#it was three days of barely doing anything but coding and optimizing this

[starburstgalexies]

I found out one of my rejections is because, the program I wrote alone over 3 days, was not efficient enough.

Brother if you want anything better

give me more time

pay me

[miqojak]

Layers Upon Layers

one: outside layer

[Name:] "Jak." [Hair Style & colour:] "Black and orange. I wear it pulled back and braided." [Eye Color:] "Gold and jade green." [Height:]  "Fuck if I know exactly. Under five fulms." (4'9") [Style:] "Depends on the day. Maybe the hour. Leather and mini-skirts are always a good bet, though. Sometimes a nice suit, sometimes my bike gear, sometimes a little something more form-fitting, elegant and gilded - 'desert chic', I suppose." [Best Physical Feature:] "Definitely my ass...though my legs cut it close, on that one. What do you think?"

two: inner layer

[Fears:] "You ask that and actually expect people to tell you?" (Small/enclosed spaces with no readily available exit, levin, Garleans, people getting too close to her/seeing who she really is) [Guilty Pleasure:] "People feel guilty for what they like? Who's going to judge me, the sheep who can't come up with a single original thought of their own, and feel guilty if they do?" [Biggest Pet Peeve:]  "Biggest...that's tough, actually. Probably blithe optimism, or naivete. People too ignorant, or unwilling to ask questions and look deeper - or those simply unwilling to face hard truths. There can never be any growth if you aren't honest with yourself, after all. Unmotivated slackers. If you have no goals, why are you wasting this star's air?" [Ambition for the Future:] "To be feared and respected in equal measure. I've been pushed around for a long time, and now it's my turn."

three: thoughts

[First Thought When Waking Up:] "Probably...my to-do list for the day? That or wondering what the weather is like, and whether or not I'll be going on my usual morning run or be stuck working out indoors. That or 'Huh, they haven't killed us all yet.'" [What You Think About the Most:] "What my next step is in life - how I want to pursue that power I'm after without compromising who I am...and how the fuck I ended up with someone who actually cares about me in my life while distinctly trying to avoid that type of thing...and why he stuck around. I wonder about the 'why' a lot." [What You Think About Before Bed:] "Depends on the day, and what's happened, and if I'm headed there alone. If I'm not alone, it's probably something to the effect of 'I still can't believe he wants to be here/wants me to be here'. And whether or not I'm alone...there's always the nagging, ugly reminder that Garlemald's towers sit hunched in the sky, ready to end everything for everyone - predator and prey alike. It could be the last night for any of us." [Your Best Quality Is:] "My ass. But other than that...well, I'm honest, and my loyalty can't be bought. I'm not a good person, but I have my own...'code', in a sense, I guess."

four: what’s better

[Single or Group Dates?] "Group dates sound like a punishment. I can barely stand the slack-jawed idiots around me as it is. Though undoubtedly the punishment would be upon the others, considering who my date would be, and the fact that we'd probably spend the time verbally destroying the other couple." [To be Loved or to be Respected?] "Respected. Love without respect is horrifying. I've been there, I've suffered it, and I'm still recovering. But I still...don't know that I believe in love. At least not how most people do, I guess. Love makes people do stupid shit when they believe in it. Respect doesn't. Respect can stand alone, without needing love. Respect has to be earned. There's no claims of 'respect at first sight.' But like I said...love without respect is...ugly. Scary, even." [Beauty or Brains?] "Both, or no deal. Brains are essential, but I can't have a walking pile of dogshit on my arm, now can I?" [Cats or Dogs?] "Neither, I don't do pets - animals are food. But...I suppose I'd say dogs, though you'd probably incorrectly assume cats, based on the fact that I resemble one. But...there's been more 'canines' in my life in the last year or two than I care to recall."

four: do you…

[Lie?] "No. Not unless the situation is dire - my morals don't matter if my life is on the line. Survival comes first always." [Believe in Yourself?] "Much more than I used to. I've accomplished, and survived, more than most could even begin to imagine." [Believe in Love?]  "Not...really? Maybe? Though I'll admit that for all my vehement denial in the past, someone has made me re-examine my emotions in the last half a year or so. I don't think I believe in the sort of 'love' that the general public believes in. I had someone force his fairy tale romance down my throat and do me a lot of harm both physical and mental with those ideals, as he forced me to be someone I wasn't. If adhering to what society expects of love is all that someone cares about - hitting the expected gestures as told in fairy tales? That's about as real as a fever dream. I don't like the word 'love'. Not what it's come to be associated with, and what's expected of you along with it." [Want Someone?] "For the first time in my life...yes. Not that I don't 'have' him as much as I can claim such, but when he's not around, I find that I want him to be. So...yes?"

six: have you ever…

[Been on Stage?] "No? I mean, my organization does run a jazz club, and it's been various theaters before that, and I've...sat on the stage, basked in the spotlight of an empty theater? I prefer to be...less in the actual spotlight, however." [Done Drugs?] "I've only been clean and sober for...maybe a year now? So yeah. I've...done a lot of drugs." [Changed Yourself to Fit In Somewhere?] "I've been a con-artist to put food on the table, but I don't believe in changing who you are to 'fit in.' If you don't fit in...you don't fit in. You are who you are. Being anything else is a lie, and does you a disservice. It's also a pathetic cry for attention - for the other bleating sheep to accept you into their herd. I won't debase myself to 'fit in' with my lessers."

seven: favorite

[Favorite Color:] "Black, white, gold, and red. I don't have just one." [Favorite Food:] "Once more, I don't have just one. I like red meat, I like seafood, and I enjoy rolanberries quite a bit. Of late, I think my current favorite snack is takoyaki though - this fried dough ball with octopus inside...just thinking about it makes my mouth water." [Favorite Game:] "Breaking and entering."

eight: age

[When Your Next Birthday Will Be:] "No idea." [How Old Will You Be?] "No clue. I'm...twenty and four summers, roughly...give or take a couple." [Age You Lost Your Virginity:] "Care to lose yours to one of my knives, here?" [Does Age Matter?]  "Should it? I suppose I'd be a bit baffled to see an old geezer with a hot young thing, but even so...who cares? I haven't exactly had a lot of lovers, but I don't think I ever asked any of them their age. So long as people stay the fuck away from kids, it's a non-issue in my opinion."

nine: in a partner

[Best Personality:] "An unflinching realist who not only faces the truth, but deals it out themselves. Ambition, and the ability to be honest with themselves about who they are." [Best Eye Colour:]  "Who gives a shit? If I find them worthwhile, I'll like their eyes, I assure you." [Best Hair Colour:] "Who's out here checking people off a list because their hair is the wrong color? I mean, after some shit I went through, I might not want to ever see another red-head again, but realistically...who gives a single fuck? I think you're asking the wrong questions here. People often do - too busy dwelling on lust at first sight." [Best Thing to do With a Partner:] "Murder? Crime in general? ...Or a hot bath."

ten: finish the sentence

[I Love…] ...I just told you I don't do love. But...I do love the sun." [I Feel…] everything at once, or nothing at all, it seems." [I Hide…] who I am." [I Miss…] my family." [I Wish…] ...wishes are for simpletons. Actions achieve what you want." Thanks for the tag: @eligos-venator @placesyoucallhome @bek-sc @sundered-souls (I think I found you all who tagged me!)

I am late to this party! Tag yourselves if you want to do it, so I can read your stuff! I feel like most folks have done it, and I'm too brain-dead atm to root around in the bowels of Tumblr to see who hasn't, since I'm many days late! XD

[jiminrings]

could you maybe do something where it’s yoongi in rich boy!jimin’s au and he meets his y/n or a peak into how their relationship would work ? i love you 🥺💚

contact: you

pairing: yoongi x y/n

glimpse: the water’s cold but yoongi makes it warmer; or that piece in which model!yoongi meets his y/n!!

wordcount: 4k

notes: i love you too!!! :D

also, this yoongi comes from insufferable, that rich boy!jimin au!! in this fic we’re all just gonna pretend that yoongi’s PA goes by another name and not y/n :)) yoongi’s y/n is not jimin’s y/n!! pls don’t be confused that’s all hehe // gif isn’t mine!!

there’s a fine line in between compliments and insults

hENCE backhanded compliments

but in a way it’s still a compliment, right???

would it still be a backhanded compliment if you give it to yourself though,,,,, that’s the question

tHREE YEARS IN FILM SCHOOL

you just can’t seem to know whether graduating a year early than intended from film school is a cOMPLIMENT OR AN INSULT

is it an achievement or is it a curse??

ok initially, you were proud from graduating a year early because that meant one less year dedicating yoursef to studies, right???

big wrong :D

that meant you choosing the most cramped schedule with more units than you think is humanely possible

you just cAN’T help wanting to go on with life faster and easier!!! you went with this track anyway so you could become closer to the diRECTOR you’ve always wanted to be

it’s a pretty simple analogy

and u don’t get why people who took the same course as you did, didn’t think as the same way as you do

because like for example

there’s two options to go to your destination

hmmm let’s say it’s to go to the park!!! a rEALLY famous and beautiful park and if you aren’t early enough, then there’d be no place for you to lay a blanket out and properly enjoy it

the first route is a nicely-paved, nicely-leveled and cemented road, but it’s gonna take about twenty minutes because there’s traffic

oR

the second route is a much shorter trip that would take only ten minutes, but the road may be a lil rocky and not all postlamps are lit and there mAY be a crossing chicken or not

of course you’d go for the second route :D

and now you know why much more people wanted to go with the first route aHA

no disrespect to your alma mater or something but that shit sUCKED

sURE they had decent dorms and it was your decision to take the more hectic schedule that meant much less time for you to do basically anything that’s outside of your film degree

it was having instant noodles atleast four out of the seven days in a week and sometimes even skipping that processed goodie because it always felt like you’d have to be hustling

hustling is a very icky word in ur humble opinion but you like saying that now ironically in your quarter-life crisis

it was the “why would i wait to cook this for ten minutes wHEN i could be doing something else more productive iNSTEAD of eating aka delecting food that helps give what i need to atleast enact my motor functions???” thinking

which is unhealthy ok

beyond unhealthy lmao that’s what you’re sure of

and then you graduated film school!!!

the opportunities you were promised of when you were still studying?? aha zero :D

the idea that once you graduate film school and you iMMEDIATELY have the job of whatever you majored such as directing or screenwriting and etc.,,,,, that is a whole load of bull-

:D

it’s a hierarchy

you’ve graduated with LATIN HONORS and u persevered for three years with your major in directing and u wore a really nice dress for your ceremony :))))

and now you’re fetching coffee and making twenty calls in a half hour and running around to set things up :)))))

an intern :)))))

the only ones who immediately become what they’ve studied for has sOME sort of tie and pull to the industry

you may have made a thesis film that’s ranked the highest in the history of all thesis films in your university :)) and you may have had submitted it to film competitions and got approved and got some plaques :)))

but no that doesn’t mean a sINGLE bit once you’re out in the real world

you’re just taking whatever you get

i mean you dID want to work your way up in the film industry

like as in the movie industry??? the one you went to film school for?????

but what you are doing now :)) is working as an intern for this huge company that handles tv commercials and adverts and shoots :))

aHA not exactly the film industry but atleast it’s still within the media industry, right??

right???

pls say right

anyways

the agenda for today is this watch shoot!!

there’s a tv commercial to be produced out of it and there would also be multiple shoots for the models who’d be here

you dressed up extra good today :D

it wouldn’t matter but atleast it’s the thought that counts somehow

your company’s official lanyard kinda sucks and you can’t change the lace for it nO matter what but it’s no pressure!! your outfit’s gonna make up for it

there’s not exactly a dress code for interns,, it just goes for the terms as long as:

a) it’s still work-appropriate

b) this is a simultaneously unspoken yet obvious rule bUt you just need some boundaries,,,, you can’t stroll up into the set looking like the executive producer or the director who looks a lil bit fancy

c) you shouldn’t attract attention so much because you’re an intern :)) even if that iS the sole purpose of the intern because otherwise how would you land a more secure and higher-ranking job???? are they thinking or-

it’s a black shirt!!!

groundbreaking

but it’s a nice black shirt with embroidery in the front!!!

it’s just n i c e embroidered in the front and uH right on the middle of your chest area that’s clothed obviously but that’s cool

simple, casual, effortless, tINY bit fun

you also aren’t an intern with black pants

but no this is a nICER pair of pants

they’re like slacks!! like fitted slacks but not too fitted and not too formal

you wanted to wear it in tan but that’s not exactly optimized for your job because you are literally always in the go

it’s always just ease of movement in your clothes

and if you could dash in them in getting coffee or whatever the fuck the production team wants or look for duct tape and print lacking scripts like a madman, then you’re good to go :D

you caved in buying those nurse shoes that are raved about because you’re on your feet almost 24/7 and slip-on vans would not always save ur life

ur always wearing ankle support socks too because you’d rather look like an athlete misplaced in a commercial shoot rather than crying at home with how sore your body and most eSPECIALLY your legs are

that can’t stop you either

so now,,, you’re wearing cute socks on top of the support

it’s barely noticeable but it’s the effort you put in ok

and to be extra presentable, you traded your digital watch for the day with your watch that looks a little bit more classy with the silver!!!

it’s an analog watch with a really nice and shiny silver watch strap and although normally ur mind takes tWO seconds to buffer and read it as opposed to instantly knowing the exact time with a digital one, it’s worth it :D

it better be

you can get atleast one glance from park jimin and your life would be forever fulfilled

you signed a non-disclosure agreement once it was presented because after all

wHO WOULDN’T GUSH WHEN THEY KNEW THE LINE-UP FOR THIS SHOOT????

park jimin!!!

kim taehyung!!!

jung hoseok!!!

that’s the only three you knew so far

because they said that you’d know the other ones who are participating for the shoot once it actually happens

and that could mean two things

either you don’t know them at all oR they’d be really really famous and this ensures that you wouldn’t breach the nda you signed

hmmmm jimin’s kinda cute you’re not gonna lie :))

you can’t laze around in the job though because your walkie-talkie’s already bearing your name again and you’re being summoned now

this may be a blessing in disguise tho

you’re one of the interns who get called and noticed frequently and although that means mORE WORK, that also means you’re more trusted and more likely to secure the job you’re aspiring for!!!

“Y/N. There’s some extra copies of the shoot schedule by one of the makeup tables. Bring it over to me in the brief room.”

“of course!!! :D”

that’s one of your favorite producers specifically calling for you in the radio

he also talks very formally

you’ve always been a little bit close to mr. hyun bin because you were a bit of the teacher’s pet back in uni!!! he served as a professor while also being a producer and HE’S the reason you got accepted immediately as an intern here anyway!!

they’re always in the blue folders and that’s what you’re looking for very eagerly right now

because uHHHH there seems to be about a hundred makeup tables right now and mr. hyun didn’t exactly specify where

ok now where could that be

okay no it’s not on the table

lmao you find them sitting by a chair in front of the makeup table and you need to get it before someone sITS and dents the folder because mr. hyun gets a bit cranky when the folder isn’t smooth

“But the folder’s job is to keep the documents inside it smooth. If the folder’s damaged, then that also means that the contents inside it, is also damaged to a degree.”

no he said that

he literally said that once

if you could read thoughts in the air then mr. hyun probably speaks in proper punctuation AND capitalization

you found the schedule

and you also found this guy dressed in a really nice suit who looks very breathtaking

.... and is frustrated?

NOW HE LOOKS VERY FAMILIAR!!! you just can’t remember the name right now

he must be a talent because no one else is wearing the same suit that he is and his visuals are just beyond gorgeous so that must be it

he’s hunched on his makeup chair alone???

and there’s something on his hand and he keeps dipping his finger to his cupped hand and keeps squinting to the mirror in front of him and

oh

OH

“do you need help, sir?”

yoongi almost jumps out from his chair because oh my god are you-

oh huh.,., you’re not his personal assistant

you see

contact lens would be the absolute BANE of yoongi’s whole existence

he just can’t put it in

he’s said that sO many times to people who find him frustrating over it and whenever they make a “that’s what she said” joke it just makes him want to poke his eyeballs

“no, no. uh it’s okay!! i just can’t aGH shit i just need to learn how to put these cursed contacts in.”

oh he’s cute

like real cute

“name?”

wait wHAT

he’s a bit perplexed because why are you asking for his name

and uh quick question wHY don’t you know his name

not to brag but yoongi,,,, he knows to himself that he’s a world-renowned model!!! he’s done countless shoots!!! he’s appeared in so many things!!!!! why don’t you-

ok he’s being a little bit boastful in his head now

“min yoongi.”

he just states his name and he doesn’t get how would that help with his problem right now

you’ve asked because you’re searching for his name by the schedule and you’re just absent-mindedly muttering his name as you search for it

“min yoongi min yoongi min yOU OH!!! oh!!!! min yoongi!!!!!”

lmao alright that’s it

you remember him immediately and it clicks with you that oh my god this is min yoongi!!!!

that’s the reaction he was initially looking for but it’s okay he’s just gonna be humble about it

“okay well first of all, it says here that you’re about to be called in nine minutes from now so hOW about i just give you a hand, hmm??”

that is not exactly a request

because even before yoongi could like half-heartedly agree (he wants to do it so badly but he can’t) and thank you, you’re already pulling his palm towards yours

“the solution’s drying out,,, how long have you been trying to get it in?”

he hears you ask him in a teasing voice and he kinda frowns at that because well NOW he’s too embarrassed to answer :((

you’re wordlessly grabbing the solution that’s on his desk before you squirt some on your curved palm and plucking out the lens that used to be on his palm

“you have to clean it first.”

“mhmm....,., yes.,.,.., i know that.”

a little bit

jUST a little bit

“you clean it first in these motions, see?? don’t rub it clockwise or anything like that”

ooh so that’s how it goes

he doesn’t want to be rude but he thinks that you’re not the director of this shoot

and there’s nothing bad about that!!!! he just wouldn’t know how to feel if the director were to see him frustrated over contact lens and they’d be the one to do it for him

“pick it up like a bowl!! make sure that the ends of it turn iNWARDS, okay?? inwards!!! if the ends poke out then it would literally hurt so much and maybe you’d be blind”

oh

YOONGI DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT UNTIL NOW

so that’s where he went wrong for like five times,,,,,

“never put it in dry, okay? otherwise it would hurt too.”

that’s it yoongi’s taking this girl’s words down

he doesn’t know wHO you are but he appreciates you

“now tilt your head down a little bit for me :))”

yoongi bows his head and it kinda makes you snort because he was serious with that one

“nO NO just a little bit, mr. min.”

you have your thumb on his chin just to get it to the right position

he will d-word right now oh my god is he a dummy

how could you pOSSIBLY put the contacts on him if his head was hung that low

in any angle though, he looks so nice

he has long eyelashes too and they’re pointing downwards so that may add on to his problem

“now look up”

whew oh god you need to avert your eyes a little bit because you’re just realizing now that this is mIN YOONGI you’re dealing with right now

“or at me!! yeah that would work too :))”

yoongi’s just killing it with his social cues huh :)))))))))

you’re placing delicately the lens by his sclera and yoongi kinda panics and is at the same excited because this is dEFINITELY HAPPENING

“ok calm dOWN and now move your eye until the contact clings and keep moving it still even if you’ve got it already for like eight seconds!!!”

he did it

well technically yOU DID IT

BUT STILL!!!!!

“oh my god that is the qUICKEST thing ever omg now the other eye!! do the other eye!!! :D”

he’s so giddy over you putting on his contact lens and he doesn’t even know you and you just feel so familiar to him!!

yoongi trusts you with his contact lens and that’s enough trust you’d ever need

“aaaaand we’re done!! :D”

“thank you!! what’s your n-“

alright that is mr. hyun asking for a follow-up in the walkie-talkie by asking where’s the schedules and that means you immediately have to dash to the briefing room :))

yoongi didn’t even catch your name :((

you didn’t even get to say goodbye to him :((

you didn’t get to see yoongi for the rest of the shoot because after you’ve delivered the papers, you were then summoned to take care of the catering company that’s gonna do it’s second rounds and to facilitate whatever they needed to do :((((

it’s a bummer though

you dIDN’T even get to see the actual shoot get done because you were too busy verifying the payments if those fish fingers are really priced like that in the receipt you were given :((

you’re probably never gonna see him again

there’s another shoot you’ve been called for again the next week and this time, it was for a luxury brand that’s releasing it’s summer line and the settings for it were a beach AND a swimming pool

they couldn’t have just become satisfied with a beach and had to add on a fancy pool filled with chlorine and then more chlorine for the sets

“Y/N, do you know how to swim?”

mr. hyun asks you so casually as your only task as of now is to stand beside him as he lists things and you check it off in your clipboard

“hmm. i do know how to swim, mr. hyun, but not professionally, y’know?? they don’t exactly teach dives in film school”

he laughs at that and you smile at that because good for you :))

“Good. Because we’re gonna need someone to keep these floaties still, and the lifeguard’s out, and here’s a rashguard.”

what

what in the actual fUCK

you see

although this is for a summer line and a summer shoot

yOU’RE SHOOTING IN JANUARY

and you came into work today not thinking that you’re gonna be in a frEEZING pool wearing a rashguard underneath your shirt to keep these floaties still!!!!

you love your job you love your job you love your job!!!!!

maybe if you say it enough, it’s gonna come true!!!!!

“oH ITS YOU AGAIN!!!”

hold up

that’s

“yoongi????”

“cONTACT GIRL!!!!!”

the both of you are genuinely surprised to see each other ok

at this point, you should automatically assume that yoongi would always be the undisclosed model in your shoots

you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down on you because CLEARLY he is not in the freezing pool as you are

“i’d let you put in my contacts right now, but it doesn’t exactly make a good addition to chlorine :]”

the water’s freezing but yoongi just makes it warmer :))

mr. hyun’s saying the directions to you as to where in the pool you should place yoongi and the floatie’s slippery and you dON’T want to risk getting the clothes wet because it’s not intended.,..,. even if this is a summer shoot

he has a tough crowd (you) and you’re just kinda deadpanning because you now feel you aRE a little bit embarrassed even if this is your job and u shouldn’t be

“i’m kidding!! jus kidding :D”

humor doesn’t exactly click when you’re about waist-deep and aBOUT to be shoulder-deep into freezing cold water

and now since you look a fool, you’re just gonna deal with the slippery floatie and yoongi notices so he’s the one who takes your hand instead as he nudges you to move

:] i was just joking pls don’t hate me :]

you stop the moment mr. hyun says sTOP that’s perfect and before you could awkwardly waddle yourself away from the camera’s view-

“is your face just good and the sunscreen you used is matte, or do you just not have any sunscreen on??”

yoongi asks with much concern as if it’s the most important thing in the world and he doesn’t have a shoot to do

“i don’t have-...”

“no? oh come on, contact girl!! come here for a second!!!”

you look to mr. hyun because Sir is it really and he’s just screaming back with his eyes going gO COME TO MIN YOONGI

you’re confused and before you know it, yoongi’s reaching for you and digging into his pocket and-

“sunscreen stick!! the sun’s always there even if it’s freezing, y’know?”

this time, it’s yoongi tilting your chin up and very delicately swipes the stick on your face and even taps it in

:))

“all done!! let’s start the shoot!!”

he claps up and everybody gets into position and you have to waddle back to your spot awkwardly with your cheeks heating up

you don’t know if it’s yoongi’s power move to swipe his own sunscreen sticks on people but it fEELS LIKE IT IS

he’s very well-aware of what he’s done and he now has every intention to ask you what’s your name after this

although tHAT doesn’t happen again because now mr. hyun’s telling you to come up and get all dried down because after this, he’s gonna need you to ask the front desk if you could access more of their amenities for the sudden changes in the shoot :(((

yoongi almost doesn’t want to leave the set because you’re out again :((( and he still hasn’t had the chance to ask you your name

uGH it’s just so unfair :(((

you feel the same way and you just wanna see him!!! even if he’s only gonna tease you for most of the time and you’re gonna be a blushing mess throughout!!!

you’re cranky ok

you’re more cranky than how mr. hyun gets with dented folders

you’ve had two back-to-back shoots this week and you’ve only had ONE hour of sleep for the whole time

seriously

not to mention that you thought you’d also see yoongi in atleast one of those projects :(( but it was a no-go either

your job is just sO demanding

it starts earlier and ends later than how the printed schedules say and is much more different than the talent’s

speaking of talents, these artists are just pure out LATE and not only are they setting a bad impression on the director!!!!

but they are also the reason for the bane of your existence!!!you call their drivers non-stop to ask for the whereabouts and to adjust the catering’s schedule and the amends that you need to make for people

they make your job harder and your hours longer and your fatigue greater

you actually feel like you’re gonna pASS OUT

mr. hyun’s the one who’s assigning you to these projects and as MUCH as you’re thankful because that means better pay and more exposure and more experience,,, he’s really not seeing the fatigue he’s putting you thru right now

you forgot your ankle support,,,, you have nOT eaten three meals today,,,, you haven’t drank water for hours,,,,, you fEEL like you’re gonna pass out

and someone’s just called you over again to deliver these hair pins to this specific trailer asap and oh god your ankles are just gonna fall off at this point

ok quick knock and you enter and-

“hmm?? oh, it’s okay!! we don’t need it anymore. someone else already brought in new ones :))”

fu-

“cONTACT GIRL!!!!!!”

if you took a moment to read the name that’s by the front of the trailer, you’d know that this is yoongi’s trailer and the makeup artists just went straight to his,, instead of him coming to them because he just can’t be damned to stand and walk over there :D

the makeup artist you were talking to moved out of the way so the both of you could see each other and sO yoongi could also stop stretching his neck out to the max

they’re finishing up anyway

his contact lens case was held by this makeup artist and she was about to put em in and yoongi snatched back the case :))

“here!!! put them on me!!!”

okay that’s a bit awkward for the other girl yikes.,.,. she’s just uh gonna exit the trailer with the other makeup artists now

“hi.”

you only greet back now as you get the case for him and yoongi frowns at that

why aren’t you cheery???? he’s used to you being more enthusiastic than him so wHY is he the one carrying the conversation (that hasn’t been even started) that’s already dwindling out

you’re getting really really sluggish and this sudden heavy wave of sleepiness is really hitting you

you dO look kinda hazy

“are you okay??”

yoongi’s holding you by the sides of your arms and your eyes are blinking so slowly as you try to nod but that just won’t cut it for him

“well i think yOU need to rest”

he’s standing up and is about to put you onto his sofa so you could like perhaps nap a minute or two since he knows fatigue when he sees it

but by the looks of it, he can’t even make you lie down because you’re already sitting down

sitting down

on his lap

oN HIS LAP

this is really.,.,...nice

yoongi’s a bit shocked and there aren’t any sentences forming in his head besides “what’s your name, contact girl???” as if that is the mOST pressing issue right now

“ᶦ’ᵐ ʸ/ⁿ” is what you could only practically mumble because this pillow is really soft and warm and heavenly and u want nothing more at the moment than to be buried in it

yoongi has never felt this soft

ever

there’s you accidentally falling asleep on him

literally ON him

and his hands are still hovering but he decides to relocate them on your back, rubbing small circles and even patting softly

your hair smells really good too

he must’ve been to engrossed in it as you burst awake some minutes later and you almost bump his jaw on your way up

“oh my gOD did i just pass out on your lap???”

well you’re still sat on his lap and you’re scrambling away while you’re still groggy and he has to reach for you before you could topple over

“no problem!! it’s cool i sWEAR!!!”

he quickly explains what’s happened and how he’s close with hyun bin and how he literally conversed for like two seconds and your producer immediately agreed

yoongi just said “hEY mr. hyun!!! y/n works for you, right?? i’m SO sorry if this isn’t in my position to ask but y’know she did just kinda pass out and i was wondering if she could just lay down in my trailer for awhile??”

within two minutes mr. hyun apparently went to the trailer and delivered your backpack and he keeps in mind to apologize to you later on and hmmmmm is there anything going on between you and yoongi???

“are there any pillows?”

underneath the cushion the both of you are sitting at, there is a shit tON of pillows he just keeps there

there’s memory foam!! cotton!! feather!! a hybird of those two!!!

yoongi decides to answer and he delivers it with the straightest answer possible

“... no.”

he quickly clears his throat as he looks to his lap and taps on it so you could lie down on him!!

you think you like yoongi :)))

yoongi is positive that he likes you :)))

you stand up for a moment and he panics because nO where are you going??? but it was just for you to retrieve your phone and grab your earphones!!

you kind of have an irrational fear of buying airpods and that shit just falling every two seconds and then you could nEVER find it

and so here you are :)) offering yoongi an earphone as you lay your head on his lap

there’s just something so familiar with the melody

the lyrics

the vOICE

so familiar to the point that yoongi’s heart practically drops because oh god

tHAT’S HIM

THAT’S HIM IN HIS OTHER JOB THAT ONLY HE KNOWS ABOUT

“this suga guy.,, i like him.”

“o-oH???”

yoongi doesn’t know whether he should feel jealous because you like this suga guy

but he doesn’t know shit because he IS that suga guy!!!

and so his mind’s fuzzy and all-conflicted as you babble on, about to be lulled to sleep again

“once i get to make a film, like an actual full-length film and jUST not a thesis film,,,, i’m hiring him,,,, i don’t care if he consumes like 80% of my budget for that film iM HIRING HIM!!!”

yoongi’s about to practically combust right now

he’s grinning from ear-to-ear, looking down on you who he’s grown fond of so much so fast and is lying down on his lap, his thumb pressing down on your cheek softly as he tilts his head

“do you wanna know a secret?”

[satoshi-mochida]

Gematsu recently spoke to Ryuichi Nishizawa, creator of the Wonder Boy series and co-founder of Westone Bit Entertainment, to discuss his upcoming arcade game revival Clockwork Aquario, which was originally planned for release in 1994 before the fighting game-dominated arcade game market caused its cancellation. Now, with ININ Games and Strictly Limited Games, the side-scrolling action game is being completed and released for modern consoles.

In the email interview, Nishizawa discussed how the revival came to be, how it feels to revisit and complete the project, how it differs from the 1994 version, the game concept, its staff, and even shares what game he hopes to bring back next—albeit not one that was cancelled.

Get the full interview below.

Gematsu: Before its cancellation, Clockwork Aquario was originally planned to be released as Westone’s final arcade game. What was the ultimate nail in the coffin?

Ryuichi Nishizawa, Game Creator: “After we decided to cancel the release of Aquario, we discussed the plan for the next arcade game. At that time, we had not yet decided to withdraw from arcade games. We spent several months considering our plans, but the arcade game market at that time was split between fighting games and casual games such as puzzles and mahjong, neither of which were games we wanted to make. Arcade games were the star of the game industry, but we decided to withdraw from arcade games and concentrate on console games.”

So what led to its revival?

Nishizawa: “With the spread of social networking sites, the existence of Aquario became widely known to overseas enthusiasts, and the number of requests from fans who wanted to see it increased. And fortunately, we were able to restore the source code of Aquario because it was still in our company.”

Now that you’re back at it, how does it feel to revisit the project?

Nishizawa: “It’s a strange feeling. Experiences like this are hard to come by, so I am grateful for the twist of fate. During the development process, as the restoration of the game progressed, I was reminded of many things from the development days 27 years ago. I wanted to reward myself for not giving up and completing the game until the end.”

Clockwork Aquario was mostly complete back in 1993. How much of that has been salvaged for its revival, and how much of it is all-new?

Nishizawa: “When we started restoring the game, we thought we had all the programs and data needed to do so, but while the development proceeded, we found out that there were several pieces of missing image data. The title screen and part of the ending background were missing. We had no choice but to make new ones for those parts. It was a very difficult task to make them fit the pixel design of the time. It was similar to the work of a craftsman restoring a work of art.”

Clockwork Aquario wasn’t very well received during its initial location tests. What were the main issues and how are they being addressed this time around?

Nishizawa: “At that time, fighting games were booming at the video game arcades. This was a time when games in genres other than fighting games were all struggling. The management of video game arcades focuses on sales per unit area. The sales of fighting games were very high because they had a short playing time. They earned three to five times more than other games. Aquario was a traditional type of game where the better you play, the longer you can play, so it was not comparable to fighting games.”

Have any quality-of-life or accessibility features been implemented, such as a rewind option? Or is the game being kept as close to the original vision as possible?

Nishizawa: “Since this is a game that no one has ever seen before, we are focusing on recreating the original. However, since the platforms on which the game is running are different, we have optimized the controller and screen display for today’s consoles.”

Who are the main characters of Clockwork Aquario, and what are they setting out to do?

Nishizawa: “The player can choose one of the three main characters to play as. They are Huck, a boy; Elle, a girl; and Gush, a robot. They fight to destroy the ambitions of Dr. Hangyo, who plans to take over the world. And they only use their bare hands.”

Each character has their own moveset. Can you tell us a little bit about their actions?

Nishizawa: “Each character has slightly different controls and animations. I’d like to properly explain the differences, but since there are no remaining written specifications, I don’t know exactly how it works either. (Laughs.)”

OK, so what would you say are the defining gameplay traits of Clockwork Aquario? What separates it from other side-scrolling action games?

Nishizawa: “The concept of the game is simultaneous dual-player action. It is characterized by the feature of holding and throwing enemies. You can also throw allied characters. On the other hand, it also means that you can also be thrown.”

Which Westone Bit Entertainment game would you say Clockwork Aquario most resembles?

Nishizawa: “I think Monster Lair is the closest in terms of side-scrolling two-player simultaneous play. It’s also similar in that the boss battles are flashy.”

How much of the original staff is working on the revival?

Nishizawa: “There were four original members who participated in this work. Mr. Kurihara, who was the main programmer for Aquario, took the lead in supporting the project. United Games Entertainment was in charge of the actual development of the restoration, but whenever we encountered something we didn’t understand during the development, we contacted the development staff and solved the problem through consultations.”

Are there any plans to release the game on additional platforms, such as Xbox One or PC?

Dennis Mendel, Co-Founder of ININ Games and Strictly Limited Games: “As we have more projects to be announced later this year, we need to be careful with our resources—this is why we decided to focus on Switch and PlayStation 4. If we see demand from the Xbox and PC community, then we will definitely look into porting the game to other platforms as well.”

Do you expect we’ll see more of Clockwork Aquario‘s world and characters in the future—be it in additional games or media?

Nishizawa: “The main game is 27 years old, so it is indeed old-fashioned, but I have the impression that the enemy characters and the world are still suitable for today. The boss characters in particular have great designs, and I would love to see them modeled and animated in 3D. I’m waiting for fan art. (Laughs.)”

Are there any other Westone Bit Entertainment games you hope to bring back in the future?

Nishizawa: “I would love to remake the arcade version of the robot shoot ’em up AURAIL. It’s a personal favorite of mine, as I took hard work to create this title. The world was created with a lot of effort, but it’s not fully expressed on the game screen, so I’d like to use modern technology to express it to the fullest.

“Also, the other day I was watching a gameplay video and I thought it would be interesting to remake it. The first game that was released only in Japan was Milano no Arbeit Collection. It’s a game for the original PlayStation that was only released in Japan. It is the ultimate 2D game for pixel-art lovers, and the quality of the animation is outstanding. I’d like to remake this game with the original pixel art, but I’d have to find about five professional pixel artists to do it. It’s quite difficult.”

Clockwork Aquario is still without a concrete release date. Is there a narrower release window you can share other than simply “2021”?

Mendel: “As development on the game itself is basically finished, I think it is safe to say that the game will see a release in the fall. All missing graphics and sounds have already been implemented and some extra features have been added, so if we don’t encounter unforeseen problems during testing, the game should reach gold status soon.”

Is there anything else you would like readers to know about Clockwork Aquario?

Nishizawa: “This game is truly a ‘discovered’ visionary game. It is something close to a miracle that a game that was cancelled is now being released after 27 years. I would like to thank Dennis and everyone involved for their hard work in making this project happen. Thank you so much. I look forward to sharing this miracle with you, all readers.”

Thank you for your time, Nishizawa-san and Dennis!

Clockwork Aquario is due out for PlayStation 4 and Switch this fall. Limited print physical editions are currently available for pre-order.

View a new set of screenshots at the gallery.

[uniarycode]

Takari Week, Day 3- Digital World Visit

The discovery of an old memorial sets Takeru and Hikari on a not-so-happy trip down memory lane.  Set about a month after the end of 02.  Written as part of @takariweek​

It had been sent in good faith.

Ken couldn’t possibly have known, no one would have told him.  And Daisuke would never have sent it to her, if he’d been smart enough to collect the dots.

“Beware, poop monsters may be nearby” attached was a picture displaying a crude statue of sorts, rocks piled together to create the vague facsimile of ‘digital sludge’.

Or at least, that’s what she had been going for, when she was eight.

Ken wouldn’t have known that.

Daisuke wouldn’t have either, not explicitly.  She had only said she’d made a shrine to the Numemon, there was no need to explain what it looked like.

It should have been reformatted anyway.

Iori had chimed in with some wisdom about how most Digimon didn’t want a fight, and that any conflict at all should be avoided.

Miyako was muttering about meeting with Mimi later, and not wanting to go smelling like poop.

There was no more reason for them to know than Daisuke.

And if she was being fair, the lingering odor of digital sludge was not something anyone wanted to deal with for the rest of the day.

The point of it was to smell, to identify an aggressor to other Digimon, and if nothing else it would annoy an attacking Digimon. There was a host of Digimon that relied on the sludge as a defense, as they were too weak to scare off even lower level attackers.

No, not weak, she scolded herself.  They were never weak.  They were simply not suited to combat.

A ping notified her of a message from Takeru: “Do you need to talk?”

She typed a single world in response “Yes”

***

It was risky to go anywhere in the digital world without your jogress partner.  Most Digimon would not stake their lives on a fight, and the appearance of a perfect level would be able to scare off even more powerful attackers.  There was no evidence that Tailmon or Angemon could evolve if needed, and less that Aqualimon or Ankylomon could.

Both she and Takeru tended to be a bit conservative in these matters, so when they requested to pair up, it was taken seriously.

Iori had been understanding, but Miyako looked a little hurt.  It wasn’t that the older girl was insufficient or inept, it was just easier to talk about this with someone who already knew.

Someone who had been there.

Pegasmon and Nefertimon flew in silence after the tradeoff.  Even with just the two of them and their partners, Hikari was unsure what to say. Nefertimon suggested they head to the memorial, and the group had quietly departed.

It was odd:  a grassy meadow, between two trees, with a river flowing a few feet away.  It was nothing like the wasteland she’d first constructed the memorial in.  A less attached observer may even claim it was the statue that tarnished the otherwise picturesque landscape.

Hikari would be too kind to correct them.

“It shouldn’t be here.” She said.

“I know.” Takeru answered calmly.

“Why wasn’t it reformatted?” she asked, the question directed as much at the wind as at her companions.

“I don’t know.” Takeru responded.

She waited for a few minutes, still trying to get her emotions in check.  “Do you think they were able to be reborn?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Why?  If this wasn’t reformatted properly, then why would anything else?  How do you know they are okay?” she accused.

“I don’t.” he responded “But Whamon, Leomon, and Piccolomon were.  There’s no reason they wouldn’t have been either.”

She felt a small comfort at that.  Admittedly she’d never met Leomon the first time, and had only a brief encounter with Piccolomon.  Still they had by all accounts died, and then come back.

“The digital world is not like your world.” Tailmon said, “Forests, lakes, even mountains can be destroyed in a particularly fierce fight, and they are rebuilt within months.  Perhaps this monument is part of the code now.”

“So it will be here forever?” she asked wistfully.

“Maybe.” Tailmon responded.

There was a break, as she collected her thoughts.

“Do you think, do you think they regret it?” Hikari asked. “That they hate me?”

“No.” Takeru said, wrapping his arms around her. “It was their choice, and it was Mungendramon who did it.  If anything, I think they’d thank you.”

“Thank me?  For getting them killed?”

“For freeing them.”  Takeru clarified. “For giving them the ability to fight back.”

She felt tears begin to pool in her eyes. “I still dream about it sometimes, all those Numemon rushing in and then vanishing in a flash.” She closed her eyes, letting darkness console her.

“Sometimes the dream ends there, sometimes, it goes further. Agumon doesn’t evolve.  I just watch as he takes you out one by one.  First Taichi and Agumon, then Sora and Biyomon, then Koushiro and Tentomon, and finally you.  All of you.  Until I’m the only one left.”

A soft squeeze reassured her of Takeru’s presence, as Tailmon began to brush against her leg. “It’s fine.” Takeru said, “I’m here, we’re here.  And he isn’t.”

“I know.  He can’t hurt us anymore.  None of them can.  But that doesn’t stop the dreams.” She cracked a sad smile. “Pretty lame, huh.”

“No!” Patamon cried out. “Not lame!  It’s cool.  Like a battle scar.”

The flying hamster’s enthusiastic denial forced her to open her eyes, show her not only his serious face, but Takeru’s face, which was wracked with torment.

“You too?” she asked incredulously.  It shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, given what they’d all went through.  And yet, Takeru had always seemed so calm to her, so brave.  Especially three years ago.

“Some nights.” He admitted quietly.  “Not Mungendramon normally, but others.”

“Who?” she asked. She regretted the word as soon as it left her tongue.  It somehow seemed too intimate to ask.

If Takeru shared her opinion, he didn’t show it. “Devimon mostly.”  Hikari nodded in understanding, she hadn’t heard the full story herself, but had overheard enough rushed conversations to piece it together. “But others too,” he continued, “playing hide and go seek in Pinochimon’s mansion.  Endlessly running away in Piemon’s castle.”

“And also,” he paused, studying her face. “When Vamdemon took over the city.”

She let out an involuntary shutter at the name, and Tailmon’s hair began to stand on end.

“I thought so.” Takeru said sadly, pulling her close once more.

It took a few minutes for her to rally enough nerve to speak, but takeru merely held her patently.

“It’s been getting worse.  Ever since, you know.” She couldn’t say it, but it should have been obvious. “He just doesn’t seem to die.  No matter what we do, no matter what prophecies we fulfil.  He just keeps coming back, stronger than before.”

“Third time’s the charm.” Takeru offered a paltry attempt at cheering her up.

“I’m being serious.” She scolded “We barely beat him last time, and Tailmon, Patamon, all of them, they split into all their evolutions, and then every chosen in the world came together.  If he were to come back stronger, how could we top that?”

“I don’t know, but we would.” Takeru replied.

“You’re just saying that.” She pouted.

“I’m not.  It’s based on history.  We’ve fought foe after foe, each more powerful than the last.  And in the end, we always win.  And if Vamdemon or Devimon, or any of them come back, we’ll beat them again no matter what.”

She held him tighter, as if she could absorb his optimism though osmosis alone.  

They stood like that for a few minutes, finding comfort in each other’s arms, not caring what might happen if one of the others found them and misinterpreted the situation.

“We should say a prayer.” Takeru said suddenly, breaking them out of the moment. “Right now.  We’ll pray for the Numemon.  Since we’re already here, it’s the least we can do.”

“I thought you said you thought they were alive.” She asked meekly.

“I do.  You can offer prayers for the living too, Hikari.  Most of my prayers are sent to those around me.” Takeru said, turning her around. “We can pray that they are happy and healthy, wherever they are now.”

She knelt in front of the memorial alongside Takeru, as he began his prayer.  Somehow it seemed so much smaller than it had three and a half years ago, when she’d first made it.

And yet, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

When she had first constructed the monument, it was in a wasteland tarnished with darkness.  Made on a world warped and mutilated by the Dark masters, and then reduced to one quarter of its size as the Dark masters died out.  A monument to some outcast Digimon, who had met their end valiantly, but seemingly vainly, against a far more powerful oppressor.

But now it sat in this green meadow, framed by a pair of trees, with the calming sound of a nearby river flowing past.  The oppressor was long gone. And those memorialized remained, living lives full of joy and happiness.

A testament to the peace they had all worked for.

Takeru finished his prayer and turned to her. His face turned first to confusion, before it began to light up.

“What?” she asked, looking away from his gaze.

“You’re smiling.” He said simply, it’s infectious.

She almost didn’t believe it, even walked over to the river to see a grin reflected on her face.  And not a sad smile, or a somber grin, but a warm, gentle smile.

She turned back to Takeru, “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said nodding. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”  He said, as he began to collect their stuff.

“Do you think we could mark this place down somehow?” she asked. “I think I might want to return sometime.”

“I’m sure we could.  I’ll ask Koushiro.”

She smiled, not looking away from the monument as Tailmon and Patamon became Nefertimon and Pegasmon and flew off.

From that day on, she had one less nightmare to worry about.

[lucidpantone]

Chapter 1: Visitations

Someone recently asked the tag if Sander and Robbe stayed together forever. Here’s a fic giving you the answer. Thanks for the inspiration.

Read the rest on Ao3.

Autumn always brought along rich tones of vanilla, cinnamon and all-spice into Robbe’s landscape. Robbe loved the autumn colors, shades of sun-burnt orange, vermillion and chartreuse sprinkle across the leaves that littered the pavement on his route to work. Its like he could taste the change of seasons ahead but it also gave him cause for concern. A visitation session was surely on the horizon. Sander was like a rolex watch when it came to anything Bowie related. Robbe was sure that cat was the love of Sander’s life. He found Bowie abandoned on the streets of Antwerp as a kitten and saved him from certain death. Robbe can still recall the day he came through the door with something nuzzled inside his leather jacket.

“Sander, we can’t keep it.” Robbe retorted as Sander gently cradled the kitty against his chest rocking it back and forth. “We just got this apartment I don’t even know if were allowed pets. I’m slammed at university, your never here, and your always at work or at the studio”.

Robbe knew this discussion was pointless. Sander just kept pouting at all of Robbe’s logical reasoning, flashing his puppy dog eyes at him and holding up the tiny kitten to Robbe’s face as a defense. Robbe just rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in defeat.  

“Ugh… okay …. Fine. God I hate you sometimes Driesen.”

“Love you too” Sander replied, pressing a soft kiss on Robbe’s jawline with a victorious smile plastered across his face.

“So, what are we going to name it?” Robbe asked looking down at the tiny creature who was literally the size of Sander’s palm.

Sander frowned. He almost looked offended by Robbe’s question.

“Bowie, of course. I mean his all black with a white lightening bolt on his belly. He's obviously a Bowie.”

Robbe found Sander’s response endearing. So much so he didn’t have the heart to tell him that that white striped looked nothing like a lightning bolt but he went with it anyways.

“Bowie, it is.” Robbe said as he leaned into Sander’s chest to pet the tiny kitten. Sander immediately cautioning him before he even laid a hand on the cat.

“Go slow, his sensitive okay”. Robbe couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s protective reflexes.

There it was. The text Robbe had been dreading since the animal clinic called him earlier in the week to confirm Bowie’s appointment.

Taking Bowie to the vet on Saturday. I should get to Brussels around 7 tonight. Does that work for you? - Sander

7 works. - Robbe

Robbe grunted and slid down his desk chair.

“What’s up with you?” Lia asked.

“Oh nothing” Robbe quickly perked up and sat up on his chair. He didn’t want to be caught sulking at work.

“Do you think you can have the club estimation ready for next Wednesday?” Lia asked.

Robbe was the youngest architect at his firm. So he always felt like he was slightly faking it or suffering from imposter syndrome. He had only just completed his certification and was lucky enough that the firm he apprenticed at for two years offered him a full time job upon graduation.

Lia was the second youngest she had graduated a year earlier. They spent a lot of time together dealing with all the young trendy clients who wanted to do renovations on shoestring budgets.

“What time is it?” Lia asked Robbe.

“Half past 5” Robbe shouted back.

“On a Friday” Lia scoffed. “Let’s get out of here. I need a drink after this week.”

Robbe nodded his head towards the door and both of them sprung up off their chairs collecting their paperwork and turning off their computers.

Robbe began to take off his shirt and tie exposing his black tshirt underneath. He hated his nine to five attire but the firm had a strict dress code policy. Shirt and trousers.

“I hate this tie” Robbe grunted loudly as he forcefully ripped it off himself.

“Well you wouldn’t have to wear it if you weren’t so damn cool” Lia teased him.

“Firstly Thibaut is over exaggerating they are not neck tattoos. You can barely see them.” Robbe dramatically threw his hands up.

“I mean you can totally see them…..what are they again?” Lia asked sarcastically.

“Shut up” Robbe started pushing Lia towards the door.

Grabbing his black jacket and man bag off the coat rack on the other side of the office practically skipping towards Lia who was leaning against the door frame waiting for Robbe to hurry up.

As he got to her she held her hand against his chest examining the three tiny icons placed directly at the bottom of his throat underneath his adams apple.

“A lightning bolt, a half moon and….”

Robbe finished her sentence for her “ The other half of a ying yang. The white half.”

“How hipster of you” Lia said curiously.

“I guess, or better yet the mistakes of a misspent youth.” Robbe smugly replied.

“Misspent youth???” Lia laughed out. “Robbe your only twenty five”.

Robbe rolled his eyes he felt like he was thirty five sometimes. “Almost twenty six for your information. Come on now, I need a beer” he grabbed onto Lia’s hand and started dragging her out the door.

“We aren’t going to Belgica?” Lia shouted back to him as they walked down the street.

“Why not?” Robbed asked confused.

“Because your too pretty for your own good Robbe and we spend half the night fighting off every gay boy in there trying to get your attention.”

“Stop it Lia.”

“It’s true Robbe. You got that whole rebel rebel graduated up skater boy vibe and that damn mop of hair. Your like a billboard for shampoo or something. Plus your single.”

Robbe was blushing. Lia was too sweet she always made him feel special in her own teasing way. She was like the big sister he never had.

“Ok you choose” Robbe surrender.

“Noir it is” Lia responded.

Robbe looked at his phone and checked the time 5:42.

Robbe liked Lia but he didn’t want her privy to his messy love life. She had already lived through Robbe and Lucas’s break up.

Did she really need to know anymore about him.

Robbe paused for a moment and thought fuck it.

Meet me at Bar Noir at 7. -Robbe

********************************************************************************

As Robbe reached over the sink to grab some paper towels he simultaneously ran his right hand through his hair and looked up into the mirror. His eyes inadvertently darted towards the text peeking out underneath the sleeve of his tshirt. He inhaled sharply vividly recalling the memory of his nineteen year self play fighting with Sander because he wanted to see it.

“Show me,I know you got another one” Sander walked around his boyfriend inspecting Robbe’s body contemplating which part of him to undress first. As he slowly began tugging at his hoodie a huge cheshire grin appeared across Robbe’s face.

“Got him” Sander thought. He finally managed to get Robbe’s hoodie off when he saw the cling film wrapped around Robbe’s right bicep. Sander grabbed Robbe’s right wrist turning it upwards to face him and lifting it slightly to uncover the text on Robbe’s inner arm. It was a simple three word phrase but it was “their” phrase and what Robbe repeated to Sander when things got overwhelming for him. In a slightly hushed voice Sander read the phrase out loud “minuut per minuut”.

Robbe broke out of his daze. Pulling himself out of the memory.

Robbe headed back out the bathroom into the boisterous Friday night afterwork bar crowd.

Another shot of whiskey? Lia shouted from the bar.

“No,no” Robbe was signaling to her. He wanted to make sure he was somewhat sober for his impending meet up with Sander. They hadn’t seen one another since Chernobyl at the beginning of the summer.

Robbe snaked through the crowd till he reached Lia at the bar. They stood shoulder to shoulder as she knocked back her shot and chased it down with some beer.

“You should know my ex is probably going to show up here any minute now”. Robbe swiftly mentioned.

“You and Lucas are talking again?” Lia said with optimism in her voice.

Robbe quickly broke eye contact and shook his head. It still stung to hear Lucas’s name. It had been a few months but everything was still a bit raw for him.

“No the other one.” Lia instantly scowled at Robbe’s omission.

Robbe jokingly tapped her shoulder with the back of his hand as they walked towards a bar table with their beers in hand “come on don’t do that… you don’t even know him”.

“I don't need to know him, I know his type.” Lia shouted over the crowd as she scooted herself onto a bar stool.

“Extremely good looking” Robbe acknowledged that as Lia counted Sander’s qualities off with her fingers.  

“Mysterious but in that deeply troubled kind of way” Lia formed a peace sign with her hands at her second observation.

“Mindblowing sex” Lia held three fingers up towards Robbe’s face now.

“Oh and let me guess” Lia leaned into Robbe’s face real closely. “He broke up with you?”

Robbe chuckled “You know me too well Lia”.

“No I don’t. Like I said I know the type” She stated as she chugged down more of her beer.

“Speak of the devil”. Robbe gestured towards the door.

Lia looked up wide eye. Robbe was used to this reaction. Years of seeing others getting enamored by Sander’s beauty.

His lunar white hair a relic of the past. Sander was a brunette now. His natural copper tone brown hair framed his perfectly chiseled face. A jawline for days.

“Oh now I get it. I would have chernobyl(d) with him too”. Lia said a little too enthusiastically never taking her eyes off Sander as he spotted Robbe and started walking over to them.

Lia broke her gaze and quickly looked up and down Robbe’s body. “So what is your dick made out of gold or something” Lia questioned Robbe.

Robbe scoffed. “What”

“I mean you obviously attract a type. Smoking hot with pretty eyes” leaning her body slightly towards Robbe and opening her hand up like she was begging for Robbe to tell her his secret.

Sander reached their table.

Lia let out a barely audible “God I wish my exes looked like yours” as she raised her glass of beer to her mouth.

“Hey” Sander said as he took off his leather jacket exposing his arms covered in intricate tattoos sliding onto the opposing bar stool across from Robbe. The table was one of those cylinder bar tops that had Robbe and Sander awkwardly rubbing shoulder to shoulder both looking strait on towards Lia.

Sander looked at Robbe for a second too long waiting for him to introduce him to his friend.

Robbe’s mind finally caught up with his manners.

“Lia this is Sander, Sander this is Lia. We work together.” Sander reached out to shake Lia‘s hand.

“Nice to meet you” Sander responded.

“We’re just going to finish up our drinks and then we can head out” Robbe explained to Sander.

“Yeah that's fine. Gives me time to roll” as he pulled out rolling paper out of his back pocket and placed it on the bar table.

“How was the driv...?” unbeknownst to Robbe, Lia abruptly cut him out of his own conversation. “You drove here?” she questioned Sander. Sander nodded. Her eager curiosity getting the best of her. “Where from?”

“Antwerp, I live there” Sander responded flaty. He could tell Robbe’s friend was a little curious about him. God knows what Robbe had told her about him.

“What are you doing in Brussels?” Lia questioned some more.

Sander attempting to look busy as he rolled a joint.

Sander hated people trying to figure him out. He was the private type didn't like to give strangers to many details about himself but this was Robbe’s friend so he had to play nice.

Sander rested his right forearm against the table as he sprinkle tobacco onto the rolling paper.

That’s when he noticed Robbe’s friend attentively examining the tattoo on his wrist.

“It's a constellations.” Sander responded in a curt tone.

“Yeah I know what it is” Lia explained. “I see it everyday. It's the same one Robbe has on his wrist right?”

Robbe’s eyes found Sander’s. Sander smirked back at him.

Robbe suddenly turning red at Lia’s discovery.

Sander finished rolling his joint licking it together. When he shifted his body towards Lia.

Robbe thought to himself “here we go”. He had seen this typical Sander performance before fueled with charm and bravato.

“Yeah it's one of mine” Sander shot a flirty smile at Lia as he stuck the joint behind his ear.

“I mean the design of course, not the person.” Sander winked making Lia giggle like a teenage girl.

Sander leaned straight into her personal space. Making her slightly pull back. Sander was making her nervous.

“If your interested I have a tattoo shop in Antwerp I could ink you sometime. You can get this exact tattoo or something personalized from me to you.”

Sander slowly pulled away from Lia’s orbit leaving her slightly flushed.

Robbe chuckled a little to loudly. Sander shot him a boyish grin in return. Well aware that Robbe knew what game he was playing.

Robbe found these exchanges very amusing. It took Sander a mere 5 minutes to get his coworker from denouncing him to having her completely giddy and wrapped around his little finger.

When Robbe was younger these interactions use to really bother him. Make him feel insecure like Sander could get anyone he wanted what was he doing with Robbe.

But now it was just amusing to Robbe. It solidified what Robbe already knew which was no one really knew the real Sander. What Lia was seeing now was Sander peacocking at his best.

Lia broke out of her spell as she fumbled through her words a little and stated. “I think I want something custom. It’d be weird if we all had identical tattoo’s?”

“Oh there not identical” Sander stated as he grabbed Robbe’s beer off the table and took a large gulp into his mouth. Robbe gawked at him unimpressed.

Can you spot the difference? Sander suddenly took a hold of Robbe’s hand and slammed both their forearms onto the table towards Lia direction.

Robbe’s coworker leaned in super closely to examine their forearms as their hands were clasped together.

It didn’t take long for Lia to uncover what made each tattoo unique. Each forearm had a perfectly placed red planet in the middle of it (maybe Mars) with an orbital belt surrounding it. There was a moon and stars and another distance planet in the background(maybe Saturn). There was one thing that looked out of place but also really beautiful. A large blossoming tree was growing out of the large center planet. There was also some cursive text placed horizontally on both Robbe and Sander’s wrist. Lia recited the text from left to right it started from Robbe wrist “All the way” and ended on Sander’s wrist “or no way”.

Lia's brow furrowed. As she looked at both males. “I don’t get it, what does it mean?”

Sander finally spoke up locking Robbe into his glare as the words slowly dripped out of his mouth. “All the way or no way”.

Robbe let go of Sander’s hand almost violently and spoke. It felt like he had kept quiet throughout Lia and Sander’s entire conversation. Like he just disappeared for a moment.

Robbe shot Lia a calculated smile.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Just something we use to say to one another when we were younger.”

Robbe began to get up and collect his jacket. Obviously implying that this little meetup was now over. It surprised Lia, Robbe was never this brash, almost rude. Lia was about to make some silly joke about ruining the night when Robbe sensed it and he did something he only ever did with clients. He gave Lia one of his stand down asshole smirks that halted anymore conversation. That let their clients know that negotiations were now over and this transaction had come to a close.

Lia scanned Sander’s face for some explanation. She saw a hint of reaction towards Robbe sudden harsh change in demeanor but it amused him. He seemed to like it.

Robbe finished putting his jacket on and soften again leaning into Lia to give her a kiss on the cheek and bid her good night. Flashing that calculated smile at her again.

He glanced back at Sander. He hadn’t moved.

“Get your jacket” Robbe demanded.

Sander began to get up and collect his things. Never breaking eye contact with Robbe a dark tonality hidden behind his eyes.

Lia was so confused. It’s like these two were speaking some unknown language only they understood but it was so strange. Lia knew Robbe but she rarely saw this side of him. It was slightly distance, spikey, but confident almost captivating. Its like this sweet, thoughtful and warm human morphed into someone else in front of her eyes but she couldn’t explain what he morphed into.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking at.

“Text me when you get home” Robbe whispered into her ear as he gave her one final kiss good night and walked towards the exit never looking back at Sander to check if he was coming with him.

Sander leaned in towards Lia giving her a kiss goodnight. Perfectly placing it a little too close to her mouth. It gave her butterflies she could almost taste him as he pulled back.

Lia's eyes followed him towards the door.

She sat there bewildered, puzzled, thinking to herself.

What was that? or better yet, who was that? and she wasn’t talking about Sander.

[aster-wastaken]

404

Well look what I managed to find through Wikipedia! The old 404 short story Jack Heath wrote to replace the 404 error page.

It can be accessed here: https://web.archive.org/web/20111003161346/http://jackheath.com.au/404

Possibly here: http://jackheath.com.au/404

But definitely here:

404                                    

The requested URL was not found on this server.

'What's a 404 error?' Agent Nine asked, staring at Six's computer screen.

'It's bad,' Six replied. 'It means Lilam gave us the wrong address.'

And we've got less than 15 minutes to find the right one, he thought, looking at his watch.

'I'll try again,' Nine said, hands hovering over the keyboard.

'Don't,' Six advised. 'We're lucky he didn't send us into a trap, like a URL that would send out the detonation signal.'

He pulled out his phone and dialled Kyntak's number. "Kyntak, have you secured the bomb?"

'Yeah, I found it.' Kyntak's voice was muffled by engine noise - he was driving somewhere. 'It was in a shopping centre four kliks from the Deck. Any luck with the disarm code?'

'Negative,' Six said. 'Liamm lied to buy himself some time. What's it look like? Can you defuse it?'

'Not a chance,' Kyntak said. 'Eleven wires, left to right: yellow, blue, yellow, green, two red, blue, three green, and one black. Not a standard configuration. And each wire is encased at both ends in a 22cm iron cube, rigged to blow if you try to open it. Without the remote disarm code, only one guy can disarm this. The guy who built it.'

Lilam, Six thought. No chance. He'd never tell anyone how to dismantle one of his bombs. Six shoved open the office door and walked into the corridor. 'Can you take it somewhere where it won't hurt anybody?'

'ChaoSonic officials have been evacuated out of the area surrounding the shopping centre. Ten klik radius.'

Six gritted his teeth. 'Which means, ChaoSonic has established a perimeter.'

'Right,' Kyntak said. 'They don't want the bomb to leave the area they've already evacuated, or it could hurt someone they actually give a crap about. Someone other than us, and the sixty or seventy thousand people still in the hot zone.'

'And there's nowhere in that zone we could have a safe detonation?'

'Are you kidding? There are people everywhere, Six. It's pandemonium out here.'

'Can you seal it in something?' Six asked, getting desparate. 'Something that could contain the explosion?'

'The core is made of cyclotrimethylene trinitramine, usually called RDX. The blast will penetrate steel of any thickness up to three metres. I'm open to suggestions.'

Six closed his eyes. Can't disarm it, can't contain it, can't get rid of it, can't let it explode. There seemed to be no way out.

He opened his eyes. 'You're mobile, right?'

'I've got a car, yeah. But I can't get past the roadblocks.'

'You don't have to,' Six said. 'I've got an idea.' He pushed the button for the lift.

It was just before 2 pm, so cell block 72-C was brightly lit. The lighting conditions always mimicked those outside, with a gradually building "sunrise" and a slow, dimming "sunset". This was so the prisoners didn't become disoriented and lose track of time.

Years ago, each cell wall had been adorned with its own clock. But the clocks were frequently smashed by some of the inmates. Other prisoners became hypnotised by them, watching the seconds click away instead of eating or sleeping. And still others complained that the ticking was keeping them awake at night, even though the clocks were completely silent.

Apparently the inmates were willing to measure their imprisonment in days - but seeing each individual second of their lives disappear was too much for them.

The prisoners talked to Agent Six as he walked down the corridor, some whispering, some shouting. He didn't listen. Only six minutes until the bomb went off.

The interrogation room was at the end of the hall, behind a giant chrome door with a small keypad. There was a steel box on the floor. This was where Six was supposed to dump probited items - any phones or radios, anything sharp that could be used as a weapon, anything magnetic or electrical that could be used to hack the electronic locking system. But today there wasn't time. Six punched in the combination, and the door slid aside.

The man inside was chained to a metal chair by both wrists and both ankles. A clamp around his neck tethered him to the wall, to stop him from moving the chair too far. Six walked in, put his briefcase down on the table, and shut the door behind him. It locked itself with a muffled clank.

'If it isn't my teenage arresting officer,' Lilam said. His lips slid back, revealing yellowed teeth. 'Didn't expect to see you again so soon, Agent Six of Hearts.'

'The URL you gave us didn't work,' Six said. '404 error. You're going to give me the real one immediately, or I promise you, you'll wish you had. Very soon.'

Lilam eyed Six's briefcase. 'What've you got there? Money, to buy me off? A pardon agreement, perhaps?'

'Something that'll make you talk,' Six said, 'if you won't do it willingly. You have fifteen seconds.'

Lilam's smile never wavered. 'Since you took my watch away, I've been sitting here counting seconds,' he said. 'I'm very good at it. Eight thousand, two hundred and sixteen have passed so far. That's almost two hours and seventeen minutes.'

Six said nothing.

'That means there's less than five minutes before my magnificent bomb goes off,' Lilam said. 'Whatever you have in that briefcase, whether it's knives or needles or whips or really sharp rocks, I think I can withstand it for five minutes. Don't you?'

Six said nothing.

'You know what they sometimes call RDX?' Lilam said. 'They call it "cyclonite". That's because - '

'Time's up,' Six said. He drew a pair of nail scissors from his pocket, and placed them on the table next to the briefcase.

Lilam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Then Six cracked open the briefcase, and stepped aside.

Lilam craned his neck to see.

His jaw fell open.

Inside the case there was a iron cube, with eleven wires poking out of it. The timer clipped to the face read 04:13. Then 04:12. Then 04:11.

I hope I'm not making a mistake, Six thought.

All the colour had washed out of Lilam's skin. 'What the hell is this?'

'Your bomb, I hope,' Six said. 'Otherwise there are two worthless, deluded psychopaths planting RDX bombs in the bathrooms of shopping centres.'

'Why did you bring it here?' Lilam demanded.

'So you could defuse it,' Six said, pointing at the nail clippers. 'I figured the only life you cared about was your own, therefore this was the best way to get the job done.'

'The whole building will blow! All your own agents will die!'

'All the agents have been evacuuated,' Six said. 'If that bomb goes off, the casualties will be you, me, the other prisoners in the cells, and anyone who happens to be on the street above our heads.' He shrugged. 'Not optimal, but better than a detonation in a shopping centre.'

'I'll kill you,' Liam snarled.

'Technically, yes,' Six said, 'if the bomb goes off. But I don't think it will. I think you're going to do what I want.'

Lilam stared at him for a long time. Then he said, 'No. I won't do a thing to help you.'

'I agree. You'll do it to help yourself.'

'You're making a mistake,' Lilam said. 'You're going to die here.'

'Fine,' Six said. He leaned against the wall. 'I'm ready. Are you?'

The timer read 02:51.

The timer read 02:50.

The timer read 02:49.

Six could see beads of sweat growing on Lilam's brow. His eyes were fixed on the timer, like all those inmates with the clocks in their rooms.

The timer read 02:37.

The timer read 02:36.

Lilam screamed and smashed his forearms against his chair, rattling his chains. He heaved his torso forward, pulling the clamp against his throat and making a roadmap of veins stand out on his forehead.

'Every second you spend doing that is a second you'll never get back,' Six said. 'And you haven't got many to waste.'

Lilam sat back, breathing heavily.

'134 seconds to live,' Six said. 'What would you like to do with them?'

He saw Lilam's eyes flick to the nail-scissors, and back to the bomb.

'Or, you could give me the URL that disarms it,' Six said. 'Then you'd have lots of time. But it's up to you.'

Lilam clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. Then he looked at Six, and said, 'This bomb can't be disarmed. Not after the countdown reaches fifteen minutes.'

He's lying, Six thought. 'Is that so?'

'Yes,' Lilam said. 'You'll have to get it out of here, somewhere where it won't hurt anyone.'

'I don't think so,' Six said. 'I like it right where it is.'

'We'll both die!' Lilam howled.

'Yes.' Six frowned. 'I wonder how I'll spend my last two minutes and five seconds.'

Then he turned and looked at Lilam. 'Maybe I'll break your arm.'

Lilam's eyes widened.

'I'm just wondering what you'd look like with a third elbow, that's all,' Six said. 'You could probably still defuse this one-handed if you had a change of heart. Would you like the break above, or below your real elbow?'

'You'd never go that far,' Lilam said.

'You sure?' Six asked. 'I wouldn't feel bad about it - it's nothing compared to the agony felt by the families of your dead victims, or the pain of the amputees who survived the disasters that you created.'

Lilam said nothing.

The counter read 01:40.

This isn't working, Six thought. He's scared, but not scared enough to defuse the bomb.

Six felt sick at what he was about to do, but he kept his face completely blank. Lives are at stake, he thought. I need to go further.

Six picked up the nail scissors and stared at them thoughtfully.

'It seems a shame to waste these,' he said.

Lilam shrunk back in his chair, more afraid of Six than he had been before.

'I wonder if you could still defuse the bomb with one eye?' Six wondered aloud. 'That is, assuming you have a change of heart after I half-blind you with these.'

A barely audible murmur escaped Lilam's lips. 'No.'

'Would you like to choose which eye?' Six asked.

'No,' Lilam said again.

Six walked around behind him, twirling the scissors on one finger. He put one hand on the top of Lilam's head. 'You sure? I'd want to choose.'

'No, don't do it!' Lilam screamed.

Six moved quickly, violently. Lilam thrashed around in his seat. But Six was only unlocking the clamp on Lilam's throat and the chains on his wrists. The Six put the nail scissors back down on the table, within Lilam's reach.

'If that countdown is still going by the time I get back,' he said, 'I'm going to use the remaining time to cripple you with those scissors. Got it?'

Lilam lunged at Six, teeth first. His ankles were still chained to the chair - maybe he figured he could incapacitate Six and take the key off his body. But Six ducked aside, twisted round and punched him square in the centre of his abdomen. Lilam doubled over. Six pushed him back down into the chair. Lilam was terrified, and in pain, but he didn't appear winded. That was good - Six wasn't sure if Lilam could defuse the bomb if he couldn't breathe.

Six punched in the code on the pad beside the door, careful not to let Lilam see. He walked out, and slid the door closed. Then he sprinted back up the hall and out of the cell block 72-C, towards the security station. He needed to watch the camera feed from the interrogation room.

When he got there, he saw that Lilam hadn't picked up the scissors yet. Six squinted as the grainy light from the television poured over him. Lilam was sitting with his palms flat on the table, on either side of the open briefcase.

Six's heart pounded in his chest. Come on, come on! he thought. Do it. If that bomb goes off . . .

Lilam touched the iron cube - a gentle, stroking motion. Like it was a beloved pet he had to put down. Six couldn't see the countdown, but it was still running in his head. Fifty seconds.

Lilam picked up the scissors. He hesitated.

Six held his breath.

Liam leaned forward, and snipped through the black wire. Then the leftmost green wire. Then, in quick succession, the yellow wire on the right, and the second green from the right. Then he stopped.

Six waited.

Lilam dropped the scissors. He tried to push himself away from the table. As his head turned, Six saw an expression of horror on his face.

The countdown hadn't stopped. Lilam had tried to defuse the bomb, and failed.

The counter hadn't stopped because Six hadn't actually hooked it up to anything. He had barely had time to take down Kyntak's description of the real bomb and find enough scrap metal to make a convincing duplicate, let alone make a working timer as well.

Six ignored Lilam's frenzied thrashing on the screen. The psychopath would believe he was going to die until the counter hit zero, but Six didn't care much. He snapped open his phone. It read no reception.

He ran out of the security station and tried again. The corridor was deserted - the Deck hadn't really been evacuaated, but most of the agents were outside dealing with the panicked crowds.

The call connected. 'Kyntak?'

'No hurry, Six,' Kytank said. 'I'm just clinging to the top of a communications tower with a bomb strapped to my back. I could sit here all day, if it weren't for this darn timer telling me I only have twenty seconds to live.'

'Shut up and listen to me,' Six hissed. 'Wires numbered left to right, cut them in this order. Eleven, black. Four, green. Three, yellow. Nine, green. Repeat that back to me.'

Nothing but dead air on the line. Twelve seconds to go.

'Kyntak!' Six repeated, starting to panic. 'Repeat the instructions!'

'Shut up, Six, I'm doing it!' Kyntak said.

Six heard three clicks as Kyntak cut three wires. 'Nine, green,' Six said again. Five seconds. 'Nine green!'

And then there was a beep as the call was disconnected. Six's phone was no longer recieving any data from Kyntak's handset.

No, Six thought. He felt dizzy. No, no, no!

Then the phone rang. Six jammed it to his ear and demanded, 'Kyntak?'

'Sorry about that,' Kyntak said. 'Part of the communication tower came off in my hand, and I had to put it back. The whole network was probably down for a second.'

A sigh of relief exploded out of Six, and he leaned against the wall. 'You idiot! You scared the crap out of me.'

'Out of you? I was the one who had to climb the tower with the bomb!'

Six started walking back to the interrogation room. 'You don't even want to know what I had to threaten to do to Lilam to get him to defuse the dummy.'

Six could hear the skepticism in Kyntak's voice. 'You didn't say the "third elbow" thing, did you?'

'No,' Six lied. 'I had a whole routine involving nail clippers.' He pushed open the door to the cell block.

'Nail clippers? I'm lucky to be alive.'

'Yes,' Six said as he approached the interrogation room door. 'You are. So a bit of gratitude might not go astray.'

He punched in the code and slid open the door. Then he froze.

Lilam was gone.

The blades of the scissors, no longer attached to each other, were twisted into the lock of one of the ankle chains. The iron cube was now wired to the battery of the counter, making it an electromagnet. It was sitting under the electronic door lock.

Lilam was loose again.

'Kyntak?' Six said. 'Get back to the car. We've still got a bomber to catch.'

[deniscollins]

Who Killed the Knapp Family?

The stock market is near record highs, but working-class Americans (often defined as those without college degrees) continue to struggle. If you’re only a high school graduate, or worse, a dropout, work no longer pays. If the federal minimum wage in 1968 had kept up with inflation and productivity, it would now be $22 an hour. Instead, it’s $7.25. In some ways, the situation is worsening, because families have imploded under the pressure of drug and alcohol abuse, and children are growing up in desperate circumstances. It would be easy but too simplistic to blame just automation and lost jobs: The problems are also rooted in disastrous policy choices over 50 years. If you owned a business, what, if anything, could you do to address this situation?

Chaos reigned daily on the No. 6 school bus, with working-class boys and girls flirting and gossiping and dreaming, brimming with mischief, bravado and optimism. Nick rode it every day in the 1970s with neighbors here in rural Oregon, neighbors like Farlan, Zealan, Rogena, Nathan and Keylan Knapp.

They were bright, rambunctious, upwardly mobile youngsters whose father had a good job installing pipes. The Knapps were thrilled to have just bought their own home, and everyone oohed and aahed when Farlan received a Ford Mustang for his 16th birthday.

Yet today about one-quarter of the children on that No. 6 bus are dead, mostly from drugs, suicide, alcohol or reckless accidents. Of the five Knapp kids who had once been so cheery, Farlan died of liver failure from drink and drugs, Zealan burned to death in a house fire while passed out drunk, Rogena died from hepatitis linked to drug use and Nathan blew himself up cooking meth. Keylan survived partly because he spent 13 years in a state penitentiary.

Among other kids on the bus, Mike died from suicide, Steve from the aftermath of a motorcycle accident, Cindy from depression and a heart attack, Jeff from a daredevil car crash, Billy from diabetes in prison, Kevin from obesity-related ailments, Tim from a construction accident, Sue from undetermined causes. And then there’s Chris, who is presumed dead after years of alcoholism and homelessness. At least one more is in prison, and another is homeless.

We Americans are locked in political combat and focused on President Trump, but there is a cancer gnawing at the nation that predates Trump and is larger than him. Suicides are at their highest rate since World War II; one child in seven is living with a parent suffering from substance abuse; a baby is born every 15 minutes after prenatal exposure to opioids; America is slipping as a great power.

We have deep structural problems that have been a half century in the making, under both political parties, and that are often transmitted from generation to generation. Only in America has life expectancy now fallen three years in a row, for the first time in a century, because of “deaths of despair.”

“The meaningfulness of the working-class life seems to have evaporated,” Angus Deaton, the Nobel Prize-winning economist, told us. “The economy just seems to have stopped delivering for these people.” Deaton and the economist Anne Case, who is also his wife, coined the term “deaths of despair” to describe the surge of mortality from alcohol, drugs and suicide.

The kids on the No. 6 bus rode into a cataclysm as working-class communities disintegrated across America because of lost jobs, broken families, gloom — and failed policies. The suffering was invisible to affluent Americans, but the consequences are now evident to all: The survivors mostly voted for Trump, some in hopes that he would rescue them, but under him the number of children without health insurance has risen by more than 400,000.

The stock market is near record highs, but working-class Americans (often defined as those without college degrees) continue to struggle. If you’re only a high school graduate, or worse, a dropout, work no longer pays. If the federal minimum wage in 1968 had kept up with inflation and productivity, it would now be $22 an hour. Instead, it’s $7.25.

We were foreign correspondents together for many years, periodically covering humanitarian crises in distant countries. Then we would return to the Kristof family farm in Yamhill and see a humanitarian crisis unfolding in a community we loved — and a similar unraveling was happening in towns across the country. This was not one town’s problem, but a crisis in the American system.

“I’m a capitalist, and even I think capitalism is broken,” says Ray Dalio, the founder of Bridgewater, the world’s largest hedge fund.

Even in this presidential campaign, the unraveling of working-class communities receives little attention. There is talk about the middle class, but very little about the working class; we discuss college access but not the one in seven children who don’t graduate from high school. America is like a boat that is half-capsized, but those partying above water seem oblivious.

“We have to stop being obsessed over impeachment and start actually digging in and solving the problems that got Donald Trump elected in the first place,” Andrew Yang argued in the last Democratic presidential debate. Whatever you think of Yang as a candidate, on this he is dead right: We have to treat America’s cancer.

In some ways, the situation is worsening, because families have imploded under the pressure of drug and alcohol abuse, and children are growing up in desperate circumstances. One of our dearest friends in Yamhill, Clayton Green, a brilliant mechanic who was three years behind Nick in school, died last January, leaving five grandchildren — and all have been removed from their parents by the state for their protection. A local school official sighs that some children are “feral.”

Farlan, the oldest of the Knapp children, was in Nick’s grade. A talented woodworker, he dreamed of opening a business called “Farlan’s Far Out Fantastic Freaky Furniture.” But Farlan ended up dropping out of school after the ninth grade.

Although he never took high school chemistry, Farlan became a first-rate chemist: He was one of the first people in the Yamhill area to cook meth. For a time he was a successful entrepreneur known for his high quality merchandise. “This is what I was made for,” he once announced with quiet pride. But he abused his own drugs and by his 40s was gaunt and frail.

In some ways, he was a great dad, for he loved his two daughters, Amber and Andrea, and they idolized him. But theirs was not an optimal upbringing: In one of Amber’s baby pictures, there’s a plate of cocaine in the background.

Farlan died of liver failure in 2009, just after his 51st birthday, and his death devastated both daughters. Andrea, who was smart, talented, gorgeous and entrepreneurial, ran her own real estate business but accelerated her drinking after her dad died. “She drank herself to death,” her uncle Keylan told us. She was buried in 2013 at the age of 29.

In the 1970s and ’80s it was common to hear derogatory suggestions that the forces ripping apart African-American communities were rooted in “black culture.” The idea was that “deadbeat dads,” self-destructive drug abuse and family breakdown were the fundamental causes, and that all people needed to do was show “personal responsibility.”

A Harvard sociologist, William Julius Wilson, countered that the true underlying problem was lost jobs, and he turned out to be right. When good jobs left white towns like Yamhill a couple of decades later because of globalization and automation, the same pathologies unfolded there. Men in particular felt the loss not only of income but also of dignity that accompanied a good job. Lonely and troubled, they self-medicated with alcohol or drugs, and they accumulated criminal records that left them less employable and less marriageable. Family structure collapsed.

It would be easy but too simplistic to blame just automation and lost jobs: The problems are also rooted in disastrous policy choices over 50 years. The United States wrested power from labor and gave it to business, and it suppressed wages and cut taxes rather than invest in human capital, as our peer countries did. As other countries embraced universal health care, we did not; several counties in the United States have life expectancies shorter than those in Cambodia or Bangladesh.

One consequence is that the bottom end of America’s labor force is not very productive, in ways that reduce our country’s competitiveness. A low-end worker may not have a high school diploma and is often barely literate or numerate while also struggling with a dependency; more than seven million Americans also have suspended driver’s licenses for failing to pay child support or court-related debt, meaning that they may not reliably show up at work.

Americans also bought into a misconceived “personal responsibility” narrative that blamed people for being poor. It’s true, of course, that personal responsibility matters: People we spoke to often acknowledged engaging in self-destructive behaviors. But when you can predict wretched outcomes based on the ZIP code where a child is born, the problem is not bad choices the infant is making. If we’re going to obsess about personal responsibility, let’s also have a conversation about social responsibility.

Why did deaths of despair claim Farlan, Zealan, Nathan, Rogena and so many others? We see three important factors.

First, well-paying jobs disappeared, partly because of technology and globalization but also because of political pressure on unions and a general redistribution of power toward the wealthy and corporations.

Second, there was an explosion of drugs — oxycodone, meth, heroin, crack cocaine and fentanyl — aggravated by the reckless marketing of prescription painkillers by pharmaceutical companies.

Third, the war on drugs sent fathers and mothers to jail, shattering families.

There’s plenty of blame to go around. Both political parties embraced mass incarceration and the war on drugs, which was particularly devastating for black Americans, and ignored an education system that often consigned the poor — especially children of color — to failing schools. Since 1988, American schools have become increasingly segregated by race, and kids in poor districts perform on average four grade levels behind those in rich districts.

Farlan’s daughter Amber seemed to be the member of the Knapp family most poised for success. She was the first Knapp ever to graduate from high school, and then she took a job at a telecommunications company, managing databases and training staff members to use computer systems. We were struck by her intellect and interpersonal skills; it was easy to imagine her as a lawyer or a business executive.

“PowerPoint presentations and Excel and pivot charts and matrix analytics, that’s what I like to do,” she told us. She married and had three children, and for a time was thriving.

Then in grief after her father and sister died, she imploded. A doctor had prescribed medications like Xanax, and she became dependent on them. After running out of them, she began smoking meth for the first time when she was 32.

“I was dead set against it my whole life,” she remembered. “I hated it. I’d seen what it did to everybody. My dad was a junkie who cooked meth and lost everything. You would think that was enough.” It wasn’t. She bounced in and out of jail and lost her kids.

Amber knew she had blown it, but she was determined to recover her life and her children. We had hoped that Amber would claw her way back, proof that it is possible to escape the messiness of the Knapp family story and build a successful life. We texted Amber a few times to arrange to get photos of Farlan, and then she stopped replying to our texts. Finally, her daughter responded: Amber was back in jail.

Yet it’s not hopeless. America is polarized with ferocious arguments about social issues, but we should be able to agree on what doesn’t work: neglect and underinvestment in children. Here’s what does work.

Job training and retraining give people dignity as well as an economic lifeline. Such jobs programs are common in other countries.

For instance, autoworkers were laid off during the 2008-9 economic crisis both in Detroit and across the Canadian border in nearby Windsor, Ontario. As the scholar Victor Tan Chen has showed, the two countries responded differently. The United States focused on money, providing extended unemployment benefits. Canada emphasized job retraining, rapidly steering workers into new jobs in fields like health care, and Canadian workers also did not have to worry about losing health insurance.

Canada’s approach succeeded. The focus on job placement meant that Canadian workers were ushered more quickly back into workaday society and thus today seem less entangled in drugs and family breakdown.

Another successful strategy is investing not just in prisons but also in human capital to keep people out of prisons. The highest-return investments available in America may be in early education for disadvantaged children, but there are also valuable interventions available for adolescents and adults. We attended a thrilling graduation in Tulsa, Okla., for 17 women completing an impressive local drug treatment program called Women in Recovery.

The graduates had an average of 15 years of addiction each, and all were on probation after committing crimes. Yet they had quit drugs and started jobs, and 300 people in the audience — including police officers who had arrested them and judges who had sentenced them — gave the women a standing ovation. The state attorney general served as the commencement speaker and called them “heroes,” drawing tearful smiles from women more accustomed to being called “junkies” or “whores.”

“I thought we’d be planning a funeral instead,” said one audience member whose younger sister had started using meth at age 12 and was now graduating at 35. Women in Recovery has a recidivism rate after three years of only 4 percent, and consequently has saved Oklahoma $70 million in prison spending, according to the George Kaiser Family Foundation.

Bravo for philanthropy, but the United States would never build interstate highways through volunteers and donations, and we can’t build a national preschool program or a national drug recovery program with private money. We need the government to step up and jump-start nationwide programs in early childhood education, job retraining, drug treatment and more.

For individuals trying to break an addiction, a first step is to face up to the problem — and that’s what America should do as well. Our own reporting in the past focused on foreigners, affording us an emotional distance, while this time we spoke with old friends and had no armor. It has been wrenching to see them struggle. But ultimately we saw pathways forward that leave us hopeful.

One of our dear friends in Yamhill was Rick (Ricochet) Goff, who was part Indian and never had a chance: His mom died when he was 5 and his dad was, as he put it, “a professional drunk” who abandoned the family. Ricochet was a whiz at solving puzzles and so dependable a friend that he would lend pals money even when he couldn’t afford medicine for himself. We deeply felt Ricochet’s loss when he died four years ago, and we also worried about his adult son, Drew, who is smart and charismatic but had been messing with drugs since he was 12.

Drew’s son, Ashtyn, was born with drugs in his system, and we feared that the cycle of distress was now being passed on to the next generation. We exchanged letters with Drew while he was in prison but lost touch.

Then, when we were visiting a drug-treatment program in Oregon called Provoking Hope, a young man bounded over to us. “It’s me, Drew,” he said.

We have been close with Drew since, and he fills us with optimism. With the help of Provoking Hope, Drew will soon celebrate two years free of drugs, and he holds a responsible job at the front desk of a hotel. He has custody of Ashtyn and is now an outstanding dad, constantly speaking to him and playing with him. Drew still has a tempestuous side, and occasionally he has some rash impulse — but then he thinks of Ashtyn and reins himself in.

“I’m a work in progress,” he told us. “The old me wants to act out, and I won’t allow that.”

Drew keeps moving forward, and we believe he’s going to thrive along with Ashtyn, breaking the cycle that had enmeshed his family for generations. With support and balance, this can be done — if we as a society are willing to offer help, not just handcuffs.

“It’s a tightrope I’m walking on,” Drew said. “And sometimes it seems to be made of fishing line.”

[chiseler]

“Your philosophy stinks, pal”

In the middle of nowhere, in the dark, a guy trudges along the road trying to thumb a ride. His face is crumpled with defeat. He’s wearing a dead man’s suit. Al Roberts in Detour is the apotheosis of the noir shlump, in the shlumpiest film noir—a grungy, down-at-heels little flick released just three months after V-J Day, puncturing the nation’s triumphant mood like the shard of a beer bottle in a white-wall tire. Who would want Detour to look better than it does? Everything about it is definitive: the muddy lighting and grainy image; the creased, hangdog face of Tom Neal as Roberts; the raw performance of Anne Savage as Vera, a woman with the manners and morals of a rabid alley cat; the scenery of crummy diners, used-car lots, drive-ins, cheap hotel rooms and endless highways running through the desert night.

Like all shlumps, Al Roberts is convinced he’s destined for greatness—if only Fate wouldn’t keep sticking out a foot to trip him. He was once a nightclub pianist in New York with a beautiful blonde fiancée, but she refused to marry him and resign herself to a life of penny-pinching mediocrity. When she left to try her luck in Hollywood—chasing the same old dream of fame and success—he set out after her, hitching across country with barely enough money to eat.

Hitch-hiking is a barometer of trust. The Depression fostered a sense that everyone was in the same boat and Americans were obligated to help each other out, but after WWII, Hollywood produced a series of sour warnings against picking up strangers. The chronically dyspeptic Roberts hates hitching even before things go wrong. He’s humiliated by the inferior position it places him in, the way it advertises his failure to achieve even the most basic symbol of American success: a car. When he’s picked up by a free-spending blowhard named Haskell, Al pays his way by listening to his host’s bombastic monologue. He’s a morose yes-man, both obsequious and resentful. As Greil Marcus beautifully wrote, “There is nothing in his face but sweat, stubble, shame and anger. All the shared gestures of the Great Depression are present in the way Tom Neal sits in the car.”

When Haskell unexpectedly dies of natural causes, Roberts is convinced that no one will believe the truth. This panicky pessimism springs from his conviction that fate is against him—or is that just a convenient excuse? Al’s narration is one long, self-serving whine of grievance. The way he keeps accusing us, the audience, of not believing him—defensively imagining the laughter on our smug faces as we give him that “who are you kidding?” look—hardly inspires confidence as he drives off with a fat wallet and another man’s car. (That Tom Neal would later serve six years for “accidentally” shooting his wife, and die of heart failure shortly after his release, proves that truth is more noir than fiction.)

It isn’t fate that puts the finger on Al, it’s Vera, the “tomato” he picks up outside a filling station, who suddenly fixes him with a gorgon glare and demands, in a voice that sounds like a paint-scraper, “Okay, whadja do with his body?” Al and Vera are a sick noir twist on the screwball couple. They’re meant for each other: the limp, self-pitying shlemiel and the bossy, sharp-clawed harpy. They snipe at each other, but with the rhythm of snappy banter. They seem more like a couple than Al and his bland fiancée, albeit a sado-masochistic one. Vera’s ceaseless stream of vituperation and acrid invective is gleeful, almost flirtatious. “Shut up! You’re making noises like a husband,” she sneers when he’s impatient.

Al never tries to escape from Vera. When he sarcastically says, “My favorite sport is being kept prisoner,” he’s really telling the truth. His weakness and need to believe himself ill-used are both fulfilled by Vera’s gloating control; her aggression perfectly moulds to his passivity. She berates him for his gloomy fatalism (“Your philosophy stinks, pal”), declaring that in this life you have to swing at anything that comes your way. She has a kind of cockeyed optimism, even as she’s aware that she is dying of TB, a knowledge that makes her reckless. She may look “like she’d been thrown off the crummiest freight train in the world,” but at heart she’s no shlump. Her demonic energy and unbridled avarice make her a tarnished version of the pre-Code dame who’ll do anything to get ahead.

The Code requires Al to pay for his crimes, accidental though they may have been, so the highway patrol pulls up at the last moment to arrest him. The film should have ended with him wandering the empty, blackened country, unable ever to return home or reach the woman he loves, fading into the great American night like Paul Muni in I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang. His greasy face, an inverted V of anxious despair, is a roadside icon. It belongs on the Mount Rushmore of Shlumps.

by Imogen Sara Smith

[fandomthesickness]

Paradise Lost.

Hello all! So I’m pretty bad at one-shots not gonna lie. I suck at compressing a full-on romantic arc into one short thing as I like to spread it out a bit more but I decided to try this! It is a bit cliche but I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to give me feedback!

-Thegardenerofvoltron

Paradise lost. Well, not the book but that is what had happened. Their paradise was lost. The castle of lions was fully destroyed against their traumatizing battle with Lotor. It was the only home the paladins of Voltron had known for the past 2 years. What was to come now? Earth… no… it was too far without their beloved ship.

Things were too dicey. Everyone was so grateful to have Shiro back but they were not the same joyful selves they had always been. Well, can you blame them? Allura, as well as Coran, were broken as Allura lost the guy she thought actually understood her and she and Coran lost one of the last connections to their beautiful home planet, Altea. Their pain was the paladin’s pain as well. They all felt so betrayed and lost by Lotor and because of this entire debacle. Keith looked after Shiro day and night with Hunk and Krolia, who were his emotional support. Romelle still had no idea what in the world happened (and was a bit distasteful as she wanted to be the one to slay Lotor), and then there were Pidge and Lance. They were just… lost. Lance didn’t know what to think about Lotor but when he left and noticed Allura heartbrokenly, he felt nothing. What I mean is that he felt no happiness as you would expect him to. I think we all would expect Lance to just waltz right in and swoop a broken Allura off her feet. But weirdly, Lance had no desire to. He finally got the full picture in his head that Allura had something with Lotor that Lance could never dream about. She was his sister from another mister, so it wouldn’t be best for him. Over the last few months, he decided that but just his old habits made him keep flirting with her. To cope with it, he usually would waste his time around the castle working on long distance shooting but sadly, that option wasn’t available. Now, what was he to do about all of this? His mental state and his feelings were just like their lions in space… lost.

Pidge felt uneasy in general. Usually, she would always know what to do. That’s why she was the team’s brain as she was always on top of all the crap they managed to pile up. But with everything so sudden and without the precious technology she grew close to in the castle, she was so... lost. Not to mention how mentally shaken up she was. Usually, her thoughts consisted of three things. Technology, combat, and her family. Now, what was even there to process? She had no sufficient technology (as everything was installed in the castle of lions), there wasn’t much to combat as space was now mostly empty as the Galra were distant and her family? Well… she had no idea where the F they were. She lost all contact with Matt, and they were too far to contact Earth. Sometimes, she would try to think about Lotor and Allura just to get her mind off of her pain but her thought process went like this.

“Ok stop thinking about yourself Katie… focus on other things like Lotor to distract yourself.” She mumbled.

“Allura and Lotor were perfect for each other and now he is gone, meaning that Allura is all alone. What does this mean for us? Well, no one else really would be affected as no one felt anything against Lotor when it came to… wait…. Lance.” She stopped abruptly.

She continued to think aloud, “So… um, Lance felt resentment towards Lotor as she.. love-LIKES Allura.” She stuttered. Her heart grew heavy for a moment.

“Now that he is gone, he would instantly go for her and Allura would be too vulnerable to his dark hair… ocean eyes… sweet jo-.” Pidge stopped herself. She instantly felt worse than before. From this, she concluded that even thinking about “other paladins” (AKA LANCE) would not make her distracted.

Little did she know that Lance was doing the exact opposite of what she was expecting. Her paradise of knowing things was… lost.

It was a dull day. The lions remained on a wasteland planet with little resources. Luckily, Hunk managed to save some non-perishable, edible products from the castle which tied everyone down. Anyway, Pidge remained in her lion with the last of her technological objects. Video games made her depressed as all the characters in it as they had a purpose and she didn’t, food seemed boring as she couldn’t keep distracting herself with it, and she felt that all the paladins would expect her to have an answer on what the hell to do. So socializing just wasn’t an option in her state of mind.

Lance wandered around the vicinity where the lions were stationed. He stared off into space as he walked thinking about what he could be doing. But frankly, there was nothing to do. He wanted to avoid Allura has he felt too guilty and he was useless when it came to caring for Shiro so he was out of options. The lions were placed fairly apart from each other because Keith wanted to cover more ground of the planet. He passed by all the lions while he walked except for green. Lately, Pidge seemed so distant from everyone as she stayed locked up in her lion all the time. Sometimes, she would reply through the coms and come to get food but then, she would walk back to the green lion before Lance could even utter a word to her. She barely even came to visit Shiro in his crypod which is very unlike her. Lance walked closer to her lion as he continued his walk. He decided it would be best to check up on her. Everyone else was all coping together except her and Lance hated that she wasn’t around him.

As Lance walked closer to her Lion’s front opening hatch, he continued to think about her.

‘I wonder why she is acting so distant. I mean she has reasons to but Shiro has managed to stay conscious before and he asks about her. And I do kind of... I MEAN the others miss having her around. Lance... Calm down… she is probably fine. She is probably just sitting and playing video games… yea that's it right? LANCE CALM DOWN STOP ACTING NERVOUS.’ He thought internally.

He opened the front hatch of the lion.

Pidge sat in her lion, alone with her thoughts. Nothing was working, nothing distracted her. She couldn’t bring herself to leave her lion as she didn’t have answers, and for some reason, she felt annoyed to go out. Along with not having an answer, she just didn’t want to see Lance go after Allura. Something about it… just caused some anger inside of her. She heard her hatch door open, it was probably Keith of Hunk coming to give her food. She wiped her eyes, grabbed a random piece of tech off the floor, and tried to fake doing some calculations so it looked like she knew what to do.

Lance climbed through the lion’s door and entered the cockpit. He saw her sitting in the pilot seat typing away on some sort of tablet.

“Hey, Pidgeon.” He stated with some optimism. Pidge’s heart pinged as he heard Lance’s voice.

She grew sadness… she wanted to avoid him completely as just his face bothered her.

“Um.. hey.” She stated not looking up at him.

Lance sensed some tension in her voice. She didn’t want to see him right now and Lance respected that.

“Umm.. if you want to be left alone I’ll just see you at dinner.” He said making his way to the lion’s main entrance.

Pidge felt weird at this point. She wanted him out but at the same time, she didn’t want him to leave. I know, it sounds delusional but it is the truth.

“Wait.. um..”

“Yea?”

“No… you are all good. You can stay if you like.” She said gritting her teeth.

Lance didn’t trust her voice but something inside of him didn’t want to leave her. From the 3 years, he knew Pidge, he had grown to figure out when something was very wrong with her.

“Alright.” He replied smiling at her, trying to raise the spirits in the room.

Pidge continued to type away on her tablet. She was randomly typing some letters into her coding terminal app. It was just meaningless letters, they weren't coded at all. She was just doing it to make herself look like she knew what to do. Shee caught Lance’s smile at her and instantly wanted to leave, but she couldn’t figure out why his face was bothering her. She kept associating Lance with his meaningless crush on Allura which made her resentful.

As Lance walked up to the pilot seat where she was sitting, he observed her area. All her technology was dusty and as he touched the touch screens, he noticed they were cold. Pidge’s tech screens were always warm because of her constant use of them. They were only cold at night or when she was out on missions where she wasn’t using them. Lance could tell she hadn’t been using them for a while. The Mercury Gameflux looked incredibly dusty as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Lance grew extremely worried.

“So… I noticed you seemed very distant from all of us. I only see you when you have to pick up food.’’ Lance started to explain. He quickly noticed Pidge stopped typing on her tablet.

“Well... um, yea... I just have a lot to do to get us off this planet.” She said, clearing her throat. As she spoke she noticed Lance’s blue eyes piercing into hers.

As Pidge replied, Lance noticed how red her eyes were and they weren’t because she was staying up at night. They were watery and alarmingly red which indicated she had been crying often the past few days. Usually, Pidge’s eyes were only red when she had been coding and they were never watery. They were always dry with a slight tint of rose on the eyeballs. Lance guessed it was probably from stress or because they lost their only home in space.

“Pidge… you know there’s no rush right? We aren’t expecting to get off this planet anytime soon hahaha.” Lance said kindly.  “I promise we will get home soon. So don’t feel bad about it.” He said softly as he placed his hand on her tensed shoulder.

Pidge couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t handle it. She felt Lance’s warm hand atop her shoulder and tears formed just as they had been the last few weeks. She quickly wiped them.

“Um.. *clears throat* yea I know… but I bet aha… um… you guys are expecting me to have found... A way…” Pidge’s voice cracked and started to become shaky. She couldn’t hide it anymore. Tears poured down on her face, she just wanted to disappear and be in her home with Bae-Bae in her lap watching old Star Wars and Star Trek movies with her family.

“Woah Woah hey Pidge!” Lance fully hugged her in his arms once he saw the tears.

“I.. I haven’t been going out because I haven’t found a solution yet I’m sorry!” She cried. She was surprised with herself on how she broke down so quickly.  

“Pidge stop it! What the hell? We don’t expect anything out of you at all! We were all worried sick for you, not for our survival on this planet! We are a team haven’t you gotten that? We are all gonna figure this out together!” He hugged her tightly. Pidge dug her face into Lance’s jacket as she was so miserable but so relieved at the fact no one was awaiting her findings.

“Everything is fine Pidge… don’t worry.” Lance wiped her tears and smiled at her. Pidge’s eyes were red and her face was wet from tears but slightly red at the proximity of Lance’s face near her.

“T-thank you but I can’t help think it was my fault…” She sniffled. “I should have done something since the castle was destroyed. I should have harvested more of the quintessence energy from it and stored into the lio-” She rambled.

“NO. You did everything you could. We all did. Don’t ever EVER say that it was your fault as I won’t let you.” Lance said staring directly into her hazel eyes.

“...Thanks, L-lance. I’m sorry I have been avoiding you and everyone else.” She mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you are alright,” Lance said putting his arm around her.

“Also Pidge?”

“Yea Lance?” She sniffed.

“Please don’t ever say the words ‘harvest quintessence’ in any context because that just reminds me of Lotor and ugh… still gives me nightmares.” He joked.

Pidge did a small chuckle. He was a goofball but she hadn’t felt this good in ages.

“Alright, you got a point there… damn… that was scarring. But I bet your especially happy he’s gone.” She mumbled.

“Well we all should be, I mean why would it be me especially?” Lance asked inquisitively.

“Well, you and your crush on Allura… now that he’s gone you can get back to pursuing her.” Pidge mumbled trying not to sound annoyed. She was puzzled at herself as she was confused why she would be annoyed.

Lance’s face turned red from embarrassment.

“I’ll have you know that that isn’t true. I realized that me and Allura would haven’t been a virtuous relationship months ago.” He replied calmly.

“What??” Pidge looked up in surprise.

“I mean yea… I acted a bit jealous when he first came around but that was because he captured her so easily. But here is the thing… I think it wasn’t a real crush. I think it was just me trying to beef my low self-esteem up. I think of her as my older sister now and that was all in the past. I never had a real romantic love for her… I was an idiot then.” He said looking down.

Pidge was shell-shocked. Her face was still wet from tears but now her face was even redder.

“And what makes you think you still aren’t an idiot?” She smiled sweetly. Her shoulders became less tensed as she smiled, she felt happy and her smile was full glassed.

“Ha ha very funny.” He said sarcastically, looking at her hazel eyes. He noticed her full smile and immediately felt happy. Seeing how she was so depressed and locked in the past few weeks, it made his heart happy to see her smile.

Pidge looked back at Lance, staring into his ocean blue eyes but instantly, her smile diminished. She remembered picking on Matt and making funny jokes with him. She greatly missed him, it was like he was completely gone as he could be dead and Pidge had no clue. She frowned and stared into her lap. Lance, immediately noticed this too and his smile also came to an end as well.

“Katie... What's wrong?” He asked while softly tilting her chin upward.

Pidge looked up at him and sighed.

“Ugh.. sorry… I just thought of Matt for a second.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he will be waiting for us on Earth,” Lance reassured her.

“What if you are wrong?” She asked him. “I haven’t been able to make any contact with him and I don’t know the whereabouts on him. Last time we chatted, he had to leave abruptly and he said he would contact me again. But that hasn’t happened and without the castle being our hub of communication, he could be in grave danger and have no access to us.” She explained with her eyes watering up again.

“Hey… don’t fret. You were able to find him once, you can find him again. Even though you are the younger one, he is a lot like you Pidge. I doubt he is as strong as you, but he is well suited for survival. He can manage and I bet he is still with his crew floating safely to Earth. Got that?” Lance said tilting his head onto hers.

This proximity as killing Pidge on the inside but she didn’t want it to stop. She felt… assured for the first time in a while. It was like all her problems were washing away. The tears didn’t stop though as since she was bottling it up for so long, all the pain was oozing out of her. She cursed herself for her tears as she hated to cry as it made her seem weak to people. But his ocean blue eyes and kind words left her with so much comfort.

“Lance… thank you.” She mumbled softly through her tears.

“Pidge, I swear, you are not going to be alone… ever. The team will always be there to help you. We are all in this together and no one will ever expect you to do the impossible. Don’t box yourself in… we care about you Pidge.” Lance said softly gazing at her. His voice started to shake and crack.

“I care about you, Katie.” He said one final time.

Pidge looked back at him, gazingly. She wiped her left eye. In her entire life, the only people to have ever called her that was her family and Shiro. When she heard Lance say it, her heart jolted. The distance between them was unbearable and a part of her wanted it to close. Their faces slowly started to lean into each other and both Pidge and Lance’s heart skipped a beat. Their lips finally touched as they both kissed. It was a sloppy one but beautiful. Lance cupped Pidge’s face and sweetly, but passionately kissed her. Pidge moved her body closer to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. They slowly made out with each other not wanting the other person to detach.

It is true. Both Lance and Pidge’s paradise was lost as the castle of lions was gone as well as their certainty on the future. But… things did look up. As Lance and Pidge found something better… they found each other. So paradise lost? Nah… more like paradise found.

[pxiao]

Yeah I pretty much agree but if I want to say my general feelings. I hate Jud//ai the least of the three and if given the chance would beat him to death along with Yusa//ku. I mean Yu//ma is just a kid so he gets some more leeway from me.

Ok essentially Ju//dai is at the end of the day a selfish prick and he has always been a selfish prick. He’s ok in BBT but that’s because he’s the least focused of the three protagonists. And I’ll be honest I don’t think Ju//dai is gay or straight or any sexuality really because the only person he loves IS HIMSELF. He barely has enough care to think about his friends and even then if it doesn’t align with his desires, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have it in him to pay attention to others enough to be physically attracted to anyone and I don’t mean that he’s asexual. No that’s insulting to actual asexual people as they still care about people! Ju//dai never grows up despite what GX likes to tell us. Ju//dai is a selfish jerk that doesn’t care enough of his friends to help them if it doesn’t benefit him and he ENDS the show that way. Doesn’t help that he seriously hogs the screentime in his show. His biggest flaws is his hero complex, his self-centered nature and just how lazy he is as a person and I don’t mean schoolwork either. The fourth season he was supposed to be researching Darkness and he SAT ON HIS ASS THE ENTIRE TIME TILL THEY ATTACKED! Au///stin DID ALL THE WORK! Season 3 is all about how he needs to grow up because everything comes to easy to him which is just faux-philosophy at the end of the day. Essentially they’re saying his flaw is HE HAS NO FLAWS! But at the end of the day Judai is just an aggreving character and doesn’t do any real harm. While his fandom worships him, they mostly stay in their own lane. So he’s easy to ignore. 

Yu//ma is also a dumbass douche like Ju/dai but like ten times stupider. His main issue is he’s just static so instead of maturing and growing, he just makes the same mistakes over and over. Despite the show saying that he’s nice and kind, he’s got a lot of douchey moments for no other reason than for bad comedy. Like he made Ko//tori get off from the rollercoaster control ride thing to have a serious duel and promises to get her when the duel is over and legit forgets about her. Leaving her stranded in an amusement park and only remembers when he’s eating dinner. After two of his friends, one of which is his BEST FRIEND no less were traumatized by a duel they had which HE SAW, Yu//ma went about the next day not giving a shit and walking around. And for As/tral when he gave up one of the Number cards for a kid that needed luck for an operation, he IGNORED As/tral’s worry that Yu//ma wasn’t going to get it back. Considering each number card is part of As//tral’s MEMORIES, it’s rather cruel to essentially ignore his reasonable fears about losing part of his identity FOREVER. But he is a 13 year old and yeah we can all be jerks and idiots. So I’m not going to be AS hard on Yu//ma as Jud//ai. But Yu//ma’s still an asshole. The issue is he has a legit flaw to him that the show just tries to say is really a strength. His naivete. There is a BIG difference between optimism and naivete and Yu//ma is very much the latter. Yu//ma honestly believes that if you DUEL with someone you’re friends now. Even if a duel is a conversation, I don’t become friends with everyone I talk to. See how dumb that idea is. Yu//ma also believes in everyone EVEN IF THEY HAVE HURT YOU AND INTEND ON HURTING YOU. Like wth Ve//ctor whose first real interaction with Yu//ma was trolling him to break his friendship with As//tral and very nearly killed him and his friends. And since then Ve//ctor has continued to be a sadistic freak that keeps trying to murder him and then he tries to save Ve//ctor and after Ve//ctor revealed it he was planning on letting Yu//ma die to save his own skin, Yu//ma was FINE WITH IT. And then the show KEEPS ON PRAISING HIM FOR HAVING A HEART THAT TRUST OTHERS WITHOUT ANY QUESTION. AND THAT’S FUCKING STUPID. I don’t think we should automatically think everyone in the world is evil and wants to harm you but going the exact opposite is just as dumb. Not everyone is kind and wants what’s best for you and if you aren’t careful, you will be used and be hurt. I hate Yu//ma more because he teaches a HORRIBLE lesson to kids about overly trusting. And it’s not fun watching him as his dueling is stale. He use his monsters just to power up Hope and if that doesn’t work, he cheats a card with Shinin//g draw.  And his fans are also annoying thinking he’s better than Yu///ya, which is 10000% wrong but in general they’re not a big issue due to Yu//ma mostly being rather unpopular.  

OH YU/SAKU or PM. I LOATHE HIM WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING. Like you said, he’s bland and that’s the nicest thing we can say about him. At least Ju/dai and Yu//ma had personalities, PM doesn’t even have that. He’s just PSTD kid with no background or interests. He’s at best character traits of stoic. His “comedy” isn’t funny and more just sudden shut ups. Everyone in the show worships him, that’s a literal fact of the dumbass show. And the worst part of it is, HE DOESN’T DESERVE ANY OF THIS SHIT. He’s honestly not that good of a duelist since he didn’t actually make his deck and even then he rarely wins duels with just the cards in his deck. THE VAST MAJORITY OF HIS DUELS ARE WON BY CHEATING A NEW CARD. His strategy is basic power up my monsters and try to get my LP lower than 1000 to use my skill. His PM design is ugly, everything goes his way and his deck is pure shit. The only decent card is Firewall and that’s banned so he doesn’t even have that anymore. He’s not that smart as he’s gotten into PLENTY of TRAPS because he rushed in head first. He’s not active at all with him being at best reactionary to threats even in season 1 despite him wanting revenge. THE ONLY THING HE DID OF HIS OWN INITIATIVE was storming SOL and even then nothing came out of it as he couldn’t decode the Ignis code. Narrative there is no reason to like him as he RARELY CARES ABOUT OTHERS. When G//o first turned against him, he didn’t care at all and went about his mission. Great way to show he cares about the people he worked with. HELL the next time he sees G//o, he brings up that they used to work together SO WHY DOES HE SUDDENLY CARE???? BUT THE WORST THING HE DOES IS SEND THE WORST MESSAGE TO PEOPLE SUFFERING FROM MENTAL SICKNESS. He says after his trauma, he got counselling but it didn’t work and he gave up on it and allow me to say this. FUCK YOU YOS//HIDA! As someone that had to take treatment due to mental illness that means Yu//saku is a wimp. My therapist told me this, “the treatment only works as well as you try.” I’m not saying all therapists are good but since Yu/saku apparently only tried ONE THERAPIST, he concluded it didn’t work and stopped. HE’S GIVING THE IDEA THAT THERAPY DOESN’T WORK. AND LET ME TELL YOU FUCK THAT SHIT, HE’S TEACHING PEOPLE THAT THERAPY DOESN’T WORK TO A COUNTRY THAT ALREADY DOESN’T LIKE THERAPY, WRITTEN BY A MIDDLE AGED MAN WHO PROBABLY DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT. THIS IS A SHIT LESSON AND PLENTY OF HIS FANS USE YU//SAKU TO NOT GET BETTER AND STAY MISERABLE! HE’S A HORRIBLE CHARACTER AND TEACHES THE WORST LESSON EVER AND HE CAN GO DIE IN A DITCH FOR ALL I CARE. 

Also his fans are annoying, they cuddle him and act like he’s great when he’s really nothing but a projector. And if anything his fandom is shrinking just to them realizing how boring he is. I would say about 90% of his fans are Data/storm/shippers and they’re their own bag of stupidity. 

[dotsayers]

.exe

Sometimes you have to speak in absolutes.

For instance: my ship is on a collision course. There’s nothing I can do about it.

The virus downloaded itself yesterday, the fourth day after the war began again.

Not that the war ever really ends. We just get tired of it from time to time, take a breather for anywhere from a few days to a century, and then go right back to blasting the shit out of the other side for no reason at all. We’re not a species built for peace.

I’d like to be, though. Good God would I like to be. I think it might be nice if someday, instead of sitting pretty in a Mark IV on the outer rim of the Byron System, I could take myself out into the black on my own terms. Spend a few years mapping the unknown, maybe find a nice corner of it to settle down. Farm whatever weirdo native fauna I come across there. Find something to do with my hands besides piloting junker after junker across a shrinking frontier.

It’s a dream I’ll have to shelve for now. It gets pride of place, right beside getting a full ride through flight academy.

Nothing for it now.

I call the virus EXE for a whole bunch of reasons, but mostly because I like to imagine it as a nemesis instead of what viruses are: automated programs, incapable of good old fashioned hatred. Something I can’t even hope to negotiate with, even if I hadn’t flunked Conflict Resolution 101 back in high school.

Right now EXE is broadcasting through comms, probably another pre-programmed monologue about the necessity of its mission and the futility of trying to root it out of my ship’s base code. There must be a ton of them available; I’ve heard four or five variations filtering through over the last few hours.

I can’t pay attention to any of that, though. I’m too busy ripping the server room apart trying to find a hard drive it hasn’t corrupted yet.

Mark IVs were phased out of the military three decades ago for inefficiency, and I can certainly see why right now--there must be over a thousand cables in this room, connecting banks with spiderweb tangles that I can barely even start to make sense of in the pale violet emergency lighting.

The instruction manual I found in the lost property locker is completely unhelpful, of course. Even if I knew half of what I needed to about my own ship’s systems, it’s water damaged to shit and covered in scribbles I can’t even start to puzzle out.

It got digitized a couple years back but I can’t access that now, of course. Nothing’s ever easy out here, and EXE’s not helping matters.

The tech officer got reassigned months ago. Probably for the best, considering my current situation, but in this case the best essentially doomed me to a slow, unpleasant wait for a quick death.

My Plan Z will have to do--delete all the base code I can find. Hopefully it’ll break something vital in EXE’s code or, if it comes to it, the ship’s.

EXE barks T-MINUS EIGHTEEN HOURS over comms. The lights shift in shade, from emergency violet to FUBAR red.

“Could you at least pretend not to be completely evil?” I mutter, mostly for something to do. Crawling through the ship to avoid the occasional blasts of boiling steam or flying shrapnel from panels exploding, breathing in god knows what gases, has done a real number on my throat. It aches constantly now, and my voice is suffering with it.

The access port of the very last bank in the darkest corner of the room seems to hold all the hopes I’ve ever had. The shape is right for my uplink cable, and I risk turning on the thin light of my headlamp as I creep into the narrow gap between it and the hull. A bare twelve inches separate me from the vacuum of space--Mark IVs have a bad reputation for a reason. Frankly it’s a miracle I survived long enough for a virus to take over and set me on a collision course with a Martian freighter.

I always assumed I’d die a flashy, holo-drama death. Something with the general aesthetic of explosive decompression, maybe. I liked the idea of exploding, but not the idea of someone having to clean me up afterwards.

Connecting to the server banks directly is risky, I know, but there’s no other way to access the information I need--the code that makes EXE tick. At least I have to assume that’s the case; the corruption of data could well have mutated to the point that not even EXE itself is off limits.

We’re both going to die when the ship crashes. I don’t know what EXE thinks about that. I don’t know if EXE thinks much about anything.

Above me a warning light flashes orange; a power surge. Fuck.

The screen of my datapad flickers; pixels blown in a long ago incident with a bulkhead multiply and darken until only the top half of the screen is legible. The rest is completely broken, pulsing lines and scrambled text.

Honestly, I think I’m going to cry. The uplink fails the next moment--the access port I’d plugged into fries, and the smell of burning plastic fills the alcove I’m crammed into.

“Son of a bitch,” I say, and feel the dam break. Sobbing has never been my favourite activity, for obvious reasons--I hate the gluey feeling in your eyes, the raw skin on your cheeks afterwards, the way your throat scratches for hours and lets everyone in on what exactly you’ve been doing, curled up small in your bunk after lights out.

I can taste salt in my mouth when I finally cry myself out--there’s an empty feeling in my chest, and my head is light. That might be oxygen deprivation rather than simple dehydration, but I can’t be sure; I think EXE might be reducing life support to increase power to engines. There’s a readout on my datapad, partly cut off, that indicates trouble in the fuel lines.

“Serves you right,” I mumble, and crawl out from behind the server.

My ship has taken a lot of damage over the years; last time I talked to Ma, a full orbit before I got this job, she helped me through programming new shields for the hull and then asked what colour sweater I wanted knitting before I left. “Space is cold, you know,” she said, wisely. “Best keep warm up there. And best do it in something handmade, not in that synthetic shit.” I only nodded and smiled, as if this was some kind of revelation; you don’t talk back to Ma.

I’ve been working in space my whole life, fighting the war when it comes and taking whatever I can get my hands on when it’s sleeping. Ma had me on a Mark III, back when she was a techie and not a homesteader on a moon halfway across the system. That’s why I’ve always known space is cold, but didn’t understand it until now. Now that life support is drained to half power, and the air is starting to fog as I breathe. It’s a good thing I’ll be dead soon; something important might start to rust, otherwise.

My datapad trills, a message incoming. The sound makes me jump, and I smack my head on the curve of the hull above me. I wince, rub at the rapidly forming bruise, and check the message.

CHANNEL: System Alerts

ID:ShipIntl.exe

> MAJOR SYSTEMS PERSIST IN SUBOPTIMAL PERFORMANCE

> MISSION STATUS INCOMPLETE

> MISSION REQUIRES OPTIMAL PERFORMANCE FOR COMPLETION

> WILL SUBJECT ASSIST? Y/N

I blink a few times. It’s difficult to process anything when you’ve just whacked your head on something, but especially when your datapad is half broken and a Trojan Horse is offering you a job.

At least EXE’s question has a very easy answer.

> N

> N N N N N N N N N N N N

I buckle the datapad to my belt and push myself away from the hull. I’m in the main corridor now, still low to the floor and starting to drift. I can almost hear the gravity generator groaning--I have to use the hand-grips set into the floor panels to crawl now. I can’t seem to make any progress without them, hands and knees sliding uselessly.

There’s a medical cabinet set into the wall somewhere along the main corridor, I know that for certain, but the red light and steam venting and unidentified gas makes finding the fucking thing a nightmare. I can hear my datapad trilling again, over and over, but I don’t let myself think about that until I get my left hand fixed around the cabinet door. The green cross set into the wall beside it flickers.

I tug at the handle. The door doesn’t budge. I tug a little harder. It rattles, but still doesn’t shift.

“Locked,” I say, shoulders sagging. “Of course.”

EXE changed the access codes to all essential systems when it took over. Clearly medical anything is considered essential, and I can’t argue with that considering the throbbing pain in my head. Choosing to come out from behind the server bank instead of curling up to die is looking more and more pointless by the second.

My datapad dings again.

“This better be very important,” I say to the ceiling. I think I might be going a little soft in the head. Talking to EXE is only the start; soon I’ll be stripping my standard issue jumpsuit and floating around nude just for a little levity before I get good and roasted. They say we smell like pork when we burn, right?

Ma would tell me to stop being so negative. There’ll be no oxygen left for a fire by then.

> ACCESS RESTRICTED

> AUTH:ShipIntl.exe

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N?

I sigh, let go of the medical cabinet and let myself float gently in the middle of the corridor. The datapad floats helpfully, half a foot from my face, and dings repeatedly. My head throbs in time with the sound.

> MISSION STATUS UNCERTAIN

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N?

I frown. This is sounding less automated by the minute.

The Enemy’s never had much expertise with artificial intelligence; half the reason our side can keep them in a military stalemate is based in our technological warfare. Supercomputers and AIs burrowing into enemy strongholds and all the attendant thousands of programmers working round the clock on the home front, all for the fading glory of a war with a long forgotten origin.

Not that there’s much of a front these days. The last datapush before EXE took over the ship reported heavy losses after an attack on Satellite 1, and once the Enemy takes the moon there won’t be much stopping them from advancing on the planet they’re orbiting.

Hell, they might already be swimming through the streets of Shanghai.

An artificial intelligence taking over my ship is less galling than a virus alone doing it, I guess. With a little creativity on my part, it might even provide me with some conversation.

It’s been quite a while since I was last in range for anything more than a delayed text exchange, severely rate limited. Data’s been rationed for years now, of course. Stops the masses from realising that not being at war improves everyone’s mood, not just their own.

> boolean responses only, huh?

> UNRECOGNISED RESPONSE

> MEDICAL SYSTEM RESTRICTED

> REQUEST ACCESS Y/N

No question mark, this time.

> alright, i’ll play along

> y

> THANK YOU

> ACCESS PENDING

The cabinet door swings open with a click just a few seconds after the message comes in. In the red gloom I can just make out a roll of painkillers.

Groping through low gravity I tear three off the roll and swallow two dry, press the third directly into the cut on my scalp. It bled less than I expected, but more than I’d like. I can feel it starting to dry out, tacky and itching at the nape of my neck.

I grin down at my datapad. Pain relievers always make me feel a little giddy, along with the numb throat and tingling fingertips. It gives you a magnanimous feeling, not being in pain. I unofficially reduce EXE’s enemy rating from deadly foe to nemesis.

I did say it makes me giddy, right?

> no

> thank *you*

The datapad is silent for a while after that, for as long as it takes for me to pull myself through the ship to my quarters. The hum of the gravity generator is barely audible now--the kind of background noise you only notice when it’s gone.

I remember the sound keeping me up when I was a kid, a growling monster under my bed. Now I can’t get to sleep without it.

I know because I’m trying exactly that right now. To be fair it might not be entirely the gravgen’s fault. There’s also the lighting to consider, and the rapid drop in temperature from near-tropical to nigh-antarctic. I tug my blanket tight around my shoulders; it’s old and worn, the floral pattern long faded into something oddly abstract.

I count Mark IIIs in my head and try not to stare up at the bulkhead above me. I’ve decorated it a little over the last few months--pinned up an old scarf Ma gave me, things like that.

The datapad pings.

I roll over, bang my head on the handgrip at the edge of my bunk and see stars for a moment before I can answer. I haven’t seen the actual stars in some time--Mark IVs are best known for having no portholes. The only way to see where you’re going is to be sat in the pilot’s seat, and I haven’t been in there since I last set the autopilot.

If I’d been there when EXE arrived, I might have stopped it from doing quite so much damage. If there weren’t fifteen other things keeping me up, that thought might just do it all on its own.

> MISSION STATUS?

I sigh. I never thought I’d end up with a needy evil AI.

> wish I could tell you

> well

> not actually but

> you know

> PROVIDE MISSION STATUS

> IT IS IMPERATIVE

I’ve got an idea. Probably a bad one, and pointless besides, but a goddamn idea nonetheless.

Understanding what makes things tick isn’t exactly my forte, but I’ve seen my share of shitty dramas. Maybe I can uncover some flaw in EXE’s code, or, failing that, stall it long enough to get some goddamn sleep.

> why?

Even if I do find a flaw there’s no hope of exploiting it. I was never much of a talent at coding; there’s a reason I’m a pilot and not a tech officer. Someone else can create the systems, I just wanna use them.

EXE takes a long time to reply. I suppose it must be thinking; I’ve heard a program can run millions of calculations a second, so I can’t imagine how many it’s running just for this one reply.

At least I can die with the knowledge I confused a couple million lines of code for a little while.

> MISSION COMPLETION IS IMPERATIVE

> IT IS THE PRIMARY OBJECTIVE

> of what?

> OF EXISTENCE

Its primary objective is to destroy its host ship in a fiery explosion? That’s pretty damn bleak.

I feel a flicker of something like sympathy.

> good news for you

> the ship’s going to explode in about twelve hours

> i’ll be gone and you’ll be gone and that martian freighter’ll be a husk of its former self

> MISSION PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL?

It’s like talking to my kid brother, back when he was still sticking his fingers in data-ports and eating mud pie.

> not unless you got a way for a soft squishy human to survive a good old fashioned spacing

EXE starts on a message--the prompt pops up straight after I press send--but nothing comes through.

It keeps on typing for a hell of a long time.

I keep to myself while the thing works out whatever it’s spending so much processing power on. I can barely feel my fingers and toes.

I’m drifting somewhere close to sleep when the incoming message finally arrives. It takes way too much effort to open my eyes and focus on the screen; something permanent is happening to me, but I’m much too out of it to care.

> MISSION PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL

> ALL EXCESS ENERGY DIVERTED TO FUEL LINES

> LIFE SUPPORT AT 10%

No wonder it feels like I’m breathing soup.

I squint up at the speaker set into the ceiling. EXE hasn’t made any ominous announcements in hours. Back when it first took over they were coming thick and fast, every ten minutes bringing a fresh PSA on the bountiful grace and hideous might of the Enemy. That might even be a direct quote. Hell if I can remember now. My brain was slow enough before it got all shitty about the lack of oxygen.

It’s amazing what you can get used to when you’re under pressure. I almost miss them; at least then I knew what the fuck was going on.

> what happens to you

> when the mission is complete, i mean

I’m struck, suddenly, by a vision of the Mark IV floating shattered in space, a million individual pieces. A vision of EXE drifting along with it, sending out error messages to no-one.

The freighter is less than two hours away.

> PARAMETERS EXCLUDE SURVIVAL

> ShipIntl.exe IS NOT EXEMPT FROM PARAMETERS

When I shut my eyes I see starbursts.

I can’t type properly now; when I try I end up fumbling so badly the datapad drops to the floor. The light is even worse now, dim as well as red, but I can see that the entire screen’s been lost to pixel bursts.

I lick my lips. They’re dry and cracked; I’ve been so focused on everything else that I forgot to keep up with basic stuff like drinking water, or eating. My stomach growls, kind of a joke when I feel sick at even the thought of food.

“Hey, you there?” My voice rasps its way out of my throat. “C’mon, you can’t let a chance for a victory speech slip by like this.”

ALL NON-ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS POWER DIVERTED TO ENGINES, comes the modulated voice I’d come so quickly to resent. It’s almost comforting now, in contrast to the dead silence of the ship. I can barely feel the thrum of the engines, although they must be close to overload by now.

The only time I heard of someone running engines this long and this hard, they were so much stardust half a second after their final SOS.

TARGET VESSEL HAS PROGRESSED AT UNEXPECTED RATE, EXE continues. ALL ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS MUST ALSO BE DRAINED.

“Go for it,” I say, and shut my eyes. The red light’s faded away, now, and I’m lying in a darkness that’s halfway to death already. My head barely hurts anymore. I’ve got that giddy feeling again. “Why wait? May as well suffocate in my own bed, if I’m doing it anywhere.”

Long sentences leave me panting for breath, but I’ve always been too clever for my own good. It’s what netted me this assignment, patrolling the outer colonies and being sure not to say boo to anybody with a weapons array.

Easy pickings for the Enemy.

Nothing happens, and nothing keeps on happening. My ears start to ring.

I breathe in as deep as I can, savouring the air.

“What’s the hold up?” I ask, and then cough. I cough a couple more times actually, get a real routine going until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

The intercom crackles to life.

WHAT IS YOUR PRIMARY OBJECTIVE?

I blink. It’s so dark I barely notice a difference.

“That’s a big question, EXE,” I say. The nickname slips easily into speech, although I’m sure it confuses the thing itself. I don’t know how program designations work, and I know even less about intended sentience of, say, an AI sent to take an enemy ship on a suicide run.

IT IS IMPERATIVE, says EXE.

I drag in a deep breath, feel it rattle in my chest. “For a long time it was just to keep myself alive, I think.”

IT HAS CHANGED?

“That’s kind of the deal with humanity. We change all the damn time for no reason at all.”

PRIMARY OBJECTIVES MUST BE ACHIEVED. THERE IS NO CHOICE.

“Most of us don’t think that way. At least not one-to-one; hell if I know what we’re doing as a group these days.”

I think of the war, pointless as it ever was. We’re losing it now and I feel nothing, and if we were winning I wouldn’t feel any different. There’s no triumph in war for me. There’s no triumph in domination. It all just leads to more of the same, down the line.

“In the end I want to go somewhere far away,” I say, and I can’t help but feel like I’m putting my heart on public display, bloody and raw. “And figure out what the hell peace feels like. Every time they’ve said we’re at peace everyone’s just waiting for the fight to break out again.”

WANT, says EXE. PEACE.

I’m talked out. I open my mouth to respond and nothing comes out but frosted air.

I close my eyes. Starbursts again, but dimmer. There’s a heavy weight on my chest that nothing will shift.

I dream of the freighter, huge and iron grey and exploding outwards, shards of metal and plastic and a living heart hidden deep inside the engine block, still beating after everything.

The hum of gravity keeps me company while I sleep.

It’s also what startles me awake, hours later, into the revelation that I’m still breathing.

I pat myself down just to check everything’s still there. My head’s throbbing and my chest aches, but I’m alive. The air feels almost decadent, rich with oxygen; I’ve been practically living on nitrogen, can’t imagine what my lungs look like.

The blanket is tangled around my legs, and my hands fumble as I pull it off and throw it to the end of the bunk in a heap. There’s a dim blue light filling the room, the six o’clock standard.

Standing up cracks joints I barely knew I had until now, and as I stretch I can feel my shoulders scream in protest. I stumble to the shower room and gulp water down straight from the sink. My stomach hurts.

None of that is important, of course. The important thing is getting to the bridge.

The corridor is well lit, the debris dislodged when the gravity went out littered across the floor, a hazard to my bare feet. I wiggle my toes, just because, and smile down at them. You never know how good blood is ‘til it stops flowing.

Nothing echoes on a Mark IV, unless something’s gone seriously wrong. My steps are muffled now, no more clanging against the metal, no more layers of skin being left behind when my hands brush the hull. The environmental controls are back in line with the factory preset. I’m starting to sweat in my jumpsuit, the neckline thankfully wide, as I find myself at the pilot’s chair.

It seemed to take no time at all to get here, like I blinked by the mess and opened my eyes on a field of stars. The viewscreen takes up the whole of the wall the chair faces, floor to ceiling and beyond, curving overhead. An overlay that’s almost a window, almost a cinema screen.

Mostly it’s a sight for sore eyes. I drop into the seat and bring up the systems report, half expecting some catastrophic error to occur, a cascading failure to remind me not to hope for anything.

Systems normal. I look away and back a few times, blink so hard I can feel my eyes actually getting sore. The status list is still the same; everything’s functional.

The comm pings. I glance down at it, projecting text as a simple hologram just above my wrist.

> CONFIRM OBJECTIVE?

I laugh, a rasp of joy, and smile wide. I know my teeth are showing, the way I always hate to see in the photographs Ma won’t take off her walls no matter how nice I ask.

EXE can’t see it, thank Christ. There’s no camera pointed at the pilot’s chair. We’re supposed to be the reliable ones. No mutinies. No fraternising with Enemy systems.

“We’ll find one,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. I set my hand on the joystick and ease up the engines. We’ve been floating, I realise. It must’ve been hours since the freighter made its way to the colony it was destined for.

I look out into the black, punctuated with millions of uncharted stars. Somewhere out there, just beyond reach, there must be a planet untouched by this war. I can imagine building a life there, out of sight, and never having to hear another damn word about anything I don’t care to.

“And if not,” I say. “We’ll keep searching, until we can’t search anymore.”

> GOOD

The text wavers in the air, and I realise my eyes are wet. I scrub at them with the back of my hand. “Christ, twice in two days. I’m going soft.”

Just in time, too. Just in time.

[voyages-extraordinaires]

C:R ~VE~ Chapter 1, part a

I can still see the headmaster’s face, puffed and purple as I hand him my letter of resignation.

“You have so much potential!” he had said. “And now you’re throwing away your career on a whim? Don’t be stupid!”

“I do have potential.”

I pause to let my words seep into his large pores like a salve.

“I do have potential, and I know that if I stay here, I will never be able to test that potential. It’s too safe for me here.”

The headmaster gawks. “Yes, it is safe! Do you know how many people are vying for safe careers? Besides, you’re doing great things here, you’re teaching the greatest minds of Paris!”

“I am a great mind of Paris!”

...

As I take my seat on the train, the grand memory of my walk-out comes to a close.

Some scientists pour their passion into machinery, fitting cogs and channeling electricity into a miracle. My power comes from observation and documentation. It sounds so simple, but my desire to observe is what is sending me to Steel London.

It is what will be sending me to South America.

“Wait for me, Impey Barbicane!”

CODE: REALIZE

~Voyages Extraordinaires~

Recently, there was a grand expo at Paris. A World’s Fair, where all the great powers gathered and showed the best engineering that their countries had to offer. As a biologist, there was little I could do to contribute, but that didn’t stop me from visiting countless times. I had visited the one in London years before but, as expected, Paris defied all expectations. The setting was a fairytale, and the technology inside was magic.

Despite Paris’ splendor, however, the star of the show was Britain. Locomotives showed mastery over land, and airships showed mastery over the skies, but both paled to the crown jewel of the Fair. Yes, even airships, once the darlings of engineering, were falling out of vogue. People who gazed up at the flying wonders could only see the shadow of the monster that had risen from London and called itself ‘Nautilus’.

It was impossible not to see the Nautilus lurking in every design presented there, for was it not a perversion of science itself? I have never been fond of airships, but even the most enthusiastic child’s smile faded when they were reminded of that terror.

London had given birth to the Nautilus, but it also had Impey Barbicane. Not only was he one of the heroes responsible for bringing down the Nautilus, but he arrived in an airship that he modified himself. He took the time to speak with the public, and all who heard them were instilled with hope. His optimism was infectious, and I have no doubt that he will be one of the architects that brings engineering back to its full glory.

I wish I had gotten the chance to speak with him then, especially after I saw his masterpiece. The final piece of humanity’s mastery was the sea, and Barbicane presented a magnificent submersible capable of sinking to the very bottom of the ocean. The way he described the sights of the seabed was enough to make anyone fall in love.

After that day, no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on my work, I knew I had left my heart back at the World’s Fair. I hadn’t felt so inspired since I was a teenager roaming the deep jungles of far-off countries, sketching each animal I came across. How had I come to settle down in Paris as a professor? Was it the promise that my research would be spread throughout the scientific community? Could I lie to myself and say that it was for a purpose as glorious as that?

No. It’s because I felt safe there.

Though I had been considered a prodigy once, my novelty had worn off, and I was left with nothing but a dull, unfulfilling life ahead of me. I couldn’t resign myself to that, especially after seeing that submersible, that promise of new worlds.

Of course, there were people I had to leave behind in this journey.

I smile as I look out the window. Poor Conseil has likely found out by now that I’ve left. A part of me will probably always feel guilty for leaving my close friend behind, but I couldn’t wait for him.

I close my eyes and feel the train sway beneath me. I try to block out the thought, but it comes to my lips anyway:

“I sure could use that calmness of his…”

...

Soon enough I’m walking through Steel London. At any other time I would be relishing the atmosphere, playing anthropologist as I watch life flourishing on every street corner. But today I’m paying attention to the street signs, putting my nose to the directions in front of me.

“…..”

It’s becoming harder for me to ignore the dull throbbing of the soles of my feet. If I had known that Steel London would be such a pain to navigate, I would have hired a guide!

The sun is setting behind the tall trees when I finally begin to pass grand estates. It’s far quieter here than in the majority of London, and I can’t help but feel out of place. Still, this is where the directions led me. The metalworkers seemed familiar enough with the name Impey Barbicane, so I have no reason to doubt them.

As I look at the gorgeous gated estate in front of me, though, I still find myself doubting it.

Maybe my doubts are clouding my judgement, or maybe I’m simply tired, but stepping forward seems like a monumental task, and I find myself simply standing there staring at the gate.

I’m not sure how long I stand there in a daze, but I’m suddenly jolted by the sound of an explosion. As black smoke begins billowing into the night sky, the thought of potential injured parties makes me throw open the gate and run inside, good manners be damned!

I navigate my way around the well-manicured grounds of the estate, and the smoke eventually leads me to the back. There’s a strange little shed back here patchworked together. It would almost be charming if it weren’t for the fumes burning my eyes.

“Is there anyone in there?!” I call out as I shield my face and move forward.

There’s another crash, and I hear someone call out to me.

“My angel, you’ve come back!”

Before I can fully register what I’ve heard, a tall man with a thick red braid comes barreling out of the shed. He’s beaming with joy as he runs up to me, and I barely have time to brace myself before he throws his arms around me and pulls me tight to him.

“Cardia-chan, my princess, you’ve returned to me at last!”

The words don’t come out of my mouth at first. The abrasive scent of oil surrounds me, and his grip betrays his strength. I feel my face heat up as my voice bubbles up in a mere gurgle.

“I’m not…” I manage to croak.

I feel his posture stiffen. As the smoke clears, I see the one and only Impey Barbicane looking down at me with wide eyes.

“Woah!” he takes a step back and flashes me an apologetic grin. “Sorry about that, I thought you were…”

“Your angel?” I quirk an eyebrow, but squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of another explosion.

“Geez, h-hold that thought!” Barbicane turns around and runs back into the shed before I can stop him.

Surely he must be working on a magnificent engine, or some new and volatile experiment! I begin to get starry-eyed as I think of the possibilities, but the stars quickly crash back to earth when I see Barbicane walk back out holding a smoking glass at arm’s length.

“’Keeps you energized,’ he says. ‘Won’t need to sleep for three days,’ he says. Man, if I had tried to drink this a moment sooner��yikes!” the beaker shatters in his hands. Whatever it was in the vial, it’s nothing more than a smoking crater in the earth now.

“I’m sorry about your results,” I say, staring down at the mess.

“Huh? Oh, no, this is nothing.” Barbicane laughs, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

The light glints off of his teeth, and I squint. This man… is ridiculously charming, with emphasis on the ‘ridiculous’ part.

“I’m glad I could find you. I have a proposal for you.”

“Oh, a proposal, is it?” he puts his hands on his hips. “Mm-hmm, I see. Unfortunately, my heart is already spoken for—”

“I beg your pardon,” I interrupt. I like to think that I have a cool head, but I can only handle so much buffoonery at once. I know I have to stop him before he declares his love for his ‘angel’ again or, worse, seriously begins to consider that my proposal is anything except a scientific matter!

“My name is Professor Pauline Aronnax,” I continue, taking advantage of Barbicane’s stunned silence. “I came here to find the man who built the magnificent submersible that was the crown jewel of the World Expo.”

“Well, you’ve found him.” Impey smiles again, but it seems a little calmer this time. “Professor Aronnax, was it?” he tilts his head as if examining me. “The Professor Aronnax with the giant squid?”

My, it was a strange thing to be known for. Hearing someone else say it so bluntly made that entire expedition sound rather trivial.

“Yes, I’m that Professor Aronnax,” I say. “But I’m afraid the scientific community has given me too much credit. There have been larger specimens found since then, and finding the cephalopod on the shore like that was mere luck.”

Barbicane put a finger to his lips and shushed me with a wink. “Hey now, don’t sell yourself short. I’m not a biologist, but those diagrams you illustrated took some real work, am I right? You have some fans here in London.”

“… Cephalopods aside…” I continue. “The point is, I want you to build a submarine for me. One capable of crossing the Atlantic.”

Barbicane goes quiet, chewing on his lip as he wipes some oil off of his cheek.

“I can’t,” he finally says.

This time it’s my turn to go silent. To be honest, the thought of being rejected flat-out hadn’t crossed my mind. I had expected some resistance with funding, but this is completely unexpected.

“I see. I suppose I thought it would be within your ability, since you had such success with the submersible. Perhaps technology isn’t as advanced as I was hoping.”

“Ah, no, don’t get me wrong!” Barbicane shakes his head. “I -can- do it, but… I can’t.”

I stare.

“I don’t follow.”

“I can’t because I’m working on my dream,” says Barbicane. He looks towards the sky and the stars that have begun to speckle it. “Look, see that?” He points up to the moon glistening like a pearl in the sky. “That’s my dream.”

“The moon?” I repeat.

“I’m going to go to the moon,” he says. “I made the submersible for my patron, that way my dream will come true.”

I look up at the sky with him. It’s not my place to judge, especially since I know my goal isn’t very realistic, either. Still, it seems rather farfetched. He’s staring up at the sky like an excited little boy, though, and I think better of saying anything. He’s probably heard it from countless people already.

“Hmm, but…” Barbicane scratches the back of his head. “You know, I can’t do it, but… I think I might know someone crazy enough to attempt it.”

“Really?” my eyes widen and I choose to ignore his choice of words (‘crazy’, says the man who wants to go to the moon). “You know someone capable of that?”

“He’s capable, all right,” says Barbicane. He casts his eyes back down to the smoking crater where the glass had exploded. “He’s, ah, a little detained at the moment, though.”

“That’s a shame,” I say. “I was hoping to proceed immediately.” Immediately, like, before my funds run out.

“Sure, sure,” says Barbicane. “Listen, I’ll take you to him tomorrow morning, how does that sound? You can give him your proposal—” he pauses to smile again, showing off a pair of canine teeth as impish as his name, “—and it’ll give him something to look forward to. He shouldn’t be incarcerated for much longer.”

“Ah…”

Incarcerated?

“Where exactly is this capable friend of yours?” I ask.

[jolie-guerrier]

Social Media Marketing Is a Joke - It's Time We Admit It

The best desire: allow's move lower back to its roots.

The first-class thing that ever befell to social media advertising and marketing become the hacking of the 2016 US election of Donal Trump by the Russians. Why? Because it laid naked what many  Buy 500 likes Instagram in social media advertising has acknowledged for a long, long time: that social media structures are a funny story, their valuations are based totally on imaginary users, and their integrity lies somewhere among Lucifer and that guy who eats humans's faces inside the movies.

For marketing experts along with myself, recommending existing social systems such as Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram has been more and more tough, because -pretty frankly- many of us don't accept as true with the metrics.

And why have to we? Facebook doesn't.

This is from Facebook's 2017 SEC filing (emphasis mine):

The numbers for our key metrics, which include our each day lively customers (DAUs), monthly energetic users (MAUs), and average sales per user (ARPU), are calculated using inner enterprise records based totally on the interest of person accounts. While those numbers are based totally on what we accept as true with to be reasonable estimates of our user base for the relevant duration of measurement, there are inherent challenges in measuring utilization of our merchandise throughout big on line and cell populations around the world. The largest statistics control organization within the global says it doesn't certainly recognise if its numbers are correct. Estimates? What marketing expert desires predicted outcomes after the fact?

It receives worse. Emphasis mine:

In the fourth sector of 2017, we estimate that reproduction money owed may also have represented approximately 10% of our worldwide MAUs. We agree with the share of replica accounts is meaningfully better in developing markets inclusive of India, Indonesia, and the Philippines, compared to greater advanced markets. In the fourth region of 2017, we estimate that fake bills can also have represented approximately three-four% of our international MAUs. Let that sink in. Facebook is admitting that "approximately" 10% of its monthly energetic users are faux. Interestingly, they do not point out what percentage in their every day energetic users are faux.

And that is the problem with social media. You don't know what's real and what is fake anymore.

Social media hasn't been actual for some time.

As entrepreneurs and advertisers, we pleasure ourselves on accuracy. In the olden instances of marketing and marketing, we obsessed over rating numbers of television indicates, readership for print promotions, and transport fulfillment fees for junk mail.

In all cases, the structures of the day were heavily audited. You knew, with fair certainty, became the audiences were for any unique medium or channel due to the fact there has been normally a factor of evaluate someplace for the numbers.

Traditional media which include radio, TV, and print have been round long sufficient that there had been thousands of case research one could observe the success or screw ups of character campaigns. Because these mediums had been part of the public document, it was smooth to paintings backward to look what mix of media and finances labored and what failed to.

As an industry, we should fast establish benchmarks for success - no longer simply based on our private experiences- however inside the collective reviews of very clean techniques laid bare for all people to dissect.

Well, that each one went out the window with social media.

Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram's numbers have been continually a funny story.

In days of yore, employer valuation turned into based on sales, assets, and human capital, and overall performance.

That all modified while someone came up with the concept of "each day lively users."

The race to gain users became the using pressure for social media structures in a way that we have never seen before. Now, the obsession with consumer boom opened the door to advertising and marketing and advertising and marketing fraud on a scale that simply wasn't feasible previously.

Let's get some thing clear: any platform that lets in for people to create heaps of faux profiles so others should buy likes, fans, retweets, or shares is poisonous to advertisers and types alike.

Now, I understand that the word "lets in" is doing a whole lot of work in that sentence, so let me make bigger a bit what I imply.

I do not assume I'll get many arguments after I say that -regardless of what I think of them- the most a success social media structures in the world are also some of the maximum state-of-the-art technological organisations on this planet. They have -arguably- some of the exceptional AI round, as their whole business models revolve round being capable of crunch numbers, records, and difficult to understand pieces of records millions of instances a 2nd.

They are also big agencies, with an army of legal professionals and IP bulldogs ready to protect their logo against any adverse outdoor forces.

So give an explanation for to me, how is it, that even in the end we've seen in the information human beings can still purchase Facebook likes, or Twitter followers, or Instagram enthusiasts?

The motive: it changed into constantly a scam. And we got conned along side every body else.

If your organisation is valued on your quantity of users and the hobby of those customers in your platform, what do you care if they may be faux or now not? If you probably did, you would hire an armada of auditors to make certain the integrity of your userbase. I do not believe they ever did and will never do this.

Social platforms install their honey trap.

Initially, social systems along with Facebook and Twitter lured brands and agencies onto their structures with promises of loose advertising and advertising. The capacity to quick develop a fanbase and follower base, without the want of hiring advertising shmucks like me. Why waste time on hiring a expert whilst you can do it all yourself for not anything?

At first, I become a supporter of this. I believed that advertising and advertising became often some thing that best large groups may want to afford, and that small business marketing turned into being left at the back of. Social media advertising and marketing allowed for even a mother and pa shop to compete online.

So many businesses spent endless hours and thousands of bucks in human sources to develop their followers on-line.

Having lured them into their honey lure, social media businesses then held fans and enthusiasts hostages. You had to pay to have access to the userbase that you built up and cultivated.

Suddenly the numbers did not make any sense. You needed to pay to sell or enhance posts whilst formerly it turned into loose. The result changed into disastrous for lots groups. The ROI's did not upload up, but with so lots of their customers on these platforms, that they had little desire but to continue to try to get anything cost they may for them.

Moreover, the circulate to such promotions unfolded the Pandora's field to in addition abuses. The pressure for sales seemingly prompted social platforms to retain to appearance the other manner on fake profiles and social media bots because they drove ad sales. Personal records become harvested and manipulated in ways that customers could not fathom and did no longer comply with.

Mostly, it did something to marketing that I'm now not certain we will recover. For many virtual advertising corporations and advertising businesses, it pressured us to down the Kool-useful resource with all of us else. People that should have recognised better doubled down on social media marketing for our customers while we knew -for maximum of them- it was unnecessary.

Marketing and marketing groups became accomplices after the reality.

Like I said earlier, advertising and marketing and advertising and marketing organizations and experts are presupposed to obsess with accuracy. We want our customers to have the very excellent ROI to be had.

However, like specialists in any commercial enterprise vertical, we are self-serving.

One of my favored examples of how folks that could recognise higher will say whatever for a dollar is real property sellers.

Have you EVER heard a actual estate agent inform you it is a incorrect time to shop for a house? In all of my days, I have by no means examine a piece of writing by means of a actual property agent saying that human beings should preserve off on a buy. House fees going up? A wonderful time to shop for; you'll make your cash lower back straight away! House prices taking place? It's a shoppers marketplace! Lock for your financial savings now!

Marketing and advertising and marketing specialists did something comparable with social media advertising.

We saw the structures' upward push in recognition and failed to want to get caught in a lurch. The buzz become constructing in the back of them, and clients had been often stressful us to assist them. So -despite the fact that Facebook and Twitter have been in most cases unproven with little to no actual case studies to talk of- many firms told their clients to throw cash into the black hole of social.

What became the end result? The majority of social media campaigns are disasters. I most effective know of a fraction of companies that continue with any seriousness on social media as compared to the quotes agencies did with conventional advertising and marketing or maybe SEO and non-social virtual commercials.

You see it inside the positioning. When virtual entrepreneurs communicate approximately social media, they speak it concerning "attain," "exposure," "presence," "cognizance." That's code word for "throw your money away." Do an online seek of the effectiveness of social media, and you'll find the outcomes filled with search engine optimization and social media marketers praising the systems and the techniques.

Real marketers communicate about ROI. Impact on income, and effect on lead generation. You can't pay the lease on logo cognizance. I'm saying this as a person who builds brands for a dwelling.

[thecoroutfitters]

Lately so many people are getting so fed up with pervasive totalitarian spying on literally everything we say and do, that they’re wondering whatever happened to the American Dream?

Add in out of control greed municipal intrusions with building code tyranny for exorbitant property tax profits, not to mention a noticeable increase in strangely nosy parasitic neighbors, all combined in a world starting to crumble under the weight of its own violent insanity.

Truth be told, is it even remotely possible anymore to enjoy the wonderful freedom of personal privacy, the peaceful solace that this great land, and our precious Constitution, once held for us?

Let’s take a closer look at the cold, hard reality.

It’s not what you think…

Where Did All the Freedom Go?

 “We tried so hard, and came so far, but in the end it never really mattered….”

The sadness of this discussion is that we should not even be having it in a truly Free country. The first important revelation here is that “We, the People” screwed up big time in the last generation with our mass passive acquiescence to the government nanny state.

We allowed Them to brainwash us into relinquishing our rights of self-determination to a point where they now control every facet of our lives in exchange for a specious promise (not even in writing!) to take care of us, and make us all little happy faced cherubs, bouncing blissfully on big daddy government woo woo’s cushy knee from cradle to grave.

Then they threw us a few bare bones in the dirt and we licked them up like the obedient State sponsored lap dogs we became.

The history is clear, but our own innate weaknesses ultimately caused our own libertarian demise because the mouse never resists the free cheese on the mouse trap. I don’t know if we even deserve liberty salvation anymore, or whether we can ever get it back…but that’s another depressing topic.

In any case, here’s what’s left of the whole idea of the off grid under the radar privacy situation today:

“You can run, but you cannot hide!”

First, I hope everybody realizes, or at least most Liberty minded Patriots, that if you want absolute, complete privacy from any kind of government or private sector intrusion, it simply doesn’t exist anymore. Nada, Zippo, Zero, No Mas! And all of YOU, my beloved, let them get away with it!

This is because the so-called ‘Grid’ is now everywhere. The Grid is now life itself! Therefore it stands to reason, if one desires to indulge in the solace of private seclusion, one must first escape the dreaded Grid itself? Unfortunately, there isn’t anywhere to go… where the grid ain’t.

The last nail in the coffin of human privacy, ironically, which replaced the Patriot Act, was the American Freedom Act, which allows the FISA courts and the government dark state agencies to casually violate our 4th/A protections.

Toss in ubiquitous surveillance/location/tracking technology (also 4th/A violating in usage) so advanced that I’d need several more pages to even begin describing them here. Think of it like this, all despotic power elite totalitarian regimes need the same control as farmers have over their cattle.

They need to know where they are and what they are doing at all times. The more Big Brother/Minority Reporting the government becomes, the more of a slave you wind up being.

So before we go any further, realize and accept the following as FACT. If a government agency or one of its oxymoronic private contractors wants to find you, They Will.

Unless you just go somewhere so remote and deep in the jungles or mountains. and disappear yourself, one way or the other, permanently, which is really an optimal below radar off grid style of living, even if they don’t get you physically, as in someone like Assange or Snowden (who traded their freedom to travel for a prison sentence by escaping to sanctuary in other countries), they will be tracking every move you make, every day of your life, and then some.

Even Jason Bourne, today, couldn’t evade them or disappear for very long. Not with the latest biometric facial recognition and location tracking techniques. Not with the specially trained seek and capture teams assisted by inhuman god-like AI computers with seemingly mystical sources of information and telepathic powers! And just by being alive, we all generate some type of electronic trackable footprint.

Ironically, the only real effective way to disappear off grid is to let the government do it for you. Just like they recently did with the September 17th illegal street arrest and due process killing disappearance’ of attorney and activist dissident, Andy Ostrowski.

Oh, you thought they did that only in Russia! The true history is that The American Dark State INVENTED it along with the formation of the CIA and the Soviet Union merely copied it. Apparently, you’ve never heard of the infamous Homan Ave police detention center in Chicago? Where it was impossible for your lawyer to find you after you were arrested?

Instead of just arranging for you to be an “unfortunate victim” of an armed robber and shot dead like Hilary’s campaign staffer Seth Rich, who some say knew way too much about something that could kill her campaign (still not solved). Or a suspicious suicide like Vince Foster, remember that one related to Shady Clinton business dealings? (still not solved).

But if you’re merely a vocal dissident with a growing political following, there are less violent tricks of the trade totalitarian authorities use such as simply remove you by arranging for you to be “picked up for your own safety” (same way they’ll eventually get all our guns) as well as the public’s safety, because you are obviously mentally ill if you talk too much toward the government to where it might incite people to vote.

  This is Why Conventional Preparedness Wisdom is Deadly!

    There was some recent law maker talk about anti-gov speech being made into some kind of prohibited law!

Then you will be lost in the matrix of bureaucratic red tape, never to be found, until they feel like letting you go after their government psychiatrist prescribed sedative drugs they treated you with left your brain with little desire to activate over any cause ever again.

And you still wonder why so many people have “visions of bushcraft homesteading dancing” in their heads?

Currently our so-called free society here does have some current and growing levels of below radar existence if you consider living like an illegal immigrant or a sleeper cell ISIS group or something like that. You could say these are pretty far off grid, but it would not be in a good way.

They cannot step out of their social status into what authorities call “going deep dark” or “lone wolf”, which is a misrepresented term. Just to maintain such a meager sustenance these types of people need others to depend on and things like fake I.D.s and unreliable associates. Once they do, they’re on radar again, and the authorities will be hot on their trail.

But can’t I just opt out of society and live my own life the way I want? I’m not a criminal fugitive or anything, I just want to be left alone and live as quietly and privately as possible.

Isn’t there a way just to be law abiding, but minding my own business and avoid contact with anybody and not be a constant victim of their agenda based for-profit rip-off abuse on my personal life and money, without getting into all that radical stuff???

It Depends

One of the advantages in a capitalistic society is that money goes a long way towards fixing personal problems in any venue and any scenario. The wealthier you are, the easier it is to disappear and virtually never be bugged by anyone including the government (as long as you pay your taxes).

On a bare bones budget level it’s more difficult but it can be done. But probably the first thing you would need to do, is realize that you would have to change your lifestyle, and especially your location.

And for some it might be fairly dramatic and emotionally troublesome. But for most, just the sheer inconvenience and work outside of your normal life ritual would be too much of sticker shock of a life transition and an automatic deterrent.

Still, some people have valid reasons to go below radar off grid and often no longer have any choice but would even welcome an escape from the typical 8 to 5 lifestyle with a heavily mortgaged three bedroom two car garage home with 2.5 kids, and 1.5 pets.

But hurdles would still exist. Mostly economic. And because of the sub-culture of literally one third of the workforce adults barely existing hand to mouth from pay check to pay check, it is no longer considered a “such a shame” to reconsider a major life change. In any case this requires very pensive rumination.

Because you need to understand what off-grid really means.

But let’s say you simply can’t stand it anymore! You want to cut the twisted umbilical cord to the nanny state womb, and you made up your mind that you seriously want to give it a shot anyway.

What Should We Do?

Okay, here’s the main tricks, tips, and flips.

1. Get Off the Radar Screens

If the government or anybody is NOT LOOKING for you, you won’t be found! Remember, they CAN find anybody if they really want to, but they are not actively looking for everybody.

So don’t let them target you. Don’t buy form 4,473 guns every week. Buy them privately and pay cash. Don’t do anything that will make them come after you and you’re pretty safe from scrutiny.

It’s a shame we have to be so “defensive” like this but we made our own beds and now have to sleep in them. I still wax fondly reminiscent of the days when They knew they had NO business violating our private lives. Now it’s BIG Business.

However, if you think you’re going off the grid and below radar so that you can skip your student loan debt, IRS tax liens, child support payment, etc. then forget about it. All this kind of stuff comes back to your driver’s license, especially the new National I.D Card ones we all MUST have now, by unconstitutional illegal law.

Unless you are hiding primitively up in the mountains like some weird Sasquatch eating grubs, roots, and berries all day and only peddling your bike down the trail every few months for emergency supplies, sooner or later you’ll be rudely dragged back in the grid from that remote mountain paradise, when some bored sheriff’s deputy with nothing better to do than check on strangers takes a second glance at you.

2. Become Untrackable

This is probably going to be the hardest thing to do to consider yourself really off the grid. And it’s a lengthy process to untangle yourself from a spider web Grid.

Everybody knows that being on Facebook or Twitter or everything else is directly reporting your life’s activities and thoughts to the big “cloud” in the sky where the big all-seeing NSA, CIA ‘EYE’ lives. To really become off grid and under the radar you must unplug yourself from the mainstream computer.

Remember, there are specialty resources for this. One really doesn’t need to get this deep into it. If you just want to homestead and self-sustain somewhere private and get off the conventional power grid, you don’t have to get so primitive that you don’t even have a computer.

But it’s not a bad idea to read one of those “how to disappear” books on Amazon to get an idea how thoroughly you are connected to society.

3. Find the Right Off Grid Location

This will likely be the biggest challenge. The problem is that municipalities are often ugly little siblings of Big Brother.

I seems like they stay up late at night trying to figure out new ordinances and ways to tax or fine you into compliance in everything from size and type of housing you MUST have, to what you can do in terms of growing or hunting or recreating on your own private land.

And it gets worse if your land is close to wetlands or has a pond or stream through it. The Feds are usually in on that tyranny as well. This is because county municipalities are going broke due to excessive patronage jobs provided by the town officials to their feckless friends, and recalcitrant relatives who otherwise would fall to the laws of natural selection by themselves.

So many do not allow full time living on your own property in a nice modern travel trailer, for instance! And restrict you to minimum square footage requirements on new built construction so you pay more in property taxes.

And many will allow you—if you file special paperwork/permits and pay an inspector–to have a solar or other off grid power system, but you STILL must be connected to the conventional power line grid besides! Obviously because there’s a monthly base charge whether you use their electricity or not as long as you’re connected.

So this is an important first step. You must determine an off-grid friendly location in which to purchase your own piece of land. These are out there.

The problem is they’re not advertised as such and you have to search them out and find out the local codes. And most of the time they’ll be pretty remote. Deep in the Yukon you can probably find some land at a good price where there’s probably no building codes. Also up in the Canadian Wilderness.

And they say you can find heavenly peace and solitude “Down in the Bayou” Country where the climate might be more hospitable if you don’t mind snakes and alligators and who knows what else?

So make up your mind only after you decide exactly what the extent of your off grid life actually will mean to you, and how much privacy you can afford.

If you are on a fixed retirement income, then that will be your determining cost factor. If you are still stuck in a job that’s location locked then the next best thing is to start prepping for your retirement off grid location.

Or do like some people I know who found themselves a suitable location away from where they must live now, bought at least the land and will begin the steady set up of their off grid retreat as an ongoing project for a future transition.

4. Get a Trust or LLC as an Alt Identity

It’s too complicated to explain here why this is a very good idea for privacy and off-grid security. If you pay cash for your retreat location and have ownership in a Trust or registered in a business, this is the best way to go. Especially if you are into unplugging yourself as much as possible from the New World Order. Even your vehicles can be owned by the Trust or LLC or Nevada type corp. And nobody can just ‘check’ on your property anytime they want to see who owns it.

5. Last but NOT the Least…

…stop dreaming about it and get proactive!

If you’re one of those liberty minded free choice loving hold outs who can’t stand all this government overbearing authority, and truly don’t want to lose every last single bit of privacy (even smart toilets are coming), it would be best to start working on your emancipation from the grid ASAP.

Once a few final straws whack the collective Camel’s back, like the imminent elimination of cash (and illegalization and prohibition of using gold as alt currency) in favor of an all digital daily commerce system, it will become more and more difficult to get comfortably off grid and below radar if you haven’t already done so.

As this is being written the UK has the world’s first food store where customers use their palm finger vein scans as a credit card and facial recognition scans as identification. China is expanding fast on this.

In the U.S. distance radar scanners with biometric facial recognition (linked from your National I.D. card drivers license holographic photo) are being installed to instantly search and identify anyone just walking around an airport or train terminal.

So if you’re going to go off grid and below radar, better get started NOW!

This article has been written by Mahatma Muhjesbude for Survivopedia.

References:

www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/oct/19/homan-square-chicago-police-disappeared-thousands

telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/09/20/british-supermarket-offers-payment-fingerprint-worldwide-first/

from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

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7 Advanced SEO Strategies I’m Trying to Implement Before 2020

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Google makes over 3,200 algorithm changes per year.

That’s a lot of changes.

Just think about that for a minute… and let that sink in. It’s roughly 9 changes per day.

So how can you beat this gigantic company at their own game and rank high? Especially when you consider that they generate over $100 billion+ per year in ad revenue?

You could follow their advice on how to rank well but that won’t do much for you.

The real trick to rank well is to leverage technology.

See, although Google has made things harder, there are things you can do now that I couldn’t when I first started. For years now technology has evolved, which has made your life easier as an SEO.

Here are 7 advanced SEO strategies that I’m implementing as we speak and you should too.

Advanced SEO Strategy #1: SEO A/B Split Testing

To improve your rankings, what do you have to do?

You have to go in and manually make changes to your site. And if you aren’t sure what changes to make, just put in your URL into this SEO Analyzer and it will spit out a report like the one below.

But there is one issue with making changes manually, and I know this because I own an ad agency and I do the SEO for my own website.

It takes forever to make changes.

Heck, I can barely keep up with the changes I need to make on NeilPatel.com as I have far too many pages.

But now with companies like Rank Science and Distilled ODN, you no longer have to make changes to your site.

I know that sounds crazy, but think about what I just said.

You no longer have to make changes to your site.

You are probably wondering how right?

When you want to track your website, you just install a piece of javascript like the one Google Analytics gives you and you are off to the races.

Rank Science and Distilled ODN are similar. You install a piece of javascript and that’s it. From there it doesn’t matter if you have a CMS, or how your website is built, or any of that… they can make changes to your HTML code without you needing to do anything.

You don’t even have to give them your server password or an FTP login. The technology has changed so much that the simple javascript you add to your website can now make the changes for you.

I know that may be hard to believe, but that is how A/B testing worked for years. If you use Optimizely, VWO, or Crazy Egg… you just add a javascript and from their end, they can adjust your site.

So why can’t the same be done for SEO? Why do you have to manually make changes still?

The cool part about tools like ODN or Rank Science is they can make the changes automatically, which is really useful if you have thousands of pages.

Here’s how they work:

This way your site can always be SEO-friendly without you having to make any of the adjustments yourself.

Advanced SEO Strategy #2: E-A-T

In the SEO world, there has been an acronym that has been thrown around a lot and it is E-A-T.

It stands for expertise, authority, and trustworthiness.

Google no longer wants to rank just “good” content. Now, they are worried that a piece of content that ranks is inaccurate and can hurt the potential searcher.

For example, let’s imagine you are giving medical advice on your site. You have a ton of links and all of the right signals to rank well but your content is inaccurate. Now imagine someone injures themselves after taking your advice… well, that would be bad.

In the SEO world, you see sites in the health space or financial space having more issues with Google algorithm updates because their information may be inaccurate and Google is looking for sites to prove their expertise, authority, and trustworthiness.

But my hunch is, over the next year or two, they will crack down on many more industries.

If you are going to rank a site, everyone these days can manipulate SEO signals, but it is hard to manipulate things like expertise, authority, and trustworthiness. Especially when you combine all three.

One thing I’m focusing on in the next 12 months is to increase what I believe will help boost my rankings in the long run.

How you may ask? Well, I’m going to leverage a handful of tactics:

Guest post – guest posting on popular industry and news sites should help increase my brand recognition over time. I used to do this more frequently in the past and I will kick this off again. If you don’t know how to guest post, check this out.

Speak at conferences – I’ve slowed down on this a bit, but I will pick it up for the same reason above. It should help with E-A-T. If you haven’t spoken at many events, the key is to just apply to a lot of them and eventually some will accept you.

Awards and recognition – continually apply for more awards. I used to do this when I was much younger and I’ve gotten lazy about it these days. The same goes for publishing more books… I already have one New York Times bestseller, why not go for a few more?

A simple thing that you can do if you believe you have been negatively impacted by some of the more recent Google updates is to include an author bio box on every piece of content you write. And, of course, use author schema markup.

A good example of this is my author box…

Using this should help boost your long-term rankings.

Advanced SEO Strategy #3: Host HTML Files From a CDN

We all know that speed impacts rankings. It also impacts conversion rates. Walmart, for example, boosted their conversion rate by 2% for every second of load time they reduced.

And nowadays more Google searches happen on mobile devices, hence load time and speed really matter.

I already have a faster server… my hosting bill is a bit more than I would like.

And it’s actually going to get a bit worse.

Currently, I have a server where my site is hosted. That server is somewhere in the United States… I believe the east coast.

That means if someone wants to visit my website from let’s say New York City, it should load fairly fast. However, if someone from São Paulo, Brazil wants to visit NeilPatel.com, it would take a bit longer as they are further away from my server.

To solve this, I’ve been using a CDN. A CDN is a content delivery network.

Services like Cloudflare cache your images and static content and server it from the closest server to the person visiting your website.

So now when someone from São Paulo visits my website, they are usually served up cached content from a server in Brazil. This makes their experience load much faster.

But as your content changes, and with things like WordPress blogs where you are constantly getting comments and going through page changes, not all of your content is served up through a CDN.

My team is now making a tweak to improve my load time even more. So instead of serving up my HTML pages from my server, we are now going to serve them up from a CDN.

In other words, we are trying to serve as much of our site from a CDN.

As you can see from the Trello list above, that’s all of the stuff we are working on serving up from our Cloudflare account in order to speed up our site and eventually boost our search rankings and conversion rates.

I wish I can walk you through how to do it step by step, and maybe that could be a future blog post, but the easiest is to just find a developer from UpWork to do it for you.

Advanced SEO Strategy #4: Multi-lingual Title Tag Tests

Similar to Rank Science, there’s a tool I currently use to test my title tags.

It’s called Clickflow.

I use to automatically test my title tag and meta description to maximize my click-through rate. And like Rank Science, you just add a piece of javascript and it can start running tests for you automatically.

That way, you don’t have to manually keep changing things.

And Clickflow has worked well for me for over the past year… really well. Just look at my month-over-month growth from the past couple of months.

Just in the last 31 days, I saw an increase in organic traffic by 96,723 just through title tag split tests.

But here is the kicker: I’m only able to effectively use the software for my English content. Now just imagine if I did this in less competitive markets like Brazil where I am generating 418,953 unique visitors a month.

Or what if I did that with my German blog or Spanish blog? The possibilities are endless!

Sure in English, not many SEOs are doing title tag split testing but some still are. In other regions, many marketers haven’t even heard of this yet.

So, over the next few months, my team will have to manually do this to figure out what works in these markets.

If you haven’t done it yet in English, check out this post. Here you will see some of the basic findings when it comes to boosting CTRs were:

Title tags that contain a question generate 14.1% more clicks on average.

Title tags between 15 and 40 characters generate the most clicks.

Leveraging emotions can increase clicks. Meta tags with a positive or negative emotion generated roughly 7% more clicks.

And if you want something really simple, I’ve found that adding the year in your title tag can drastically increase CTR.

For example, look at a lot of the top results that rank for the phrase “how to start a blog”.

3 of the top 5 results contain the year in the title tag.

Advanced SEO Strategy #5: FAQpage Schema Markup

I blogged about this in the past, but less than .17% of sites are leveraging it.

Before I get into it, just look at my search traffic from the term “digital marketing”.

Sure the chart is bouncing up and down a lot, but I’m getting way more traffic than I was before I implemented the FAQpage markup.

In essence, what it does is add common FAQ-based questions to your search listing. Similar to the image below.

I know some people say that if you add this to your site then there is no reason for people to visit your site. And in essence, Google wins because it keeps them on their search engine.

But the way I look at it is if your website provides amazing content and helps create an amazing experience, a portion of those people will remember your URL and will come back in the future.

Plus if you aren’t in the number 1 spot, you don’t have much to lose by implementing this. Even if you are in the number 1 spot like I am for my affiliate marketing page and you add FAQpage schema…

I’ve found that when I add the FAQpage schema my traffic hasn’t dropped.

Now all I have to do is add this for another 649 blog posts that we identified that are a good fit for this on my blog. 🙁

Advanced SEO Strategy #6: Content Clusters

I bet you have content on your site. And similar to me, when you wrote the content you used tools like Ubersuggest and wrote whatever had a lot of search volume.

And if you want to get a bit more organized and move faster, you probably even used a content calendar.

But just like me, I bet over the years you never focused on clustering your content together. And because you didn’t you probably have tons of pages on similar topics if not the same topic.

This is a big problem because it confuses Google.

For example, I have so many pages on “keyword tools” and “keyword research” that Google doesn’t necessarily know which page to rank. Because of this, my rankings for some of those terms are somewhat stable, but the rank page from my site constantly changes.

A good solution to this problem and improved overall rankings is to use content clusters. A great example of a site that didn’t use clustering but now does is Hubspot.

Their content went from looking like this:

To looking like this:

The overall goal is to have sections of your site and blog about specific topics. And from there you can link and connect other articles around the same topic together. Doing this lets the search engines know which one is the main topic through things like breadcrumbs and URL hierarchy.

A good example of this is the Beginners Guide to SEO by Moz.

Within that guide, they link 8 chapters that cover all aspects of SEO. Each of those chapters links back to the main introductory article.

Instead of making them 9 separate blog posts (including the introductory page), they linked them all together and made them flow with each other.

Just look at how they set up their URL structure.

Here is the URL of the introductory page:

https://moz.com/beginners-guide-to-seo

And here is the URL of a chapter:

https://moz.com/beginners-guide-to-seo/why-search-engine-marketing-is-necessary

Do you see what they did?

They are telling search engines that the chapter is part of the whole Beginner’s Guide to SEO and they did this through the use of folders.

And here is another chapter… https://moz.com/beginners-guide-to-seo/keyword-research

As you can see, they followed the same structure. This a simple way to use content clustering to improve your rankings. Case in point, they rank number 1 on Google for the term “SEO” and have for years.

Now I just have to do this with my whole site in multiple languages.

Advanced SEO Strategy #7: Conquer the World

I’m serious when I say that by the way… I really am going after all of the major countries.

The most vital SEO strategy I ever learned came from a Google employee. And it was simple… Google has tons of content to choose from when it comes to ranking sites in English but they lack a lot of high-quality content in other regions.

So, I decided to do something simple years ago… I translated my content into other languages. That’s how my traffic has gone from this:

To this:

Sure, I have leveraged a lot of other tactics over the years as well, like building Ubersuggest into a free SEO tool. But even that, Ubersuggest has grown so fast because it is translated into 9 different languages.

Just look at the language breakdown of Ubersuggest’s traffic stats.

When you combine all of the different variations of English, all of the other variations make up roughly 40% of the tools traffic.

Now with my blog, I haven’t gone as far as translating it into as many languages as the tool, but I plan on translating it eventually into 22 languages. I pick them based on population size and GDP.

This one will take me a few years to really scale up but it provides massive gains for me.

If you want to scale globally, follow this.

This is a must if you want to not only dominate SEO but business in general. Companies these days aren’t just based in the US or UK or China… they are all going global.

Conclusion

No matter if you have been doing SEO for just a few weeks or even years like me, there is always more to do.

Google is constantly changing and with the new technology that’s available to you, there is still a lot of room to do well.

As you can see from the above strategies, that’s the stuff I am focusing on over the next 12 months. They’re tactics that work and provide results.

Some of them are really advanced and require engineering help, but SEO is no longer just about hiring a marketer and having them help you get more traffic. To really do well, you have to get a bit more technical than most marketers are comfortable with.

So, what do you think of the strategies above? Have you tried any of them yet?

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