#ken thinks this is incredibly unfair

[lesbian-empress-nero]

Warm.

That’s what Makoto feels- warm and hazy, like he’s hovering on the edge of consciousness. Somewhere beside him, Kotone is floating too. His sister is with him, and that comforts him.

“You could stay here,” a familiar voice says.

Makoto sits up, staring into the white void.

Ryoji appears, a soft smile on his face. “You and Kotone both. You could stay here, between life and death. Your bodies would remain alive, but your consciousness would be here.”

Makoto pulls him into a wordless hug, holding him close. Kotone stirs beside him.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she says softly, taking Ryoji’s hand in her own. “I promised everyone. I swore to them that I would fight. And I want to keep doing that.”

Ryoji looked at her with a sad smile. “I understand. I will always be with you, though. Right by your side. The offer still stands if ever you change your mind.”

Kotone nods, then extends her hand to Makoto. “C’mon, Mako. We have a promise to fulfill.”

Makoto hesitates. Does he really want to leave Ryoji? Does he really want to go back?

He could stay here, Ryoji said. He could stay here and be happy and stay alive. Everything could be okay.

But then, faintly, he hears noise. It sounds like screaming, like yelling, like pleading.

It’s Yosuke, shouting at him to get up, dammit. It’s Yu fighting off Shadows with Izanagi, begging for him to wake up. It’s Akihiko telling him he’s stronger than that, that he knows Makoto can get up.

“...One day, Ryoji. One day, I’ll come back to you and stay. I promise.”

A light gleams in his and Kotone’s chests, bright and warm. Ryoji smiles sadly, gently pulls his hand away from Makoto’s.

“I’ll wait for you until then,” Ryoji says, and everything fades away into blackness, just like it did when they sacrificed their powers for the Great Seal.

“COME ON! GET UP, MAKOTO!”

Makoto sits up, gasping for air. It feels like any trace of oxygen has been sucked from his lungs, and he’s desperate to get it back. His skin feels clammy and cold, and he struggles to his feet, coughing.

Akihiko swings at a Shadow that definitely had its eyes on Makoto, and Yu obliterates it with a strike of lightning from Izanagi.

“Sorry- Didn’t mean for that to happen,” Makoto mumbles, stabbing at another Shadow. It snarls, attacking Yosuke- who sidesteps it with ease.

“Hey, all good! Just try to stay on your feet next time, okay?” He says, giving Makoto a grin. Makoto still feels like he had all his internal organs rearranged inside him, but he nods and continues to fight.

After the battle, Yu stops, puts a hand on Makoto’s shoulder and taps his earpiece. “Fuuka-san, can you bring my and Junpei-san’s groups back to the entrance?”

“Are you sure?” Fuuka asks. Just like with everything she says, it’s clear she doesn’t doubt Yu as a leader. It’s more confirmation for what she needs to do.

Makoto can think of more than a few times where he’s accidentally activated the teleporter and managed to save himself from accidentally going all the way back to the entrance because Fuuka asked before activating it on her side.

“Yeah, bring us back,” Yu confirms, then seemingly remembers he isn’t talking to Rise, because he hastily adds in a “please-!”

So Makoto and Kotone both end up in what they’ve decided to call time-out, with Yu and Shinji agreeing that they look sickly and need to rest. Akihiko reiterates to Fuuka and Rise that they are absolutely, in no way, by no means, allowed to go back into the dungeon. Which they find incredibly unfair. After all, Ken is their friend, too. They want to help look for him, to help rescue him.

However, despite all their complaints and protests, Shinji and Yu end up being proven right after they fall asleep on each other, covered by Fuuka and Rise’s jackets.

Maybe some things are better sat out.

Maybe other things are better with the power of two ex-Wildcards.

holy shit. the revival. that's so cool and also scary??? like imagine dying and coming back to life, you have no air and your body is cold... i never really thought about the fact they DIE when they fall in battle. also them seeing ryoji when they die... and makoto promising that someday he'll see ryoji again... im not crying you're crying. the fact he doesnt want to die anymore because he wants to live to protect his friends, to live with them, to have a life. its just so...

[petravoncult]

Favorite 2022 First-Watches 🎬

this year, i've only managed to watch 173 films according to my letterboxd logs - that's already including rewatches. 2022 certainly fucked me in many ways i couldn't even imagine at the first place, which is part of the reason why i couldn't spare more time to watch more. 🥲

regardless, it's suffice to say that i've managed to broaden my horizon for a bit, discovering and finding unique films from many corners of the world, unrestrained by release dates or its mood and nature - highbrow, classy, unhinged, you name it; some of them eventually latched onto my mind and soul ❤

now i wouldn't be ranking these films in a particular order, but i will start with the ones that completely won me over and went straight into my all-time favorites!

these are the films i'd probably rate a perfect 10 if i had used the traditional metric score, but i don't review movies that way anymore 👇

Mikey and Nicky (1976), dir. Elaine May 🇺🇸

John Cassavetes and Peter Falk were best friends in real life - and simultaneously two of the best actors of their generation, so there's no doubt they were enthralling to watch in here. indeed, the film's power lies on their dynamite improvisational chops that chronicled the breakdown of their relationship over a night, fights and conversations filled up with intense emotions coupled together with May's minimal direction helped this film shined through and through. i'm definitely a sucker for character-driven movies, so hurrah 🙌

Love Letter (1995) dir. Shunji Iwai 🇯🇵

coincidences and memories of a deceased one can lead you to unexpected findings you took for granted at first, changing how you view that particular person in a different light. perhaps the 'contrived coincidence' trope has been done to death in every type of media imaginable - but due to the naturally-progressing plot that always keeps you interested and Shunji Iwai's directing, it feels very much fresh, not generic, and hits all the beats it's supposed to! Love Letter is blissful and warm, yet it's also a terribly sad tale about a love story that's almost meant to be. 💔

The Devils (1971) dir. Ken Russell 🇬🇧

god, if it isn't an over-indulgent picture (in a good way). to be more exact, it's about overzealous hypocrites indulging themselves in shameless immorality, shielding behind the tenets of Christianity to justify their actions. and they all went down in glorious flames, as depicted mercilessly by Ken Russell with the incredibly eye-catching set designs by Derek Jarman. while it's set in the Middle Ages when those deemed dark witches were guaranteed death sentences, I still think it functions effectively as a critique of the current state of 'religious' conservatives who are so blinded with hate for anyone but themselves. it's a lot of fun to watch, too, even if it does seem too cartoonish at times. (Oliver Reed, sexy and marvelous 💪)

A Snake of June (2002) dir. Shinya Tsukamoto 🇯🇵

Shinya Tsukamoto's films are basically when you combine Lynch's affinity for industrial-themed surrealness and Cronenberg's exploration of the human body transformation, only for their presentation and energy to be cranked up to 11. out of many Tsukamotos i've watched this year, A Snake of June fascinated me the most. i think this is when Tsukamoto's themes and trademarks really worked for me, because they synergize so much this time around; it's relentless in its exploration of self-destructive eroticism, creating a haunting yet sexually-charged atmosphere. it also left quite a lot to be analyzed due to its ambiguous nature (especially toward the end). endlessly rewatchable 👍

On the Silver Globe (1988) dir. Andrzej Zulawski 🇵🇱

a bit unfair to include this since it technically is an unfinished film, but this certainly was one of the most intense movies i've seen in a long time. the bleakness of the material is the foundation of the cinematic earthquake that would've been had it been completed, added with colorful costumes and dystopic set designs that contributes to the mystiqueness of the picture. the most prominent aspect, of course, is Zulawski's direction - while it may seem exhausting and annoying for some, in my honest opinion it certainly worked the way it's heading for. if i had to remake an existing film, it would be this one.

other films that i adore during my first watch this year include:

Blue (2002) dir. Hiroshi Ando 🇯🇵

Dogra Magra (1987) dir. Toshio Matsumoto 🇯🇵

Ashik Kerib (1988) dir. Sergei Parajanov 🇬🇪

The Wolf House (2018) dir. Joaquin Cociña & Cristóbal León 🇨🇱

Four Nights of a Dreamer (1971) dir. Robert Bresson 🇫🇷

there are so many other movies i like & love which unfortunately couldn't make it to my mentions on this post. movies are abundant and it's impossible to watch every single one of them in a lifetime, but finding those that resonate with you is a very personal and treasuring experience!

thank you 2022, here's hoping to watching more next year 🥂

[little-dandelionn]

the barbie movie was incredible

no because you guys (the literal 0 people who follow me) don't understand how much i loved this movie. it's genuinely one of the best movies i've seen in years, and here's why.

for one, it confronts the fact that patriarchy is not beneficial for men nor women, and in fact, it actually harms both. like ken says in the movie, he quickly lost interest when he figured out it wasn't about horses. but for real, i think ken lost interest because he realized that being "in charge" wasn't what made him happy. being an accessory to barbie didn't make him happy either, but figuring out that neither of these things fulfilled him pushed him into the uncomfortable unknown, a place everyone hates. i like how we didn't 100% see what ended up happening with ken, what he decided to go with his life, his purpose. i think it makes it feel more real and relatable because in reality, a journey to self-discovery is a long one. it's not something that can be resolved in a 2-hour time frame, and not showing how his story ends was an incredibly smart choice by greta gerwig, because really, our stories never really end, you know what i mean?

for women, i think it's quite obvious how the patriarchy doesn't benefit/harms them. of course, women have been oppressed in a much more obvious way than men have for centuries. but i think seeing barbie enter a world where she isn't the "most important" or whatever (i'm not really sure how to describe it, kinda like the opposite of patriarchy i guess) was really cool because we get to see how the realization of treatment towards women in today's society might look from an adult's point of view who's just learning about it, rather than someone who's grown up experiencing it. seeing someone experience it where it wasn't the norm for them was a really interesting perspective to see, something we don't often get to witness in films. this point also goes for ken realizing the privilege he has in the real world, it was really cool to see how that sort of realization would affect someone who's been treated as an accessory their whole lives.

i thought sasha's initial confrontation with barbie was a very bold, but good, choice. seeing a young teenage girl clearly acknowledge the issues in our society that affect women and young girls was really refreshing because we don't often see things like that addressed in highly anticipated movies. just generally acknowledging the unrealistic beauty standards that are set for women in our current society was a huge step and i admire greta gerwig for including that in the movie. she could have easily just made it so sasha made a vague comment about it, but i love that she decided to just go full throttle with it and acknowledge it for what it truly is. i know that from an outsider's view who's maybe only seen some clips, it looks like that's a huge part of the movie, but realistically, the confrontation of unrealistic beauty standards was actually a very minuscule part of the movie, really only included to help barbie realize that she isn't doing what she thought she was for young girls, which is why i commend greta gerwig for including it. she could have replaced that bit with something having to do with unfair wages and how people still refuse to hire women for certain jobs purely because of their gender. but she didn't.

i also absolutely loved how ruth handler made an appearance as a character in the movie, mostly just because i liked seeing how the perspective of the creator of barbie might have looked had she been alive and really put into this situation.

a couple small details i thought were nice:

at the beginning of the movie, we see sasha wearing full dark gray/black/monochrome clothes, and then in the last scene we see her wearing a pink shirt.

i thought barbie going by the name barbara handler at the end of the movie was a really cute detail. it kinda makes me feel like ruth handler sees this barbie as her own daughter (which makes sense because she literally named barbie after her daughter lmao).

some things i wish had shown up in the movie:

i do wish that they had used ken's character to at least show a little bit of how unrealistic beauty standards for men can affect them, but then again that wasn't particularly the point of the movie so i'm not mad about it. i would love to see a movie sometime in the future, just any movie, confronting those societal pressures, because i feel like not many people talk about how societal expectations for men can affect them and translate into toxic masculinity.

i would have loved to see a bit more of a discussion about beauty standards for women, but again that wasn't the point of the movie so i'm okay with the fact that there wasn't more discussion about it. i still love that there was any discussion at all about it though, so there's that.

[ladyanatui]

Who Wears the Pants *A Daiken Fic*

Daisuke can't seem to keep his pants on. Even in freezing weather.

Day #9 of the Digimon OTP Advent Challenge 2019: Shiver

AO3 | FF.Net

Ken's school let out early today, and the sixteen-year-old decided to take the train to Odaiba to surprise his boyfriend with an impromptu date. Daisuke loved surprises, and as long as he was the one doing the surprising, Ken did too.

Naturally, Ken arrived early. His private school in Tamachi had released at noon, but with a couple hours until Odaiba released, he walked around a few nearby shops.

The weather had turned cold—particularly cold even in winter—and even going in and out of shops, Ken was shivering by the time he waited outside of Odaiba High for his spiky-haired boyfriend to emerge in a throng of teens wearing iconic sky-blue blazers. Of course, most of those blazers would be hidden away under winter coats, but Ken wasn't so sure Daisuke would adhere to logic.

The bell rang, but Ken didn't move from his perch on the wall near the main exit, cell phone in hand just in case they missed each other.

He had no need to worry, though. Daisuke wasn't easy to miss when he stormed out of the building, pushing his way through a slow-moving group of first years and laughing hysterically, something clutched tight against his abdomen. It was no surprise when Takeru ran after him, his blond hair particularly messy, followed shortly by Hikari, Miyako, and Iori, snickering as they walked together.

Ken slipped off the wall, bundling his coat tighter and trying not to tremble.

And true to form, Daisuke noticed Ken the moment he moved. His face instantly brightened, and he veered in his boyfriend's direction, nearly knocking over a pair of his classmates in the process. He didn't slow down when he reached Ken, didn't hesitate before launching the full force of his body onto him, and Ken was thrown to the ground with his giant puppy of a boyfriend on top of him, kissing him with all his might.

"That's cheating," cried Takeru as he stumbled to a stop beside the pair on the cold, hard ground. "You can't use your boyfriend as your home base."

Daisuke's only response was to pull back enough to chuck the crumpled material between them at Takeru's face before diving back in for another kiss. Said crumpled material, which Daisuke had kept close after stealing it right off his blond friend's head, was Takeru's newest hat.

Hikari, Miyako, and Iori reached the group and paused behind Takeru, who sloppily yanked his hat back over his head, grumbling all the while. But it was only when it became apparent Daisuke didn't need oxygen to breathe that the complaints began.

With a sheepish grin—all pleasant and apologetic but not actually sorry for glomping him—Daisuke helped Ken to his feet. "What're you doing here?"

Ken barely managed to gather himself together. "Surprise?" he offered, cheeks flushed. His body was trembling, but it wasn't from the cold anymore.

No, despite the fact that his boyfriend wasn't wearing anything over his dark-blue sweater-vest over his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, tie mysteriously gone, Daisuke simply radiated heat with enough force to rival the sun itself. And when he grinned like he did at Ken's one-word response, the warmth increased tenfold.

Blush intensified, Ken turned to the other to pay his respects—it had nothing to do with trying to distract himself from the way his boyfriend's ridiculous grin dug under his skin and seeped into his very bones, not at all.

Takeru, a new denim hat with a wide brim forced too far down on his head, looked just as irritated as when he'd come running out of the building, but he chatted with Hikari, Miyako, and Iori amicably nonetheless. But the moment they realized the very public make-out session was finally over, they turned to greet him as well.

"Hello," Ken said in his quiet voice, and a small smile spread across his face.

"Hey, Ken!" Miyako greeted happily.

"Class out early?" Takeru asked.

He nodded. "Yes, we had a half day for the teachers to—"

Well, nothing beyond that was really important because then Ken's vision was blocked by dark material that landed haphazardly over the top of his head.

"Daisuke!" the group chorused.

Ken shook his head and scowled at the dark-gray cloth that landed at his feet. "Daisuke," he said, voice low, "why in the world are you throwing your pants at me?"

"In public," Miyako added, indignant.

Hikari sighed, exasperated. "Can you really not wait ten minutes to change at home, Daisuke-kun?"

But Daisuke just laughed as he turned to his boyfriend to fix his now messy hair. "Gomen, gomen. I got over-excited."

Ken shot him a glare, but per usual, he remained unfazed, totally unaware of the double entendre.

At least, underneath his uniform pants, Daisuke managed to wear a pair of dark-khaki shorts. No one understood how he could fit them comfortably under the dark-gray slacks, but no one could argue with Daisuke when it came to logic. Mostly because Daisuke defied logic at all costs.

"Sure, over-excited." Takeru snorted. "If this didn't happen every damn day, I'm not sure you should apologize for not being able to keep your pants on around your boyfriend."

Daisuke's face turned a dark scarlet. Finally, he understood. "Shut up, Takeru! At least I have a boyfriend."

The blond raised an eyebrow—he and Hikari had been dating for nearly as long as Ken and Daisuke. "At least I can keep my clothes on in public."

"I'm still wearing clothes, baka!"

"Half your uniform is missing." Takeru crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't go half a day without losing some part of it, but you manage to wear those dumb shorts under your pants."

Daisuke jutted out his bottom lip. "Pants are dumb. I don't see why we have to wear uniforms anyway."

"I bet you couldn't go a whole day without losing even one article of clothing," Takeru challenged.

Flustered, Daisuke spluttered to answer, but everyone knew he couldn't really argue against that. He hadn't managed it yet.

Ken sighed as he leaned down to grab the dark gray pants, buttons undone all along the sides from Daisuke tearing them off. "Really, Dai, we're second years. You've had to wear a uniform for over four years now. How is this still a problem?"

His boyfriend continued to pout.

To be fair, Ken probably should've commended his dedication to the quote-unquote cause. When his attempts to get away with wearing his favored cargo shorts during class were thwarted, Daisuke devoted hours upon hours every week to learning how to sew so he could alter the uniform pants.

His first plan was simply cutting off the bottom half of the pants and reattaching them with buttons, but then he was still stuck wearing slacks. That didn't last long.

After that, he discovered the idea of converting the uniform pants to tear-away pants, but that required him to further develop his sewing skills. Which he did, of course, and without complaint. And that means a lot when it comes to Daisuke. Eventually, he managed it—and then the struggle was finding shorts that fit underneath. Most of his shorts at the time were too bulky and obvious if he managed to fit them under the pants at all.

He had since mastered the whole affair, though. Obviously.

And really, how much could Ken complain about his boyfriend just tearing off his pants in one stroke?

Oh, yeah. Perhaps the fact that he did it in public and rarely even front of him. That was somewhat disheartening. Ken would much prefer it if Daisuke kept his ridiculous stripping habit in private. Preferably in Ken's bedroom.

Miyako snorted. "Don't tease him too much, guys." Not that her voice was any less teasing. "For all we know, he might declare another war on pants."

Iori shook his head, eyes wide. "No. Not again."

Miyako was now all-out laughing. "But it was great! He only got suspended thirteen times for refusing to wear them that first year."

"Fifteen," Ken automatically corrected. The current uniform pants were now folded neatly in his arms. "And why am I always the one having to fold these stupid things?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Daisuke simply grinned, but he accepted the folded pants and slid them into his backpack with grateful eyes.

Takeru raised an eyebrow. "How are you the one always cleaning up his messes? You're usually not out of class yet when he starts throwing clothes around."

Heat rose to Ken's cheeks.

It probably had something to do with the fact that Daisuke met him after school every single day, and they usually wound up doing homework and, ahem, hanging out at his apartment in Tamachi. Of course, Daisuke getting out his schoolwork always meant tossing the no-longer-worn pants out of his backpack, and Ken folded them for him every time. Daisuke always called him anal as he did it, but he also added how incredibly cute he was, and…well, they usually didn't get much homework done after that.

Daisuke slung an arm around Ken's waist and tugged him close. "If all goes well, he'll be cleaning up my messes for years to come."

Ken frowned. "That's…" He sighed. "That's a very nice sentiment."

Not very practical, mind you, but definitely a nice sentiment. Ken definitely preferred to think of their relationship in the long term as well, but he didn't necessarily envision himself being a perfect housewife who did all the housework.

Perhaps he wasn't being very practical either, though. He'd seen Daisuke's room in its natural state far too often.

And yes, folding.

Ken was pretty sure Daisuke didn't even know how to fold laundry.

When he shook his head at the thought, his teeth chattered.

"You okay?" Suddenly, Daisuke was in his face, worry lines creasing his forehead, and he tutted. "You're wearing like ten sweaters and a huge scarf. How are you still cold, Ken-chan?" Then, he turned to the others to give them a wave. "Later!"

They ignored the chorus of goodbyes in favor of Daisuke wrapping his arm around his shivering boyfriend and leading them toward the Motomiya apartment.

Ken sighed, snuggling closer to his boyfriend's heat. "You could at least have the decency to pretend to be a normal human being and wear pants when it's this damn cold like the rest of us," he said, burying his face in his scarf.

But Daisuke laughed. "What're you talking about? It's not that cold. But you know…" His voice took on a particular tone that sent a completely different kind of shiver down Ken's spine. "I could warm you up. It's not like anyone's home right now."

Ken pressed closer. Yes, that sounded like the perfect way to rid his body of this chill.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Stories from Black women's customer service hell

The internet age has certainly transformed journalism; these days we mostly think about investigative journalism’s decline, but there are digital investigative outlets that shine like diamonds.

I’m thinking here about Propublica.

Propublica’s Justin Elliott and Paul Kiel wrote a series of blockbuster stories about the monopolist Intuit, a business organized as a cult around its then-CEO Brad Smith, engaged in decades’ worth of dirty tricks to kill free, IRS tax-prep services.

https://www.propublica.org/article/inside-turbotax-20-year-fight-to-stop-americans-from-filing-their-taxes-for-free

Not only did they stay with this story for months on end, digging up incredible stories of corruption, they also shamed the IRS and spurred state AGs into investigating the company.

Then a funny thing happened: Intuit customer service whistleblower revealed another scandal, one that sprawled outside of Intuit and spilled over into the world’s largest blue-chip companies from Disney to Airbnb to Comcast and more.

That was the story of Arise, yet another cult-like business that you have almost certainly interacted with, without knowing it.

On its surface, Arise is an outsource customer service company. Other businesses pay it to staff their phones and answer customer queries.

But Arise is many other things. For one thing, it’s a pyramid scheme: the people who work for it — disproportionately Black women — are not classed as employees, but as “contractors.” They are paid for recruiting their friends to work for it.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/02/chickenized-by-arise/#arise

That might sound like a nice way to help a business staff its call-centers, but you need to understand that Arise has no call centers or staff — its workers take calls from their homes.

Those workers aren’t employees — they’re misclassified as “independent contractors.”

If you want to work for Arise, you have to pay them for the privilege. Not only do you have to buy a computer and phone, you have to pay to get trained for each firm whose calls you’ll be taking.

If you quit, you have to pay Arise for “early termination” of your contract.

Believe it or not, those are the best parts of working for Arise. When you are an Arise worker, you can be terminated without notice or cause — forfeiting the money and time you spent for training and equipment. You can get fired by Arise itself, or by any of its customers.

Reps from Arise and its customers listen in on your calls. If your children make noise in the background, you can lose everything. Same if your neighbor’s dog starts barking. Forget about running a fan or air conditioner — the noise is “unprofessional.”

The Arise story prompted outrage from the public — and it sent Propublica’s investigators deeper into the story. They documented how the Department of Labor knew about Arise’s illegal and abusive conduct, and let them get away with it for years.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/22/paperback-writer/#toothless

And here’s the most amazing part: Propublica never stopped reporting on this story. This month, Ariana Tobin, Ken Armstrong and Justin Elliott worked with Brooke Stephenson to tell Arise workers’ stories in their own words.

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-women-on-the-other-end-of-the-phone

These stories reveal Arise’s lies about its working conditions, as workers describe how they were unequivocally ordered never to hang up on customers, even in the face of death and rape threats, racist abuse, and sexual harassment.

Arise may tell regulators and reporters that its workers are empowered to hang up the phone if the man on the other end is masturbating, but the women who endure this abuse tell a very different story:

https://www.propublica.org/article/not-allowed-to-hang-up-the-harsh-reality-of-working-in-customer-service

The writers connect Arise’s working conditions with the promises made by temp agencies for generations — companies like “Kelly Girl,” who promised a disposable, attractive, pliable and hardworking woman whom a company could work like a government mule and then discard.

Arise preys on the economically precarious and traps their whole families into literal conspiracies of silence, as spouses and children tiptoe around their homes to spare their mothers the economic catastrophe of being summarily fired.

The powerful words of the women answering these calls are a reminder of the human cost of systemic racism and sexism, and the willingness of the world’s largest companies to exploit it.

While this is a systemic problem, there are ways you can individually help the people you speak to, beyond being courteous and decent and understanding (this being the minimum we all owe one another).

I. Complete the end-of-call survey. Workers can get fired and lose their investment in equipment and training if the people they help don’t do this.

II. After text-based service interactions, reply “No thank you,” after the rep asks “is there anything else I can help you with?” Workers are punished if you close your browser without answering this question.

III. Be organized with all relevant information in hand before you call. Workers are penalized for calls that last too long — even if the reason for the delay is that the caller took forever looking up a key piece of information.

Yes, it’s unfair that workers are penalized if you don’t play along with Arise’s idiotic customer service metrics, but the unfairness accrues disproportionately to workers, and you can shoulder some of that burden.

I’m grateful to Propublica for continuing to bring us this story — and doubly glad to be an annual donor to this charitable nonprofit.

Image: Laila Milevski/Propublica

[slimeypuppy]

Can I request Kenstewy first time for the Agent!AU? :D

warning for yall: this AU is absolutely pretty fucked up and they are fucked up little guys who have fucked up sex. This is consensual, of course, but is it safe or sane? Probably not. TW for blood and icky things with it, which will probably be a common thing in this AU. // This is about 1.9k apparently so enjoy!

Kendall is covered in blood. His hands are slick and sticky, his face splattered, his clothes ruined. Stewy, like usual, has managed to limit the mess on his own person, but Kendall never really seems capable of keeping himself clean. It's part of their different styles of attack. Stewy knows that distance is safest, both physically and legally, but Kendall has been trained to beat someone until their skull caves in and their bones break through the skin.

"Fuck," Stewy says, stepping over the body. "You went off on him. You okay?"

"I knew him," Kendall replies, but he doesn't elaborate.

His hands are shaking and his bottom lip trembling as he reaches out, sticky fingertips trying to get ahold of Stewy's nice white button down. In answer, he takes Kendall's wrists in hand and guides them backward. There's no fight. Just wide eyes peeking at him, like he's fallen to pieces and Stewy is the only one who can put him back together.

"Don't touch me right now, you're a mess."

He allows himself to indulge, though, with his gloves forming the perfect barrier. It's why Stewy wears them. He smooths his palms over Kendall's chest, down toward the buckle of his belt. This is a bad idea. He just thinks that maybe Kendall needs grounding, more than a simple kiss can give him, and flicks open his belt to reach into his slacks. This isn't completely foreign to Stewy, the touching another man like this, but it feels like something shiny and new because it's Ken.

He gets one hand into his boxers where he's warm and sticky for a different reason, and closes his gloved palm around Kendall's dick. He's not incredibly hung, but not small either; he's average, and responsive even with his mind flayed by their jobs. When he rubs his thumb over the head, almost wishing that he could feel the precum on his bare fingertips, Kendall makes a small noise in the back of his throat and tries to dip his head forward to rest against Stewy's shoulder.

"You're fucking bloody, man, stop," he reminds, but Kendall doesn't seem to actually care.

In response, Stewy wraps his other hand around Kendall's throat, not squeezing, but holding him in place. A liquid fire erupts in his eyes as his lips part for more air.

"C'mon, Ken, be good for me," he says, his voice more tender than he meant. "Just stay still and let me take care of you. If you can do that, then maybe I'll let you take care of me."

That seems to be the thing that breaks the fragile softness of the moment. Kendall's eyes flash and he gets Stewy by the wrists to remove his touch. For a moment he thinks he's fucked up, gone too far, but then he's flat on his back with Kendall on top of him, pinning him to the ground with unfair ease. If Stewy really tried, he could get away, but he doesn't think he wants to.

"You're making a mess," he protests.

"You like mess," Kendall counters. "You say you don't, but you keep working with me. You- you fucking give me the kill every time."

He's not wrong.

Kendall shifts to hold both of Stewy's wrists in one hand, using the other to untuck Stewy's shirt and get at his slacks, struggling to pull them off. Everything he touches leaves scarlet smears. This suit is so ruined. As if to make sure, Kendall tears the seam on his pants getting them off him.

"Slow the fuck down," Stewy hisses, and Kendall just rolls his eyes. He nudges Stewy's thighs apart with his knees and brings his hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers against his bottom lip. "Fuck, no. You're covered in blood. Gross. That's gross, babe."

He seems unphased by the introduction of a pet name. "Tell me no, then. If you want this, we're doing it my way. So either fucking- fucking do it, or tell me you want me to stop."

It's at this moment that Stewy realizes he's completely screwed. He's attached. He wants. And Kendall knows it. The one consolation he has is that Kendall wants it too, apparently, and he's more than willing to do whatever it takes to get it. He parts his lips slightly and that's enough for Kendall to push his fingers in deep enough for Stewy to gag, watching him with hooded eyes as Stewy makes a point to get them as wet as possible since neither of them make a habit of carrying lube on the job. Maybe they should. Stewy should've expected that one day, the two of them would reach this point.

After a moment, Kendall decides his fingers are wet enough to pull them from Stewy's mouth, leaving him to wince at the lingering taste of blood and sweat. He doesn't fuck around, Stewy learns, because he pushes two fingers in at once, which is too much at first without enough lube. He makes a hurt little sound and Kendall shushes him, leaning over his body and peppering kisses along the delicate skin of Stewy's exposed throat.

"Relax," he soothes. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Stewy. Do you trust that?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Kendall gives him a lazy grin as he curls his fingers inside of Stewy, adding a spark of pleasure to the burn. "Not smart to uh, to fuck people you don't trust, Stew."

"How about-" he cuts off with a whimper when Kendall slips another finger inside of him. "How about I happen to know you're too obsessed with me to hurt me?"

"I wouldn't say that. I have a habit of hurting things I love."

Before Stewy can argue the point, Kendall distracts him with a biting kiss, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until it feels like Stewy is being pulled in a million different directions. He remembers that he's pinned when he reaches to cling to Kendall- and subsequently discovers that he hasn't been struggling at all under the grip.

Kendall breaks the kiss first. "Hey. Look at me."

Stewy doesn't know why, but he does.

"Are you ready? Can I?"

"You asking now, Ken?"

"I- I wouldn't, uh, do this. Unless you wanted it. I don't-"

Stewy soothes him with another kiss. "I know. Yeah, fuck, I'm ready. Just get your fucking dick wet before you put it in me."

Kendall releases him to spit on his hand, which should be disgusting instead of hot, and spreads the saliva around on himself to make it better than fucking dry. This won't be the smoothest lay of Stewy's life but he finds himself to be surprisingly okay with that. He's finding out that he's willing to put up with a lot when it comes to Kendall.

He uses one hand to guide himself inside of Stewy, the other to hold one of Stewy's thighs open for easier access. Despite the roughness of the foreplay, Kendall moves slowly, watching Stewy's face and listening to him closely as he pushes in. It's not the biggest that Stewy has ever taken, but it feels like a lot with such limited prep and the fact that Kendall has him down on the ground, clothes ruined, filthy and debauched. When his back arches off the floor, Kendall smiles a little.

"That good for you?"

"Hurry up and fuck me," Stewy pants. He shouldn't be revealing how much he likes this. "We have to get out of here sooner rather than later."

Kendall takes the instruction like he does any other: with eager compliance. He doesn't start off fast, but he definitely isn't gentle with each thrust, letting his sharp hipbones hit the backs of Stewy's thighs. He watches him too, as he fucks him. Stewy feels pinned by the weight of his gaze, taking in every single thing about him in this moment.

"You should touch yourself," he orders.

Stewy is helpless to ignore such an enticing command, so he does, wrapping one gloved hand around his own cock as Kendall fucks him with the same slow determination he uses to polish Stewy's gun. He's never touched himself wearing the gloves, only others. The cool surface of the leather, bumpy along the pads of the fingers for better grip, is a sensation he didn't know he would love as much as he does.

"I think you'll come before me," Kendall says, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust. "I can just tell."

"Are you clean?"

He laughs. "You made a point to tell me you didn't think so."

"No, no, Ken, I mean-" Kendall shifts his angle and Stewy sees stars, breaking out into a soft moan before he can finish. "I mean if I let you fucking come inside me, am I gonna catch something."

"I think of the two of us, I'm the one who should be worried about that."

Stewy's cheeks burn with shame in the best kind of way and he looks away from Kendall, staring at the wall as he rocks back, trying to get Kendall deeper inside.

"But yeah, man, I'm clean. Scout's fucking honor. Should've asked beforehand if you really cared, though."

He means to insult Kendall in response, but he's getting close faster than he thought he would, and coherent thoughts are beginning to slip from his mind before he has the chance to properly asses them. Everything devolves into sensations. The grip of Kendall's hands on his thighs, holding him down and open. The sound of his heaving breaths as he moves faster and faster, fucking like a damn machine at this point. The friction and fullness of a good fuck from somebody who has figured out how to take him apart from their very first time together. The surface of his gloves against a part as sensitive as his own dick.

"Gonna come for me?" Kendall asks, leaning a little further over Stewy. "Babe?" he mocks.

it's that one word that sends Stewy over the edge, muffling a moan into his wrist as he comes all over himself, adding to the mess on his stomach and definitely unsalvageable shirt. Kendall fucks into him a final time and buries his face in Stewy's shoulder, biting down hard above his collarbone as he comes inside of him. It's warm and wet and sticky and frankly gross, but so satisfying that Stewy can't be mad at it."

"DNA," Stewy gets out once he catches his breath a few minutes later, Kendall still on top of and inside of him. "Fucking DNA, Ken, you idiot."

"The cleanup crew will fix it," Kendall murmurs against his skin.

He finally gets up though, pulling out slowly but still making Stewy wince. His own clothes are bloody, but wearable, while Stewy's pants are completely fucked and his shirt showing the evidence of what they did. He means to be mad about it. He opens his mouth to complain, but Kendall holds up a finger and strips the blood soaked sweatpants off the body of the target, handing them over without a second thought.

"Um, ew. Fucking disgusting."

"You had his blood in your mouth," Kendall reminds, a little too smug.

Stewy rolls his eyes. "I'll walk out in my boxers like a big boy. The car should be waiting by now, let's go."

Outwardly, it feels like nothing has changed. Stewy knows that everything has.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

x

Summary: “Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance.”

Read on AO3

Read chapter 16 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

A/n: The final chapter of arc I. Buckle up, my loves 🖤

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

***

Heartbreak. Jamie had always thought that expression figurative— that people simply referred to the loss of love and the emotional suffering that goes with it. But as he led Claire toward the distant hill with her wee hand clutched in his, ready to send the love of his life away, the pain in his chest was as real and physical as if his heart had truly been cleaved in two. His chest clenched in agony, and the only thing keeping him moving forward was sheer, monumental will. 

Claire was oblivious. That morning, he had wrapped her up in a tartan blanket to keep her warm and simply herded her out to the car without more than a few words. She’d asked him where they were going, and he’d nearly broken down crying that moment. All he’d managed was a hoarse, “for a walk,” while his windpipe felt like it was being crushed. 

As he helped her out of the car, she took his hand— hers so wee and fitting perfectly into his— and smiled brightly up at him. 

God, he wanted to kiss her. 

His selfish, breaking heart wanted so badly to have that one memory to treasure for the rest of his life without Claire. He longed to draw her to him, press his mouth to hers, feel her soft lips on him, and then he would never ask for another thing from God. He spent nearly half the walk trying to talk himself out of it. 

He couldn’t do that to her. She was going home, never to see him again, and it wouldn't be fair. 

He turned back to her then, and she gave him the brightest smile that illuminated the dark chasm growing inside him. She was his sun, and looking at her— simply enjoying being with him and unaware of their parting in a few minutes— he felt dizzy. Being in the presence of such light only made the agony of losing her that much greater. 

The lump in his throat was so thick and stifling that he could barely breathe. It was all he could do to hold himself together and keep going. 

But he had to be strong, for her sake. He had to let her know it was okay to go. 

“Jamie, now will you—” 

She had begun to ask him for the tenth time what was going on when she suddenly stopped dead. He glanced back at her to see her eyes wide and fixed on the distance, all the blood drained from her face. 

Claire had caught sight of the hill. 

The heartbroken expression and the shake of her head as she looked at Jamie ruined him. 

“Listen, mo nighean donn, I—”

“Why are we here?” she asked in a dangerously low, even voice. 

He was regretting his plan instantly. Her expression wasn’t quite that of the devastation of betrayal, but it was something like broken trust, because she looked at him with a tiny glimmer of pleading in her eyes— begging him to tell her it wasn’t true. That look was eating him alive. 

“Sassenach, listen to me...” he started again, desperate. 

He tried to tug her onward in the direction of the hill, but she stayed planted firm. 

“I’ve found a way to bring ye home safely,” he finally blurted out. 

The reason he was able to drag her forward in that moment wasn’t because she was more willing than she had been a moment ago. Sheer surprise made her go unresistant and allowed Jamie to pull her back into motion. It seemed her feet were moving on their own accord, operating on instinct in response to him. 

“What?” she choked out. 

“Aye.” 

With a terrible rending in his chest, he explained everything to her. Geillis’ book. Travel between realms. The gemstones offering protection. 

She was silent the entire time, eyes wide as if that would allow her to see something intangible, trying desperately to wrap her head around everything he’d just laid on her. He didn’t even give her time to react; the words simply spewed from him in a heartbroken rush as he managed to drag her up the hill. 

They stood then in the shadows of the towering stones. To Jamie, the stones felt like grave markers— looming ominous and solemn. 

Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance. 

Claire’s face was white as a sheet. For once, her expression was unreadable to him. Perhaps it was because she was hiding it, or perhaps Jamie was simply blinded by the force of his own emotions and the all-encompassing longing for her to stay, but he couldn't tell what was going on in her brain. His only thought was that he knew she was terrified of the stones, and that only hurt him further. 

“Here is my father’s ring. It’ll ensure ye safe passage,” he found himself saying. 

He grabbed her hand and shoved the ring on her finger without ceremony. She studied it for a long moment, looking blank, and then turned her face back up to Jamie. It looked like she was about to speak, but he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear what she had to say. 

“There’s nothing for you on this side,” Jamie choked out, “nothing. Save a world ye dinna ken and people who arena yer own. Ye deserve tae go home.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to help convince her or himself. 

While he was speaking, he had dropped her hand and was slowly moving backward. He had to harden himself if he’d ever be able to leave her. He had to turn off his feelings and let his breaking heart turn to ash before he did something selfish like fall to his knees and beg her to stay. 

The rushing in his ears was deafening. 

“There’s no use waiting,” he said in a low voice, “I hafta leave ye now.” 

He put more distance between them— Claire standing frozen in the spot where he’d put her as he stepped backward, her perfect lips parted just slightly. Every inch between them felt like another nail in his coffin, only a thousand times more agonizing because his heart was still beating. 

The voice that came from his closed throat was unrecognizable even to himself as he mustered a raspy, “goodbye, Sorcha.” 

He wanted to add a “I’ll never forget ye so long as I live,” or something— anything— that could possibly convey even a fraction of how much she meant to him, but his throat had closed so much that he couldn’t force it out. 

Claire just stood there, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Silent and swaying slightly. 

Before the tears could rush from his eyes, or worse, before she could say some goodbye that broke his resolve, he turned sharply and threw himself down the hill. If she called goodbye after him, it didn’t reach his ears. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look back. He didn’t think he could go on, but his feet propelled him forward, away from the love of his life. 

She’s going home— he told himself as the first tears began to fall— back to her people. She’ll be happy. 

But he was suffocating on the lump in his throat and the world was feeling so terribly unfair; He couldn’t seem to get himself to believe his own arguments, caught up as he was in his grief. 

His whole body was shaking, to the point where his fingers went numb. He didn’t know grief could do that. He wished it could numb his heart and his mind. But his traitorous brain was slogging on, and it took everything inside him to repeat the mantra of “she’s going home.” She probably was home at this very moment, back with her people. 

Toward the bottom of the hill, his steps slowed from their frantic pace to a resigned shamble, heavy with the weight of what he’d done. 

Now that she was gone, there was no need to rush into a life of emptiness. He might as well take his time. 

When he reached the spot where the ground was flattening out, his feet stopped altogether. His legs felt like jell-o, and he wanted to fall to his knees and weep. He probably would have collapsed too, if not for the brittle feeling in his body that made him go stock still. Everything seemed almost distant as the tears gathering in his eyes overflowed to trickle down his cheeks. 

How could he possibly face a life without her? 

He found himself frozen under the weight of that terrible desolation. Jamie wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face it. 

Heartbreak. He knew now with visceral clarity how accurate that was. 

Then, in an instant— a second so fast Jamie was certain his mind had conjured it— something pulled him back from the yawning chasm of despair opening at his feet.

A sound from behind him that made every muscle in his body freeze. 

A shout of his name. 

It couldn’t be. 

He turned slowly, disbelievingly, and saw an image that would be burned into his mind forever. A figure— a familiar figure that couldn’t possibly be anyone but his beloved— was barrelling down the hill. Claire’s hair was billowing around her ethereally, giving her the most perfect aspect. The sun behind her illuminated her silhouette, as if nature itself was caressing her unreal perfection. As she ran, the tartan blanket around her shoulders came loose, and the moment was picturesque as it swirled up into the air behind her, forgotten. She simply ran faster, racing down the hill toward him. Rooted to the spot, a tear still tracking down his face, Jamie could only watch her in astonished disbelief. 

Suddenly, she was mere feet from him. 

“James Fraser, you fool.” 

And then she was flying into his arms. He barely had time to embrace her back before her mouth smashed against his and they were kissing.  

The world stopped. Truly, the planet must have frozen on its axis, and every person on it must have been halted in their tracks. Because she was kissing him— and he, her— with a fervor he’d never before experienced. 

As she kissed all the words from his mouth, the breath from his lungs, and the grief from his heart, a joy previously unimaginable rushed from his center to the very tips of his fingers. 

The kiss was everything he’d imagined and more. Her lips were so soft, so perfect, molded to fit his. Like coming home, there was an incredible feeling of rightness. It was a mix of scorching and tender, somehow perfectly his Sorcha.

His lungs constricted until he thought air would be obsolete in the reality of her. The electricity crackled, consuming them both in a cloud, leaving him dazed and stunned but somehow so amazingly alive. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire. He was aware of every part of his body, and every part of hers against his, but nothing so acutely as his lips caressing hers. 

Now that he was kissing her, he found he couldn’t stop. It must have been minutes, hours. He held her body flush to his, and he was shaking so hard with the strength of his emotions that his hand trembled where it cupped the back of her head. For her part, she had both arms wrapped around his neck and was holding as tightly as she could as he devoured her mouth. He was delirious with joy. 

Finally, when his lungs would surely burst, he parted from her lips just enough to gasp in air. 

“You said there was nothing on this side for me,” Claire panted breathlessly, lips barely brushing his as she spoke, “but there’s you. There’s you, you bloody fool. I love you.” 

The world was dropping out from under Jamie’s feet but at the same time he was more anchored than he ever had been— he was falling, but Claire was catching him. Giving him everything he’d ever dreamed of but had been too scared to risk. Here it all was at his feet— in his arms. How his life had changed in the matter of seconds. 

“I love you, mo nighean donn,” he told her, just as out of breath, “I’ve loved you all this time.” The words felt like a rush exploding from him, the truth of his heart suddenly bared for all to see. 

He brushed her wild hair behind her ear as a joyful tear escaped his eye. His fingers caressed her face for the first time without shame. Her lips were slightly puffy with the force of their feverish kisses, and her pupils were blown wide as she gazed at him with adoration. Indulging the desires he’d stamped down for days, he cradled her face with both hands and stroked his thumbs along her jaw as he spoke. 

“So ye’re stayin’ then?” he asked, a little shyly, barely able to contain the hope bursting from his chest. He could scarcely believe this wasn’t a dream, and he would have questioned his sanity if not for her very real body in his arms. 

“I’m staying,” she breathed reverently. 

And then they were kissing again. He held her tightly, clutching her wee body with greedy joy, and kissed her with utter abandon.

Lips desperate for connection and mouths fused, two hearts reached for each other to become whole.

***

a/n: Ahhh there it is! Arc I... mutual pining no more!!

Okay, I've been waiting to say this for like forever, but Jamie Fraser is often an unreliable narrator and a sweet, sweet dumbo!! He doesn't communicate with her well and often just assumes what is going on inside her head. Angst could have been avoided with some communication bbs!! So if you've been wanting to yell at Jamie at least a little during the course of the story, Claire's "James Fraser, you fool" is for you!! I have a lot more I would like to say about arc I, but in the interest of not making this note longer than it already is, I'm posting an arc I commentary on my tumblr. I'd love if you'd check it out! 

The story is far from over!! Arc II is coming along! I have like 12k written on it already, woohoo! Updates may be more like every Saturday ish but I’ll probably throw in a few weekdays to spice things up.

Next

[ova-kakyoin]

Ken Character Study

Ken has always been a fan favorite character. His rather meek demeanor and shy personality led him to be immediately added to the fandom’s ‘must protect’ list. Unfortunately, 21 episodes into the series, he got booted out of the main cast. It took about 10 episodes before he next showed up and he was a little different. Almost aggressive, it seemed like. This shift in character felt so out of nowhere looking back, and I know 10 episodes is nothing to sneeze at, especially in terms of anime, but such a heel turn feels so sudden. This doesn’t really feel like an actual heel turner, though. This feels so much more like Ken lashing out in an attempt to defend himself. Since he’s never lived in the same place for more than about a year, Ken never really had any friends. He didn’t really expect his bonds from the bey club to hold after he left. Being around someone as openly aggressive and hostile as Ben definitely didn’t help this. Ben read immediately how shy and scared Ken was and, as such, is incredibly protective of him, so much that it rubbed off onto Ken and he’s now hostile towards people he cares about because he’s afraid of getting hurt. He felt that if he didn’t want to get hurt by people he assumed would have forgotten about or abandoned him, he would have to push them away first. He thought that if he could trust anyone, Ben was who it was. Ken has learned to only really trust those who are around him now, rather than those who have been around him before. He assumes he’s been replaced, and Wakiya joining the bey club almost immediately after he left definitely didn’t help. Ken does learn to still trust people, though, and as such takes a lot of the brunt in Evolution when everything goes off the deep end. He’s learned to trust people so intensely because of the people around him, that giving people the benefit of the doubt and trying to talk through things rather than lash out at people has led to him being cornered. As soon as he fails in talking people down, he retreats back into his shell and assumes he’s useless and can’t help anyone. Luckily, he has the rest of the former club there to make sure he knows that none of this was his fault. He wanted to help but really, no matter what any of them did, nothing seemed to get through, so him taking the blame was unfair. Unfortunately, we don’t really know if he learns to balance his trust since he doesn’t show up after Evo, but I think it’s fair to assume that he’s able to figure it out eventually, as Ken isn’t the type to stay down after get knocked down, especially not after he gains the support of so many people behind him.

Big shoutout to @viceliousdrum for choosing the character for me to do a study on, i hope i did your son justice!

[thecollegefootballguy]

2021 G5 Coaching Power Rankings

Yeah yeah I know, it’s mean and unfair to only do a G5 ranking while doing each P5 conference. But also nobody cares about the 7th best coach in C-USA so we’re sticking with the highlights here.

Let’s see where each man stands.

Check out last year’s rankings here.

-

There was an enormous amount of upheaval in the rankings between this year and last. Several coaches in the top ten from 2019 left their positions, and not all of the moves were voluntary. Lance Leipold, ranked 10th last season, improved once more in 2020 and was poached by Kansas. Losing the #10 team won’t destabilize the rankings much, but 3 of the top 5 coaches also left their jobs. #1 ranked Bryan Harsin was hired by Auburn to replace Gus Malzahn. Poor Frank Solich (#2) was forced to retire to focus on his health. I wish him the best. In a head-scratcher, Doc Holiday (#5) was basically fired by Marshall after the Thundering Herd failed to renew his contract.

A lot can change in a year. There’s a whole new crop of top coaches is coming up in the G5, let’s see where they rate. Oh yeah, and the non-Notre Dame football independents are included here just so they can get some representation.

-

10. Kalani Sitake

Record at BYU: 38-26

Movement: N/A

BYU surged back to life with an 11-1 campaign in 2020. Replacing Zach Wilson won’t be easy, but Sitake seems to have the Cougars conforming to the blueprint.

-

9. Jason Candle

Record at Toledo: 38-21 Division Championships: 1 (2017) Conference Championships: 1 (2017)

Movement: N/A

Jason Candle jumps into the top ten with another solid season at Toledo. The Rockets are one of the few consistently good programs in the MAC and it’s thanks to coaches like Candle who keep the winning culture rolling year over year.

-

8.  Rick Stockstill

Record at Middle Tennessee: 94-92 Division Championships: 1 (2018) Conference Championships: 1 (2006)

Movement: Same

Three coaches ahead of him in the rankings left but Rick Stockstill didn’t move up in the rankings. That tells you something. Middle Tennessee has looked a bit shaky of late and it has fans concerned. Stockstill built a consistent winner in Murfreesboro, but it hasn’t won the last two years.

-

7. Jeff Monken

Record at Army: 49-39 Overall Record: 87-55

Movement: N/A

Jeff Monken built a successful winner at Army. That’s all you need to say.

-

6. Troy Calhoun

Record at Air Force: 101-72 Division Championships: 1 (2015)

Movement: Up 3 spots

Air Force didn’t play all that much in 2020 so it’s hard to tell what was going on with the program. Calhoun is a reliable coach so he stays firmly in the rankings.

-

5. Luke Fickell

Record at Cincinnati: 35-14 Division Championships: 2 (2019, 2020) Conference Championships: 1 (2020)

Movement: N/A

All of the sudden Cincinnati is looking like the next “it” G5 team. UCF and Houston felt that way at different times, now the Bearcats are the ones with the G5 belt on their shoulders. Fickell has completely rebuilt the program into a war machine, he’s gotta be the hottest new hire if the right job opens up.

-

4. Chuck Martin

Record at Miami OH: 32-46 Overall Record: 106-53 Division Championships: 2 (2016, 2019) Conference Championships: 1 (2019)

Movement: N/A

I honestly have no idea with this guy. Sometimes it has felt like Miami has lucked into a few division championships, but Martin has them consistent enough to be in the hunt usually which counts for something.

-

3. Ken Niumatalolo

Record at Navy: 101-67 Division Championships: 3 (2015, 2016, 2019)

Movement: Up 1 spot

Navy really wasn’t all that good in 2020 but that only does so much to dampen Ken Niumatalolo’s overall accomplishments in Annapolis. They were great in 2019 and it stands to reason that they’ll rebound soon. Niumatalolo is a steady presence as one of the most accomplished G5 coaches.

-

2. Skip Holtz

Record at Louisiana Tech: 61-41 Record Overall: 149-122 Division Championships: 3 (2014, 2016, 2019)

Movement: Up 1 spot

It’s only right that Skip Holtz take over Frank Solich’s spot in the #2 slot. Holtz is starting to look like a G5 lifer, doing a pretty good job at a solid program with a good chance to win the division most years.

-

1. Bill Clark

Record at UAB: 40-22 Overall Record: 51-26 Division Championships: 3 (2018, 2019, 2020) Conference Championships: 2 (2018, 2020)

Movement: N/A

It’s well deserved, Bill Clark blazes all the way into the #1 spot thanks to his incredible success at UAB for the past several seasons. The Blazers have won three consecutive West Division championships and two of three C-USA titles. Clark has done an incredible job all things concerned. I think he’s got a lifetime contract already but if not he should have one.

-

Final Tally

Conference-USA: 3 American: 2 Independent: 2 MAC: 2 Mountain West: 1

[hatilead]

Instructions: Always repost with the rules, answer the 11 random questions left for you and leave 11 more for the people you tag!

TAGGED BY: @moonwoken​​

TAGGING:  @iinmortales   @perfectmetaphore  @nolongermcgraw  @povvertaken  @evermxre​   @marblecarved​    @magntokinesis​    &  you   !  

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆   ; 1. how are things going?

honestly,     i know i technically have nothing to complain about    (  steady,   well paying job,    a safe space where i’m not being hurt,   food on the table and a bf and cat who love me   )     but the whole state of the world has been taking a toll on me lately,     i’m not going to lie.    i guess it has its ups and downs     -      i’ll get there.     always.     but that doesn’t mean that it’s smooth sailing at the moment. 

2. if you were someone else’s muse, how would your mun describe you?

orion this question is just    ...     unfair   ?     i guess if i was someone else’s muse that would mean that they’d like me enough to put effort into me      -       probably aloof,     hardworking,    mentally unstable,    kind     (   maybe   ?     )       putting the needs of others before herself    (   absolutely   )  

3. if you could only recommend me three songs, movies or books to get to know you better, which would they be?

i’m going to go with songs for this one because songs are just easier for me but uhh  :    in the blood    -     john mayer   (   i mean those lyrics ?     welp   )  farther along  -   josh garrels   (   religion mention for this one tbh   )   february song   -   josh groban    (   and no i won’t elaborate   )

4. what was it that first inspired you to write? what inspires you today?

tbh i can’t really remember.    i think i have been writing for most of my childhood.    actually,   i found a little notebook about a week ago that had my writing in it from when i was  nine.     but then again,    most of my childhood and teenage years are a blur so i genuinely have no idea.    i think my greatest inspiration has always been to create a little bit of magic     -      a kinder world for me to live in.     i want to create,    to build and to leave,    and i think that i can do that through writing. 

5. if you had to put together a team of 5 fictional characters plus yourself to save the world, who would you choose and why?

gilderoy lock/hart,  archie ken/nedy,   pavel che/kov,    penelope gar/cia   (  from crim/inal mi/nds  )    and  jask/ier   (  from the witcher  )     because i genuinely think those five are great characters,    while also still being incredibly kind to the world    (   yes the jury is still out on gil but he gets a pass for now  )    and when i think of saving the world    ;     i don’t think about kicking ass or being physically strong or having cool powers.    i think about being kind,   spreading kindness and hope and uplifting people.   we change the world like that.    

6. what is your favorite fictional trope? least favorite?

i don’t know if this classifies as a trope but     sign me up    for a good anti-hero.     especially if this anti-hero functions  /  can be regarded as a mirror image of a typical hero character.     that’s the good stuff.    i demand a direct iv line of that content.     i’m over love triangles tbh.    i’m sorry,  but it’s the year 2021 and i’ve had   enough   ! 

7. what unpopular opinion do you have toward the rpc or tumblr?

how long do you have   ?       i think my biggest   ‘unpopular’  opinion would be that we’re here to have fun and do our thing      -      elitism on this site is so dumb and it should be eradicated.    also,    kill the idea that someone can’t be proud of their own work.    be as proud as you want over your craft.  it’s yours,   and you absolutely get to stick feathers up your butt if you want.    you work hard.    you deserve it   !

8. if you could spend one day with your main muse (or your muse of choice), what would that be like?

i’d like to spend a day with gil and    no good will come from that.    

9. if you found yourself in one fictional universe of your choosing, which would it be and why?

lord of the rings.     absolutely.    yeah man i want to get made into a kebab by an orc or something.   i just want to look at dwarves first okay      -     i wouldn’t last a full day in that universe but it will be   so worth it    !     

10. a character you’ve always wanted to write?

at this moment i think i’m writing all the characters i’ve ever wanted to write    ?        if i consider writing them,    they’re already added.     that’s how it works.    that’s the tea.    that’s how we’re going to roll on this blog.    i have zero shame left.    this is it baby and you signed up for this. 

11. what are five things that spark joy for you?

my friends.   my cat.    a good sea shanty    (   don’t call me out i will do it myself   )    a good home-cooked meal.    the smell of freshly cut grass.   

𝐌𝐘 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔    ;      1.    if you could change one thing about your life right now,   what would it be ? 2.    are you happy with where you are as a person right now ?    3.    if you could pick three songs to listen to for the rest of your life,  which ones would it be ?  4.    let’s say you invent a time machine,   but it only works for one trip for 24 hours,  where and when would you go,  and why ?  5.    which piece of media would you want to experience for the first time again ?  6.    are you satisfied with your writing,  and if not,   what would you change about it ? 7.    if you could have two fictional characters as the  ‘angel and the devil’  on your shoulders,   which ones would you want for the rest of your life ?  8.    which piece of media do you think changed you the most as a person ?  9.    which one would you pick    ;   only listening to one album for the rest of your life,    or only watching one movie for the rest of your life.   and which album/movie would that be ?  10.    would you say you’re a good cook ?   and can i have your favourite recipe ?  11.    is there a lullaby you remember from childhood ?

[mattygraygubler]

Y/N Stark (Ch. 2)

hi friends thanks for reading 

find my masterlist (which includes prologue and ch 1) here

word count: 1899

warnings: underage drinking

In the coming weeks, Spiderboy began to get on your nerves more and more. He may have been just a year younger than you, but you found him incredibly immature and suffocating to be around. 

Everytime you saw each other around the tower, you pointedly ignored him, and he pestered you with stupid questions, trying to befriend you. 

Maybe in 10 years you could be friends, but not now. You were already in college, and had always been surrounded by people older than you. Between the Avengers always welcoming you and treating you like an adult and skipping a few grades so your peers were always older than you… Peter seemed like a child. 

You were 17 but already a sophomore in college. Your dad had high hopes for you, wanting you to go to MIT and follow in the Stark footsteps, but you had your own path. You chose Columbia University, studying biomedical engineering and cellular physiology and biophysics. 

While Peter’s life consisted of normal high school parties and school clubs and college applications, you went to clubs and bars in NYC and drank too much, and found yourself in bed with men that were much too old for you. 

So what? You were a Stark, just following in your dad’s footsteps. 

Tony had tried to talk to you multiple times about your lifestyle, but every time he tried, you simply pulled up a youtube video of him from his past, being his playboy self with a thousand different women on his arm. If he really persisted, you began a feminist rant about how unfair it was that he was holding you to different standards. That shut him up rather quickly. 

Tony still worried. The semester was midway through and you were coming home wasted at least three nights a week. 

“Y/N,” Tony began in his signature dad voice one saturday morning as you drank a green smoothie, your classic hangover cure. 

“Father.” You said back, mimicking his tone. 

“Let’s talk about tonight. I’m assuming you have plans.” 

“I may have something in the works…” 

“I don’t want to know, but I need a favor.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Before I ask, let me remind you that I pay for your college and let you live here and keep the fridge stocked with all those bizzare health foods you eat.” 

“Ah, so that’s the kind of favor you need.” “Y/N…” he warned. “Please.” 

“Ok, ok, what’s the favor?” 

“We have a recon mission tonight and no one will be here to watch over the tower.” “You need someone to watch over the tower? Seriously? Doesn’t FRIDAY and all the other tech do a better job than I ever could?” 

“Please, Y/N? I’m trusting you to look after the place while everyone’s gone.” “I think you really just don’t want to come home and find another boy leaving the house when you come back in the morning.” Tony pressed his fingers in his temple. 

“Please, Y/N, I’m stressed enough about this. Can you please just stay in and look after the place? There’s some ongoing programs in the lab that may catch on fire, it’d be nice to know that there’s a Stark here in case something needs immediate fixing.” 

“Fine.” 

“Really?” he said surprised. “I mean, good, yes of course you’ll do it because I’m your father.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Don’t worry dad.”

“No parties. And I mean it Y/N Stark.” Most days this would’ve pissed you off, but after your last party at Stark Tower, you really didn’t have the patience to go through hosting another party. Columbia kids may be geniuses, but they really had no rules when it came to a Saturday night. 

“Dad, I’m serious, after last time I don’t really want to go through hosting again.” “Do I want to know what happened last time?” “You most definitely do not.” “Fine. Thank you. We’re leaving in an hour.” --- 

An hour passed and the avengers departed, with Steve giving you a traditional dad speech, warning you to be careful and that he was not as forgiving as your dad. In more ways than one, Steve was your second father. 

Of course, there’s his bromance with Tony, but it was more than that. Pepper wasn’t your mom. Your mom was a one night stand from Tony’s past who died when you were young. Pepper had always been so welcoming, and truly did act as your mom when she needed to, but she clearly wasn’t ready for the whole mom-thing. Steve, however, never had kids of his own and had adopted you almost immediately after realizing how similar you were to your father. 

Thor kissed your forehead before departing, which made you blush. 

“Don’t listen to the dads, Lady Stark. You have a good night by any means necessary. Why, one of these days we’ll have to get these old men to loosen up and have a nice ol shindig, Asgardian style.” You smiled. Thor was older, and waaaayyyy out of your league, but immediately, you pictured a drunk Thor flirting with you. 

They left, promising to return in 24 hours, and you relished having the house to yourself. 

The next few hours were spent with you stealing supplies from the lab and rigging a complicated light system that reacted to whatever music was being blasted from the surround-sound speakers. 

And oh, the music was being blasted. Drake, Queen Bey, and everyone in between. With no one home, you were free to dance around in spandex and a bralette, singing at the top of your lungs and setting off fireworks you had engineered to be safe for the indoors. 

Around 7, you heard the faint ding of the elevator. You were standing on the table in the living room, and because all the walls were glass, you saw a group of people emerging from the elevators. 

You stepped off the table, turned off the music and lights and approached the group. 

“Oh… hey.” The boy at the front, the insufferable Peter Parker, said. “We, uhm, didn’t think anyone would be here and my friends wanted to see the tower.” 

“Well this is a surprise.” You said. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry to barge in, I didn’t realize anyone would be home.” “No, no, I meant I was surprised you had a friends.” A gorgeous tall girl standing behind him laughed. 

You smiled at her. “You’re gorgeous.” You said bluntly. “I’m Y/N.” “MJ,” the girl said, her face bright red. You noticed her holding hands with an attractive asian boy. 

“Well, MJ, if you ever need a break from asian ken’s dick, give me a call.” She blushed even more at this comment. You may fuck a lot of guys, but who can pick just one gender? Especially when MJ looked like that. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

“Well, uhm, if you don’t mind can we stay and play some games?” Peter said. 

“Depends, what kind of games? If it’s normal teenage stuff, yes. If it’s dungeons and dragons or anything remotely loser-ish, you can turn right around and go back to where you came from. 

“Are you single?” a boy from the back with shaggy hair asked. You laughed.

“Depends.” You replied and winked. 

“I’m Flash-” he said with a grin, before MJ’s boy toy elbowed him in the gut. 

You turned and led the group into the living room, putting the lights back to normal and the music back on, at a much more acceptable volume. The teens made themselves comfortable around the room, and you counted about 8 of them. 

“I’m going to go put on a shirt so that one,” you said, pointing to Flash, “stops staring at my chest.” The girls in the group left and you departed to your room, grabbing a see through white tee shirt. You said you’d put more clothes on, but there were some really attractive people in that group. How Peter got friends who were actually cool, you had no idea, but you thought maybe if you played your cards right, you could end up having a fun time with MJ and asian Ken. 

You returned to see the teens playing truth or dare. 

“Ah, truth or dare. Good choice.” You remarked. “But if were gonna be playing this game, we at least need to make it interesting.” You left and returned quickly from the kitchen, holding a bottle of tequila in each hand. 

Most of the group looked rather uncomfortable, except for MJ who grabbed a bottle and immediately took a swig. You laughed. 

“Girl, you and I are going to get along so well.” 

You settled on the couch across from Peter, not wanting to be close to the weird boy that kept stealing glances at you. You didn’t think he realized that you noticed, but he wasn’t exactly the slyest boy in the world. 

Soon, you knew all their names, and were really starting to like these kids. Peter’s best friend Ned was a riot, and it was so clear he had a crush on the blonde Betty. You had a knack for realizing these things. MJ’s boyfriend, Brad, was head over heels for her, and MJ was very obviously uncomfortable, but still seemed to be embarrassed, but enjoying his small cheek kisses and rubs on her back. 

Everyone was drinking, and these kids had very obviously not been around much alcohol. Nevertheless, the tipsier they got, the more fun they had. 

“Y/N,” Flash said seriously, staring at you. “Truth or dare.” “Well I almost always pick dares, but I highly doubt you guys can come up with anything good, so I’ll go truth.” “Who in this room would you least like to hook up with?” Immediately you pointed to Peter. Flash laughed out loud. 

“Why am I not surprised you pick Penis Parker.” 

“Remind me again why you’re here Flash?” Peter asked, his face red. 

You quickly changed the subject, asking Betty truth or dare. A few minutes later, it came back around to you. 

“Truth or dare?” “Dare.” You said with a sigh. Hopefully these children can come up with something good. 

“I dare you to do 7 minutes in heaven with Peter.” MJ said with a mischevious grin. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You said, deadpan. 

“Unless you want to use your chicken-” “Nope.” You said and rose to your feet. You grabbed one of the bottles of tequila in one hand, Peter’s hand in the other, and dragged him behind you, the group whooping and “ow-ow”ing behind you. 

“Someone better set a timer.” You said as you pushed Peter into the small coat closet next to the elevator. It was dark, with just a few slivers of light coming from the edges of the door. Peter was breathing quickly and wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

“So uhm what do we do?” “You’ve never done 7 minutes in heaven?” “Uhm… no.” He said shyly. 

“Well it’s called 7 minutes in heaven for a reason. There are no rules, you get 7 minutes to do whatever your heart desires.” You paused and looked up at the nervous boy in front of you. 

“So, Spider-Boy,” you said. “What does your heart desire?” 

No sooner than you had finished that question Peter grabbed your waist and pressed his lips against yours. 

[brightlotusmoon]

"Though perhaps she is moderate in speech, she can be radical in action. Thunberg’s chosen form of protest—a school strike—is uncommon in the United States, though more popular in Europe. Americans think of school as something that chiefly benefits students, not society; comparing it to a job, where a labor stoppage is a recognized form of protest, is outside our ken. But if you come to see school as part of an intergenerational exchange of welfare—students go to school now, so that in 30 years they can get jobs and pay Social Security taxes—then it aligns well with Thunberg’s overall point, which is that older generations have betrayed young people today by failing to address climate change. This almost economic argument has the virtue of being accurate.

And when Thunberg talks about this, especially in private, she sounds a lot like … a teenager. “We are not the ones who are responsible for this, but we are the ones who have to live with these consequences, and that is so incredibly unfair,” she said at one point.

And this is the way to understand Thunberg that paints her as neither a saint nor a demon but that still captures her appeal. Thunberg epitomizes, in a person, the unique moral position of being a teenager. She can see the world through an “adult” moral lens, and so she knows that the world is a heartbreakingly flawed place. But unlike an actual adult, she bears almost no conscious blame for this dismal state. Thunberg seems to gesture at this when referring to herself as a “child,” which she does often in speeches.

When I spoke with her, I asked whether she felt this dual position: the burden of awareness mixed with the lack of blame. “Yes, definitely,” she said. “Because we are so young, our perspective on the world, our perception of the world is so—is so, like, blank. We don’t have that much experience. We don’t say, Oh, we cannot change this because it’s always been this way, which a lot of old people say. We definitely need that new perspective to see the world.”"

[owlish-peacock36]

Alla Prima: Chapter 13

This isn’t the end, but we are quickly closing in on the finish line of this story. Thanks to everyone for your support!

The night wore on slowly as feet began to swell in uncomfortable dress shoes. Jamie’s mind wandered, counting down the moments until he could be home. He was forever grateful for the opportunity the gallery afforded him, of course, but the sheer number of people was exhausting and he was ready to be alone.

A small squeeze on his elbow reminded him of his companion.

Well, hopefully not completely alone.

Claire had yet to leave his side since he showed her the painting, and, quite honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way. She was a natural: charismatic and charming. She spoke with such grace and clarity that caused a bit a jealousy to burn in Jamie’s stomach. If only he could be so unreserved…

As if sensing his jitters, Claire whispered quiet support in his ear. “Ten minutes, love. Ten minutes, and it’ll be over.”

She understood him in ways no one else ever had.

People began filing out of the gallery, and the patrons became sparse. Jamie’s fingers itched toward the keys in his pocket. Dear God, why wouldn’t these people leave?

“Mr. Fraser?”

The voice was unfamiliar, and undoubtedly American. Jamie pivoted with Claire, facing the sound. The man was tall and handsome, dressed smartly in a navy blue suit.

“Aye? That’s me. It’s nice to meet ye Mr.…” He held out his hand for the stranger to shake.

“Grey. John Grey.” The man took the proffered hand firmly within his own.

Wait. John Grey?

“The John Grey? Lord John?”

The blonde man chuckled. “That is what they call me, isn’t it?” Jamie couldn’t help but notice the slight Southern accent that peeked through his words.

“Aye…” A bit starstruck, Jamie was breathless. John Grey was a prolific art manager based in New York City. And he was here, standing before Jamie. He had looked at Jamie’s art. He was talking to Jamie. He thought he might scream. “W--what brings ye to Scotland, Mr. Grey?”

“John, please. A bit of a getaway with my husband, to tell you true. But I heard about a gallery showing this evening, and, well… I can’t stay away from art for too long. But I’m sure you understand, Mr. Fraser.”

“Aye, I do.”

“And who is this lovely woman?” John motioned toward Claire.

Christ, he forgot to introduce Claire.

“Oh, this is Claire. My girlfriend.”

She smiled that smile that could charm a man to his grave. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey.”

“You as well, Claire. But please, you may call me John as well.”

“Alright, John. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What is it that you do? I must be honest, I am not invested in the art world like Jamie is.”

“Oh! I’m a manager. I used to be an artist myself, but I find a great joy in managing other artists.”

“And you want to manage Jamie?”

John looked taken aback, but he smiled nonetheless. “Well, you don’t hold anything back, do you?”

“Not usually.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure yet. But I would like to give him a chance. If you would like that?” That last sentence was aimed toward Jamie.

“Oh, I, umm…”

“You don’t have to decide tonight. Here.” Reaching into his coat pocket, John procured a small business card and handing to Jamie. “Take this. Give me a call. It was nice to meet you, Jamie. Claire.”

The man disappeared, and Jamie was able to expel all the air from his lungs.

“Jesus Christ…” He leaned on Claire’s shoulder, eyes wide.

“I’m guessing he’s famous?” She asked.

“They didna nickname him Lord for nothing.”

“Well, that’s exciting!”

“I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Brathair! Jamie!” William Fraser’s crimson head bobbed between bodies, his height giving him an advantage. He stopped before the couple, eyes wide. “Was that… John Grey?”

“Nice to see ye too, Willie…”

“Yes, yes. Verra nice to see ye, too. Hello, Claire.” His words came out in a rush. “Now, answer my question.”

“Ye already ken the answer…”

“Jesus Christ, Jamie! What did he want?”

“He gave me his business card…”

“That’s incredible!”

“Aye, I’m a bit in shock.”

“Well, go home. Get some rest. Call me tomorrow, aye?”

“Of course.”

His older brother wrapped him in a quick hug. “I am really proud of ye, Sawny.”

And with a pat on the back, he was gone.

***

The ride home was spent with Claire bursting out facts about John Grey from his Wikipedia page.

“He has been with his husband--Hector Dalrymple-Grey--since they were sixteen years old. How romantic!”

“Aye, verra sweet.” Jamie had been humouring her with such small comments like: Oh, really? And I didna ken that. She didn’t need much encouragement from him, though, to continue her research.

“And, he has an older brother, who’s a lawyer.”

“Ye know, ye could probably write his biography at this point.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Jamie inched the car up the drive of his small house. Home, he sighed in relief.

“Alright, Sassenach. We’re here.” Claire had yet to see his house. He wasn’t embarrassed of the tiny lot; he lived too far out of town for visits to be considered practical. At least that’s what he told himself. “Shall we?”

“Of course.”

***

Jamie wished he had to foresight to clean up a little bit. Sketch paper was strewn about the coffee table and sofa, a broken pencil had taken up residence on the carpet, and a red paint stain (his own handprint, he noticed) decorated the wall.

“Christ. I’m sorry, Claire.” He began picking the litter from the floor and tables. “I didna think to clean. I was sae nervous about the gallery, and--”

“Oh, hush.” Claire had approached him, stilling his movements with her hand. “You don’t have to tidy up for me. I love you, mess and all.” A grin pulled at the corner of her lips. “Besides, this house is entirely you.”

“Aye?”

“Mmhmm. A little hidden, a little frazzled, and completely charming.”

Jamie glanced at the exposed brick walls, at the natural wood furnishings… Yeah, he supposed his house was objectively ‘charming.”

“Now, where is the bathroom? I’d like to slip into something more comfortable… And I mean that totally literally.”

He chuckled, and extended his hand toward the hallway. “First door on the left.”

Hiking her large tote on her shoulder, she disappeared down the corridor.

Jamie flopped on the sofa, his muscles relaxing for the first time in hours. His mind flicked through the images of the evening:

Swarms of people.

Claire’s portrait.

John Grey’s business card.

Christ, had it only been one night? Surely, not…

“Ahem…” Jamie looked up, finding Claire resting her shoulder against the doorframe. She was clad in flannel pants and a loose fitting t-shirt that was so faded, the words on it were illegible. She popped a hip out, striking a pose. “What do you think?”

“Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes rolled at his response. “Oh, stop,” she teased good-naturedly. She entered the room, and flung herself on the sofa next to him.

“It’s true.” Jamie placed a tiny peck on the tip of her nose.

“Whatever you say.” Distracted, she picked up the large black folder lying on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

“An old sketchbook. They’re no very good.”

“Not good?” Her fingers flicked through the pages. “Well, you’re right about that. Jamie, these are incredible.”

“Ye think so? God, those were from three...four years ago.”

“So, you’ve always been talented? Unfair.”

“Oh, hush. Besides, ye’re the brains of this relationship.”

“That’s why my hair is so big… To hide my large head.”

The couple descended into giggles. Comfortable giggles. They kind with deeps gasps and intermittent snorts.

“Yer head is perfectly proportioned, my love. Everything about ye is perfect.”

A scoff. And then: “You’re biased.”

“Perhaps. Ye do have everything I like: a regular-sized head--” That earned him a smack on the arm. “Let me finish! A regular-sized head; untamed curls; big toffee eyes, a sweet, kind smile; a big arse--”

“Hey!”

“--And, that brain of yours--”

“Not the brain, again…”

“--Full of so much knowledge, and humor, and kindness, and love. No, ye’re exactly my type.”

“Jamie…” He could hear the catch in her throat, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes shone, like sunlight, as a single tear ventured down her cheek. “You’re making me cry.”

“Happy tears, I hope?”

“Yes, very happy. You saying those things to me… You better be in it for the long haul, because I’m never letting you go.”

She was teasing, a small joke to deflect from the feelings she was displaying. But Jamie knew the truth in her statement, and knew his own truth as well:

“Don’t worry. I am.”

[michaeldempsey]

Serendipity in Venture Capital is BS...(and other views on the seed VC landscape)

Disclaimer: I believe that unless you are one of a few firms, there is no possible claim that there is a “correct” way to do venture, only to treat people with respect along the way.

Venture capital started as a network heavy business and arguably still is to many. I don’t think that is dominant anymore.

The Early Days: VC was the ultimate network business

Venture capital started as the ultimate network business, with a tight-knit web of humans for decades. It looked like this:

After the web 1.0 bubble, there was not an abundance of capital, and thus power swung back towards VCs as the market cooled. Those VCs, based on 2008 data, were an average age of 46, 79% were men, 87% were white, and 53% had MBAs (of which 60% went to Harvard or Stanford). Based on demographics like that, it’d be pretty difficult to not be a tight-knit, network-driven industry.

Then, 2-7 years before the 2012 Facebook IPO, came the first wave of elite seed firms like Baseline, First Round Capital, Floodgate, Foundry Group, SV  Angel, True Ventures, SoftTech, and others.

As company formation costs fell due to a variety of technological drivers, paired with startups being “hot” again, we saw institutional capital want more exposure to private market technology risk. Partners spun out, founders started funds, and angels institutionalized.

The Birth of Seed & Verticalized Funds

“In angel investing, you don’t really have competitors. You go ahead and do your thing…I don’t look at Internet or Internet investing as competitive, generally.” — Ken Lerer, 2010

We all know this trend accelerated, with some seed funds graduating to series A+ firms, and quickly everyone (especially non-GPs who were stuck underneath partners unwilling to give up meaningful carry) wanted their own seed fund. The issue was, LPs had been hit up with the seed pitch now for the past 5+ years. And in the same time period, re-ups had come more and more often as fund deployment periods went from 5 years to 3 years. 

These newer seed firms needed to differentiate as the “seed” story was played out.

This led to a wave of vertical-centric seed firms. Lemnos (2012 incubation fund I) and Root Ventures (2015 Fund 1) became known for hardware, Forerunner (2012 fund I) became known for consumer, Lerer Hippeau become known for NYC/Web (2010 Fund 1) and on and on it went.

The Venture Capital Explosion

Between 2003 to 2010, an average of 58 seed funds were raised each year but in the past 7 years, that average spiked to 137 (or a 2.3x increase). - Eric Feng, 

And now it’s 2019. The deployment periods for some funds have collapsed to as short as 18 months, there is a seed fund for everything, and series A+ firms have grown into full-stack financing machines with $1B+ funds designed to take companies from A to IPO, and many with scout programs to build the top of the funnel.

This hyper-crowded market has swung the pendulum back to old times, with LPs being sold either more explicit networks, or similar economics as the 70s.

The former manifests itself as unicorn-mafia funds (ex-uber employee fund, ex-airbnb employee fund, etc.) built around the idea that people want to raise money from their ex-coworkers and/or access will be materially better because of this relationship. The latter manifests itself as startup studios that have outsized ownership economics.

So we’ve got a ton of seed funds, plenty of post-seed capital, and some moderate differentiation. We also have a 7x increase in $1B+ outcomes from a decade ago.

But when I look around at seed stage venture, where the universe of companies is truly unknown, I still believe firms are relying on serendipity. And there are many firms that are trying to engineer serendipity at a high rate by sending analysts (and the partners themselves) to events 3–4x/week, actively trying to setup deal flow catch up calls, or aggressively stalking demo day lists, all born out of the fear that they will miss the next Stripe/Uber/etc.

And how do they scale up these teams to chase these competitive deals in an ever-expanding seed stage funnel? They raise more money.

As their seed fund gets bigger, they now need to write a $1.5-$2M check to get the proper ownership to 3–4x their $100M+ seed fund. At the same time it’s become more likely that interesting deals don’t get sent to them because…well the math doesn’t work for other investors to hit their ownership targets. 

Or as Rob Go astutely points out, “firms that have built their models around aggressive deal trading will struggle.”

Now we have:

1) Larger seed funds, that are hyper-competitive (and often generalists due to fund size and scope creep).

2) Which means that seed funds need to tell founders that it is best for their business to only have them and no other meaningful checks in the round, so they can write $1.5M+ and get ~15%-20% ownership.

3) But unless you’re a top tier firm, your capital could be viewed as a commodity, and thus it’s clearly not dominant for a generalist firm to be the only investor (which is ok because...we’re humans, and we can’t be everything for everyone), and thus you are at massive risk of being pushed down in ownership and allocation.

4) And then in order to make the math work you’re reliant on multiple $1B+ outcomes, despite a large % of VC-backed M&A transactions happening below $300M.

5) So we now have some seed VCs telling investors that they will be able to increase ownership from seed to A/B or at worse do full pro-rata to maintain. The problem is that in reality, pro rata allocations from Series A+ remain increasingly difficult to maintain, as those $1B+ funds, that have infrastructure (and fees) to in theory actually be everything for everyone, need to put more money to work in their rounds. So you don’t get to defend ownership nearly as efficiently as even 5 years ago. And often any pre-empted offer for a pre-series A round could just turn into a pre-empted full series A process.

All of these things boil down to the core truth that most Seed stage firms today have to be small (either ridealong checks or non-hyper competitive leads), early, and/or different enough to be one top-priority thing for a subset of founders.

I recognize that I just doomsday scenario’d a bunch of components of seed stage venture capital, so I figured it’d only be fair for me to share my own (highly biased) view on what does work at some >1 firm scale at the seed stage.

First, forward looking macro-factors that I strongly believe in:

VC returns have been persistent, but with each new innovation cycle turn (infrastructure to personal computing to web to mobile and onward) new successful VCs have been birthed that have become part of the persistence. The power law of venture will remain, but will be slightly more distributed.

Private markets are going to continue to capture the returns in many sectors, and thus it will be attractive for LPs to be invested in a larger subset of tier 1, tier 2, and maybe even tier 3 VC firms from a returns perspective. This will be even more evident as we potentially enter tumultuous public market performance that shows lower yield over the next decade than the prior decade+ bull-run we’ve had.

The compounding effects of venture as an industry are unique vs. any other industry. Brand flywheels are strong absent of results due to opacity of quantitative measures (i.e. we both bury the dead slowly and quietly on failed startups, and cheer the good loudly on less-than-incredible fund exits/performance).

Brand signaling can create unfair advantages. I.e. If Sequoia invests in a company, statistically that company is more likely to raise money than if another investor does. Building a lasting brand matters.

More specifically the seed fund strategy that I believe in:

Keep fund size small — Leading a round today is rarer than we think, and just means conviction and ability to put down a term sheet (and large check), but not necessarily 60%+ of the round. There has never been more follow-along capital at the seed stage and rallying investors around your conviction and lead check is a powerful thing that solves for some disadvantages of smaller funds.

Remove noise and keep focused — Small fund size enables myself (and other similar funds) to not care about missing the next billion-dollar marketplace business. The funnel has widened (as seen above) , and only looking at a piece of the funnel is scalable/realistic. Yes, hit rate needs to be better, but I’d argue that while it’s gotten statistically harder to identify a fund returning company, it’s become exponentially harder to win meaningful allocation in that deal.

Build an informed view of the world - This allows investors to compete on the axis of both having a deeper understanding of a space versus the average investor, theoretically have an ability to know what they are looking for at a faster pace (and thus move faster), find/track things earlier due to focus, and meaningfully compete via outbound deal flow by using ammunition that they’ve built up in research.

These last two points specifically are the only way in which I feel I am able to advantageously do venture. However, as I said before, it’s not immediately clear to me that one strategy in seed stage venture is dominant. 

Small funds have dominant return profiles for today’s fundraising dynamics, high velocity funds have dominant statistics for today’s outcome distributions, full-stack funds have dominant funnel building for today’s growing prices, and concentrated funds have dominant return distributions if you can pick.

What is clear to me is that venture is changing rapidly and if you aren’t thinking about these things in real-time, you’re not doing your job.

[queenofthefaces]

Unpopular opinion: While not the best dad, I don't like how most fans keep zeroing in on Stuart for the family's problems, while Carol is almost always exempt. (On top of the notion of them both beating their kids. {1. Nothing implies that and they've been shown multiple times caring about their kids [and each other]. 2. I highly doubt Kenny would sit there and let that happen, especially with how protective he is of his siblings. 3. Complicated family relationships exist, also it's South Park})

STRONGLY AGREE | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

GOD YEAH I AGREE WITH THIS SO MUCH

I hate when fic is always “Stu left and took all the problems and now they’re doing better with just Carol”—like?? Why are y’all shucking all the problems onto Stu??

BOTH of them are alcoholics, BOTH of them use drugs, when they fight it’s BOTH of them yelling at each other and often it’s CAROL who ups it to violence. Neither of them are abusive to one another in that there’s no power imbalance between them—their fighting is equal. And in fact, despite how much they fight, they still love each other and can have moments where they’re sweet.

And neither of them, but especially not Stu, have abused their kids. The closest is when Stu accidentally took out his anger at their poverty to Karen and made her cry, and was yelling/fighting with Kevin who was fighting back. The first was an accident because he was frustrated and upset, not even at her, and the second was a mutual fight.

From the wiki: “in some episodes Mrs. McCormick berates him without direct provocation. Although he and his wife have been shown physically abusing each other, it has never been shown or implied that Stuart abuses his children. When he is sober, he is very loving and caring to his wife.”

The wiki further goes on in the “family” section to talk about how much he loves his kids too. (In the movie he had a picture of Kenny on his hELMET ;;o;;)

But. Like y’all. They’re poor. That’s where most of their issues likely stem from. Stu and Carol, despite their flaws are, in my opinion, not bad people at heart. They’re just in an incredibly shitty situation. Being poor is HARD. They’re DIRT poor. And there is a big correlation between poverty and drug/alcohol abuse and poor communities. Those things are often targeted towards poor folk who can be easy customers, are more easily manipulated/desperate, and don’t have access to ways to get professional help for addiction.

Obviously it isn’t GOOD that they’re addicts, it sucks, and it’s not w good environment for their kids to be around so much arguing and fighting. But their addictions don’t make them inherently bad or abusive people—in Stu and Carol’s case, they just need help. Help getting free from their addictions and help getting out of poverty, cause if they stay as poor as they are with no support, they’re just gonna relapse.

It’s not fair to pin the blame entirely on Stu. Like, he’s not shown to be any worse than his wife, and by blaming him, it reinforces the stereotype that it’s always an abusive husband and the wife can do no wrong. Like yeah, in real life it’s more likely to have an abusive husband, but that’s not always the case, and if you look at Stu and Carol and immediately paint STU as the bad guy? Despite BOTH of them being just as problematic? It’s an unfair assumption. Carol could just as well be the abusive one, they could both be abusive—but they’re not. Neither of them are.

I think people just want an easy solution to the McCormick’s poverty, but it’s not as easy as a bad husband keeping everyone down. It’s more complicated than that. And like anon said, the relationship between the McCormick’s is likely VERY COMPLICATED.

They love each other, but they’re aware of their flaws—Kenny knows his parents are addicts but he still loves them and knows how difficult it is to try and stay away from an easy high in their situation. They really don’t have anyone but each other, but that internal support is as strong as tissue paper.

Anyways, we need to be nicer to Stu, and to Kevin (stop putting him in prison!! He’s like 13!!) for Kenny’s sake. Let Kenny have a good dad (+brother), and a family that can be supported and allowed to get better. Part of why they’re so stuck is bc the town doesn’t give a shit about them and thinks them being poor is “just the way things are,” but if anyone cared they could prob chip in for rehab for the parents, take care of the kids, help the family get a new place away from the part of town that would have too many temptations.

Whether I portray the McCormick’s getting better or not depends on what I’m writing, but I like to picture them getting better eventually. Like, Kevin gets a job and wishes he could take Karen with him but he can’t cause he lives in a little apartment with a bunch of other guys. So it’s up to Kenny to work his ass off and get Karen out of there. (I hc that Ken moves in with Stan, bc Stan lives close by and is nice like that, and that the two of them get married so that they’d have tax benefits + be each other’s emergency contact instead of their parents. And they adopt Karen for that same reason, to keep her, legally, from Stu and Carol + bc Stan has a better salary which helps the court decide to allow the adoption. Then down the road maybe Kenny or Kevin gives their parents a kind of ultimatum, or their parents realize they’re missing so much of their kids’ lives, and they pull themselves out of their mess.)

This was p long and disconnected but YEAH. I like the McCormick’s and they deserve better, even from us fans, who tend to tear them apart bc that’s easier than trying to fix them—but I think they deserve to be fixed, you know?? I don’t think ken + his siblings would want to be taken away or have their parents taken away :/

Send me unpopular opinions and I’ll answer if I agree or not

[pinkyiepumpkin]

I’ve been working on a project for a long time for the love of god someone read this

((This is for a comic I’m working on called Sakuma. I’m not gonna give away what it’s about but I’m trying to write out the first volume which is basically a prequel and IDK WHAT IM DOING BUT IF U LIKE 2 READ, HERE U ARE))

It’s storming late at night in Kuribetsu. Taro Hamano, a merchant, is waiting in the other room as his wife struggles to give birth. He sits with his head in his hands as worried midwives rush in and out around him. Finally, everything goes quiet, but there is no crying. One of the midwives comes out of the bedroom, greeted by a concerned Taro. She wearily shakes her head at him, sending him into tears. “I’ll leave you alone for a moment,” she said quietly. After she leaves, Taro stands and wobbles unevenly outside for some fresh air. He sobs for a moment, until a faint whisper greets him. “Taro…” It whispers. He looks around, but is accompanied only by his shadow. “Who’s there?” he shouts, confused. “Down here, Mr. Hamano.” The voice comes out slightly clearer than a whisper. Taro looks down at his shadow, thinking he must have lost it, until the shadow grows taller and smiles at him wide and maniacally. “Hehehehe! You must think you’re crazy, don’t you?” Taro speechlessly nods at his shadow. It jeers at him. “Don’t be scared of me. I come offering a deal.” Taro jolts backwards, aghast. “You’re a demon! Begone from here!” He turns his head as if the inability to see his shadow could make it disappear. “Ah! You insult me, Taro!” it exclaims. “I am much more powerful than a demon. Listen closely, Taro. I cannot save your wife, but I can still give you back your son. In exchange for something else, mind you.” 

Taro reluctantly raises his head to face the monster. “What do you want from me, ghost?” He can barely mutter the words. The shadow peels himself from the wall, moving closer to Taro to whisper in his ear. “I want to see Aushire fall.” This information confuses Taro. “The neighboring country? What do I have to do with Aushire?” Again, the ghost finds this incredibly hilarious. “Think about it, Hamano! Aushire, the kingdom protected by the goddess. HA! While the people of Aushire prosper in a modern age with cars and electricity, you, a lowly merchant, wait for your wife to die with no medicine and no hospital to save her. Doesn’t that seem unfair?”

Taro shakes his head. “It’s the way of tradition.” he sighs. “Tradition?! Your emperor demands you live in a bygone age, suffering in poverty and famine, all for some silly god who has obviously abandoned you. But I’m here now, and I’m offering you a new way of life. It’s a win-win, Mr. Hamano! You get your son back and you get to avenge your wife. What do you say?” Taro peers into the window, staring sadly at his wife’s lifeless body through the window. He stands up straight, lets out a sigh, and faces the shadow on the wall. 

“Alright. Deal.”

The shadow grins wildly, then suddenly bursts into a line of smoke, which shoots through the middle of his head. It leaves behind a small mark, shaped much like an eyeball. Taro gasps and doubles over, but quickly forgets about the shadow when he hears crying from inside the house.

*    *    *

In the basement, Taro is painting something on the wall. He meticulously, yet crazily, slaps shapes and lines together. He delicately places candles on the tub beneath the wall, lighting each one with a match. He steps back and admires his work for a minute, only to be disrupted by the cries of a baby coming from above him. He sighs and leaves the basement through a trap door at the ceiling. Sleepily, he goes through his regular routine, lighting a small fire, warming up some milk, and then raising his child from the crib. He gives the child it’s bottle, and it coos back at him, coercing a small smile from Taro. “What’s wrong little Kenichi, did you miss your papa?” While Taro rocks his son and watches the snow fall outside, Chaos watches through the eye Taro painted in the basement.

*    *    *

“Aw there he is! What’s up little Ken?!” A large man tosses up a now 6 year old Kenichi into the air. He laughs wildly. “Where’s your old man, huh?” Kenichi can barely answer between breaths of laughter. “Papa’s in the basement with everyone else!” The man smiles at him and sets him down, giving him a little nuggie. Kenichi’s smile fades as he walks away, opening the trapdoor and descending into the basement. The man pauses for a second, noticing Kenichi’s glum face. “Hey buddy, don’t look so glum! One day you’ll be old enough to see what’s in the basement, so be patient, okay? We won’t be long.” He smiles at him a bit and resumes climbing down the ladder. When he closes the door, Kenichi rushes over and listens through the door, trying to gather any understanding from the conversation.

“Do you have it?” Taro says quietly. “Yes” whispers another man. “Good. Now, it MUST have some sentimental value to you, a special memory, or it won’t work. Do you understand?” “Yes. It belonged to my daughter,” sighs the man. He hands a small decorative hair comb over. Taro holds it and looks fondly at it for a moment, and then touches the ring around his neck, reminiscing about his wife. “Okay. Let’s begin.” Taro spins around to face the tub, which is full of a peculiar black liquid. As Taro is about to drop the comb into the tub, the man stops him. “Wait! Wait--is...is it going to hurt?” Taro chuckles a little. “Yes. A little. But it’s only for a second.” They resume the procedure. Up above, all Kenichi can make out is a flash of light and a yell from the man with the comb, which startles him enough to run into his bedroom and hide under the covers. A minute later, the men rise from the basement, and Kenichi notices the man with the comb has fresh burns on his arms. They’re burnt in a shape, one that is much like the symbol on Taro’s forehead.