both the things that go bump in the night & his own damaged soul.

STORY:

While tracking a particularly deadly cryptid he comes across a strange young man. Pale, uniquely beautiful & mysterious, the boy seems to take an interest in him & his case. Due to some small misunderstanding, Hank initially rejects Connor’s offer of assistance & assumes that would be the end of it. However, while tracking the murderer he is tasked with bringing in, Hank discovers the boy has followed him, & is looking out for him. After much chagrin the strange youth is allowed to join him, as he seems to have some wit about him & Hank finds him to be a skilled survivalist & tracker. He is admittedly curious as to how a wealthy prettyboy such became an adept detective.

The boy claims no desire for payment of any kind, nor does he state his intentions. He merely argues that he wants to help, that the Lieutenant has need of his knowledge. His name is Connor, & he appears to have far more secrets about him than he’s willing to tell. He mentions nothing of where he comes from or his past. Only that he has a brother & that it is in his interests, as well as Hank’s, to take heed of the hidden monsters that burden this sacred land.

CONNOR ARKEIT

• His birth name was Constance Arkeit, born 1612 in Essex, England. His family was of money & their roots lay in French-English breeding.

• Transgender by modern terms, he was considered a cross-dresser or even mentally perverted in his own time. Due to the very religious nature of the time period, Connor was forced to keep his feminine appearance, only able to express his true self in secret.

• His attack was seen as little more than attempted murder from a madman, & his subsequent sickness was feared to be a reemergence of plague. However, it developed into something not unlike consumption or rabies. Blood was the only thing to cure him.

• He was betrothed to a man since childhood; a kind soul named Henry Vogel. Henry accepted his strangeness & treated him kindly. He also helped Connor lead a double life, as he dressed him in boys clothing when they would play together & spend time away, often retreating to the wooded country surrounding Henry’s estate.

XANDER ARKEIT

• Third of the triplets, he was not betrothed as little was expected of him to carry the family line. He had his trysts, yet he remained dutiful to his siblings, he was especially protective of Connor & his secrets.

• When Connor was attacked he was the first to see to him. After Connor attacked Colin as he was administering a treatment of bloodletting for his sickness, & was thus infected with this same illness, Xander purposely infected himself in order to stay with his brother.

• As the siblings slowly drifted apart, he & Connor remained together. On occasion Connor would wander off of his own accord, only to eventually return to him. Xander was a pillar of strength in his life sorely needed after the losses he had endured.

• After the two made their way to the new world in the mid 1700′s, Connor once again ran off. This time he did not return. Xander, hurt but ever resolute, carried on with life as usual & took this opportunity to explore the colonies as he saw fit.

VAMPIRISM

• The infected are NOT dead, but rather plagued by a virus of the blood. It consumes the proteins of the blood & thus forces the host to drink blood to replenish themselves, lest the disease ravage their organs & kill them painfully. It takes hold of the natural processes of the body, forming new teeth which push out the old; an excruciating & horrific adaptation to the body’s new needs. The infected enjoy heightened senses of hearing, sight & enhanced strength. They can see in darkness & smell spilled blood within half a mile.

• Sunlight feels overly warm on the skin & exposure can be draining on their energy. It hurts their eyes, & prolonged exposure can have severe adverse affects, of which the only cure is a total lack of sunlight & potentially a feeding. Injuries mend fast & leave little trace. However, blood is required for spilt blood.

• This is a progressive disease, one which will eventually consume the victim regardless of their routine feeding. As time passes the victim will require more & more to sustain themselves, until blood is no longer enough & the disease will feast on their bodies. In the final stages, their blood is little more than a gelatinous black soup & they will become ravenous, crazed beasts which will kill mercilessly. If they are not killed by unnatural means, their final fate will be to succumb to organ failure as the body cannibalizes itself.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: This verse is HEAVILY based off of historical & mythological resources, as well as biology & scientific premises. Ideas of religion & gender, sex & personal identity in that time are far different from modern ideologies. Pronouns & terms used to describe Connor will be masculine, however there will potentially be misgendering & incorrect terms used to express story narrative in regards to his gender identity. While his identity is to be preserved & respected, uses of dead names & feminine expressions may be used in themes throughout, as well as mentions of identity through the eyes of religion & 1600′s terminology & ideology. If this offends you, or triggers you, DO NOT PARTICIPATE IN THIS VERSE.

The use of female body parts & dead names is not meant as a form of disrespect, but of respect to the time period. If you are unfamiliar with historical knowledge of gender & religion in this time period, please educate yourself. Any hate will be deleted & reported. Anon abuse will be reported. Thank you.

Other triggers may include but are not limited to violence, blood, suggestive themes, mental instability, medical themes & bodily injury.

A MODERN CONTINUATION

The world is a glittering place of brightness, the late hours holding no sway on the bustling mecha of which they have chosen to call home. The immortal siblings roam the streets of Detroit, enthralled by it’s transformation throughout the centuries, from a charming township in the midst of the north-west territories to the famed Motor City. But like all things, their home has suffered decline & rot, slowly decaying into a shadow of it’s former self. But this is home, & no matter how far they may travel in their search to overcome the tides of immortal wanderlust, they will return to their adopted city.

Hannibal Au: Wanderlust easily takes the eldest Arkeit sibling. He finds himself heading south on a whim, having never seen himself interested in traveling beyond the northern territories of the new world. His adventures take him to New Orleans, curious to see if it’s true what the rumors say, if there are more of his kind meandering the streets of the Big Easy. There are not - only humans with a taste for the macabre & intrigues of showmanship, but there are further delights to savor. There is voodoo & mysticism & the unique culture of a people who remain close to their roots in the past, & there are celebrations of life, death & everything in between.

Connor decides to participate in the Marti Gras festival, fascinated by the liveliness of this district-wide party held within the French Quarter. There he meets a young officer who captivates him with the promise of nightly company, though in an instant that spark of intrigue forms a bond as he can sense something different about him. They enjoy a playful moment of debauchery, only for Connor to nearly lose him altogether with the misguided action of a lovebite turned bloody. Gratefully, this officer - a charming oddity by the name of Will Graham - was less deterred by his initial fears than expected & chose to pursue the potential relationship. The bond formed by that single night was undeniable & only would grow deeper as time went on.

#˾ ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ̚ ;; ᴸᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶰᶫʸ ᵒᶰᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᶫᵈ. ▐ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ

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andsewingishalfthebattle · 5 years ago

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A con season without cons -- and how to survive it

Some thoughts on convention cancellation, Coronavirus, coping mechanisms, creative flow, and a few things that don’t start with the letter C

If you haven’t heard the news, Anime Central officially canceled yesterday. I am disappointed, as ACEN is the only time I get to see certain out-of-state friends, and the masquerade is always a major focus for us. This wasn’t our year to MC (we alternate years with Zach and Jim), but it was our year to compete, and we had big costume plans. We also had a number of panels on the schedule, including some new ones that were written just for this year’s event.

But at the same time, the official announcement that ACEN was off was almost a relief. Many other conventions announced weeks ago that they were postponing or canceling this year’s events (some were directed by their state to do so). I’m sure some of ACEN’s overseas guests would have canceled their appearances. And frankly, given that the most recent projections suggest that if we don’t implement social distancing measures we could be looking at another two years of battling novel Coronavirus, I’m in favor of as much of the population as possible isolating at home until this thing runs its course. Being in extremely close contact with 35,000 other people during a pandemic is a bad idea. Canceling events is the right thing to do, even when it’s something thousands of us are looking forward to.

Still, it’s just one more in the long line of frustrations people have been facing since the start of the outbreak. Lately, I’ve talked to several people who are struggling with the progressive shutdown of society -- they’re out of work, they’re trapped at home, and now their creative and social outlets (including conventions) are beginning to vanish. Some people in seriously affected areas have been instructed not to leave home at all. One friend I spoke with this morning is young and healthy, but she lives with her elderly grandmother and can’t risk carrying the virus home. I am at higher risk from COVID-19 due to an existing health condition, so I need to avoid exposure. We’re both facing weeks, possibly months, of sitting at home. Alone. Waiting. It’s a stressful, uncertain time, and coping is harder when you’re isolated from your social support network and unable to participate in your usual activities.

There are already dozens (hundreds?) of posts with lists of all the free arts, culture, books, movies, and learning resources you can take advantage of while you’re stuck at home, so I won’t list those things here. Instead, I want to share some suggestions for things to do if you start feeling cooped up, isolated, or cut off from humanity:

Go outside. Unless your city mandates it, there’s no reason you have to stay indoors while social distancing. Go for a bike ride, take a stroll around the neighborhood, walk the dog, or just sit outdoors to get some sunlight. Say hello to someone. (Do stay at least six feet away from other people and wash your hands after touching things.)

Attend a convention -- online. Some cons are hosting online events for their attendees. Cleveland Concoction is running its costume contest online today. SDCC/WonderCon and Planet Comicon have created virtual Artist Alleys to help support the artists who would have been selling onsite. Check the website/social media of your favorite cons to learn about online gatherings, Discord servers, photo sharing, or other community events you can participate in.

Take a virtual tour of an exotic location. Google’s Expeditions app lets you explore everything from ancient Roman ruins to a NASA research center. Several of America’s national parks offer virtual tours, so you can enjoy some beautiful scenery. Or get a VR experience with Google Arts & Culture’s interactive documentary The Hidden Worlds of the National Parks, which allows you to see rarely-visited sites in 360 degrees.

Play a game with friends. Many gaming groups (including mine) already use video conferencing for tabletop game sessions. Skype or Google Hangouts support free group video calls; Discord and Telegram offer free voice calls. If you want to play screen-based party games such as Jackbox.tv, one person can stream the main screen on Twitch while all other players log in remotely on their phones. There are also dozens of online multiplayer games on Steam, PlayStation, or Xbox One.

Watch a movie with friends. If you all own the same DVD, put it on the TV while you video chat on your phone or computer. Or you can try Netflix Party, which syncs your streaming and adds group chat to your screen.

Check out all the new podcasts, vlogs and game streams. Not surprisingly, being stuck at home has prompted a huge number of people to create their own programming! (So much so that an audio drama I’m in actually took a ratings hit this week from the sheer number of new programs debuting, and one podcast service had a server go down for a few hours. <ad>Also, if you need something to listen to, check out Verity Weaver! It’s free!</ad>) Hit YouTube, Twitch, or your preferred podcast app to see what new programming is on offer. Watching a livestream or participating in a Q&A helps stave off social contact starvation.

Schedule a creative jam session. Normally a lot of us are in con crunch right now, gearing up for spring and summer conventions, and when events are canceled it saps our motivation. Contact your creative friends (of any type -- cosplayers, artists, knitters, etc.) and arrange a time to connect via voice or video conferencing. Plan your upcoming projects, problem-solve, or just chat as you all work on something creative. If your schedules don’t line up for a live session, create a Telegram group, Messenger chat or Discord server to share photos and encourage each other’s progress. Keep that creativity flowing!

Think of it as a staycation. I know it sounds flippant, but this is what I’ve been doing since day one. Instead of, “Oh, no, I’m stuck at home and can’t do that thing I wanted to do!” I’ve been training myself to think of the situation as, “Finally, I have an excuse to stay home and read that book/play that video game/organize my closet/do that other thing I’ve been putting off!” It’s just a mindset shift, but it really does help to focus on the positive. Think of isolation as an opportunity to get stuff done without interruption.

Above all, remember that we’re going to get through this, and life will eventually return to normal. Humanity faces a pandemic about every hundred years, and while it’s always a setback, history shows that we always bounce back with vigor. The devastating Spanish flu pandemic of 1918-1920 was followed by the Roaring Twenties, after all.

So keep your head up, get some sunlight, and reach out to your friends using all the glorious technology we are lucky enough to have at our disposal. And maybe brush up on your Charleston, just in case.

(Oh, hey. That starts with C, too.)

#long post #conventions #community #coronavirus

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motor-1-ous · 2 years ago

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Dear FBI (cc: Twitter) | https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adaptive_immune_system

This account, like dozens before it, has been suspended for no reason given. I am never told what rules I broke (except on rare occasion they say ‘telegraphing’ sending the same tweet to numerous accounts is “against community standards”. The only communication I ever got from them was to introduce me to one of their team in the advertising department, who I continue to copy on emails, while I refuse to pay them to advertise (tried that with fb.com/motoriousTV, which is a “banned link” on Facebook, after I spent money on an ad campaign for months, which resulted in one new like. That is industrial espionage (sabotage of the venture). What’s the point of having 500,000+ and 2.7 billion (I really doubt that) members, if a prospective company (competitor) cannot access their users? Each time they suspend a profile (and place it in read only mode, it usually gets deleted, after dozens of their partners? employees? Scour through the posts, leaving me with 0 followers. That I don’t mind so much because I am more concerned that the recipients of the tweet, then RETWEET it to their thousands or millions of followers. Unlike Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg, who greedily control the shares of their company, I still have 49% of my company: 17% to Angel Investor Philip Russell Munger (a friend and classmate from the Harvard Class of 1989 (interestingly, Facebook NEVER suggests the obvious: my Classmates.com who were part of the 1,600 in the Harvard Facebook (undergraduate class) and/or the 16,000 alumni from the class of 1989 or other friends since it deleted, without warning, 10 years of posts and connections (which, like the others; Twitter et al) they steal from one’s contact list. I think I should get a us patent on the screenshot; because that is the only way I can prove what used to exist, and or who received the tweet, or a copy of it by email, as “poor man’s copyright” goes to the author, verified by an emails date/time stamp. I am trying to crowdfund different internal projects, where the investors own a piece of that project and any revenues it generates, and/or equity in a Special Purpose Vehicle: Remote Bankruptcy entity, like Tocor II; and off balance sheet financing for the publicly traded company Centocor (publicly available on Edgar); where a certain amount of capital is raised, and then upon acquisition (15-25% ROI over a 5 year period with stock from the parent company (me), almost guarantees the investors or crowdfunded the promised return, because without my re-acquiring the R&D project, I have no future pipeline or way to generate revenue. Strict covenants in the investment vehicle preclude my using the capital except to fund a team on the project, which is located on the books of my strategic partner; negating the need for me to ever hire employees. bit.my/i_am_motorious (VIAFinalProposal.doc) went to BMW’s “Virtual Innovation Agency”, and years later, the Quandt Family: PBS Documentary “Grandfather Clock”, as Herbert Quandt was inspired by the trapezoidal shape of the German War tank (mistakenly called “nazis” or “white supremecists, who are actually Swedish. Quandt does not sound like it comes from the Deutsche, but I could be wrong. Popular Science had a cover on which it talked about the power of stem cells (why did the US ban stem cells? Early technology retroviral vectors, carry the risk of insertstional mutagenesis, or reverting to their natural infective state once placed in the host. A SCID-HU mouse knockout gene model, where (if possible) the surface receptors which are steigerend by the attachment of the virus (9 peptide sequence) could be deleted or stopped from expressing, ONLY if that does not affect the normal functioning of the cells: hematopoeisis would transfer that trait to all daughter cells, including B cell (humoral) and T cell (cytotoxoc T cell) expression; allowing the immune system to fight other pathogens, while making the T cells immune from future infection from the virus. A side note here (because I’m really horny and love both giving and receiving: urbandictionary.com/php/define? “Rim

#harley davidson #mo #moto #motor #motorbike #motorcycle #motorious #motorious.eu #motorious.nyc #motorioustv

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 7 years ago

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I didn't know you read Wild Cards. Can you give us some thoughts on the series?

I actually read Wild Cards long before I read ASOIAF. I’ve talked about it a few times, you can see my tag here. But sure, some thoughts:

Wild Cards got started in the mid-80s when a bunch of SF/F writers in New Mexico got together to play role-playing games. GRRM became the DM for a new game, based on a superhero RPG, and soon all these writers were developing characters and plots and worldbuilding and such. Eventually they realized while they were spending a lot of time working on writing, they weren’t actually making any money… so they decided to actually write up their superhero world as an anthology collection of short stories. This shared-world anthology idea wasn’t invented by them: Thieves’ World had been going (in fantasy) since the late 70s, another series of that type started in 1985, and it was something SF/F agents knew how to sell. Wild Cards also hit the zeitgeist of superhero deconstructionism (Alan Moore’s Watchmen and Frank Miller’s TDKR both came out in 1986), so it was picked up for a three-book contract by Bantam, with the first book (Wild Cards, naturally) published in 1987. GRRM was the editor (and creator/writer of several characters), and they got many other writers to contribute besides the ones in their RPG community, including greats like Roger Zelazny.

The world of Wild Cards is an alternate history where an alien bomb exploded over New York City in 1946, carrying a virus payload. This virus had a certain probability in how it affected people’s DNA, and info from the alien geneticist who’d defected to Earth (trying to stop his colleagues from experimenting on an innocent world) led it to be known as the wild card virus. Of those who were infected by the wild card, 90% died, their bodies wracked with horrible transformations (“drawing the black queen”). Of the survivors, 9 out of 10 lived transformed, usually into monstrous or freakish or just plain ugly creatures (“jokers”). And the rare 1%, the “aces”, still looked human… but gained superpowers. The virus spread across the world over time, infecting countries, changing history… and there are still unknown caches of the virus that can cause an outbreak at any time. Though mostly these days it’s transmitted genetically, from wild cards who have kids (though many avoid doing so because of the 90% chance of black queen and 9% chance of jokerdom), or more often from latents, people who were infected and their DNA changed but who never had the trauma that would set off their transformation. (Other terms: “nats”, natural humans; “deuces”, aces with a fairly lame power; and there’s also the occasional joker-aces, people who look monstrous but also have some kind of superpower.)

Anyway! Enough backstory. I really do enjoy the series. I first picked it up around, hmm, 1990 I think? when I saw one of the books in the SF/F spinning book racks in the library and the cover drew me in. (I was hugely into X-Men at the time.) The library had all the other books available too, so I took ‘em home and was completely caught. It was adult (rather adult, beware triggers), often super dark with its “superheroes in the real world” themes to the point of lol edgy, some of the covers were ehh (though honestly the 2nd edition Bantam covers were not bad, thankfully I never saw the imho godawful UK covers)… but the worldbuilding, the plots, the characters, the writing… everything was just so very good. I fell in love with such characters as:

GRRM’s Tom Tudbury, “The Great and Powerful Turtle”, an overweight bullied nerd from New Jersey with hugely powerful telekinesis, who flies around in a turtle-shaped shell (originally a VW Beetle with armored plating)

Roger Zelazny’s Croyd Crenson, “The Sleeper”, who was a 14-year-old boy on Wild Card Day, came home from school (witnessing all the horrors) and fell asleep… and awoke weeks later, looking like an adult, with powers. Every time he sleeps, he becomes someone different, sometimes a joker, sometimes an ace… and he’s terrified of drawing the black queen, so after a time he’ll do anything to avoid sleep…

Melinda Snodgrass’s Prince Tisianne, “Dr. Tachyon”, the alien geneticist mentioned above, telepathic, exiled to Earth, serving his penance by trying to cure the virus, and all-time winner of the All-Comers Angst Contest (beating out Scott Summers and Tyrion and just about any manpain or real pain hero you can think of)

Victor Milan’s Mark Meadows, “Captain Trips”, a hippie biochemist who takes drugs and turns into other people for an hour. His “friends” include Jumpin’ Jack Flash, pyrokinetic; Aquarius, were-dolphin; Starshine, sun-powered enviromentalist; Moonchild, martial artist; and other alters that he can’t reach and doesn’t know he doesn’t want to. (One of my teenage marysues was one of Mark’s friends, Lucy, an interdimensional teleporter with kaleidoscope eyes.)

Gail Gerstner-Miller’s “Peregrine”, who has feathered wings and can fly (and is technically a joker because of the transformation, which includes hollow bones, but most people think she’s an ace because she’s beautiful), who became a model/actress and then a late-night talk show host, but sometimes fights with claw-gloves, and may be the mother of the messiah

Stephen Leigh’s “The Oddity”, who used to be three people living in a threesome until one morning they awoke merged into a single monstrous shifting being – he/she/they serve as the protector of Jokertown (a neighborhood in Manhattan that’s pretty much a joker ghetto)

GRRM’s Jay Ackroyd, “Popinjay”, a detective who can point at you and teleport you anywhere he can recall (but his powers aren’t why I love him, he’s just so great... actually I think that applies to all of the above but anyway)

And god, the villains: death’s glare Demise; Mackie Messer, who vibrates to phase through walls and tear people apart; the Puppetmaster, manipulative empath and US presidential candidate; Ti Malice, who possesses his “mounts” and makes them do whatever he wants for his pleasure; the Astronomer, cult leader; the Jumpers, a gang of youths who can leap into people’s bodies; Blaise, Dr. Tachyon’s grandson, mind-controlling sociopath… and so many more heroes and villains and regular people trying to do their best despite what the virus has done to them (or even nats, doing the same), I can’t remember but they’re all so good…

But after jumping between publishers, the series pretty much ended in 1995, with the 15th book. (Some weren’t anthologies, some were “mosaic novels” edited into one coherent story, and a few were solo authored.) There was a book in 2002 and another in 2006 (that I haven’t read) when they got a new publisher, but that didn’t work out. But then in 2008, Wild Cards got picked up by Tor, and began a brand new series (with gorgeous covers by Michael Komarck, who’s gone on to do covers for reprints of the original series), with Inside Straight, introducing new aces and jokers in a world of reality shows and social media. I somehow did not manage to pick up any of the new series until recently (I don’t know why, I think maybe some of the very dark and depressing later books burned me out a bit and I was wary?), but my gosh, it’s so fun.

I love GRRM’s Lohengrin (a German nerd who armors himself in light as a modern-day knight), Melinda Snodgrass’s sex-shifting teleporting spy, Stephen Leigh’s Drummer Boy (a six-armed joker-ace who’s used the drums on his chest to become a rock superstar), Caroline Spector’s Bubbles (transforms kinetic energy into body fat, and then fat into kinetic bubbles that can look pretty or hit very hard), and so many more. I really need to get the rest of the new series– I’ve been spoiled for it a bit because I read the Wild Cards short stories Tor has on their site, and I recently read Lowball, the 22nd book that came out in 2015 (and holy shit that ending), but books are expensive and I’ve been reading other things. Still, I need to fill in the gaps and I need to know what happens next, I should be getting the rest of the series. If this sounds interesting to you, you should too. :)

If you have any other questions, just let me know!

#the-winged-wolf-bran-stark #wild cards #grrm #book recs

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kingofthenorth49 · 4 years ago

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the world as we thought we know it

Ed. Note -- As I wrote this blog this morning, yet another Ontario family is moving into my neighbourhood, escaping the clutches of a tyrannical woke Ontario (their words, not mine) for the peace of the east coast. I’m pretty sure when this all shakes out this town is going to be radically changed for years to come, but here’s to hoping. - Jim

I know, ya’ll think my tinfoil hat is on too tight these days. Maybe it is, and maybe that’s not a bad thing, but at this point does it even matter, we are watching a train wreck of epic proportions and no one seems to care. It’s like the words from Trooper’s Santa Maria, “But nobody moved, from where they were laying, cause nobody really cared”. I guess Netflix and Chill means more than I had thought.

I was watching (listening) to Scott Adams last evening as I do every few nights and for those who don’t know Scott, He’s the guy who draws Dilbert, and hosts a daily vlog (or whatever the kids are calling them these days) which I enjoy, as there are few left leaning types I can really listen too, and he’s one of the best. We don’t often agree, but the past few nights he and I have been in lockstep on a few things, and that’s very rare but interesting when it happens. Last night however it was something he said about midway through his podcast that really caught my attention. He started out by saying that as you get pulled “behind the curtain” (a showbiz reference I guess) you get to see/learn things that most of the world doesn’t, as if the elites really do run the world (hint: they do) and he teased the crowd by saying something to the effect that he learned something this week that’s bigger than any news story, something so large it would shift people’s minds completely. He went on to say that he couldn’t say what it was because they’d come after him, but that people should question more of what they see and hear. He framed it in the context that people would not even believe the truth if they heard it.

I agree 100%. I believe the average person on this planet now is so afraid, confused, and polarized that they don’t know which way is up, hell just the fact that the world rolled over so quickly makes me sad, but it wasn’t unexpected. We are weak, soft, entitled humans.

As much as you want to deny it, we are in the world’s largest Psyops experiment right now. Governments are pushing the boundaries of human endurance, and we are beginning to turn on one another, whether it’s for not wearing a government mandated facial shaming device when outside your home, or if your neighbours son, fresh home from out-of-province school is out on the patio on his tablet chatting with his best girl when he’s suppose to be self isolating in the basement chained to the wall and fed with a stick.

Disclaimer: Yes, it’s a particularly bad flu. Yes, people will die from it. Yes we should be cautious and prevent catastrophe.

Speaking of being cautious, what is up with the average person beating down their neighbours in the rush to get an experimental unapproved chemical concoction thrust into their arms? WTF dude?

I’ll never understand that mentality. Yes, vaccines save lives and can stop the spread of viruses. Yes vaccines form part of any strategy to manage a pandemic, but it’s just one part. The idea that people are lining up 9 months after a vaccine is started into development for a “new” coronavirus and calling for a mandate to compel every human to take this vaccine is absurd.

It’s madness.

First of all, the concoction they are jabbing into your arms at 0.5 mg/dose isn’t even technically a vaccine. The CDC states a vaccine is “a product that stimulates a Peron’s immune system to produce immunity to a specific disease. It also defines Immunity as part of the vaccination process to say you can be exposed to the disease without becoming infected.

The current “vaccines” do neither. You can still become sick, and you can still spread it, there are several examples from Washington State, Florida, and Pennsylvania right now where fully vaccinated individuals now have the Coronavirus.

So why get the jab if you can still get it (albeit not be as sick) but you can still spread it? Why are we on a full out campaign war on “getting the jab” followed closely by “vaccination passports”.

It’s about control. It’s about gaining your compliance when told to do something. It’s about stripping your freedoms away all the while you feel like you don’t need them anyway.

I posted a video on social media yesterday of a Pastor of a Calgary church on Good Friday telling a bunch of Calgary police to leave the property and not come back without a warrant. He was very passionate in his calls for them to leave, and believe me when I say that video made me feel great despite the insults he was hurling at my brother’s and sister’s who were sent there to bring justice to the community.

Watch the video, it does a heart good.

Why? Because we have something called the Bill of Rights, and despite the fact it’s “granted” by our “government” it’s the only thing that holds this country together under one set of guiding principles, and despite some doctors proclamation of doom and gloom, people have the right to practice religion, they have freedom of speech, and security of the person and property. Our forefathers fought and died for those rights and we should be a bit more like the Pastor in preserving them. He’s a Polish pastor, who knows what happens when a government is allowed to run unchecked and what happens to the population when it does, and he wasn’t having any of it.

But the more telling story isn’t his fire and brimstone sermon aimed at the poor police (I bet his Good Friday sermon was off the charts!), it was what the police did next.

They left. As Monty Python would sing with a minstrel or two, “They turned their tails and ran they did, they turned their tails and ran and hid). Sorry, but the police don’t just leave when a crime has been committed, or they feel a crime will be committed by the parties in question. He literally shouted them away. Why did they leave?

Likely for a couple reasons. One, they didn’t want to be there in the first place. They were following orders or were dispatched to the church because some politician or Karen felt there were too many people practicing their religion on the holiest of days in the church. Two, they knew there were no grounds to be there because of the recent court ruling that freed the other Alberta pastor who was jailed for holding religious services, remember him? In Canada we jail religious leaders.

Say that again real slow. In Canada, we jail human beings who bring comfort and relief to those who need it in the name of a higher power under a constitutionally protected provision of religious freedoms. Or at least we used to. Now we are no better than the backwater republics we shamed as the former leader of the free world.

So if they knew the courts were not going to support them, why bother? That’s a great question.

I’m not even a religious person, we had Chinese (am I allowed to say that?) food for supper Easter Sunday, but I will fight for your right to practice yours just as hard as I’ll fight against any government mandating forced vaccinations or passports against freedoms.

Over a year ago we were told it was 15-days to “bend the curve” to get back to the “new normal” and such and now look at us a year later at the hands of a government run amok led by over-jealous reality tv stars who haven’t the first clue how to govern and couldn’t stick a hot poker in a snow bank to save their lives.

Folks we are rolling over at an alarming rate and accepting the removal of our rights and freedoms under suspicious circumstances, and you can “tin foil hat” me all day long, I don’t care. Things don’t add up, there’s too many red flags flying and yet as a society we simply want to turn to those “in charge” and say “Please sir, may I have some more”.

They say you won’t miss it until it’s gone and I firmly believe this to be true, especially when it comes to things like mobility rights. Imagine now if they do require vaccinations before you can travel, work, shop etc., (especially ones that provide no protection to others and only minimize your symptoms). We haven’t even talked about those who’ve died, or those who have had their lives changed forever from the initial side effects of the vaccines.

Yes, I said initial. What will happen a year from now as the COV-SARS-19 virus continues to produce hundreds of variants a day (despite what they want you to focus on like some B.1.1.3 etc.) and you come to find out in that rush to get jabs in the arms that the vaccination of the older population first drives the virus into the younger people who then start getting sicker than they originally did because the virus is morphing to stay alive. That’s right, things like Antibody Dependant Enhancement[1] can occur when you start messing with the human bodies abilities to fight off disease naturally as it has for hundreds of thousands of years.

All I’d ask is for you to do your research and have informed consent before you get the jab, and don’t shame others’ who chose not to for their own personal reasons. Like me. I won’t be getting the jab because there’s no compelling reason for me to do so at this time. I’m relatively healthy (Yes, I’m obese so I fall into that risk category) but I have no real heath issues aside from the extra weight I carry around, and I know how to protect myself from the virus, so I’m choosing not to get vaccinated. I. Or people like me, shouldn’t be shamed because our beliefs are different from yours, and the solution doesn’t solve the problem, you only think it does because that’s what you are being told. \

Make your own decision and live with it. If I get the COVID and get sick enough (4% of my age category) to be hospitalized, so be it. I’ll take my chances on that versus being forced to have a chemical injected into my body that will do Gawd knows what to my immune system or any other system for that matter.

The other thing that just baffles me is how people actually believe the flu was eradicated this year. Sorry, are you serious? Do you think every single person in Canada was so diligent at washing their hands that we had no flu season this year?

I should have been a real estate salesperson in Florida selling swampland to tourists. Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea for the next phase.

Anyway, wash your hands, stay socially distant, stay home if you’re sick, and wear a government mandated facial shaming device so you can conform and not be publically humiliated by Karen at Costco as you go to give your Easter offerings to the commerce Gods when you aren’t allowed to go to church to pray to whatever God the constitutions protects your right to bow to.

Get it yet?

Jim Out.

[1] Informed consent disclosure to vaccine trial subjects of risk of COVID-19 vaccines worsening clinical disease, Timothy Cardoza, Ronald Veazey

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vantablade · 4 years ago

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【 🌌 MYTHOPOEIA III. 】

Nocturne is currently the Captain of the Atlas Nocturne, a ship under the over-seeing command of Atlas, an off-shoot society of criminals, outlaws and exiles in allegiance with the corpse planet of Eyrith, headed by the last living Eyrithian, Commander Clarion Crux. The Atlas Nocturne is where Nocturne earns her name, rather than vice versa, and is a refurbished cargo ship. It is small but spacious, with large storage rooms meant to carry large amounts of inter-planetary content. While its original origins are ambiguous, it was likely used for illegal transmission of contraband by pirates or dealers, for its colour is dark and it comes with pre-built disguising abilities that suggest it was built, or adapted, to avoid prying eyes from the cosmic law-keepers of Ptolis. It evades the cosmic radar, suggesting that a clever mind made some particular changes to its mainframe, for to have ships that can supersede the mandatory limitations as stated in the inter-planetary law is illegal unless authorized and accepted. Judging by the state of disrepair it was found in, one can assume it was not authorized and that the law-breakers who used it were found out. The fates of the original crew are unknown, though it was likely pre-War judging by its technology. Doctor Berma Da’mu suggests that some of the alterations may imply that least one member of its previous crew would have been a native of Kha’on, due to certain signatures that, while outdated, still seem apparently Kha’oni in nature—or at least, very well emulated.

It is small enough to trespass boundaries without much notice, yet large enough to have a good amount of lodging space, particularly as nobody in the new Nocturne crew actually gives a damn about transporting goods. Instead, previous storage spaces have been re-fitted to be bunk rooms while they are off the Atlas Heartship, which is their temporary living space, however Nocturne seems to have more of a domestic attachment to her quick ship than the original ship.

She chose her ship after a chance mission on Aigokheros III, whereupon she stumbled across a junkyard—of which there are many in Aigokheros III’s capital, Rabble—hosting the semi-dismantled ship. While Atlas rarely takes financial recompense for its do-good missions, often the beneficiaries feel obliged, out of thankfulness, to offer something, though often the exchange is based on favours. Nocturne capitalized off of the pre-existing favour as taking the ship, however her lack of communicating this plan with her higher-up did not go down incredibly smoothly, irritating some of the people above her for the lack of a favour gained.

However, the Commander, enigmatic as usual, allowed her this indulgence as long as she repaired it herself, assembled a fitting crew, and became a Captain under the Atlas helm, effectively becoming promoted due to her impulse purchase. Of course, a higher role within Atlas means more of the less fun stuff; there is a higher expectation put upon her, she has to handle larger duties, as well as a dreadful amount of paper-work for those above her… however, as she does not care what people think of her, enjoys a mental challenge, and has her paper-work handled by her friends, she is not particularly too fussed about it. It would be revealed, after Nocturne had proven herself a capable Captain both as a leader of a small team and in larger affairs, that Crux had allowed her the indulgence because it befitted their budding plan: to assemble a unit, a small one initially, to investigate the Paroxysms that had been causing such inter-planetary upset. This endangered the crew involved somewhat, as it put them in the eyeline of the Spider’s Eye cult and the Holy Order of Champion Genevieve alike, both ruthless associations—however juxtaposed in their missions—who were unlikely to take too much pleasure in having yet another rival to oppose their desires.

So, while Nocturne certainly handles more mundane tasks that grant favours for Atlas—such as typical “monster of the week” fares that are little more than titanic pest control, transporting unusual goods from place to place, etcetera—Nocturne and her crew are also always on-call to investigate the existence, origins and other crucial information revolving around Paroxysms. Due to a recent discovery that Nocturne can “dismantle” these Paroxysms, Crux has been planning something like this for a while; Nocturne just gave her the perfect outlet. What’s more is that while she has some ability to truly rid the Essential Universe of their presence, however she does not reveal where she sends them or what she does. It has attracted the attention of their rivals, and that attention is not necessarily fond.

Fortunately, Nocturne does not have to stand this alone. She has her crew, personally assembled aside from a few “necessary” additions: Doctor Berma Da’mu, the ship’s medic; Orun Li, a technician and engineer; Cham Viru, a sentient virus that serves as a Comms between the Nocturne and the Heartship, and the latest addition of Olga-Marya Petrovna, a defect from the rival association the Holy Order. Occasionally, Amandine Lovelace from the Heartship comes along, however her current medical studies under the High Doctor Pandora Anach’k prevents her from becoming a full-time member of the crew. Nocturne’s relationships with her crew members vary; her relationship with Orun is sibling-like, with him being the Blue Oni to Nocturne’s (surprisingly) Red Oni, while Cham and she encourage each other’s madness; Amandine and Nocturne are the best of friends, though their relationship has been forged through an unnecessary mess of complications; Berma, Nocturne enjoys to tease, as the former has little to no patience for her reckless Captain, and the vice versa applies to Olga-Marya and Nocturne, who Nocturne wildly distrusts due to her changing of alliances. Petrovna, however, enjoys messing with Nocturne greatly, though whether her allegiance lies truly with Nocturne’s mission is a truth yet to be uncovered. Unfortunately, Petrovna serves to be incredibly useful, being able to sense Paroxysms and serve as the group’s best locator, becoming the closest thing to a second-in-command Nocturne has while Orun, atop his more practical positions, takes on an advisory role.

#we #mythopoeia #for who could ever venture a without trembling?

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Malcolm & Marie and the Rise of Quarantine Filmmaking in COVID

https://ift.tt/3p29Il0

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, a time when accomplishing even the simplest tasks had taken on the burden of the impossible, Netflix’s “secret pandemic movie,” Malcolm & Marie, became a way to process a year of stalled projects and compromised creative control. A Deadline feature retraced how Zendaya, one half of the two-hander’s cast, reached out to Euphoria creator Sam Levinson with the plea for a self-contained project when COVID delayed the HBO drama’s new season.

As Levinson rushed to write a script based loosely on his own experiences of failing to thank his wife at a movie premiere, he and Zendaya brought on Tenet star John David Washington for a movie at the complete opposite end of the spectrum from Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster; the Euphoria crew, in a COVID bubble in California, were able to keep working for a few weeks in June 2020 when so many others were laid off. What they created was a passionate, claustrophobic black-and-white relationship drama that has the rare distinction of being created during a pandemic while its story still reflects life before the virus.

On its own, Malcolm & Marie falls somewhat short of Oscar bait expectations. However, the film takes on greater nuance when considered in the context of the growing subgenre of post-lockdown movies. While this may ultimately prove to be a short-lived category of filmmaking, it already includes four incredibly varied films. Even if they all started with the same universal constraints—COVID tests and social distancing, small casts instead of big—they make for radically different statements about human connection (either during the pandemic or not), futility, about purpose.

In fact, you can plot these four movies over the axes of ignoring COVID versus acknowledging COVID in their actual plots, and closeness versus distance in the execution of said stories.

Malcolm & Marie

Ignoring the Virus and Embracing the Closeness of Quarantine

What’s immediately ironic about Malcolm & Marie is that its setting is anathema to our current situation: The eponymous couple come home from a movie premiere (remember those?), where he (Washington) is being celebrated as a rising Hollywood talent, and she (Zendaya)—an amateur actress, a recovering drug addict, definitely not a model—has been reduced merely to his loyal girlfriend. Their feature film-length fight might take place within the bounds of their spacious rented house, but every source of conflict and sticking point exists out in a non-pandemic world.

At the same time, the viewer is tangentially aware of the real-world limitations in filming this movie, i.e. the need to stay in one setting with only two players. The inability to leave that house–except for Marie’s desperate little steps of leaning out the window to smoke or of that ambiguous ending–is authentic to anyone who has been stuck in a relationship-defining fight: There are no shortcuts, no escapes; the only option is to see it through to the ugly end, only to watch the toxic cycle start all over again.

The actors’ close attention and shaping of their roles lends Malcolm and Marie’s relationship real intimacy, but it also contributes to the sheer exhaustion of watching these young lovers metaphorically eat their own tails without getting anywhere. Despite Malcolm’s appalling outbursts and Marie’s stunning monologues, nothing really changes; even his quiet “I’m sorry” at the end is a puny concession after all that emotional effort.

In fact, this ouroboros feels most like a reflection of the endlessly unfruitful fights that many a couple has experienced since lockdown began.

Locked Down

Acknowledging the Virus and Embracing the Closeness of Quarantine

By contrast, Mr. & Mrs. Smith director Doug Liman’s Locked Down casts its marquee stars (Anne Hathaway and Chiwetel Ejiofor) as ordinary people in the extraordinary circumstances of early 2020, when a pandemic that people still didn’t fully understand reshaped their home into a workspace, and work into a prison rather than an outlet. Steven Knight’s script—written in July 2020, on a dare—carries so many authentic field notes that it’s almost difficult to watch. You feel it from Zoom fatigue, with wine o’clock creeping up into the AM, to people talking over one another on video calls where they’re ostensibly checking in on each other.

Liman also employed the same amusing device used by the Parks and Recreation COVID special, in which real-life couples had to explain why their characters happened to be inhabiting the same physical space during this era of highly negotiating personal contact. In Locked Down, it’s Psych star Dulé Hill and his costar (and real-life wife) Jazmyn Simon as the sympathetic American counterparts to Linda (Hathaway) and Paxton (Ejiofor), an American and a Brit who are not holding up well enough in quarantine. (A bevy of cameos, including Mark Gatiss, Mindy Kaling, Ben Kingsley, and more also scratches that itch of wondering what celebrities’ homes might look like.)

Paxton and Linda’s marriage seems to have ended around Christmas 2019, but being stuck in their flat just as the pandemic hit—he’s a driver unable to work while she’s a CEO who has the excruciating duty of firing her “family” of coworkers over Zoom—has beaten their senses of purpose to a pulp. Paxton attempts to make up for that by making the masked grocery runs and trying to connect with his neighbors through shouted evening poetry, but he’s suffering the all-too-familiar depression of the furloughed. Linda isn’t far behind when she finally confronts the soullessness of her corporate job.

When fate delivers the incredible coincidence of Linda overseeing the load-out of a priceless diamond from Harrods—with Paxton assigned to transport the goods—the estranged couple decide to embark on a heist, because truly what else are you going to do during a pandemic? Ultimately, Locked Down does a better job with the romantic dramedy aspect than the heist, yet its use of the iconic London department store is as ambitious as Ocean’s 8 with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Though there are more twists to the movie’s character studies than the logistics of nicking the diamond, the scenes in which Linda and Paxton stroll through the deserted Harrods food court—which arguably carries just as many culinary treasures—provide that same breathless sense of getting away with something.

Both films were made with unprecedented levels of safety and sacrifice, which regardless of the final products’ quality will always set them apart from pre-COVID entertainment as successes in filmmaking. But then there are the COVID films that have embraced social distancing, building it into a plot point or stylistic device rather than employing movie magic to obscure it.

Host

Acknowledging the Virus and Embracing Social Distancing

Interestingly, one of Levinson’s early pitches to Zendaya was a horror film, although of course they eventually pivoted to relationship drama. Fortunately, another enterprising group of creatives went the horror route, and they managed to fold in a poignant tale of female friendship over digital distances in 2020’s Host.

A British found footage successor to Paranormal Activity told entirely over Zoom, this indie tale has a shockingly reasonable premise: Five girlfriends, bored to tears during lockdown, decide to conduct a séance. (Again, what else are you going to do?) But when sarcastic Jemma (Jemma Moore) fakes a backstory about a suicidal friend and their medium Seylan (Seylan Baxter) mysteriously drops the call, the girls are on their own as a demonic force crosses over into the physical plane… and into each of their flats.

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By David Crow

In the past year, we’ve all learned that Zoom calls can be awkward, boring, and occasionally revelatory—but this is the first time they’re truly scary. Host utilizes the familiar horror tropes of darkened rooms and whispered panting at the slightest of suspicious noises, but it takes on an utterly disturbing dimension when it’s five young women, in the prime of their lives, are all trapped at home apart from one another—not even that far, as Jemma and séance enthusiast Haley (Haley Bishop) live within walking distance of each other.

In found footage fashion, there are plenty of Paranormal Activity-esque moments of people getting dragged or lifted by otherworldly forces. Kudos to director and co-writer Rob Savage for remotely directing his actors, who had to learn how to do the aforementioned practical effects inside their own homes. But where Host is scariest is when it leans into Zoom technology, from a chilling use of silly facial filters to a sequence that will make you reconsider ever making a custom video background for your future Zooms.

As the demon begins picking them off at random, with the others watching in helpless horror, Jemma’s shift from apathetic nonbeliever to selflessly trying to save Haley is incredibly moving. There’s so much history to this fractured friendship that you’ll be rooting for them to reconcile, even as you realize Host’s final trick: It’s only as long as an unpaid Zoom session.

How It Ends

Ignoring the Virus But Still Embracing Social Distancing

You could make the argument that Daryl Wein and Zoe Lister-Jones’ pre-apocalyptic comedy could be interpreted as taking place during COVID, what with its many comedy stars all acting a conspicuous six or more feet from one another. It’s just that even if that were true, it wouldn’t matter, because there are bigger fish to fry. Specifically, an asteroid en route for Earth, conveniently set to make impact at the end of Liza’s (Lister-Jones) and everyone else’s last day in sunny Los Angeles.

Trying to make it to an end-of-the-world party in LA without her car, which has been stolen, Liza and her younger self (Devs’ Cailee Spaney) wander through the aggressively bright county, populated with other people doing their best to cope. Unlike the other films on this list, How It Ends makes no effort to hide that it was shot with stringent COVID protocols enforcing social distancing: Cameos from the likes of Fred Armisen and Lamorne Morris are shot on different floors of houses while Bradley Whitford is so far removed in his scene that it’s impossible to get him and Lister-Jones in the same shot.

How It Ends is more a series of loosely-connected sketches than a super cohesive narrative, but that’s how the film manages to bring in so many talented stars as kooky strangers whom the two Lizas encounter, from Nick Kroll as the shadiest of drug dealers to Olivia Wilde as Liza’s estranged psychic friend (a scene-stealer) ,to Ayo Edibiri (another absolute delight) as a teacher who decided, hey, why not try her hand at stand-up comedy while she still can? Even with this layer of grim humor, get ready for this movie to spark unexpected pathos in these Decameron-esque encounters between strangers. By leaning into the physical distance between these characters, How It Ends shows how even when faced with the literal apocalypse, humans will still hold themselves apart from one another. While Liza makes peace with a number of key figures from her life, by the time the asteroid is creeping its way to the horizon, she is faced with her most challenging, but also most freeing, task: To accept that it’s okay to just be alone with yourself during a world-changing catastrophe.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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