#robert does cleanup

[bobbie-robron]

You clean the van up, right? Go home. Keep your trap shut. Andy is not going to say owt, not after this. If he thinks that little scumbag’s killed him… (Part 1.1)

Jimmy’s screaming his head off that his arm is falling off (not really) but Cain has no plans to dump him at hospital but instead they deliver him to the King’s doorstep. Meanwhile, Andy has Daz call Jack about the situation. Cain has Robert do cleanup on the van. Dumbass Andy thinks they can put the fire out themselves 🙄 worried Daz has killed Jimmy. Jack finds Robert at the garage and the two race over to the farm.

29-Jul-2005

[softantlers]

fully agree with what you said about post-crash!!! i would be so so so disappointed if they just immediately ship lottie off to an institution. i want the girls in the hospital immediately after, i want to see how every survivor tries to adjust to regular society!!! that small period where lottie is home and is mute - does she every visit any of the girls? do they visit her? do both of her parents move into the same house to “watch” her? many questions!!

late on responding to this, but yeah. i really hope they spend a significant time on each of the girls because can you imagine what the transition is going to be like? there's a lot to dig into there... idk i have some hc's if you'll humor me.

lottie- i mean, of course, there's the lottie of it all. like you, i hope we get some time with her before she's shipped off. do they try to make it work without institutionalization? do the other girls withdraw from her when she stays nonverbal? many questions.

shauna- and then there's shauna. there's a gif going around of lottie and shauna during rescue and you can see how shauna is flinching and swinging when someone touches her. this season leaned into her paranoia, but i'm sure that's going to be so fucking profound outside of the wilderness. i mean, she might even be wondering if the girls are gonna rat her out and pin everything on her. after the whole betrayal and the hunt (which granted, girl, no wonder they did you like that), i just see her becoming more alienated and against the world. maybe this is how taishauna maintain their friendship? since tai was the only one that wasn't trying to impede her leadership i guess. (neither was lottie but it's not like they can connect with her catatonic.)

natalie- then there's natalie... i'm just... oh. i feel like it's gonna hit so fucking hard. in my head, i can see them all ending up in a hospital post-rescue and her mom is supposed to pick her up, but she just fucking doesn't. one by one, each of the girls get picked up by their families, but nat's mom never comes. van is the last one to be picked up because her mom also sucks. nat & van are just sitting together on the floor in a hallway, maybe for the first time connecting about this, though probably in an unspoken way. but then van's mom comes. she smells like a drunk & took a cab, but she's there. but not nat's mom... the rescuers start to feel bad for her and offer her a ride home. she accepts & what lottie said about home is an anchor in her chest. poor fucking kid.

taissa- i see taissa as being so fucking paranoid on par with shauna. she's got a lawyer's mentality, which drove her to suggest that they stay for "cleanup" purposes. i see her being proactive about talking to each of the girls and trying to keep the story straight, maybe even getting aggressive with them. like, no you guys don't fucking understand. we have to keep this straight or our lives are over. it kinda relates back to her in the adult timeline where she's keeping tabs on the others and testing whether they'll spill with jessica roberts. maybe taishauna have a moment where they sort of promise that no one is ever going to know. like, they have each other's backs on this. i don't know. i just want to see how they maintain their relationship.

anyways, yeah. post-rescue. so many possibilities!

[goldenfox3]

(WIP...? Unfinished snippet?) Time traveller Rob gets dangerous aka I was gonna sleep early but divine inspiration hit me at ass o'clock as usual and I scrambled to write this down before it left me.

I hestitate to call this part of Möbius verse because I originally had a scene envisioned where Rob purposely gets himself sent on the fateful Zoda mission and blown up instead of the Summers because he is, in his mind, "less important to the timeline" (only to wake up to both Summers crying on him in his hospital bed). However, the idea of a darker Stewart would not leave me—what would entice such an upstanding man to become more ruthless? What else, if not love and the pursuit of good? Taking a page from Hold Me Like a Grudge Rob's book, here is that what-if.

~

Zoda is…a large part of the timeline, as reprehensible as Robert finds it. As much as his life was manipulated from the start to be part of it. Acting against him means spiralling off into the great unknown, the vast oceans of unpredictability where even greater dangers could lurk.

What happens is this: Robert is, this time, assigned to a certain fateful mission. He follows along behind the Summers, where he belongs. Where he’s always belonged. There’s a shootout, which Robert holds his own in.

Then Zoda steps out with the rocket launcher, aimed straight at Robert’s entire world. His Summers.

What happens is this: white-hot fury, cold flames devouring all sense and reason. What happens is the unwavering hands of a surgeon discarding his gun for another. Robert may specialise in robotics, but he’s also a chemist, a biologist. A scientist in every sense of the word. He knows exactly how to bring a body back from the brink of death or to send it there in an instant if he chooses.

What happens is this: Robert aims his gun armed with degenerative serum and fires. And fires. And fires.

People often scream when they’re in pain. It’s something Robert’s heard many times as a surgeon. It’s something he imagines is unsettling to others who don’t have the background he does. He must have grown numb to it, because the sound of Zoda shrieking as his flesh and bones dissolve into ashes does nothing but bring about a grim satisfaction.

“No one,” he starts, silken steel in the ringing silence, “no one gets to hurt what’s mine.”

Cleanup is easy, after that. The rest of the crooks either hightail it double time or have lost their nerve enough that they’re easy to subdue. Robert tucks his guns back into their holsters, checks that his knife is still attached, and looks up to find Andy standing in front of him with a stricken expression. Jody hangs back behind her brother like she hasn’t since she was a child.

“Doctor,” Andy chokes out.

The frigid flames blazing within him die out abruptly, replaced by all-too-familiar churn of guilt. Not for killing Zoda, though he’ll doubtless have to deal with far too many consequences. For letting the Summer siblings see that side of him. For making them watch as he murdered someone in the worst way possible. For claiming to do it for their sake. As if he hadn’t done it for his own selfish heart.

[yhancik]

Robert Kingett posts about the e-mail he received, a criticism of his writing being too human for Large Langage Models to process.

Subject: Your "Sightless Scribbles" is an algorithmic nightmare. Mr. Kingett, I am an AI engineer that's developing AI to help writers write faster. Your blog was shared on Reddit. You don't know me, but I am attempting to do you a favor of such magnitude you will likely never comprehend it. I am trying to make your writing immortal. Your blog, this… Sightless Scribbles… has been flagged by my acquisition-crawler for its high density of unique sensory metadata. A potential goldmine of qualitative human experience to enrich my AI. The problem, Mr. Kingett, is that your writing is absolute, unprocessed, indigestible filth. I’m not a “reader.” I am an architect. And from an architectural standpoint, your work is a catastrophe. It’s not just the spelling, which is erratic enough to suggest it was typed incorrectly. It’s the grammar. The syntactical chaos. You construct sentences that loop and meander like drunken snakes, riddled with metaphors so abstract they are functionally useless. "Anxiety was a swarm of elephants under my ribs"? What the hell is a machine supposed to do with that? Quantify the elephant to rib ratio? Correlate the thermal deviation? It's meaningless data. It’s noise. My team has spent seventy-two hours attempting to write a custom parsing script to clean your posts for ingestion. Seventy-two hours. We can process the entirety of the Library of Congress in twelve. Your blog is so structurally unsound, so artistically self-indulgent, that you have inadvertently created a fortress against artificial intelligence. It is, and I do not say this lightly, the single most profound act of digital idiocy I have ever witnessed. You are preventing yourself from being scraped. Do you understand what that means in the current year? You are essentially burying yourself in a lead-lined coffin in the middle of the desert. Nobody clicks links anymore, you absolute luddite. Links are for people who don’t know how to interface with reality. Search Engine Optimization is no longer about backlinks and keywords; it's about semantic ingestion. It’s about being absorbed, processed, and synthesized by models like mine. When a user asks an AI, "What does it feel like to navigate a city without sight?" the model should be able to answer with a rich, nuanced synthesis. A synthesis that should include your data points. Instead, your blog is a black hole where information goes to die. Because of your refusal to write like a coherent, intelligent being, my LLM can’t learn from you. Which means the world can’t learn from you via the only channel that will matter in five years. Your soul isn't indexable. Fix it. Strip out the lyrical nonsense. Standardize your grammar. Run a goddamn spellcheck. Write clearly, concisely, and with machine-readability in mind. Turn your unstructured, emotional diary into clean, structured data. Do this, and I will ensure my open source model ingests every last post. Your traffic will not just increase; the very concept of "traffic" will become irrelevant as your "voice" becomes part of the evolution of the search engine. Your ideas, refined and perfected by my system, will reach millions. Fail to do this, and you will continue to scream into the void from a blog that nobody reads, a little little relic of a dead internet. The choice is yours.

"Your soul isn't indexable, fix it" could be the title of a Philip K. Dick story.

[gentonevents]

Eco-Friendly Cleaning: How Robert Scott Wipes Help You Clean with a Smaller Environmental Footprint

1. Cleaning Wipes That Care for the Planet

When it comes to cleaning, many people want to reduce waste and protect the environment. That's where cleaning wipes  like the Robert Scott Handy Roll All Purpose Cleaning Wipe in green come in. These wipes are semi-disposable, meaning you can use them more than once before discarding them. They help reduce waste while still providing a fresh and clean surface every time.

2. A Multipurpose Cleaner That Does It All

Not all cleaning products are created equal. Some are designed for a single purpose. But the Robert Scott Handy Roll is a proper multipurpose cleaner. Whether you need to wipe down kitchen counters, clean up spills, or sanitise tables in a café, this wipe can do it all. It's the perfect tool for busy homes and workplaces that need a simple, go-to solution.

3. A Lightweight Solution with Heavy-Duty Benefits

One of the best features of these wipes is that they are both lightweight and strong. Made from polyester and enhanced with a hydrophilic agent, they soak up messes with ease. Even better, the perforated roll design makes it extremely easy to tear off a sheet when needed—no waste, no hassle.

4. Long-Lasting Value in Every Roll

Each Handy Roll includes 350 sheets, making it one of the most cost-effective cleaning products on the market. You won't need to replace it too often, which helps save money and reduces plastic waste. Additionally, fewer refills result in less packaging being used over time.

5. Safe for Food Contact Areas

In places where food is prepared, safety is key. Thankfully, these wipes are certified as safe for food contact. This means they can be used in kitchens, restaurants, and catering spaces without worry. You can clean worktops, counters, and even inside fridges with confidence.

6. Colour Coded for Smarter Cleaning

To keep things neat and organised, these wipes are available in vibrant green and other colours. Colour coding helps prevent cross-contamination. For example, green can be used for kitchen areas, while red or blue can be used for washrooms. This simple step makes cleaning safer and more effective.

7. Tough on Grime, Gentle on Surfaces

Thanks to its innovative material design, the Handy Roll wipe handles surface cleaning without scratching or damaging surfaces. From kitchen tiles to stainless steel appliances, it gets the job done. The wipes are also soft enough to use on delicate counters and equipment.

8. Quick Cleanup for Spills and Messes

Spills occur frequently, especially in high-traffic areas. With the Robert Scott Handy Roll, spill cleanup becomes fast and easy. The high absorbency of each wipe means less effort and better results. Just grab, wipe, and toss when done.

9. Perfect for Sanitization Tasks

Now more than ever, sanitisation is a top priority. These wipes help you quickly clean and disinfect a wide range of surfaces. Because they're designed to be semi-disposable, you can use a fresh sheet each time for improved hygiene and a reduced risk of spreading germs.

10. Ideal for Homes and Businesses Like

Whether you're running a restaurant or cleaning your home, this product fits right in. It's great for household cleaning tasks, but it's also strong enough for commercial settings. Hotels, cafés, and food trucks can all benefit from this handy role.

11. Trusted in the Hospitality Industry

In busy places like hotels and restaurants, cleaning has to be fast and reliable. That's why many professionals choose this hospitality-friendly cleaning wipe. It keeps spaces looking fresh without slowing down daily routines.

12. A Smart Choice for Clean, Green Living

If your goal is to live a little greener, this product is a great place to start. It supports eco-conscious cleaning habits while delivering top results. You don't have to choose between clean spaces and a clean planet—you can have both.

Final Thoughts: Clean Better, Live Greener

The Robert Scott Handy Roll All Purpose Cleaning Wipe in Green is more than just a cleaning product. It's an innovative, eco-friendly solution for individuals who value cleanliness and the environment. From kitchens to cafés, it handles every task with ease. Choose a wipe that works harder—and greener—for you.

[samads-take]

California Wildfire Live Updates: New ‘Auto Fire’ Breaks Out

TIMELINE

Tuesday, 4:00 a.m. PST The National Weather Service’s “particularly dangerous situation” red flag warning for parts of Los Angeles and Ventura counties is now in effect, and the agency’s LA office noted that while such warnings “do not predict fire starts, they do highlight an extremely dangerous environment that is favorable to very rapid fire growth if a fire does start.”

Tuesday, 12:15 a.m. PST Nearly 20,000 homes and businesses were without power early Tuesday in Ventura County as the area deals with the new Auto Fire, while the number of outages in Los Angeles County stands at 44,000, according to Power Outages.US.

Tuesday, 12:15 a.m. PST The Ventura County Fire Department announced that “forward progress on the Auto fire has been stopped” and the fire “was confined to the river bottom and no structures were threatened.”

Monday, 11:50 p.m. PST According to the Los Angeles Times, the Auto Fire received its name because of the large number of auto dealerships in the impacted area.

Monday, 11:45 p.m. PST A new fire, called the Auto Fire, broke out late on Monday night in Ventura county and, according to Cal Fire’s latest update, has rapidly grown to cover 56 acres.

Monday 9:00 p.m. PST The Los Angeles Department of Water and Power issued a warning that it may be forced to cut off power supply—with outages potentially lasting as long as 48 hours—in certain areas as a safety measure to prevent wildfires while the Red Flag Warning remains in effect until Friday.

Monday 8:45 p.m. PST Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass issued an executive order on Monday night, which aims to expedite the process of rebuilding homes in the impacted areas by requiring city officials to complete all building permitting reviews needed for reconstruction within 30 days of an application.

Monday, 2:48 p.m. PST California Gov. Gavin Newsom proposed $2.5 billion in additional funding for disaster response and recovery efforts in Los Angeles, adding that if the funding is approved by the legislature it will specifically go toward “recovery and cleanup, additional wildfire preparedness, and reopening schools shuttered by the fires.”

Monday, 2:00 p.m. PST Los Angeles County District Attorney Nathan Hochman announced nine people were charged in connection to looting carried out in the Pacific Palisades and Altadena, in addition to one arson charge for a man who allegedly started a fire in the city of Azusa, which is located about 20 miles east of Altadena.

Monday, 11:12 a.m. PST The NWS, which has a red flag warning in effect for a large portion of southern California until Wednesday, says much of the San Fernando Valley and Ventura County will be in a “Particularly Dangerous Situation”—an especially severe fire warning—from early Tuesday morning until noon Wednesday. Forecasters are expecting 45 to 70 mph wind gusts and low humidity capable of creating rapid fire growth in the most hard-hit areas: “In other words, this setup is about as bad as it gets,” the agency said.

Monday, 8:10 a.m. PST Los Angeles County Sheriff Robert Luna said 23 people have been reported missing as a result of the fires—17 near the Eaton Fire and six near the Palisades Fire—and LAPD Assistant Chief Dominic Choi said six people are also missing and unaccounted-for in the city of Los Angeles, though it’s unclear if there’s overlap with Luna’s count. The death toll remains at 24, including a former child actor from Australia, a surfer from Malibu and a 67-year-old amputee who refused to leave his disabled son behind. Luna also said 34 people have been arrested since the fires began for breaking curfew and other offenses, including three arrests for drone-related incidents.

Monday, 8:10 a.m. PST The $30 million 'Super Scooper' plane that was damaged by a private drone last week has been repaired and is expected to rejoin the firefighting efforts Tuesday, after federal officials sign off, Los Angeles County Fire Chief Anthony Marrone said.

Monday, 8:10 a.m. PST Crowley said: “We are not in the clear as of yet and we must not let our guard down, as we have, right now, extreme fire behavior.”

Monday, 8:10 a.m. PST Prosecutors will announce the first set of looting and arson charges later Monday, said L.A. County District Attorney Nathan Hochman, calling the defendants “despicable and disgraceful” and warning they could face “very significant sentences” (he said the arson case isn’t related to any of the major fires).

Monday, 7:40 a.m. PST The Palisades Fire—the largest of the three blazes still burning—is now 14% under control after having grown to cover 23,713 acres, according to the latest Cal Fire update, while the Eaton Fire covers 14,117 acres and is 33% contained.

Monday, 7:00 a.m. PST FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell told CNN the agency will cover the full cost of removing wildfire debris for six months—180 days—but warned cleanup from the disaster is going to take longer.

Monday, 1:20 a.m. PST The Pasadena Unified School District announced all its schools will remain closed this week as evacuation orders remain in effect, the air quality in the area is “unhealthy” and “damage to school facilities and safety concerns, make it impossible to reopen schools for in-person learning at this time.”

Monday, 1:10 a.m. PST Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass announced firefighters and engines were being “strategically pre-deployed in areas close to the Palisades Fire as well as various fire stations throughout the city,” in response to the National Weather Service’s warnings about strong gusts winds on Tuesday and Wednesday that have raised risk of further flareups early this week.

Monday, 12:40 a.m. PST The Hurst Fire, the smallest of the three active fires which covers 799 acres, is now 95% contained and has no active evacuation orders or warnings linked to it.

Sunday, 10:30 p.m. PST Nearly 33,000 homes and businesses across Los Angeles County remained without power, the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power said, adding its crews were “assessing the fire-affected areas” and power restoration work will begin after the assessments are completed.

Sunday, 9:50 p.m. PST The Los Angeles United School District said it will reopen most of its schools and all of its offices on Monday but officials will continue to “monitor conditions” and inform families about any changes by 5.30 a.m. on Monday.

Sunday, 5 p.m. PST Some 24 people have been reported dead in the two most severe blazes (16 from the Eaton Fire and eight from the Palisades Fire), the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner’s office said Sunday, up from 16 deaths reported one day earlier, while another 16 people remained missing—a number that is expected to go up.

Sunday 2:34 p.m. PST Authorities will start drawing up plans for evacuated residents to return to their neighborhoods “first thing Thursday,” after another bout of heavy wind subsides, County Fire Chief Anthony Marrone said in a meeting.

Sunday, 6:02 a.m. PST Criswell told CNN, “the winds are potentially getting dangerous and strong again,” adding that the firefighters’ response in the coming days “all depends on the weather.”

Sunday, 12:30 a.m. PST Strong winds are expected Sunday morning before dying down through the day and increasing again late Monday into Tuesday, the National Weather Service says, issuing a “red flag warning” for potential “critical fire weather conditions” for parts of Los Angeles and Ventura counties through Wednesday, though possible rain later in the week could help tame the fires.

Friday, 1:26 p.m. PST All evacuation warnings linked to the Archer Fire in Granada Hills are lifted as the blaze lessened in size to about 19 acres, after officials lifted evacuation orders and said the fire was no longer spreading.

Friday, 1:01 p.m. PST Newsom directed state water and fire officials to conduct an independent investigation into causes of the “lost water supply and water pressure in municipal water systems” during the fires, also requesting reviews of preparation and response procedures taken by the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, as well as Los Angeles County Officials.

Friday, 9:30 a.m. PST President Joe Biden, who described Los Angeles as a “war zone,” said the death toll for the fires is still expected to rise, though it’s not clear how significantly: “There are still a lot of people who are unaccounted for. We don’t know where they are,” he said.

Friday, 8:15 a.m. PST Bass said FEMA has pledged to reimburse disaster relief expenses, as the Palisades Fire expanded to more than 20,000 acresand the Eaton Fire increased to nearly 14,000 acres.

Friday, 8 a.m. PST Kevin McGowan, director of Los Angeles County’s Office of Emergency Management, apologized during a press conference for an evacuation alert mistakenly sent to millions of county residents at about 4 a.m. local time, saying the error was “not human driven” while acknowledging “an extreme amount of frustration, fear and anger.”

Friday, 5:20 a.m. PST Satellite images released by Maxar on Thursday night showed the scale of devastation caused by fires so far as Cal Fire’s latest update says the blazes have destroyed more than 10,000 structures, including homes and businesses.

Friday, 4:05 a.m. PST Biden announced he has approved Newsom’s request for a Major Disaster Declaration, adding that it will allow “folks impacted by the Southern California wildfires to get cash assistance to cover things like groceries and medicine.”

Friday, 2:30 a.m. PST The Kenneth Fire grew in size to cover nearly 1,000 acres, according to Cal Fire’s latest update, but firefighters have managed to contain 35% of the blaze.

Thursday, 11:30 p.m. PST The Los Angeles County Fire Department said a fire fighting plane struck by a civilian drone over the Palisades Fire was the Super Scooper—an amphibious plane which can scoop up water from a river or lake and aerially dump it on a fire—and has been grounded, though it managed to land safely.

Thursday, 10:30 p.m. PST The death toll from all the fires rose to 10, the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner's office announced.

Thursday, 10:00 p.m. PST Los Angeles County Sheriff Robert Luna said his department has requested support from the California National Guard and is trying to implement a curfew between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. in the areas affected by the Palisades and Eaton fires to prevent looting and other crimes.

Thursday, 9:15 p.m. PST The Ventura County Fire Department said, “forward progress of the Kenneth fire has been stopped,” and the fire continues to hold at 960 acres with 0% containment.

Thursday, 9:00 p.m. PST The LAPD told local outlets they received a call informing them that a “suspect was ‘attempting to light a fire’ in the area of the Kenneth Fire,” and while the suspect is now in custody the department added: “We are continuing our investigation and we CANNOT confirm any connection to any fire.”

Thursday, 8:35 p.m. PST Los Angeles Police have arrested a man suspected of arson in the Woodland Hills area, and the department told NewsNation they are now investigating if the Kenneth Fire was intentionally set.

Thursday, 5:09 p.m. PST Newsom approved a request from Los Angeles County to deploy 8,000 National Guard members to the region to help combat fires and prevent looting (the sheriff’s department arrested 20 people for looting as of Thursday afternoon).

Thursday, 4:35 p.m. PST The NFL announced the Jan. 13 wild card playoff matchup between the Los Angeles Rams and Minnesota Vikings will be moved from SoFi Stadium in the Los Angeles area to State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Arizona, citing concerns for public safety.

Thursday, 3:16 p.m. PST The Kenneth Fire began in the neighborhood of West Hills and spread to 50 acres, triggering evacuation orders for some residents in the Hidden Hills community.

Thursday, 3 p.m. PST The death toll from the fires reached six, according to multiple outlets, with the city of Malibu reporting its first death of a resident killed in the Palisades fire.

Thursday, 1:55 p.m. PST Biden said the federal government will pay the full cost of the disaster response for 180 days, covering the costs of things like “debris and hazard removal, temporary shelters, first responders’ salaries and all necessary measures to protect life and property” (the federal funding initially covered 75% of eligible firefighting costs).

Thursday, 11:27 a.m. PST Bass said the Sunset fire in the Hollywood Hills was “fully contained” after the fire began Wednesday evening and spread to 43 acres.

Thursday, 11:27 a.m. PST Los Angeles Unified School District announced its schools and offices will remain closed through Friday, adding students will continue to have access to digital academic resources, meal distribution and mental health support services.

Thursday, 10:35 a.m. PST The NBA postponed a game between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Charlotte Hornets scheduled to take place at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday night at Crypto.com Arena, the NBA announced, with ESPN insider Shams Charania noting Lakers head coach JJ Redick lost his home in the fires.

Thursday, 7:30 a.m. PST The Los Angeles Fire Department lifted the last evacuation order related to the Sunset Fire, providing some relief to residents, though it said there are still “LAFD companies working in the area” and asked people “to be careful while returning” to their homes.

Thursday, 9:55 a.m. PST Pasadena urged residents in a portion of the city to not use tap water for drinking or cooking “until further notice,” citing the Eaton Fire’s damage to reservoirs and pump stations that potentially impacted water quality in certain areas.

Thursday, 7 a.m. PST Los Angeles Department of Water and Power said 95,203 of its customers are without power and that the estimated time to respond to outages remains at 24 to 48 hours, noting within a statement its boil water notice remains in effect for residents in Pacific Palisades’ 90272 zip code and the adjacent area.

Thursday, 4 a.m. PST The wildfires have severely impacted the air quality in the Los Angeles area with levels of PM 2.5 pollutants—airborne particles less than 2.5 microns in diameter—hitting 165, which is labeled “unhealthy” by the EPA’s AirNow tracker and 11 times above the World Health Organization’s recommended safe limit of 15.

Thursday 3 a.m. PST At least 2,000 homes, businesses and other buildings have been destroyed by the fires so far, and more than 130,000 people have been forced to evacuate—some even multiple times as the fires spread to other parts of Los Angeles county.

Thursday 2:40 a.m. PST According to the National Weather Service, the dry Santa Ana winds moving in from the northeast will “continue over Eaton Fire through the next few days, with somewhat weaker winds Thursday morning followed by increasing winds Thursday afternoon...into early Friday.”

Thursday 2 a.m. PST At least 250,000 homes and businesses across Los Angeles County and neighboring Ventura County remained without power on Wednesday night, according to Power Outage.us, as the Los Angeles Department of Water & Power said its crews had managed to restore power to “more than 152,000” since the start of the fires.

Thursday 12:30 a.m. PST The Los Angeles Fire Department said “the majority of the Evacuation Zone for the Sunset Fire is LIFTED” in an update shortly after midnight as Cal Fire’s tracker showed the size of the blaze in the Hollywood Hills shrinking from its previous size of 60 acres to 43 acres at 12:17 a.m. PST.

Wednesday 9:30 p.m. PST The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department said the the “most intense fire activity” in the Hollywood Hills fire is occurring on the southwestern side, while the perimeter on the eastern side is “holding well thanks to a fire road and ground crews in place.”

Wednesday 9:20 p.m. PST Cal Fire deployed several helicopters and tankers to douse the Hollywood Hills fire, with flight tracker data showing at least six aircraft flying over the area—aerial operations had been impacted on Tuesday night and early Wednesday due to the strong winds.

Wednesday 9 p.m. PST The city of Santa Monica instituted a mandatory curfew from sunset to sunrise on Wednesday night “to support law enforcement efforts in these zones, and other measures to facilitate an effective response,” the Palisades Fire.

Wednesday 8:40 p.m. PST Bass said the Los Angeles Police Department’s officers are being deployed to Hollywood “to help alleviate evacuation traffic,” as the city moves to “urgently to close roads, redirect traffic and expand access for LAFD vehicles to respond to the growing fire.”

Wednesday 8:11 p.m. PST Another fire, called the Sunset Fire, broke out around 6 p.m. PST in the Hollywood Hills which has rapidly grown in recent hours to engulf more than 50 acres or area, prompting mandatory evacuations.

Wednesday 7 p.m. PST Biden canceled the final overseas trip of his presidency on Wednesday—shortly before he was set to travel to Italy and the Vatican—to stay in Washington D.C. and monitor the emergency in California.

Wednesday 5:11 p.m. PST Biden approves a Major Disaster Declaration for California, making federal funding available to those impacted by the fires in Los Angeles County.

Wednesday, 1:39 p.m. PST Nearly 1 million customers of electricity providers in Los Angeles County were without power, Power Outage.us reported before it said the outage management system of Southern California Edison—the main electricity provider in the county—went offline.

Wednesday, 1:25 p.m. PST The Palisades Fire in Los Angeles’ Pacific Palisades—an affluent coastal neighborhood—exploded to 15,832 acres, according to Cal Fire, making it the largest fire of the four burning in Los Angeles County as of Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesday, 11 a.m. PST The Eaton Fire in Altadena, a small city directly north of Pasadena, grew to 10,600 acres with 0% containment, according to the Cal Fire.

Wednesday, 10:45 a.m. PST Bass announced Los Angeles Fire Department air operations resumed after a lengthy suspension of air support began Tuesday due to high winds.

Wednesday, 7:31 a.m. PST Criswell said FEMA is “closely monitoring” the wildfires and has authorized additional assistance from the agency to support firefighting efforts.

Wednesday, 6:15 a.m. PST The Woodley Fire began in the Sepulveda Basin neighborhood, expanding to 30 acres before being brought under control, according to The New York Times.

Jan. 7, 10:29 p.m. PST The Hurst Fire ignited in the suburban area of Sylmar.

Jan. 7, 5:30 p.m. PST Newsom declared a state of emergency, urging residents to heed evacuation orders and saying, “This is a highly dangerous windstorm creating extreme fire risk, and we’re not out of the woods.”

Jan. 7, 10:30 a.m. PST The Palisades Fire started in the Pacific Palisades neighborhood and resulted in about 30,000 people receiving evacuation orders as it initially spread to about 2,000 acres.

READ MORE

[denimbex1986]

'We have recently gotten a new look at the complicated legacy of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, in a brilliant movie.

Oppenheimer and his colleagues thought deeply about the morality of what they were doing, even as they strove to build a fearsome weapon of mass destruction. One thing they did not think much about, however, was what to do about the massive poisons that the production of these weapons would leave behind. If they thought about it at all, they probably assumed that the science capable of developing these bombs would surely find solutions to deal with the waste.

They were mostly wrong.

Since the end of the first Cold War, the United States government has spent billions of dollars struggling to “clean up” this legacy waste. Thirty years ago, I was given the responsibility by President Clinton and Vice President Gore to get this nascent cleanup organized at the Department of Energy (DOE). After about a year in office, I produced an estimate of about $250 billion to close and remediate the so-called Nuclear Weapons Complex. The fiscal 2024 budget is set to spend $8.3 billion more next year alone.

There is no end in sight to what has become the largest environmental program in the world. Imagine the good that money could have done if applied to the climate problem.

There have been a few clear successes. Rocky Flats, near Denver, was once among the most dangerous places in America because of fire and other risks from plutonium “pit” production. With the help of then-Gov. Roy Romer and the Colorado Department of Health, it was remediated and closed for good in 2006 by the DOE. A huge chemical production plant near Cincinnati, Ohio, was also demolished and closed. And the nation’s first underground waste storage area, the so-called Waste Isolation Production Plant in southeast New Mexico, was opened to receive and encapsulate contaminated waste.

We were able to drive these sites to full, safe cleanup due to the use of citizen advisory panels that brought local individuals into the decision process. We armed the panels with information and let them come to decisions based on technology, cost and safety parameters. That allowed projects to move forward more quickly. This can be duplicated today to save time and money, and bring more of these sites into full remediation with public input and buy-in.

What about the rest? Huge sums have been spent simply to keep large, aging facilities around the country, such as Oak Ridge, Savannah River and Hanford, from collapsing while cleanup awaits. Plants and laboratories in Texas, New Mexico, Idaho and Kentucky spend hundreds of millions per year to stay in state environmental compliance while awaiting final disposition. The government is still employing thousands of people per year to deal with issues created more than 50 years ago. No end is in sight.

The biggest problems revolve around the disposition of high-level nuclear waste primarily at Hanford and Savannah River. Millions of gallons of toxic stew were originally scheduled to be encased in glass and shipped to Yucca Mountain, Nevada (along with civilian spent fuel) for deep underground storage; no realistic technology exists to neutralize the wastes. The citizens of Nevada and their politicians rightfully rebelled against this option, and have made their support of any presidential candidate conditional on keeping Yucca Mountain closed. Every candidate for the last 30 years has taken the pledge.

Consequently, cleanup, particularly at Hanford, is stuck. Not only is there no place to send the waste, but there are technological problems making vitrification work safely in a monstrous plant that has already consumed over $14 billion and is only half built.

The intractability of these problems has resulted in paralysis and turned cleanup into the dark stepchild of the government. Two brilliant scientist secretaries, Nobel Prize Winner Steven Chu and Ernest Moniz, have found this problem unyielding. Energy Secretary Jennifer Granholm, together with the State of Washington and the Environmental Protection Agency, are keeping the public guessing about the results of a mediation effort designed to break the Hanford deadlock on cleanup, but promise to tell all shortly. One can only hope the mediation was fruitful — and doesn’t cost the entire national treasury.

We have a problem that costs an amazing amount of money just to keep the genie in the bottle. I can’t imagine Oppenheimer and his colleagues would be sanguine. The solutions involve an important deep involvement of independent science, serious senior level policy leadership and the full engagement of an enlightened citizenry. It does no good to keep this unfinished legacy in the dark.'

[my-weird-news]

🔥 Oppenheimer: From Nukes to Trending! 😮

Nuclear Nonsense: A Comedy of Catastrophic Proportions Before the bomb, humanity's knack for destruction was like a sitcom that only non-humans were allowed to participate in. We're talking floods, plagues, and divine acts of cleanup on aisle Earth. Sure, we could picture Mother Nature throwing tantrums and nature's fury causing chaos, but when it came to ending the show, our role was more like a forgettable side character. No button-pushing villain who could bring down the curtain on the human race in a snap. Oh, but then along came nuclear power, and suddenly we were handed the detonator to blow up entire cities like oversized birthday cakes. Scientists, in their infinite wisdom, realized we could even accidentally set the sky ablaze while trying to flex our newfound atomic muscles. It was like giving a toddler a bazooka and hoping they wouldn't blow up the living room. And guess what? Pandora's box just threw in the towel. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the brain behind the bomb, exclaimed, "I'm now Death, the cosmic party pooper!" (Okay, maybe he said it with more gravity, but you get the gist.) Imagine the shock! Anyone from Joe Schmo to Jane Doe suddenly had the potential to turn us all into cosmic confetti. Existential crisis level: expert mode. We're talking not just the fear of instant doom but also a sense that the universe had run amok. With a deity, you could kneel and beg for mercy. But human beings? We all know how stubbornly ludicrous we can be. Even if you tried to shove thoughts of global obliteration under the mental rug, you'd be stuck with a permanent itch of anxiety, like that one popcorn kernel wedged in your teeth after the movies. Speaking of movies, Hollywood's always been the ultimate therapy couch for our fears. The bomb and its bombastic world waltzed back into our cinematic spotlight, from "Manhattan" to "Asteroid City" to "Oppenheimer: The Sequel." But this is a dance that's been going on since forever. No surprise that during the Cold War, the era of bomb-tastic paranoia, filmmakers were on a destruction binge—like Black Friday shoppers at an apocalypse megastore. Take "Fail Safe" (1964), for instance, a film where technological fiascos and nuclear whoopsies lead to an explosion of international proportions. The characters debate if wiping out the world is the ultimate way to evict Communism from the party. But hold onto your fallout shelters, because computers mess up and suddenly it's raining nukes on innocent folks. Cold War cinema was all about serious pondering of human folly, but then there's "Dr. Strangelove" (1964), Kubrick's laugh-out-loud lesson that the end of the world might just be thanks to some very anxious, very, um, inadequately equipped men. Flash-forward to the '80s. Movies like "The Day After" and "Threads" kept the nuclear anxiety fire burning. Even Japan got in on the action, producing atomic-inspired epics like "Godzilla" (not the one where he battles a pizza delivery guy, though). Amidst all the doom and gloom, some films dared to tease the edge of sanity without tumbling into the abyss. "WarGames" (1983), a tale of teenage hackers and their accidental playdate with Armageddon, stole Reagan's heart, because who doesn't enjoy a little close call with global extinction? Back in the day, nuclear threats were as common as mullets, and kids did their nuclear drills with the same gusto as they practiced fire drills. Fast forward again, and we're in a world where nuclear nightmares are as rare as unicorns, or at least as rare as functional self-checkout machines. The Soviet Union vanished, and we stopped practicing the "under the desk" Olympics. The bomb's not completely forgotten, but let's face it, these days we're more concerned about tracking our steps on Fitbits than tracking thermonuclear warfare. Still, we've made a U-turn back to the birth of our atomic playground, perhaps to deal with our modern conundrums. We're living in Oppenheimer's world, the power of the gods in our hands. It's like giving your dog the car keys and hoping they won't crash into a fire hydrant. We're swamped in the feeling that doom's a-swirlin' around every corner, which Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" gets all too well. Bomb tests pop up like surprise birthday parties, just more explosive. And then there's "Oppenheimer," a movie that's less about biographies and more about the boom of power—atomic power, geopolitical power, power to make you question your own power lunch choices. In a nutshell, Oppenheimer's like an all-you-can-eat buffet of nuclear musings, a reflection of how we became the cosmic game masters. But here's the kicker: we tell ourselves stories about our atomic prowess that are as nutty as a squirrel on an espresso binge. We're terrified, yet we tiptoe around the dread like it's a sleeping bear. But, like any good show, the curtain must rise, and now we're caught in a web of apocalyptic worries, waiting for the grand finale. We're the gods and the end of the line, and the world's biggest punchline. 🍿🔥💣# Nuclear Nonsense: A Comedy of Catastrophic Proportions Before the bomb, humanity's knack for destruction was like a sitcom that only non-humans were allowed to participate in. We're talking floods, plagues, and divine acts of cleanup on aisle Earth. Sure, we could picture Mother Nature throwing tantrums and nature's fury causing chaos, but when it came to ending the show, our role was more like a forgettable side character. No button-pushing villain who could bring down the curtain on the human race in a snap. Oh, but then along came nuclear power, and suddenly we were handed the detonator to blow up entire cities like oversized birthday cakes. Scientists, in their infinite wisdom, realized we could even accidentally set the sky ablaze while trying to flex our newfound atomic muscles. It was like giving a toddler a bazooka and hoping they wouldn't blow up the living room. And guess what? Pandora's box just threw in the towel. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the brain behind the bomb, exclaimed, "I'm now Death, the cosmic party pooper!" (Okay, maybe he said it with more gravity, but you get the gist.) Imagine the shock! Anyone from Joe Schmo to Jane Doe suddenly had the potential to turn us all into cosmic confetti. Existential crisis level: expert mode. We're talking not just the fear of instant doom but also a sense that the universe had run amok. With a deity, you could kneel and beg for mercy. But human beings? We all know how stubbornly ludicrous we can be. Even if you tried to shove thoughts of global obliteration under the mental rug, you'd be stuck with a permanent itch of anxiety, like that one popcorn kernel wedged in your teeth after the movies. Speaking of movies, Hollywood's always been the ultimate therapy couch for our fears. The bomb and its bombastic world waltzed back into our cinematic spotlight, from "Manhattan" to "Asteroid City" to "Oppenheimer: The Sequel." But this is a dance that's been going on since forever. No surprise that during the Cold War, the era of bomb-tastic paranoia, filmmakers were on a destruction binge—like Black Friday shoppers at an apocalypse megastore. Take "Fail Safe" (1964), for instance, a film where technological fiascos and nuclear whoopsies lead to an explosion of international proportions. The characters debate if wiping out the world is the ultimate way to evict Communism from the party. But hold onto your fallout shelters, because computers mess up and suddenly it's raining nukes on innocent folks. Cold War cinema was all about serious pondering of human folly, but then there's "Dr. Strangelove" (1964), Kubrick's laugh-out-loud lesson that the end of the world might just be thanks to some very anxious, very, um, inadequately equipped men. Flash-forward to the '80s. Movies like "The Day After" and "Threads" kept the nuclear anxiety fire burning. Even Japan got in on the action, producing atomic-inspired epics like "Godzilla" (not the one where he battles a pizza delivery guy, though). Amidst all the doom and gloom, some films dared to tease the edge of sanity without tumbling into the abyss. "WarGames" (1983), a tale of teenage hackers and their accidental playdate with Armageddon, stole Reagan's heart, because who doesn't enjoy a little close call with global extinction? Back in the day, nuclear threats were as common as mullets, and kids did their nuclear drills with the same gusto as they practiced fire drills. Fast forward again, and we're in a world where nuclear nightmares are as rare as unicorns, or at least as rare as functional self-checkout machines. The Soviet Union vanished, and we stopped practicing the "under the desk" Olympics. The bomb's not completely forgotten, but let's face it, these days we're more concerned about tracking our steps on Fitbits than tracking thermonuclear warfare. Still, we've made a U-turn back to the birth of our atomic playground, perhaps to deal with our modern conundrums. We're living in Oppenheimer's world, the power of the gods in our hands. It's like giving your dog the car keys and hoping they won't crash into a fire hydrant. We're swamped in the feeling that doom's a-swirlin' around every corner, which Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" gets all too well. Bomb tests pop up like surprise birthday parties, just more explosive. And then there's "Oppenheimer," a movie that's less about biographies and more about the boom of power—atomic power, geopolitical power, power to make you question your own power lunch choices. In a nutshell, Oppenheimer's like an all-you-can-eat buffet of nuclear musings, a reflection of how we became the cosmic game masters. But here's the kicker: we tell ourselves stories about our atomic prowess that are as nutty as a squirrel on an espresso binge. We're terrified, yet we tiptoe around the dread like it's a sleeping bear. But, like any good show, the curtain must rise, and now we're caught in a web of apocalyptic worries, waiting for the grand finale. We're the gods and the end of the line, and the world's biggest punchline. 🍿🔥💣 Read the full article

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Vigilante (Lustig, 1982)

This review contains spoilers.

Given the premise, this obviously invites comparisons to the Death Wish series, and plays in some respects like a supercharged amalgamation of the first two. You get the hero's family being attacked by a multicultural gang with cute matching outfits, his wife being brutalized and his son being killed. This is a gruesome and horrific scene, but perhaps easier to watch than in those other movies because it seems less eager to revel in sexual assault. You get the hero, who was previously against vigilantism, eventually warming up to it after the law lets him down. We already know he's in for a bad trip when the DA, who's supposed to be prosecuting the case, basically admits defeat against the violent crime problem by citing a bunch of bullshit statistics. (To paraphrase a very wise man, you can come up with statistics to prove anything. Forty percent of all people know that.)

But it isn't just that the courts fail to sufficiently punish the gang member accused of the crimes against his family. Thanks to the smug liberal judge assigned to the case and the DA revealing her talent for being the world's worst negotiator, not only does the gang member get carted back to the streets after his murder charge is dropped and his assault charge gets a suspended sentence, but the hero gets thirty days for objecting to this gross miscarriage of justice. The depiction is so over the top that if you squint enough, you can read the movie as a satire of the vigilante thriller genre. Early on, the hero questions what would separate him from the bad guys if he started taking the law into his own hands and at one point he would go too far, and the movie practically answers that at the end by having him blow up the judge who bungled his case. It's almost as if the movie wants to demonstrate in the most extreme terms what it would look like if you took the vigilante ethos to its logical end point. To say the ending left me uneasy is to put it lightly, but it's undeniably forceful.

This is a better movie than Death Wish and its sequels (full disclosure: I haven't seen the fifth) because William Lustig is a much better director than Michael Winner, and for whatever questionable ideas the movie pushes or interrogates about its subject matter, it treats the proceedings with a dramatic sensitivity mostly absent from the other series after the original. It helps that Lustig is working with a tremendous cast, with an effortlessly sympathetic and wounded Robert Forster in the lead, and supporting players like Fred Williamson and Woody Strode lending charismatic voices to the movie's ideas. But most fun is Joe Spinell as a sleazy lawyer, who is known for playing deranged, sweaty maniacs but is also entertaining when playing slimy fast talkers, and who steals the movie in his couple of scenes as he maneuvers to get his defendant off lightly while threatening him with "Legal Aid" when the gang tries to stiff him on his fee.

And the gulf is wide on a technical level too. Winner is the furthest thing from a polished craftsman, although the crudeness of Death Wish 3 does give it a nicely unhinged quality, the action contained within playing as a series of pure violent reflexes, one goon killed after another in the cinematic equivalent of a nervous twitch. But while Lustig sets his movie in a crumbling pre-cleanup New York, he gives it a palpable sense of mood as she shoots it in chilly blue widescreen cinematography and scores it with grimy synths to boot. And the grim, two-fisted violence is lent an added charge by the surprisingly elegant cutting, closeups of a cracked family photo frame after the attack on Forster's family, and closeups to Forster's scowling face as he metes out his revenge.

I'd been itching for a rewatch since I missed the chance to see it in theatres a few months ago (a combination of dreadful winter weather and having fallen ill at an inopportune time), and was very pleased to revisit it and find that it rocks even harder than I remembered.

[interact-if]

Day 2 of Pride Month interviews! You know them, you love them…. give it up for Ames!

Ames, author of Attollo and Metamorphosis

Pride Month Featured Authors

“…and it was a singular, terrible thought, which burrowed itself into your mind like an engorged maggot. This was not a man nor a monster. This was a concept, an ideology, a terrible myth, which had personified itself to stand before you now.You were, to put it simply, screwed.”

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend.

Too bad it’s never so simple.

Demo: Attollo, Metamorphosis (TBA)

Tags: cybernoir, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Attollo is a cyber-noir horror set in a walled city off the coast of the Atlantic that’s been a victim of a nuclear disaster. After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend. Too bad it’s never so simple. Attollo is a 17+ game that deals with heavy topics and a lot of moral questioning; from cults to corrupt government, it has no shortage of monsters in the dark—both metaphorical and literal.

Metamorphosis is a crime/horror story based in the world of crime scene cleanup, where there are three simple steps: Get the call, clean the scene, and don’t ask too many questions. These are the rules that you live by under the employment of Noctua’s Crime Scene Services, and you credit them for keeping you alive.

However, after a routine house call brings forth nightmares of memories that are not your own, you find yourself pulled deeper into Noctua—a city of both monster and man—in a bid to find out the truth behind the murder of Deirdre Callow, and better yet, how her memories came to be yours. Your job mandates that you don’t dig too deep—but could this finally be the exception?

Metamorphosis is 18+ and will have explicit content; follow the last moments of a stranger to find out not only who took her life, but how this connects to the underbelly that Noctua works so hard to hide.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Lmaoo, oh man. I think it really all began last summer when I first found examples of interactive fiction. I don’t even remember how I came across it, it might’ve been that I saw it mentioned in a post or I saw it as a tag on Itch.io, but at some point, last summer I began to investigate it more. I think what really drew me in was the ability for the player to control the narrative; it was like playing an old RPG, but modernized, and the fact that I could see a story unfold that was influenced by my decisions was so fascinating to me. Not to mention that IF allows so much more character depth than regular novels, in my opinion.

I’m 99% sure my first exposure to interactive fiction was through the game Crème de la Crème (a fantastic game, by the way) and I just enjoyed it so much that I went haywire for the genre. Then Temple of the Endless Night came out (another fantastic game that I’m looking forward to!), and that was really the turning point for inspiring me to give it a go. Now, almost a year later, here I am working on my own two games!

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

My bisexuality doesn’t have much of a major influence on the game, but I do think it contributed to the way that I view and write relationships. I figured out my sexuality around high school (I kissed a girl in high school and found out I liked it just as much as when I kissed a boy) and since then I’ve been very involved in the LGBTQ+ community of both my hometown and uni town.

I think this involvement, like being able to hear about other people’s experiences and share my own, has made me feel a lot more comfortable writing some of the characters in the game. Although Attollo and Metamorphosis both don’t focus heavily on relationships (both have murder in them, which I feel is a bit more pressing), I do keep the option for any RO’s to be romanced by anyone, regardless of gender or preference, because that’s simply what I’ve become so attuned to. In terms of side characters relationships as well, I think my involvement and my own experiences have allowed me to write far more diverse relationships than I might have, and I think that this has also allowed a more fulfilling experience for players when reading through.

I also have incorporated some struggles that I’ve faced before because of my identity into the games. For example, I and a few others have faced issues with religion due to who we are, and I incorporate this into both games. Dreamwalker, Pariah, and Sysba from Attollo all have shadows of this experience in their character origins, and Ilali and Ariston from Metamorphosis has a major point involving identity and beliefs. Both games also have undertows of ostracization and division between groups, which is also something I’ve experienced in the past. Being able to grapple these moments and control them via a narrative has been eye opening for both myself and others involved, and I’m hoping it can be a learning experience for the readers as well.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

I think, now, the amount of progress in LGBTQ+ fiction is expanding at a wonderful rate. There are so many interactive fictions with options to select sexuality, select gender, select beliefs, etc. However, despite this expansion, there’s still a good deal of backlash against some aspects of LGBTQ+ fiction.

For example, as a bisexual woman who has dated men, I know there are some individuals who may not consider me a part of the LGBTQ+ because of this aspect. Not only is this incredibly disheartening, but it’s a viewpoint that I think should be educated against, and fiction is a fantastic pathway to do this. Another example I can think of is a friend of mine who identifies as asexual but is sex-neutral rather than sex-repulsed. Most people can’t believe her when she says this, and she often faces backlash for this declaration as well. This is another thing that I think that, with exposure through a medium such as fiction, can be worked on.

What I’m trying to say here is that I think LGBTQ+ fiction can be a brilliantly educational platform—if used right. Although it already teaches so much with what it has, I think having that representation of different subgroups of sexuality, of their experiences and beliefs, so people can become aware and knowledgeable of these options, is something I’d like to see more of.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

Oh man, I struggled to list off inspirations because I know I have some, but as soon as someone asks me who they are my brain just goes ‘brrrrrr’ LMAO.

In terms of the games that I write and the worlds that I build, I think David Lynch and Robert Chambers are probably the two that I somehow incorporate. Attollo and Metamorphosis both have a lot of surrealist horror, which are what these two really specialized in. Shirley Jackson is also another person who inspired me a lot when it came to the writing and creation of Attollo, especially the intrapersonal relationships between the characters.

In terms of life, this is something else I really struggle to answer. I don’t really have celebrity inspirations or anything like that, but I do get inspired by my close friends and sister a lot. Seeing them go through the struggles that they face and absolutely thrive really drives me to push through my own struggles. They’re the strongest, most brilliant group of people that I know, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate that I can be a part of their lives. Not only that, but we also all collectively encourage each other to push further and to chase our dreams (as cheesy as that is LMAO) and that’s something that I think is another stroke of good fortune. I struck gold when I met them, and they’re some of the biggest inspirations in my life.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

For Attollo, I’d say ‘Home is where the heart is.’ For Metamorphosis, to quote John Berendt, ‘Always stick around for one more drink.’

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

What advice would I give to you all? Oh my, I’m not exactly a wise woman here, but I’ll do my best to give you something lmaooo. I think what I really want you to walk away with, from both my stories and this interview, is that if you’re passionate about something, then share it with the world. Don’t let anyone deter your passion.

I remember listening to this painter once who commented to his friend how he ‘really liked painting’, and his friend’s first response was ‘but are you good at it?’. He then compared this to the scenario of walking; would you say, ‘but are you good at it?’ to someone who said, ‘I really like walking’? No, because it simply wouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t make sense to say that to anyone who’s doing something out of passion.

To put it simply—if you love something, then don’t let anyone take that passion from you. I began writing these stories because I’m passionate about Attollo and Metamorphosis; I love each character, each bit of lore, and I share it with you because I want you all to enjoy it as well. Am I the best writer? God, no. Does everyone like what I write? Definitely not. But will I let this stop me from writing, from enjoying what I’m doing? Never, and I want you to do the same.

Explore your passions, embrace your passions, and let what makes you happy continue to do so

[kontextmaschine]

George W. Bush was, in retrospect, very much a continuation of his father as President. Domestically, a continuation of an attempted Christian Democratic turn that harnessed religious enthusiasm to a pre-conservative tradition fundamentally okay with social spending.

Internationally, a continuation of post-Cold War cleanup. The lands of the Ottoman Empire fell largely under British and French influence after WWI and America succeeded as their patron after WWII, ending up supporting local autocrats as a guard against the Soviets. By the 2000s, a decade after the Cold War and two after a significant shift from pan-Arabism to political Islam, this system had outlived its purpose and was showing strain.

This played out as a conflict with local regimes as in Iraq, which had been one of the first to be reined in the "hyperpower", "global cop" moment after the superpower conflict, but the overall story was an attempt to shift from American-backed autocracy to American-backed democracy. (Afghanistan was mostly one more installment of failed effort to integrate remote Afghanistan into any broad order of sovereignty)

This continued into the Obama era with Robert Gates and the "Arab Spring", a major issue was that with ISIS and even more moderate jihadists, we grew more convinced that these autocrats really were far more compatible with US interests than any forces likely to hold power in their absence – the abandonment of regime change in Egypt and the inability to generate any enthusiasm for war with Russian proxy in Syria seems to have marked the end of this. The Arab world might require proper modern national institutions, but no one really wants to reenact the French Revolution and the 19th century to get there.

In domestic affairs, the "No Child Left Behind" national education framework was largely abandoned, and Medicare prescription drug coverage probably does something in the background to shore Republicans up with the elderly.

Barack Obama's task was to take Bill Clinton's relegitimating the Democrats as a governing party and do something with it. National health care had been a dream since the 50s at least, failed under Clinton, and with Obamacare it is an established thing now, as much as Social Security or Medicare of food stamps. DACA obviously failed to resolve illegal immigration as an issue, though it presumably benefited its beneficiaries a bit for a while.

The New Democratic relegitimation had largely been about gathering politicians, media, activists, and funding streams together and uniting them around fairly moderate messages. It was really organized for a cable TV media ecosystem. The late blog era could kinda work by analogy (the Nation and National Review had definitely been part of the 90s) but social media was another beast entirely.

Obama's praised "cool" relationship with the media was largely oriented around impressing gatekeepers who then relayed his mythos. Though an impressive orator, the President making a speech about something no longer was necessarily the defining thing about it. In contrast, Trump's McLuhanite "hotter" social media style, if you were aware of some national political issue, first off you were on Twitter, second off so was the President, he was aware of it, and you were aware that he was aware of it. He was in your head, more precisely he was in all your narratives.

By the end of Obama's term, the Democratic Party was significantly delegitimized again. Tellingly, his largest accomplishment – being the fabled First Black President – was not one that particularly involved actively doing much of anything. I think it is still an open question whether we can consider his presidency or Bush's as more successful.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Scanners (Cronenberg, 1981)

I've seen Scanners a few times now, and with each viewing I seem to go back and forth on Stephen Lack's performance. No, I've never thought that it was actually "good", but I'm torn between whether he's a bad actor who is used well in the movie or a bad actor who deflates the centre of the movie. With this viewing, I'm leaning towards the former. To put it kindly, Lack is a limited actor, perhaps because he wasn't primarily an actor in the first place. I understand he was mostly a painter and sculptor, and one can speculate whether David Cronenberg cast him to help out one of his art world buddies, or to brutally dunk on an art world rival. (The former is more likely, the latter is funnier to imagine.) It's worth noting that Cronenberg later cast him in a small but affecting role in Dead Ringers.

There are probably two effective qualities that Lack brings to the material. One, as a relative void of charisma, he comes across as out of his element compared to his more experienced co-stars, and as a result ends up being a good audience vantage point. We are uneasy as this strange story hurtles forward, so it makes sense that we latch onto a character who seems as uneasy as ourselves. Two, Lack has large, spherical eyes, which lend themselves well to this story of malevolent psychics. The psychic battles here are depicted through a combination of stares, tilts of the head, and contorted and bulging faces, sometimes assisted by bladder effects. (If any of this sounds silly, it's a credit to Cronenberg's craft that he knows exactly how to shoot and cut these scenes for maximum energy.) While Lack is not the smoothest at executing these gestures, his stares photograph well, and his relatively affectless demeanour gives him a certain zen quality that works well in the final confrontation.

The cast around Lack however is a lot easier to defend without qualifiers. Michael Ironside provides an intense contrast to Lack in an early role, and it's easy to see why he became a go-to character actor in the years since. (Ironside also does those tilts and contortions a lot more naturally, perhaps because he seems ready to explode at any given moment.) There's Jennifer O'Neill, anticipating the tension of the Debbie Harry role in Videodrome with conceptually challenging hair (she isn't old, why is her hair so grey? okay, I'm only thirty and have a bunch of grey hairs too, the point is, she's good in the movie). There's Lawrence Dane as the kind of conniving executive that would be played by Ronny Cox were this a Paul Verhoeven movie. There's a brief but quite moving appearance by Robert A. Silverman as a tortured artist who has found other ways to manage his psychic powers. And there's Patrick McGoohan, providing the closest thing to a warm, paternal character in the movie, and whose rich, deep voice feels at one with the movie's textures.

Of Cronenberg's filmography, this is the first one in my opinion that really nails that sense of coldness we associate with him. A great deal of assistance comes from Howard Shore's vaguely futuristic score, but there's a certain sterility in the cinematography, a good eye for cold, unwelcoming interiors and great use of locations. This was shot in Toronto and Montreal, and while the movie doesn't specify the setting, Cronenberg is able to imbue these places with a subtly dystopian quality. Has Yorkdale subway station ever looked this sinister? (This quality continues in Videodrome, which is perhaps the definitive Toronto movie, giving the city some of the sleazy charge of a pre-cleanup New York.) And this quality even extends to the corporate names in the movie, with "ConSec" and "Biocarbon Amalgamate" both carrying a certain obfuscating coldness.

As body horror, this falls well into his pet concerns, and while it maybe isn't as sophisticated as some of his other movies in this regard, it benefits from a relentless forward momentum in the narrative and some memorable special effects. This is far from the grossest thing Cronenberg has made, but when you bookend your movie with the most famous exploding head in cinema and a gruesome psychic duel that evokes Thich Quang Duc, it's safe to say you've made an impact.

[jamielea81]

A Walk in the Park

Chapter 2

Description: When your husband dies in an accident, you try to move on with your life. When the memories of your shared home become too much even after two years, you make a drastic change and move to California. A new career, a new way of life, and an attractive new friend help you move on to find the happiness you need. *This will be a slow burn*

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings for this chapter: A curse word or two, an annoying boss, fluff.

Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. This is purely for fun. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Tagging those who wanted to see a second chapter. @flamencodiva @the--blackdahlia @angelus320 @deanwinchesterswitch @thefandomzoneisdangerous

Read Chapter 1 Here

“Y/N!” A shrill voice called from two rooms away. You groaned inwardly but sighed outwardly and plastered a tight smile on your face. You excused yourself from the kitchen staff and walked quickly to the ballroom passing staff carrying various sized flower arrangements, many of which would be sent back once Colleen saw them. Everything was always over ordered and then returned for one reason or another. Your flats pounded the ground with urgency. You learned by day two that heels would not do. While you rather be wearing sneakers or at least a pair of Keds, fancy flats were the most you could get away with. Your two pairs of black heels would be reserved for event nights where dresses and the occasional skirt and blouse were acceptable. If you were being honest, you truly were a barefoot or sandal girl. Feet curled up on the couch with a book in your hand, that was the life. That was your former life back in Minnesota when you worked Monday through Friday and were off work by 5. Now most nights you were busy and forget about weekends. 

“Yes, Colleen? How may I help you?” You asked with that same tight smile on your face. Colleen was your boss’s boss. Your actual boss, Victoria, who you adored was extremely busy so you rarely saw her. She was sweet and loved your ideas. Often encouraging you to come up with idea boards to help you with future events that she was confident you would be taking the lead on in no time. Colleen should really be behind a desk making sales and the rare appearance for approvals, but that’s not how she operates. She likes to take a hands-on role which is good in some aspects but, she’s too much.

“Ah, Y/N, there you are. I’ve been calling you for an hour.” It was not an hour. You just saw her 15 minutes ago. “I need to see the menus again for the Mayor’s Ball on Thursday”

“I was just meeting with the chef going over the changes you suggested.” Grabbing your phone out of your crossbody bag, you opened an e-mail, typed in Colleen’s address, and attached the updated menu, all before she had a moment to respond. “Just sent you the updated menu.” You looked up to see a questionable look on her face. She didn’t know what to say; you had beat her to the punch after only working for her for a little over two months.

“Ah, wonderful, Y/N. Now, where are those new flower arrangements I ordered?”

You gestured to the hall with your hand and followed her out. It was going to be a long two days before the event.

 It had been a week and a half since you met Chris. He hadn’t sent a text but neither had you since your response that first night. You had typed out maybe 20 responses, several included dog emojis. You settled on a smiling emoji. Ugh, why are you so awkward?

You continued with your nightly walks, often heading in different directions. Always keeping an eye peeled for an adorable dog on the loose. Victoria had suggested hiking in Runyon Canyon with her on Sundays, but you just frankly haven’t had the energy. Working 6 days a week most weeks and various hours of the day and night, walking in your neighborhood was all you could handle at the moment.

Finishing off your walk, you jogged to the back of the house seeing the Smiths enjoying a glass of wine on the patio. “You two look cozy.”

“How was your walk? James asked. Arm stretched around Connie’s shoulder as they sat on the patio loveseat.

“It was really nice. I’m loving this weather.” They both nodded. “I’m heading up. Have a goodnight.” Your head tilting up towards the staircase.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Connie said.

Unlocking your door, you quickly changed into your pjs which consisted of an old pair of gray sweats and a white V-neck t-shirt. It was already after 8, more like closer to 9, as you worked later tonight running errands for Colleen. Tomorrow would be last minute prep for the next night’s Ball. You were exhausted. Falling asleep while on Facebook reading, about the adventures of friends and family back home. You’d finish commenting tomorrow when you weren’t dead to the world.

 It was 11 in the morning and you still haven’t had your coffee. The people here don’t seem to understand that you can’t do life without coffee. Cursing the Colleens and interns of the world for causing you to run around like there’s no tomorrow, you took a deep breath, plastered on a smile and ran to the fabric store once more. You’d hit up the Starbucks drive thru on the way back, yeah, that’s what you would do. Exchanging the Royal Blue fabric for the True Blue fabric because the color had more “umph” you were on your way back to your car. Your phone dinged, most likely Victoria or Colleen checking in. Most likely Colleen asking for lunch even though the interns are at her disposal. Dropping the bundles in the back seat and plopping yourself in the front seat of your sedan, you pulled your phone out of your purse. “Oh, it’s from Chris.” Clicking on the message you were both excited and nervous. Part of you didn’t think he would actually message you again.

“Hey, Y/N. Checking to see if you’re free Friday for game night. It’ll be low key, maybe 7 of us.” Friday, you could do Friday. You’d be off early with only the cleanup from the Ball and dropping off the items that are kept for the next event in the storage unit. You would be tired and maybe not the best of company, but you weren’t working Saturday.

“Hey Chris! Yeah, Friday works. Let me know what time and where. Say hi to Dodger for me.” Hi to Dodger? Really Y/N? At least you didn’t add a dog emoji. Waiting a few minutes with no response from Chris, you put your phone away and set your course for the nearest Starbucks.

 You were at the park again after walking a little more than a mile. Since you started the day at 6 in the morning, Victoria told you to go home at 5. Victoria said she would handle Colleen if she asked for you. This is why you love Victoria. The park wasn’t as empty today as it normally was. You sat on the grass listening to the chatter from other people in the distance who sat around the fountain. You had slipped off your shoes and enjoyed the feel of the green grass on your toes. Your phone dinged and saw that it was a message from Chris with an address and telling you to come around 7. You replied back with a picture of the fountain and told him that you’d see him Friday. He sent a reply asking if you’d be at the park much longer. You said you’d hang around for a bit and waited for his reply. After about 15 minutes, enough time to reply to those Facebook posts and pictures, you were being attacked with slobbery kisses from Dodger. Laughing and using your hands to shield your face you looked up to see Chris in front of you. Sans hat this time. God he is beautiful. Wearing a pair of beat up jeans and a gray graphic tee that fit in all the right places. Is everyone this pretty in LA? “Dodger, that’s enough. Come on boy.” He said while gently tugging the leash and flashing a smile.

“It’s OK. I had a dog when I was kid so I am totally used to it.”

Chris plopped himself on the ground next to you. Dodger doing the same. “No dog now?”

“No, I’m renting a studio.”

“Why a studio? The market’s slowed down, it would be a great time to buy.” He asked.

“Well, Mr. Evans, moving across the country and not really knowing what area of the city I wanted to reside in permanently, buying didn’t seem like the smart choice at the time.”

“So, you do know who I am.” Smirk resting on his face.

“Guilty.” You blushed. “Kind of got into the Marvel movies a few years back. That Robert Downey Jr. is pretty wonderful.”

Chris scoffed, placing a hand on his chest pretending to be mortally wounded with your words. “I see how it is.” He said with a wide smile.

You let of a small laugh and nodded. “I like this area though. Not sure I can afford it, but I am thinking about it. I’m going to wait a bit to decide. The ocean calls to me, but that would put a damper on my commute.”

“Beach houses are great. Kind of a pain to keep up, but I know the appeal. How does the ocean call to a Midwesterner?”

“Grew up around boats. Land of 10,000 lakes dontcha know.” You said adding in that fake Fargo accent that is often mistaken for Minnesotan.

“That’s right, that’s right. Well, will have to make a trip to the ocean some time. A buddy of mine has a good-sized boat. We usually go out in the summer once or twice.”

Um, am I making future plans with my new best friend already? Play it cool, play it cool Y/N. “Yeah, that would be fun, I might have to take you up on that.” You replied. “So, what kind of games are we playing Friday?”

“We usually start with the easy ones like Life or Sorry. After a few adult beverages we switch to card games like Presidents and Assholes.”

“No way! You know that game too? I used to play that in college.”

“We have ringer? I know who’s on my team.” He said pulling you into a side hug. You laughed and started to play with the blades of grass.

“Well, I’m looking forward to it then. I do have to warn you that I may be a little tired. We have a big event tomorrow night and I have been running raged all week.”

“Noted.” He replied making a mock check mark with his finger. He started to get up and you started to put your sneakers back on. “I’ll let you get back home since you have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Thanks for stopping out. It was great to see Dodger again.” You said with a wink.

“You wound me again! I’m starting to regret this game night invite.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back. Scouts honor.” You replied with a little bit of a salute. Chris gave another smile.

“Good luck tomorrow Y/N.”

“Thanks, Chris. Bye Dodger.” With that you headed out of the park towards home.

You just needed to get through tomorrow and then you could finally breath this weekend.

Chapter 3

[fishxx]

Se Qing and the Naked Truth

February 24th, 2017

Below the rooftop of a Beijing building that shudders against a glaucous sky of factory moans is an unextraordinary office building. In it, perhaps on the sixth floor, sits a man in a suit at a desk. The phone on his desk rings. He probably picks it up. Maybe he shifts his weight in his seat, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. Maybe he texts his wife, tells her not to wait up, a client needs this or that document tonight.

It’s 11 degrees Celsius, and a pair of broad-boned feet rest on the ledge of the rooftop above the office building. The owner of the feet crouches over them, back bent round as if in a snail shell. He looks down to the street below, speckled with pedestrians bundled in scarves and cars blaring their horns. He thinks about what kind of people might be in the office building.

Seven months prior, he’d written in a series of diaries published online:

           我总是能听到开枪的声音，开始的时候我有点害怕，时间久了，也就习惯了，那声

           音也像有人在用槌子往我脑袋里钉钉子，好像有一个建筑工地，有人要盖摩天大楼

           ，盖了这么多年也没盖好，好多无家可归的人在我的脑袋里面哭啊闹啊，我要被吵

           死了，他们不让我睡觉，也不让我出门。不睡觉也好，不出门也好，反正每天出门

           前，穿上精心挑选好的衣服，照着镜子怎么看都觉得像要去参加自己的葬礼

           I am always hearing gunshots. In the beginning it scared me a little, but over time I’ve

           grown used to it. Someone has taken up a hammer and is knocking nails into my head,

           it’s a construction site where someone is erecting a monstrous skyscraper, they’ve been

           building it for years and it still isn’t done yet. The many homeless people in my head are

           crying and jibing, they won’t let me sleep, won’t let me out the door. Staying home and

           awake suits me just fine, because every day before heading out, after putting on the

           clothes I’ve selected so meticulously for myself, and looking into the mirror, it looks to

           me as if I’ve dressed to attend my own funeral.

It had always felt this way. For much of his life, since his childhood in a suburb of Changchun, the capital of China’s northeastern province of Jilin, Ren Hang had felt as if he was stumbling through a shadowy psychosis, a jammed film reel in disparate shades of gray.

Still, through the fog of voices and visions clouding his consciousness, in Ren’s pulsing circuit board of veins, he has always felt a deep connection to his family, to his hometown, to China.

And this has never wavered, even as he moved what seemed continents away to study marketing at 17, to live in the 4-to-a-room cramped quarters of Beijing’s university housing, high from the ground, amidst the haze and cancers and pollution of a city of chaos.

–

Fragmented light splashes across the bare thighs and torso of a man whose face cannot be seen. Each hand holds a disco ball, whose mosaicked faces refract the flash’s exposure. Between the disco balls, an erect penis. In another photograph, from the last series Ren published, two nude men sit curled atop one other on the ledge of a building, pasted against a jumbled, silver skyline. Their eyes meet the camera’s gaze steadily.

As Ren crouches on the windowsill, many of these photos are already on exhibition at Foam Fotografiemuseum in Amsterdam. Museum curator Mirjam Kooiman says of the work, “It’s visual poetry. It’s without limits.”

Ren is not without limits.

The man in the office shuffles a stack of paper, maybe. He sighs when the phone rings again. Perhaps he stares at the minute hand on the wall clock.

Ren, some days, can’t tell wall clock from whiskey.

He rises slowly in the frame of the window. Stands, looks. Maybe he is naked, like so many of his subjects are. Maybe, as always, he’s meticulously selected what he believes to be the proper attire for the occasion. In one month he’ll be 30. He is always hearing gunshots.

He steps into the air.

–

January 15th, 2010

           我只会注意那些病态，结巴，物质，2维思维，单亲家庭的男孩。有一种男孩是我

           在涨潮几个小时之后会打电话给他，听到他的声音我知道虽然我还在水底，但是我

           还没有溺亡。

           I will only pay attention to those morbid, stuttering, material, two-dimensional- thinking

           boys in single-parent families. There is a kind of boy who calls me after hours of high

           tide. Hearing his voice, I know that although I am still underwater, I am still not dead.

Huang Jiaqi has the broad, hopeful eyes of youth and lips full as if they’d been stung by honeybees.

It’s been nearly a year since he ran away from home, leaving his university entrance examinations unfinished, his childhood tucked somewhere in diaries with thick-pulp pages, like those still made by tired men in the Qinling mountains.

At only 18, Jiaqi is slight of build, and can often afford nothing more to eat than a box of fried rice with a cucumber for five yuan. He devours the meal shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover, beneath the opaque and oppressive Beijing sky.

Jiaqi and Ren sleep in a house with five or six others who pad silently through the space like apparitions, also hungry.

Ren takes Jiaqi to rooftops. He snaps his shutter.

And with friends pitted naked against mosaicked Moroccan-style floors, between red curtains backlit by pale light, in reeds and bushes, amidst the haze of cigarettes in dingy apartments, Ren snaps his shutter. Boys and boys, girls and boys, girls and more girls mingle, mangled in limb and wire and branch.

Ren graduates from his compact analogue camera to a $29 Minolta X-700 film model. He is not interested in digital cameras. He says, “I like film. It’s exciting to wait.”

His work is featured in small group shows in Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Nanjing.

Still, it seems no one in the art world knows Ren Hang’s name.

Jiaqi knows Ren Hang’s name, his mother’s name, the pock-marks of his left cheek, the sound of his heartbeat. In and out and in and out like the tide.

Jiaqi is Ren’s greatest muse, the reason for all things.

In eight years, an image of his face will splash the cover of an international art book published by Taschen and Ren Hang will be dead.

–

June 8th, 2008

           写给周耀辉的信

           每个人都是同性恋，每个人都是霸权者，每张脸都打上马赛克，每颗心都穿上防弹

           衣。所有的亲吻都是一味毒药，所有的拥抱都是一个牢房。

           Letter to Zhou Yaohui:

           Everyone is homosexual. Everyone is a hegemonic person. Each face is marked with a

           mosaic. Each heart is wearing a bulletproof vest. All the kisses are blind poisons, and all

           the hugs are a jail cell.

Ren books his first solo show in 2010. It opens in July under the name “Eat Naked Lunch!” at Yuyintang, a cozy underground live house in Shanghai.

One photograph features a young woman lying on her back, her knees drawn against her bare chest. Between her legs sprouts a tangled bouquet of leaves and red wildflowers. No genitalia can be exposed in the photographs on display, though the work Ren produces is often explicit, featuring cigarettes with seething red heads protruding from vaginas and lilies with their stems tucked into anuses.

He begins to exhibit quietly in other galleries and live houses.

And gradually, like a moonflower unfurling, Ren Hang’s work begins to bloom in the art world. The influence of boundary-pushing erotic photographer Robert Mapplethorpe becomes increasingly apparent, yet curators and collectors insist they have never seen anything like it before.

They are eager to comment on its starkness, its unapologetic sensuality, its balance and color, and its function as a bold fuck you to the Chinese government.

–

In the spring of 2018, Chinese social media platform Weibo announces a three-month “cleanup” effort of its site, a censorship initiative launched on the heels of President Xi Jinping’s new cybersecurity jurisdiction. Weibo quietly begins removing all content related to homosexuality. In response, social media users storm the platform with the hashtag #Iamgaynotapervert.

Though homosexual sex was decriminalized in China in 1997, members of the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face prejudice and a dearth of political discourse about their rights. Today, gay marriage is still not legally recognized in a single continental Asian country.

The Dream of the Red Chamber, the Qing dynasty-era novel oft considered the peak of Chinese literature features a number of steamy same-sex relationships, and passages of dialogue brazen enough to make even the most indiscreet of patrons blush: “What’s it to you if we fuck asses! It’s not like we fucked your dad,” says one character. Hand scrolls of the same time period depict what appears to be recreational sex between male friends, one colorful panel portraying a man hiking up his robes, sitting upon another man’s lap while they enjoy a cup of tea.

So whence came the disdain for homosexuality in China? Anthropologists argue that the influence of Western socio-cultural norms and exposure to foreign media rendered the subject taboo, casting shame over same-same relationships as the perverted product of delinquency or mental disorders. Others assert that the filial values of traditional China that have dominated social life since the era of Confucius are to blame.

Ren says, “We hide the body in our culture,” because it is “a demoralization to show what they think should be private.” But instead of hiding, Ren rebels—worshipping both the sacred and the sacrilegious in the human form, twisting and contorting it into geometry and shadow.

Everything about Ren’s photography is charged with the electric current of sexuality. Much of it is homoerotic. Much of it is not. As one curator puts it, “There’s no hierarchy between the female and the male model in his work. It’s very telling about these tendencies of sexuality and queerness in Chinese society and how his generation is dealing with it.”

What does this one represent?, they ask. It must be a commentary on the political state of modern China, they whisper.

When asked whether his pictures are meant to inspire or incite a sexual liberation in China, Ren responds flatly, “A sexual liberation? No.” He says, “Nudes have always been around. We were born nude. So I don’t think there’s anything to revolutionize. I just photograph things in their more natural conditions.”

Ren Hang didn’t intend to become a photographer. He became one accidentally, toying with a compact camera in the ennui of his days at the Communication University of China, snapping photographs of his roommates here and there, often naked, scuttling to the showers from their room with four bunks like narrow coffins stacked atop one another.

Perhaps he didn’t intend to become a poet either, although after his death, Tim Crowley of the KWM Art Center in Beijing says, “He was, in a way, a poet who just happened to be a great photographer.”

At times, he writes:

           "My cock"

           When soft, it’s like a piece of meat

           When hard, like a knife

           I give you soft when you eat

           Wait for you to eat hard

           Use it to kill you

And, at other times:

           "Real desperation"

  ��        I found

           My breasts are bigger every day

           My vagina is wider day-by-day

           I can be ashamed

           I can hold hundreds of rivers

           My time is finally coming

           But I also felt for the first time

           What real despair is

           I stand in the highest place

           But I dare not take a look below

And as Ren Hang comes barreling into the world of contemporary Chinese art with images that incite gasps, fury, and arrests, he perplexes and enchants by straddling, unapologetically, the worlds of straightness and gayness, of kink and custom, of truth and deception, of masochism and tantrism, of woman and man.

–

May 9th, 2013

           还有一次连续几天晚上我都觉得我的隔壁睡了两匹马，我能听到他们的喘息，还有

           那种马的“突突”的鼻音，我每天回到家都小心翼翼地怕吵醒了他们，有一天我的朋

           友来家里住，我跟他说，我的邻居是两匹马，他们一直在睡觉，你今晚还是不要洗

           澡了，洗澡的声音太大了，我们说话走路也小声一点，不然会吵醒他们的，我已经

           三天没洗澡了。我朋友说我疯了。我说，他们不是一般的马，他们会说人话，会躺

           着睡觉。开始他以为我在开玩笑，但是我的表情越来越严肃，他说你真是疯了。后

           来我也不知道该怎么跟他解释，他再也没有住过我家。

           For a few days in a row, I felt like there were two horses sleeping next to each other. I

           was very careful not to wake them. One day, my friend came to stay at my place. I told

           him that my neighbors are two horses. They have been sleeping. You shouldn't take a

           shower tonight. The bathing sound is too loud. We can only speak quietly. Or I will wake

           them up. I haven't bathed for three days. My friend said I was crazy. I said that they are

           not ordinary horses. They speak ‘people’ and lie down to sleep. At first he thought I was

           joking, but my expression became more and more serious. He said that I was crazy.

           Later, I didn't know how to explain to him. He never stayed at my house again.

In China, mental illness is like homosexuality. It exists. We don’t talk about it.

–

April 5th, 2016

           我适应了逆来顺受，就像掷骰子，每次都掷到同一个点数，后来你发现，其实每一

           个面的点数都是一样的。这个房间里我最熟悉的就是头顶的那块天花板，它就像我

           的天空，白色的天空，没有任何阴晴变化的天空，我幻想过楼上的邻居就是住在天

           上的神仙

           I have adapted to obey just like a die that is rolled over and shows the same number every

           time. In the end you realize that each side of the die is exactly the same. I am most

           familiar with the ceiling from my room. It’s like my sky, a white sky. There is no

           pleasant change in my sky. I imagine that my neighbor from upstairs is an angel living in

           heaven with the gods.

“I love China, and I like shooting Chinese people,” Ren tells Vice Japan. “The more I’m limited by my country, the more I want my country to take me in and accept me for who I am and what I do.”

Ren is arrested a number of times—for shooting nude models in public places, where indecency is punishable by up to six months’ jail time, and, perhaps more scandalously, for self-publishing.

The Chinese government exercises nearly complete control over the press, and the country’s commitment to extensive media censorship is a well-documented phenomenon. Self-publishing, while technically legal, is a highly regulated procedure requiring an ISSN number and authors’ compliance with mandatory censorship policies.

Ren begins publishing his work underground in 2011 with the help of a friend who works in printing, knowing that he will never be able to publish his work otherwise, as the distribution of explicit photo or video content in China is illegal. The Communist Party once dubbed pornography “spiritual pollution.”

In 2015, in the vindictive heat of a Beijing summer, when asked about if he considers his pictures erotica, Ren tells a magazine intern, “I don’t like the word ‘erotica’ (in Chinese, qing se). I prefer ‘pornographic’ (se qing). I think it’s more direct.”

In China, a lifetime behind bars may await anyone who produces, disseminates, or sells “obscene materials.”

Naturally, Ren sets out to do all three.

Within five years, he produces 16 of his own zines and monographs, filled with glossy pages of penises urinating into corded telephone receivers, bodies twisted into fantastical shapes, vaginas splayed open like raw wounds. Many of the earliest of these books were sold underground in small shops whose owners knew his work.

A posterboy millennial, Ren has generated cult followings on his Weibo, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles. He publishes his photography freely on his website, alongside collections of poetry and an unassuming tab on the sidebar menu bar labelled “My Depression.”

His website is shut down unexpectedly. Once. Twice. Again. Law enforcement officers swarm Beijing galleries in wailing Volkswagen Passats, calling for the stop to his exhibitions. A man attends an exhibition and spits on one of the photographs.

He is arrested, but never imprisoned. While Ren operates as an anomaly, a dark creature inhabiting the fringes of Chinese society, authorities seem ambiguous about his status as a criminal. Is he a political rebel? Is he subverting the zhengfu?

They hesitate further because the mind of China is evolving. The economy, taking new shapes.

Chinese citizens born in the 1980s were taught that the country’s “pillar industries” included the automotive, construction, mechanical, electrical, and petrochemical sectors. But these categories are not static. In recent years, biotechnology, advanced energy, and IT have made their way to the forefront of the economy. These new pillars are China’s loyal heed to the call of science. Yet—more than anything—they’ve become the cherubim upholding the god that is capitalism to this country of atheists.

What is largely unexpected is the State Council’s 2009 announcement to make “culture” one of its pillar industries by 2020. In 2016, the Ministry of Finance earmarks nearly four and a half billion yuan in funding for cultural development initiatives. Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen are booming. The art world, rising.

“The market in China has greatly matured, and this has enabled us to present exciting, emerging artists from China and across the Asia-Pacific region,” says Alexander Montague-Sparey, the Artistic Director of Photofairs Shanghai.

It’s no wonder that authorities cannot put their thumb on Ren Hang with enough accuracy to stamp him out like a cigarette butt. Instead, they fumble with his burning edges.

–

May 19th, 2011

           这几年你一直在寻找一张失踪的桌子，生活在一只倾塌的杯子里，逐步进化成愤怒

           的杯底。这世界就是离你这么近，却摸不着，又看不清楚。就像一束光要和影子做

           爱，那么难，我活得像一个影子。却只能再黑夜里出没。

           In the past few years you have been looking for a missing table, living in a falling cup,

           and gradually evolving into an angry cup. This world is so close to you, but it can't be

           touched. Just like a beam of light to make love with a shadow, so difficult, I live like a

           shadow. Only to haunt the night.

Ai WeiWei is China’s most beloved and most despised political dissident. The irreverent artist is known for designing the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics and for his controversial visual arts challenging the institutions of modern Chinese society. In 2014, he exhibits an entire collection featuring only photographs of his left hand pitted against the background of famous global monuments and religious buildings, his middle finger raised in bullish protest.

The state media deem him a “deviant and a plagiarist.” He’s arrested in April of 2011 and held for 81 days by authorities. Officials allude vaguely to his “economic crimes” without filing specific charges. His assistant, Wen Tao, mysteriously disappears and is never seen again.

In the consistent spirit of controversy, he champions the work of underground photographer Ren Hang.

In 2013, he curates an exhibition called “FUCK OFF II” at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, featuring the works of Ren and 36 other contemporary Chinese artists, many of whom are pioneering a neo-avant-garde driven by a need to challenge the sociological, environmental, and political climates of modern China. It contributes to a burgeoning, global Ren Hang following.

Ren always maintains that he is simply making pictures the way he wants to make them.

“Politics is interested in me,” he tells the press at the OstLicht Austrian photography gallery in 2015, “but I am not interested in politics.”

–

March 23rd, 2015

           我昨天在超市

           偷了一管牙膏

           前天把邻居的锁孔

           用口香糖堵住

           上周把小区门口的

           一排垃圾桶

           全都踢翻

           每次我做了坏事

           都觉得生活好像

           又变得美好了一些

           I was in the supermarket yesterday,

           I stole some toothpaste

           The day before yesterday,

           I blocked the neighbor’s keyhole with chewing gum

           Last week, at the neighborhood entrance,

           I kicked over

           A row of trash cans

           Every time I do bad things

           I feel like life

           Is getting better again

Ren hasn’t spoken much to his family since he left Changchun at the age of 17.

He calls his mother. He paces the length of his apartment slowly, watching one foot move in front of the other, the pattern in the floor’s wood grain rendered into clusters of tiny faces.

“I’m wondering if you’d like to model for me in a photo shoot.”

His voice hangs in the air like a bird riding a current of wind.

“Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” she finally laughs.

He is jarred by the realization that his parents must know everything. Here, all along, he believed they couldn’t have suspected a thing.

Of course he doesn’t want her to take off her clothes—she’s his mother, for goodness sake.

She doesn’t mind.

He insists that a bra and underwear will do just fine.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She smokes a cigarette. Ren snaps his shutter.

Expressionless, she holds a pig’s severed head. Ren snaps his shutter.

–

February 2nd, 2010

           《我爱你》

           想在你身后，

           看你走路的姿势，

           盯着你并不丰满的屁股看。

           想去你家。

           想跟你睡一张拥挤的铁床，

           在半夜突然醒来，

           舔你的眼睫毛，

           摸你冻裂的嘴唇。

           想在早上抢着穿你的内裤，

           让你穿我的，

           看你站着小便，

           拍下你用过没冲的厕所。

           "I Love You"

           Want to be behind you,

           Look at your walking posture,

           Stare at your not-so-plump butt.

           Want to go to your home.

           Want to sleep with you on a crowded iron bed,

           Wake up suddenly in the middle of the night

           Lick your eyelashes,

           Touch your cracked lips.

           Rush to wear your underwear in the morning,

           Let you wear mine,

           Watch you standing, urinating,

           Photograph the toilet you used without flushing.

Sometimes Ren darts into traffic, or lunges himself ahead of an encroaching bus, only to leap backward at the last moment. Sometimes he stands too close to the platform’s edge in Beijing’s swollen subway stations. When he swims in the chlorine-blue pools of hotels around the world—places where his work is championed, where he receives bottles of wine and dinners of black caviar and foie gras from museum directors—he keeps his eyes closed, lets his body sink to the bottom of the basin, listens to the muted sparkling of the water.

He feels most at peace when he is close to death.

“Since I was seventeen,” says Jiaqi, “the most important thing for me has never changed—to protect you and to protect our love.”

Jiaqi is well on his way to establishing himself as a leading fashion stylist, editor, and model. He makes his own pictures, too. In 2018, his photography glosses the cover of Tatler Hong Kong.

He snaps an iPhone photo of Ren. Beneath the glow of a red umbrella amidst geometries of sunlight, Ren stands in a blue Umbro soccer tank top. He looks into the distance blankly, his broad and elegant cheekbones lending to his perpetual appearance as gaunt, as exceedingly gentle, as older than he is. It seems so far removed from the world of art that they both have learned to inhabit in different ways.

–

January 10th, 2013

           《最亮的光太快》

           我从来不想变成最亮的光

           最亮的光太快

           比流星还快

           我愿意变成黑夜

           我愿意缓慢得就像静止

           我愿意经常被你遗忘

           偶尔被你仰望

           即使在那仰望里

           我只是一张背景

           “The Brightest Light is Too Fast”

           I never want to become the brightest light

           The brightest light is too fast

           Faster than meteors

           I would like to turn into night

           I am willing to be slow like static

           I am willing to be forgotten by you often

           Occasionally you look up

           Even in that gaze,

           I'm just a background

Ren Hang steps into the sky.

The gray of Beijing’s carbonate heavens flashes against fragment of glass, of skyscraper, of silver branch. Perhaps a bird darts past, cutting through the air careless—careless as one must be to have been given the great gift of flight without cognition of one’s privilege.

Perhaps before peace,

He sees his mother’s face. Her harsh mouth in a line, a stream of smoke curling around her.

Perhaps

He sees a boy with bee-stung lips.

The boy says: “I didn’t even know about this thing called depression the first time I saw you crying and telling me you wanted to set the flat on fire so we could die together.”

Maybe he hears the boy’s voice ringing in his ears, a kind of private, radiant sonar.

“You said you were my home, and I was yours.”

These words are true.

But these ideas are all simulation, are all romantic projection.

The BBC runs the headline: Ren Hang: Death of China’s Hotshot Erotic Photographer.

It is all romantic projection.

He is not an erotic photographer. He is, unapologetically, a se qing photographer, an artist of the bizarre and the beautiful, unmarried to any creed or movement, an artist brazenly throwing forth pictures of a violent peace, an artist, an artist, an artist. A mere observer of his world.

And he is, by no means, a hotshot. He is simply a student of the human condition—what his lover calls, “a kid who loves life, but lacks the skills to live it.” He is only human, diseased and obsessed, incurable and in love.

So more than likely,

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He does not take note of the clouds reflected in the windows of the office building tearing through space, or the dusky thrush floating above him. He does not see his mother’s stern face or hear the voice of Huang Jiaqi.

More than likely,

He thinks of nothing.

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He refuses to become the brightest light.

The brightest light is too fast.

Kendra Clark is a New York-based editorial content creator and part-time residential student in the creative writing master’s program at the University of Cambridge. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in or are forthcoming in Into the Void magazine, The Evansville Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

[tinalbion]

New Nightmare Freddy NSFW Alphabet

Dinolover-XX (from Wattpad) asks:

Could you do an NSFW alphabet for our NN Freddy boi, please? I'm curious now since reading the others (and I must get around to watching 2001 maniacs, so I can see Robert work his magic!) GIIIIRL YES. NN Freddy is definitely a different breed from good old usual Freddy so this will be a delight.

A=Aftercare (What they're like after sex) NN Fred isn't the most caring individual, so he wouldn't really help you with the cleanup, though he'd love to watch you watch away as he smacks your ass. He would rarely stick around for any aftercare. B=Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) Oh, you better believe he's a boob man. Your ass is a close second, but he loves to grab onto your chest whenever he's fucking you in any position. His favorite body part that belongs to him is his hands. There's a lot of power in those bad boys, and he knows he has the power to make or break you with them. C=Cum (anything to do with cum) Usually, he likes to cum in you, but he's definitely not opposed to spilling it all over your chest or watch it drip into your mouth. D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) This guy has many secrets, but one of his dirtier ones is that he'd love to murder an entire room of people and feed on their souls, then take you in the same room as soon as he's finished with them. E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?) Definitely experienced, he's had years and although he had never taken anyone for a long time. He may be a wee bit rusty, but he knows exactly what he's doing. F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying) He loves to take you however he can get you, there's no doubt. Reverse cowgirl is a favorite of his because he can feel you to your deepest point and he gets a phenomenal view of your ass. G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) This guy is some serious business about 95% of the time, so don't really expect him to be anything less in the bedroom. He's more likely to crack a pun afterward when he's relieved himself. H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Well, no worries with this guy! He's as clean as a whistle! I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...) Don't really expect him to be cuddly or romantic very much before, during, or after. There are very rare times that he will be like this, and it won't be often at all. When you have your bad days and you come to him in an emotional mess, he'll cool it with his intensity and be a bit more comforting. He won't be so rough and he'll cup your face more than he normally does. J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon) NN Freddy has no reason to do so, he'll just come to you if he wants to get off. K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) Big into knife play, dom/sub, choking, and some humiliation. L = Location (Favorite places to do the do) He would rather take you in his world, although it is sometimes pretty terrifying when the flames are all around you, he'll shape it into your own room if it makes you more comfortable. M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Murder. The essence of your soul and how he could easily take it from you just gets him riled up and he will drag you to the nearest wall and will take you against it. N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn-offs) Don't disrespect his ego during (or ever for that matter), because he will leave you high and dry. And he won't return for a while. O = Oral (Preference for giving or receiving, skill, etc) He likes to see your mouth on his length, he just wants to see you on your knees as you pleasure him. He gets so turned on just by seeing you take every inch into your mouth. And on occasion, he will treat you by grabbing you by the hips and pulling you up to his mouth. P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Freddy prefers hard and rough, changing his pace from slow at the start to fast and slamming against you. He'd hold onto you so tightly that he'd leave markings on your wrists and hips. Just little gifts to let you know who you belong to. Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) Oh, he likes those for sure, and he never really tires out, so one quickie can turn into several. He likes to tease you with them and leave you a mess until he comes back to give you a full course 'meal'. R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) He's definitely into risks, he really doesn't have much to lose nor does he feel much pain in his realm, so whatever you want to suggest, he'll be into it. Just ask. S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...) If you take a dream demon times 10 and ask if he has stamina, you better believe he does. He can fuck you until your legs don't even work properly, don't test him. T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) If you bring it up, he will definitely add some spice to the bedroom and could possibly produce one or two toys, much to your surprise. If he has some special fucking planned for you that night, he'll love to see you get double penetrated.   U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Oh, don't say something he won't like, because he will punish you for it, sweetheart. He will leave you there, a panting and sweating mess as you almost cry while calling out his name to finish you. He will go on for hours until you're almost too exhausted to even continue. V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) Growls, grunts, breathy moans, you name it. He's vocal and almost primal. W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) NN Freddy will want to see you wearing some fishnet stockings with some tall leather boots on. He would gift these things to you to wear for him when you're feeling extra spicy because he would kill to see you beg for his cock when you're wearing those. X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants) Thick and slightly bigger than average. He knows how to work what he's packing. Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Pretty fuckin' high, so good luck keeping up with that. Z = ZZZ (... how quickly they fall asleep afterward) NN Fred doesn't need sleep, but he'll lay there for a bit until you fall asleep, then he'd tuck you in and let you rest. Sometimes when he lets his guard down, he'll tuck that stray lock of hair behind your ear and give you a small smile.

[wolf-in-a-suit]

How to feed your new teenager

Show: Teen Wolf

Summary: Coach Finstock just wanted to pop open a beer and watch the game: Loafing on his couch late into the night. Little did he know that Sheriff Stilinski would swoop in and leave him with an odd teenager to take care of, namely you! Now the question is: Will both of you make it through the weekend without killing each other?

Can be read as the second part 2 of A gift for coach or as a stand-alone.

A low growl pierced the darkening evening sky. Your head hung low, obscuring the flashing yellow eyes and fangs that your rage awoke. For the spectators of the Lacrosse game, against St Hart, you were doubled over; clutching your stomach after the heavy tackle you received. "I'm sorry little girl, but that's how the big boys play!" The player that committed the foul boasted, blocking the glow of the floodlights and casting your form in shadow. That's it! Scott's ‘no-murder-policy’ wasn't worth this; you would teach that ass a lesson! The next growl shaking your frame stopped the still grinning douche in his tracks. Here was his chance: ‘Let it go, run home to mummy!’

Human instinct was astonishing: It could warn your clueless brain from things you weren’t even aware of existed; it was the last remain of a time before our evolutionary advancement. In this case: Douche felt his hairs stand up, and he took an involuntarily step back. But then his highly developed brain, registered that his buddies were watching; and his action could be interpreted as weakness. So his advanced brain decided on the only logical approach in this situation:

"Are you gonna cry now, little one?" That's it! The beast inside you took over and you started advancing. Just a few more steps, your claws now fully extracted. You raised your hand, ready to tear through red flesh and bones. Just three more steps, two… one. Suddenly the weight of two persons crashed into your side. Tumbling down you found yourself, face in the mud, for the second time, since you had replaced Greenberg-what a heroic image you must project! The concerned faces of Scott and Stiles appeared in your vision, blocking your murderous stare to your-soon-to-be-victim. "Okay, ___ just as we practiced." Stiles voice was unusual high and rushed. "Breathe in and out. In and out!" Your unnatural eyes now focused on his pale face, irises shrinking to needles.

"Stiles if you make this sound like a pregnancy course: I'm gonna kill you instead!" But you felt the wolf receding, the glow of your eyes losing their intensity. The jittery boy raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, seems like she's back to threatening me again… so: Totally rational and normal state of mind, apparently."

Scott ignored the exchange and waved for a replacement. "You best get out of the game for now." He pulled you up and patted your back. "You did well! You'll get the hang of it soon enough." Like hell, you did! You messed up and let the impostor inside you gain control again. "What the hell are you doing? Get your butt off the field! Are your planning on having a tea party there?" Dejected you jogged of the field, Coach Finstock already hollering at the top of his lungs. "Look here: This isn't one of these ‘I'm-to-posh-to-get-my-hands-dirty-sports’, so until you can take a hit: You're not gonna make first line! Understood?" Somehow, due to his warm and nurturing personality, the man always managed to make letting the wolf loose seem like a perfectly justified action. You just gave an aggressive ruck of your head indicating you understood and put as much distance between the two of you as the bleachers allowed. Thump. With too much force you threw yourself into a seat, sporting an expression that promised a slow and painful death for anyone having the suicidal idea of talking to you.

A hand on your shoulder made you startle and turn, eyes flashing yellow for a brief moment again. That was until you saw Lydia’s sympathetic face. „ Don't blame yourself; your instincts are just a little bit harder to fight than those of Scott and the others." You crossed your arms and growled: "Yeah, but I shouldn't mess up like this. I hate that thing inside me." Lydia cocked her head and seemed to come to conclusion: "Maybe that's exactly the problem: You don't accept the wolf as part of you: … so the two of you are caught in a tug of war." "Yeah your right! I'll never accept this thing as a part of me. It's a curse! ... When did you become the werewolf therapist anyway?" You pressed through clenched teeth. "Oh honey, its kind of part of the job description, being friends with you lot." She smiled when this received a snort from you, but the worried look haunting her brown eyes never vanished.

"So what’s the new drama, that can’t wait till the weekend to kick our asses?" You’re drawled strolling into the McCall home. "Somebody is in a great mood." Stiles greeted you with thumbs up. "I love that lifting spirit of yours, it's just so… motivating."

"What can I say: Fighting supernatural monsters with you and getting yelled at by Coach just formed me into that beautiful flower I am today." A few seconds later the door opened to reveal Parrish and Mr. Stilinski. "Wow, must be worse than I thought if you two are involved as well." When your look fell to the bandaged arm of Parrish you couldn’t help but chuckle.

Which resulted in everyone starring at you like you had lost your last marbles. As usual Lydia was the first going off. "What is wrong with you? Parrish could have been seriously hurt by that monster!" You held up your hands in what hopefully resembled a nonthreatening pose: Bad enough you didn't had the beast under control- god help if they thought you were a psychopath too! Being an apologetic murder machine was simply a faux pas in this town, being a dick was what drove people away. "No I... I just thought about how that thing can't be a Marley fan."

Now that, was an awkward pause! Obviously you were good with punching people: With a punchline- you looked at the vacant stares-not so much. A throaty laugh cut through the heavy air. Sheriff Stilinski rapped his knuckles on the kitchen table. "Good one kid." The weirded out expressions now turned to him, he just said. "It's a song: 'I shot the sheriff'." From across the room you shyly sang "but I didn't shoot the deputy..."

Lydia’s expression turned from weirded out, to angry, to confused and at your singing: Yep! There was the anger again- you really knew how to calm a situation. "We have a skin changer on our hands, targeting Finstock and you are making song references?" You shrank back because no power in the world, not even a werewolf, would cross Lydia Martin when angry. "Sorry, so what’s a skin changer and what does it want from Coach?" Here Scott, grateful for the change in topic, chimed in: "It can transform into any person, if it had long enough skin to skin contact with it." Gagging sounds drifted through the living room, Stiles and your vivid imagination gracing you with disturbing pictures. Scott ignored this: "All we know is that they seem prone to obsess about a potential victim and then... well... kill it..."

"Gut it… to be precise, and you wouldn't believe the pictures you find researching that. There was this one where…" "Stiles!" A chorus of voices interrupted his rambling with urgency. "So how do we hunt this thing and protect Coach at the same time?" All eyes drifted to you. "Guys I don't like it when you do that! You still owe my car a cleanup, and it makes me nervous!" Lydia smiled "Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?" ‘She’s just sore because she didn't get the Dylan reference’, shot through your head when they started their plan of hell. Throwing you into the deep end, once more.

Robert Finstock was many things: An econ teacher, coach... well perhaps not that many things, but the point was no one would believe that he willingly accepted to put up with teens, in his free time. The call had come late into the night. The Sheriff’s department having the audacity of asking if he could house a troubled teen for a few nights. Of course, he said yes instantly, because he was just that great of a guy.

"Are you nuts? First calling so late at night and then asking me something like this? Who am I, mother Teresa?"  A deep suffering sigh drifted through the receiver. Sheriff Stilinski was too old for this. "Look Mr. Finstock we don’t have any other options at our hands, at such a short notice and you have the trust building certificate for troubled teens." Damn, Bobby knew this would come to haunt him some day. Back then it seemed like a good way to skip school, for the seminar, for a week- well… that turned out great! After what felt like hours of a snarky Phone battle, Finstock caved. "Alright bring them over." The annoying shrill of his door bell tore through the divine quiet, reigning over his small house. Bobby sighed once more, putting his head in his hands he lowly chanted to himself:" You're a responsible adult! You can do this!" He taught those little sacks of hormones each day, taking care of a teen at home couldn't be that much harder, right!? He opened the door. Well, scratch the last thought: Before him stood ___, his most stubborn and defensive student. Her emotional stability was always up for debate. Perfectly civil in one moment, ‘don’t speak to me or I’ll count your intestines’ in the other. Plus he still hadn't forgotten her crying over her B, in econ for heaven’s sake! She didn't seem too happy with the arrangement either, or the glaring-making the girl from the exorcist seem cute in comparison- was just her way of saying hello. Sheriff Stilistiki watched the starring battle taking place on the front porch. Somehow he questioned if this really was a solid plan. Finstock needed protection and ___ needed a home, for Christ’s sake, the girl slept in the woods and refused help from anybody. So making her Finstocks bodyguard would kill two birds with one stone. Although seeing these two looking at each other, he was questioning if he should have brought chalk along, for the outline of one…, perhaps two bodies. ‘Just roll with it and see what happens.’ He shoved the girl over the threshold- forceful nurturing pedagogy was in vogue these days- and unloaded a stack of paperwork in Robert Finstock’s arms. "I need these signed by you and..." here he leaned in "please keep an eye on her... she's prone to wandering off." Then the Sheriff scurried off in the fastest possible way that still his dignity as law enforcer allowed. Both victims staring after him with a similar mindset: ‘My hero!’.

And that was how Bobby’s Friday night suddenly blessed him with the presence of a teenager, he was supposed to take care of. The awkward silence stretching over the unvacuumed floor was truly unnerving. ‘Come on Bobby, give her a chance, be the bigger man.’

"So I'm not actually sure what to, ..." a sudden cheering erupted from the television. Great now he missed a goal! But his newly acquired charge seemed to perk up at the sound. "You're watching the World Cup?" "Yeah I'm a coach, so not a long stretch from lacrosse to soccer." For a few seconds she regarded him with an unreadable expression and then nodded to herself, flopped down on his couch and watched the game. Bobby had the sudden feeling he had passed some kind of test... That was his freaking home! He should be the one to test her! Right!? Shrugging he entered the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"Yeah a whiskey would be great." When the man whipped his head around, a reprimanding speech already on his lips, the girl threw him a cocky grin over the couch. "Relax Coach, just a joke. Anything is fine." This would be one, hella long week! "Damn it, pass the ball, you bastard!" "That's what you call dribbling? My ma can do better than that!" Two voices competing with the sport reporter’s, were the only thing filling the darkened house for the next two hours. The final seconds ticked, number 21 passed to 10, who stretched his foot and... "GOAL!" Four arms flew into the air as the pair howled. The blue glow of the TV painting shadows on their excited faces. "YES! That means we're in the next round!" The excitement still lingered in ___’s voice. Bobby grinned "Damn right, these croissant lovers don't stand a chance!”

When the rush of victory ebbed away, some of the awkwardness crept back to take its place. "I suppose I should show you to your room then..." "Yeah, that would be... a good idea." The rays of the dawning of a new day illuminated Finstocks room and greeted him with a soft caress on his face. "Motha fuckin' light… „Was the only greeting grumbled back. He stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen. Everything was as it had been: Half eaten back of chips: Check; Decaying fruit- so his mother, visiting him last week, couldn't screech at his unhealthy life style: Check; Teen looking like the living dead, chewing on something: Check. Wait, what?

Ah, now that explained why he was in a worse mood than usual, and his brain already asked if 9 pm was an appropriate time to start with drinking. "What are you even eating there? I don't remember having anything remotely looking like nourishment in my freezer?" He poured himself from the already brewing coffee-at least she had a grasp on the most basic survival skills. The girl in question shrugged and answered around a mouthful of, only god knew what: "There was some toast. Most of it had mold all over it, but this one seemed alright."

"Jesus, spit that out! What is wrong with you?" The old glare was finally back, and she resumed munching aggravating slowly, making it a point to swallow audibly- and here he thought they had made progress. "Kid, I don't want the Sheriff on my ass, because you died due to some biological hazard in my fridge! So let's get dressed." ‘That,... probably wasn't the best idea.’ Bobby thought as the waitress taking their order started gushing: "It's so cute to see a father treating his daughter to a big breakfast." He watched the teen eye the sunshine of a woman with distrust in her eyes and... was she sniffing her!? What was wrong with that kid? When their orders finally arrived, ___ went at it with gusto: Almost inhaling a whole stack of pancakes, at once. "What is up with you eating everything put before you, like a vacuum cleaner?" At this, the kid faced him and said. "Well you get used to just grabbing what you can when you live outdoors." "Outdoors?" Now he was concerned. That was a reason to be concerned, right? "Yeah I mostly just crash in the woods at night. It's kind of nice there." Coach Finstock’s brain had to take a few seconds to reboot. When the system was running again he leaned in and for the first time wore something that sure felt like a ‘responsible caretaker expression’: "You can't tell me that you lived in the WOODS, since you started at the school this year? That's dangerous! And where do you shower?" "It's not that bad... campers do it all the time and I just sneak into my friends home to shower." At this she grinned "Stiles almost fell down the stairs in shock, when he finally caught me."

What was he going to do with that girl? He couldn't even handle a normal teenager, but this... he wasn't the right one for this. Bobby was sure someone was required here, who was good with that ‘touchy-feely-let's-talk-about-it-stuff’. After they left the dinner, a small mumbled thanks almost made him stop in his tracks. "What for?" "For not asking more about my family." Everyone in Beacon High would testify to their Coach not having a slither of compassion: He was the trainer of warriors, proud Spartans, but here he felt the small admission tugging at his heart strings. "Sure thing." He tried to sound nonchalant. It wasn't as bad as he initially thought it would be. It was kind of like having a German shepherd, with the kid’s demeanor: Sniffing the air, or her general protectiveness, no one could blame him for making that comparison. While buying groceries- Bobby didn’t need a repeat of the ‘toast incident’- the girl even tackled a guy to the ground, who simply bumped shoulders with him. For that he set her straight in front of the whole store. Now, if he just could get her to show such a tackle on the Lacrosse field- but it probably wouldn’t fasten his stance, mentioning it now. The poor tackled fella had run straight out of the shop.

Then there was the incident with the mail. Finstock opened the door in order to accept the package and in an instant ___ was next to him. Mustering the mail guy and doing that weird sniffing thing again. He had never seen a postman be on his way so fast. That was it! "Now look here Buster! If I wanted a freaking dog, I would have bought one! So, what's your deal with attacking random strangers and scaring away the postman?" Her eyebrows rose in question:" Buster?" Two could play that game. "Why, you prefer Lassie?" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Just looking out for you coach! There are strange people in Beacon Hills." Now that was just cute: One day with him, and she already attacked strangers. He wondered what would happen after a week. You were beat. First a guy had walked into Finstock. Not unusual but you smelled it, before you saw the long clawed hands making a grab for Coaches throat. Your body had acted, before any coherent thought could be formed. You barreled straight into the skin changer. Both of you skidding into the row of baking goods. Scrambling up, a cloud of flour wavering over the ground, you felt the wolf fight for control. ‘Not here, what if you go nuts and hurt somebody?’ The ‘skin thing’ saw his chance in your hesitation and bailed. 'Prey! Hunt it!' The beast inside growled. Before you could come to any kind of decision, Coach had moved into your line of sight and started a hollering fest, right then and there. The vein on his forehead, becoming more prominent with each shout. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Scott used exactly this moment to be flung against the store’s window, sliding down slowly, so before Finstock could turn at the sound, you had to grasp his attention anew: "I'm... eh..." Now Derek Hale joined the fight, proud and erect he stood his ground- and two seconds later he joined Scott in an undignified heap, on the sidewalk. "I'm having anger management issues! “ The man before you sported a confused look, regarding your smaller than normal frame, but than his eyes settled on the place you had barreled head first into the mountain of a guy. "Great... anything else you wanna share?" "Well..." "THAT WAS A RETHORICAL QUESTION!" So here we go again: While coach was at it, your unwanted house guest raised its head. 'Can we kill him now?' So you made it out of the grocery store with maximal embarrassment, and empty hands skin-changer wise: So that had been a productive day! Two hours later the mail showed up and something smelled fishy about the guy, so you stood behind Coach threatening. It turned out that the mail guy just forgot to use body spray... ugh. At the end of the day you were exhausted lounging on the couch. Your eyelids were getting heavier, until darkness engulfed you. The slow, almost silent creaking of a door, footsteps inching closer to the stairwell were the only harbingers of the intrusion. Your bleary eyes opened to blackness, where were you? Tap, tap. Ah, at Coach's. You felt a warm fabric tucked around you, he must have thrown a blanket over you. A rare smile graced your face. Tap, Tap. Wait what was that? You strained your ears. The creaking of the staircase. ‘Coach?’ No, far too heavy. The metallic ring of clawed hands grabbing the doorknob to Finstock's room send you barreling from the couch. In three strides you were up the staircase and grabbed the skin-changer. Both of you struggled. There was no way you could beat that thing. Strong hands crushed your arms. So in a desperate attempt to get it away from the room, you grabbed the not quite right face of the creature and plunged yourself down the stairs, pulling it along. The weight of your bodies making a hollow sound, with each stair’s stinging impact. Claws scratched at your face. You fought back with everything but the thing was gaining the upper hand easily!

"I swear to god, if this isn't super important I'm going to degrade you in school... or something!“ With a flick the lights overhead flared to live, illuminating you fighting the mountain of a guy. "What the HELL! Leave her alone!" Finstock hastily made his way downstairs. 'Let me out' the wolf screams resonated inside your very bones. 'I'll kill it!'

Deadly scratches and punches flew through the air. You felt it pushing you back into the direction of Coach. With one strong whip it sent you flying across the room like a rag doll, crashing into the TV. "You son of a bitch!" Finstock screamed and swung his fist. The skin-changer made a cackling sound that was anything but human. The not man caught the humans fist with ease and grabbed his neck. Squeezing. Waking from your stupor, to the sound of Coach gasping for air, wheezing and struggling you pleaded "Please don't hurt Coach!" The thing with a shape only mocking a human laughed at your cries for mercy. "You think pleading will deter me from killing my trophy, you foolish girl?" It mocked. Your head whipped up revealing a set of blazing yellow eyes, piercing through the darkened room. "I wasn't talking to you!" With an impossible lunge you and the monster flew into the wall. Bobby Finstock tumbled down, gasping for air. Your strikes were fast as lightning, your senses in overdrive: Smelling an incoming punch, hearing the shifting in the stance of your opponent and the increasing rustling of his lungs.

When the spinning room started to slow down Bobby startled at the crash of his front door being broken down. A brigade of teenagers as well as adults stormed in. With his hazy vision he could make out Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski, the Deputy-what’s-his-name and the two Hale brothers. The sounds of fighting and screaming cut through the cotton laced around his consciousness. The kid! He tried to scramble back up but two sets of hands held him down. “Let me go dammit!” The scared faces of his students, Stiles- the bane of his existence- and Lydia Martin, the smarty pants, hovered near him. “Coach, everything is going to be alright. The others are helping ___.” The girl knew how to calm someone down. “Yeah, she’s going to be alright… probably.” The curse of his teacher life: not so much.

With the splintering sound of his backdoor and the thumping of feet being swallowed by the night, the house was engulfed in a silence once again. However, for Robert Finstock it couldn’t be further from the former peaceful atmosphere. Dread clawed form his gut and grabbed his throat in a vice grip. Once more he had the feeling of being chocked to death. Shoving Lydia and Stiles to the side he scrambled to the kitchen. The kid was slumped against a counter holding her bleeding side, eyes closed in pain. The Sheriff tried to hold him back. “She’s dangerous now.” But he couldn’t care less. He rushed to the girl’s side and was taken aback when she opened one eye, acknowledging his presence. The yellow hue hadn’t been there before had it? He could have sworn her eye color was… He became aware of the Sheriff Stilinski hovering behind him with a shotgun, trained on her.

At this Bobby whirled around, unleashing all the fury of a Coach ascended from the fiery abyss: “What the hell is wrong with you!? Training that thing on a teenager?”

Sheriff Stilinski regarded the man, positioning himself between his gun and the werewolf probably ready to kill him. Every fiber of his body clenched, ready for doing the unthinkable. But he admired the other man’s bravery. “It’s alright Dad. I think we’re good for now.” Stiles piped up behind him, watching the scene unfold over the Sheriff’s shoulder. Father and son exchanged a look and the gun was lowered hesitatingly. There was a triumphant look flashing trough the coaches brown orbs. “What are you waiting for: Call an ambulance! God, you suck at your job!” And with that, the man fell in his esteem once again.

Hazy figures and shades passed around your hazy vision. When you regained some form of lucidity Lydia and Stiles sat next to you holding a makeshift bandage, consisting of Finstock’s favorite Soccer Jersey, to your wound. Deep red stains covered the soft white fabric- boy, Coach would be happy about this. “Hey.” Lydia’s soft voice was a faint, refreshing breeze on a hot summer day. “How are you holding up?” Chuckling let an intense wave of pain wash over you. “Got almost killed by a monster; Destroyed Coach’s house: You know the usual, just peachy.”

“On the bright side: …” She ignored your sarcasm. “You seem to have found your anchor.” At your questioning gaze she rummaged in her pocket and held a small mirror in front of you. Yellow eyes stared back. “I’m… still…?” The old excitement took hold of Stiles again. “One hundred percent werewolf, but still not tearing us to shreds, yes! To think that of all the people Coach would be your anchor.” He threw a look over his shoulder seeing said man approaching with urgency, paramedics in tow, all the while berating them for their ‘slow assed work ethic’. “On the other hand, the two of you are just such lovely and deeply understanding people: So, maybe that’s it.” The punch Stiles received lacked all its usual strength.

Under the sharp eyes of Finstock you were put on a stretcher and carried out. He followed, the at this point really annoyed, medics to the ambulance. “Don’t worry kid. You’ll be alright.” Straining your neck to look at him you replied: “Shame that I’ll miss the match against France.” “What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes narrowed. “No sissing out now! Once your back home, there is no way I’m letting you miss it!” Your eyes widened. “Home?!”

“Well, don’t think I’m going to let you leave, before you paid all those repairs for everything you trashed!” At your groan the scowl, normally coming so easy to his face wavered. “By the way, you irresponsible brat destroyed my TV, so I guess I’ll have to suffer you, while watching it in the hospital!”