#then it turned out he was a predator! so I guess I dodged a bullet there

[jasmancer]

I’d love to do community theater just for funsies but my limited theater experience has taught me that it’s soooo demanding to do a show even when ur director is a sweet middle school choir teacher lmao

[passivenovember]

Tetherball : Harringrove April Day One

Also on ao3

--

Steve put his seatbelt on that first day, when Billy stepped out of his chariot across school grounds, taking inventory of things as they were. Life as Steve knew it.

Nancy in the seat next to him.

First period chemistry, English, Geology, lunch. Steve took note of the periwinkle tones in the sky, the rumble of the cafeteria on pizza day, the smell of the library and the way the books turned on you if there were late fees to be settled.

Everything fell into bullet points across worn pavement.

Then versus now. Before and after.

Steve said goodbye to planet Earth that day, whether he knew it or not. Whether he found it favorable. The rumble of an engine beneath his feet changed Steve's perception, and the weight of two blue medallions grew and grew until Steve had learned the facts.

William Hargrove went by Billy. And he had tumbled in from California, presumably naked on a sea shell, where Billy’s stepsister doused hatred like a flame in the ocean under skies full of seagulls and cotton candy wisps.

He wore elevens in converse and a large Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt that popped seams across his biceps but went soft and wavy in the middle.

Not like it mattered, though.

William went by Billy and he called skins as soon as coach blew the whistle. His t-shirt never made another appearance after that.

--

That's all Steve needed to know, right? The basics. California and step sisters, William instead of Billy, and the sound of rubber on polished oak.

But that's the funny thing about revelations.

Facts are different when colored by opinions, and Steve felt them dropping like coins from the hole in his pocket. As he got to know Billy the bullet points that had taken over Steve's mind rippled and glimmered in the light of first period. Changing.

He observed.

Wondered.

Obsessed.

Developing thoughts about who Billy was and, eventually, the person he pretended to be. Steve wasn't interested in the line Billy drew around the two halves of a whole. Any of the masks he wore in the cafeteria around princesses and prom queens versus the man Steve saw in second period English, who was.

Soft spoken and thoughtful. Every pastel shade in the sky versus brash and heated sunsets over barley.

Flame and sea, like a burning ship at war.

Steve wasn't interested but he learned anyway. Took notes, eyes tracking the brush of Billy's thumb on his bottom lip, brows pinching in concentration as he deciphered the root of a poem in ten seconds flat. The curl of his lips when we took his paper from Mr. Terrine. How he always had an extra pencil for anyone who needed it.

Before long Steve aced his exam in AP Hargrove and failed where everyone else said it mattered.

Got himself a tutor.

Blue eyes to pin him in place, pink lips to seal the passage between worlds. Steve wasn't interested in spending his afternoons under a tetherball, smacking brightly colored plastic out of his face as Billy read to him from a textbook while his sister. Max (step sister, Billy's voice supplied), kicked some girls ass on on the skateboard during softball practice.

"Should we try it once more?" Billy's patient. Steve wasn't expecting that.

He smacks the ball away again. "I've learned a lot about you, but I wasn't expecting this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know." From across the playground Max teaches her girl how to kick flip. Steve doesn't think that's right. He shrugs anyway. "Smarts. Like, AP biology, Valedictorian, Brain stew smart."

They've been studying together for weeks.

Four weeks. Seems like more with the slide of Billy's shoulder against Steve's arm, blonde ringlets dodging the tetherball as it swings overhead. Billy's fingers brush the open faced textbook, mouth serious but eyes soft. Sparkly, like a discarded bag of glitter.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the prose."

"Maybe I can do both at the same time." Steve fiddles with the edge of the notebook, nodding as Billy grins. "Alright, goldilocks, tell your silly little story."

He does.

The green eyed boy in the powder blue shirt standing next to you in the supermarket recoils as if hit,

repeatedly,

by a lot of men, as if he has a history of it.

Steve leans back against the rusty iron pole, feeling the weight of the tetherball on one side of his head, and. The brush of golden curls on the other. He closes his eyes, feeling a voice more than hearing it.

That is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with.

The lamp by the bed is broken--

"Are you following?" Billy asks. He moves, knees drawn up so the book is balanced close to the curve of his chin. Close to the split in the universe. "We're getting into muddy waters here--"

"'S not that muddy."

"Sure it is." Billy's cheeks flush, pink paint across the bridge of his nose. He moves against Steve's arm, elbow knocking into ribs. "Tell me what you think is happening."

Steve thinks about it.

Knocks Billy's arm away gently, closing his eyes. "Read some more and then we'll talk."

Billy does.

The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he is no longer in touch with a nd everyone is speaking softly, as if not to wake one another.

The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once.

Things happen all the time.

Things happen at every minute that have nothing to do with us.

Billy stops reading and Steve peeks at him through an eye half-lidded, curious. "Is that the end of the story?"

"Poem."

"Huh." Steve straightens, moving his legs this way and that. "Felt like a story."

Billy mirrors him exactly, closing the textbook and grabbing his pencil. "That's interesting."

And the way he says it. While flipping through his pea-green fivestar spiral, makes it feel wrong. Stupid.

Steve smacks distantly at the sky. "No it's not."

"Sure it is. Siken's poems are very lyrical. They paint images, vivid images, and sometimes I can imagine myself doing what the lines convey."

Steve grins. "You can imagine yourself in bed with another man?"

Steve isn't interested in the answer but he's interested in the feeling, the glint of emotion behind a wall of powdery blue. It doesn't seep through the cracks, though, it's contained. If Steve wants to find the center, he'll have to dig.

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "If that's what you think the poem's talking about, sure."

"Of course that's what it's talking about."

"How so?"

Steve laughs at that, rubbing against Billy's side. "You sound like a scholar."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No." Steve says thoughtfully. "'S cute."

Billy doesn't crack. Not in the way Steve's used to. No fingers in his hair, spinning spools of gold as he peeks at Steve through thick lashes. Instead he makes a note of it, whatever it is they're saying. Scribbling Steve's interpretation on one side of the blank page, dividing the two halves with a thick black line.

Billy intends to find the truth. "The protagonist is in love with the man at the supermarket? Is that what you're saying."

"I guess."

Billy rolls his eyes. "Your intent has to be clear. Poetry is all about interpretation; if you don't attempt to bridge the divide--"

"All right, Einstein." Steve plays along. "Sure."

Billy's eyes flash victorious as he clicks the pen trigger. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he's obsessed with him."

"The way the narrator is obsessed?" Billy leans forward, intent. "With the man in the grocery store?"

"What makes you deny it?" Steve wonders, folding his legs beneath him so they're crisscross applesauce.

Billy leans back against the pole, casual and easy. "I'm not the one failing English."

"No, but you are the poet." Steve counters. "Dude, I know you have an interpretation. I know you have thoughts, so. Just tell me."

Billy turns to face the playground.

Max skates circles around her girl, smiling in the way Billy does when he's got Steve pinned on the court. Like a predator. Pushing and pulling back just enough to leave the girl chasing after her, enough to catch herself before Max has a chance to get her claws out.

It's incredible, Steve thinks, how much Billy is just like his sister.

"I think he's using him."

Steve cocks his head, curious.

"The man with the blue shirt." Billy opens the textbook and reads the part about the lamp again, peeking up at Steve through frizzy curls. "The narrator says we are feeling things the man is no longer in touch with."

Steve leans forward. "Like love?"

Billy thinks about it. "No."

"Connection, then."

"If they're sleeping together it's more than just sex." Billy counters, "More than just carnality."

Which.

Steve frowns. "People fuck all the time without connecting."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Steve thinks about rattling down his list. The girls, the guys, the one night stands and bullshit post-game hook ups.

Billy fiddles with the edges of his notebook almost. Shyly. "People have sex because they're in love."

Steve snorts. "There's a million reasons to fuck outside of love."

Billy's eyes flash hard with.

Something. He bares his teeth. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I dunno. Breakup sex, makeup sex, sorry for burning a hole in your prom dress sex--"

"Gross."

"Point is." Steve looks at Billy. Studies him, the freckles across his upper lip, the scruff along his jawline. "Sex and emotion don't have to exist within each other."

Billy stares back at him, eyes wide and distant. Closed off.

He writes something on Steve's half of the notebook. "I disagree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy tosses his pen to the ground. "Our narrator says the man in the blue shirt has a history of being hit by other men."

"So?" Steve has trouble following at the best of times, and this.

The way Billy is worrying the skin on his fingers, nails catching and tearing in places they don't belong, feels important.

Billy shrugs. "Why would he sleep with a man without knowing his heart?"

"Maybe he just wants to feel something."

"Or maybe he wants to connect." Billy turns to look out across the playground once more, fingers tugging at the edge of his notebook. "Maybe he's existing in this bubble, like. This silent world with a tiny room where everyone is speaking softly out of respect. Maybe he chooses the wrong person because it's better than feeling half alive."

Steve knows they aren't talking about the poem anymore.

He tugs the notebook from Billy's hands, flipping through a million and one handwritten theories and observations. Billy lets him. Lets Steve look through his life and into his mind before handing the spiral back and asking, "Have you ever picked the wrong person?"

Billy doesn't say anything and then; "Yes."

"How come?"

"Everybody's wrong if you squint hard enough."

Steve nods, looping his arms around his knees. "And I'm assuming you didn't sleep with any of them."

He doesn't expect Billy to answer. It's not like they owe each other anything, honesty or otherwise. Billy leans back against the pole once more. From where their bodies are pressed together Billy feels feverish. Incendiary.

Billy clears his throat. "Or the opposite."

Which catches Steve off guard.

Billy watches him for a moment, eyes dark and serious. "I don't think the narrator sleeps with the man in the blue shirt. Maybe he intends to. Take the guy home, make a couple drinks, blaze trails into something previously unknown to him or maybe just. A feeling he hasn't felt in a while. But intimacy isn't always about sex."

Steve snorts. "I can't think of anything more intimate than being inside another person."

"But you are inside them, just. Not in the way you expected."

Steve glares out over the playground. The sun will be setting soon, blacktops and brown fields painted in shades of red and orange. The whole world will catch on fire but Steve feels the beginning, coals glowing bright red under the line of his ribcage when he turns to find blue eyes on him.

Dousing the fire, or maybe.

Raising the stakes. His eyes flit across Billy's forehead, brushing over his lips and coming to rest on his eyelashes. Feathery and soft, like the arms of a teddy bear. Steve licks his lips, going up in flame when Billy's eyes track the movement.

"I lied." Steve says.

Billy doesn't look away. "I'm not sure what you--"

"The first time a boy ever kissed me." Steve says. "When a boy kissed me because he wanted to, that was more intimate than anything I'd ever felt before."

Billy's gaze falls impossibly lower, tracing the swell of Steve's lips. "How did it feel?"

And he says it like.

He couldn't possibly know.

And Steve says, "Like my heart was taking root," like.

Let me show you.

Billy takes a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

"Never?"

"Not once."

From across the playground Max's answering laugh makes Billy's skin turn gold. Caramel, ice cream topped with sugar. Steve feels his body inching closer, mouth opening as if to taste love on the air.

[tobswrites]

Demon Au

Okay, so like listen, back in the Summer...or maybe not even in the summer, I can’t remember when I watched Inuyasha again, but anyways! I watched Inuyasha and these demon dogs and stuff got to me, so I wrote little drabbles for it, but it’ll never see the light or day, so this it in bullet point form!! Also it’s incomplete. 

Part 1! Part 2

Bakugou follows his nose to large, dying wolf. Black fur, matted at his belly because of the wound the caused blood to gush out. The creature was beautiful, if the sun shined on it’s shiny coat there was a hint of red not from the blood. 

He looked at peace like the wolf knew he would die there and here. That he would not escape death this time around, and seemed to have agreed it was time for him to go. 

His wound is large, as if a man tried to slice the creature open, the poor predator became the prey, yet the wolf still won, since it will not be a prize for another man. 

Bakugou’s own kitsune, red-tipped ear twitch at a noise, turning his head toward the bushes not too far from them both shake. The wolf himself has not yet heard the shaking of the shrub, meaning he’s letting go of life by the second. 

A small demon appears, a troll looking thing, it inspects the black wolf, looking hungry, another comes out after the other. Soon the wolf notices them both, growling out a warning. Bakugou doesn’t believe the wolf  has the energy to snap at the demons, but he won’t wait to see it. 

As soon as he’s about to reach down and help the dying wolf, a demon who does not heed the wolfs warning, has it’s neck inbetween the demon’s jaws. It scares off the other demon, the demon is shaken in the wolf’s jaw, ripping out black blood before it’s thrown away to the side. 

Bakugou is like whoa that’s cool that the wolf is still fighting. And if the wolf still wishes to live, then Bakugou, a kitsune cannot refuse him. 

Though, that wasn’t the only reason Bakugou wants to save the wolf, but something else brought him here but the scent, it was like a bond pulling him towards the creature. 

The wolf startles when the blond gets closer, but he doesn’t growl sensing that the fox deity was good. 

The fox asks the wolf if he wants to live, but the deity doesn’t speak dog, but is extremely surprised when the wolf does indeed speak back. “It doesn’t matter what I want, for I already feel death upon me.” 

Bakugou is like, fam if you don’t wanna live, then sure okay, byeee. But before he turns around to leave the dying wolf something pulls him back, screaming at him to heal the wolf.

So Bakugou turns around again, and gives the wolf an opportunity but the wolf says back, “To accept something from a Kitsune is like to be trapped in your class for the remaining time of my life.”

The fox snares, saying “I won’t hold you to it, I wouldn’t want a demon like you as my vassal.” because you know the wolf talks right? so of course it’s a demon, not a real actual wolf. 

“Do I smell that bad? Am I not worthy enough to be  your pet?” The demon laughs, shutting his eyes one last time before he lays on the ground. 

Bakugou only glares, raising his hand and slashing it down once, he heals the wolf and that tug deep inside him stops bothering him. He did his deed and walks back to the shrine. 

Years later, a man Bakugou is unfamiliar with comes to him to give thanks, but he reeks of dog and Bakugou is sure he isn’t human. Not to forget the man’s eyes are as red as Bakugou’s. 

The man laughs when Bakugou simply calls him a dog, introducing himself as Kirishima Eijirou. Bakugou is annoyed, not only because this demon probably wants something from him, but also because he acts cocky, like he’s untouchable. 

Bakugou asks the dog demon why he was there, Kirishima shrugs and tells him the truth, “I wanted to see you, we havent seen one another in a long time.” Bakugou searches his head for any recollection of the man or even the scent before him, but comes up with nothing. 

“It’s okay if you don’t remember me.” Kirishima says, He takes a seat on the stairs that lead up to Bakugou’s home not at all caring how Bakugou might feel about a demon like the dog putting his scent everywhere. 

Bakugou starts to guess what type of demon dog he is, but he’s wrong each time, or so Kirishima tell him. 

One last villager comes by to pay his respect, but he looks frighten and scared, which makes Bakugou curious. Turns out the demon dog had his own intense stare on the man, aura thick with readiness. The stupid dog was guarding him. 

Kirishima becomes part of Bakugou’s routine, he follows him in dog form, a redish brown kelpie with a busy tail and large erect ears. He’s small about reaches just below Bakugou’s knees. 

Every morning the dog is looking out the torii, sitting and sitting straight looking for danger. Every night, when all chores and prayers are done with he’s still there, watching Bakugou enter his home. But Bakugou watches the dog run off into the forest when Bakugou is safe inside his shrine. 

A year goes by and Kirishima is still there, Bakugou wonders if he should make the dog start working here too, fixing up old shit, and pull weeds. Keep him busy, but asking the dog for any help would be like offering a place for him at the shine. 

So he stays quiet, and lets the dog sniff the air and look out into the forest or down the hill. 

The demon feels too much like an actual dog than an actual demon, tail wagging and tongue out, he would sometimes stretch him out on Bakugou’s wooden floor, belly up as if he was asking for belly rubs.

To Bakugou, it would have been humiliating, but the demon dog was a lowly being, so it didn’t matter to him. Kirishima starts to get closer and closer as the days go by, and Bakugou even goes as far as whistling for him when he doesnt see him for an hour too long. 

One day Bakugou asks the dog, “Why do you guard me.” The dog’s fur fluffs yp, before disappearing and leaving behind a human. Kirishima tells him it’s to repay him back.  Bakugou doesn’t answer back or say anything else. Kirishima decides to turn back to his dog form and runs off into the forest. 

He doesn’t ask the dog demon where he goes, he doesn’t care for him anyways. Kirishima comes back with a boar in his jaws, although his small size makes him drag the poor dead creature causing the food to be dirted up more. 

The demon somewhat looks more happy and he’s more explicit in his actions. He rarely shows his human form, and Bakugou misses it. Kirishima acts clueless, like he’s hiding something but Bakugou thinks he’s too much of an idiot to be hiding something. 

Bakugou too, can shape shift into a fox, but he feels more vulnerable that way and thinks of something else besides the tales of those that say foxes are tricksters and pranksters. 

One day Kirishima actually asks him if he’s ever shape shifted into his animal, eating from a fruit basket and shakes and makes looks of disgust each time he eats a berry, causing Bakugou to tell him to stop eating them, but Kirishima ignores him and continues to probe for an answer. 

“Rarely.” bakugou says and he doesn’t know how to explain to Kirishima on why. He feels more comfortable in this form than of that, but then Bakugou asks Kirishima if he’s ever turned into his true form. Not one of a dog, and not one of a person, but a demon. 

Bakugou thinks Kirishima is going to dodge the question, but he answers truthfuly to his surprise. “I haven’t for a while, not that I don’t want to, just that I never needed to.”

Something inside Bakugou feels sort of happy that Kirishima is sharing instead of avoiding the questions, and even gives a request to see Kirishima’s dog form which he’s happy to do. 

He obviously so cute, and incredibly soft. His fur is thick and Bakugou sinks his fingers into his neck, with the way Kirishima stares up at him, Bakugou is pissed that a demon can look this cute. 

He takes a leap and asks if he could see his demon form, but Kirishima only whines in his dog self, and the fox doesn’t push. Then Bakugou does the unspeakable and asks Kirishima if he would like to see his animal form, which Kirishima is super excited for. 

Bakugou shuts his eyes once, before opening them up again looking at the larger world around him. He’s a small yellow pale fox, large ears with marking on his face that cannot be hidden because of the immense power he holds as a deity. 

“Are you happy now?” Bakugou can speak in any form, since he is a deity, and the dog before him twirls and jumps happily, climbing up the steps before nuzzling into the fox’s thick fur, just below his chin. 

It’s a sign of friend, acceptance and trust. 

I then wrote a part where Bakugou, in his fox form, was running in the forest, dodging rock and fallen logs, then stepping near a river. He stops to look into the shallow river and then he perks up at a sudden noise. Soon he’s jumps to another spot near the river, careful not to slip as a dog comes crashing down, falling into the river. 

They were playing chase, Kirishima the chaser, and Bakugou the chasee in their animal forms. Kirishima shakes himself from the shallow water and sees Bakugou. He tenses up which causes Bakugou to tense up. Both don’t look away from one another, as Kirishima jumps back to the land, and Bakugou dashes off, resuming their game. 

Soon, Kirishima finally catches Bakugou, wrapping his larger canines around Bakugou’s neck. The deity drops limp, he trusts Kirishima now, more than anyone before, and even if he feels the pinpoint of the dog’s fangs, he feels more safe there, than anywhere else. 

Kirishima drops him and waits for Bakugou to start running again, since it was the fox that teased Kirishima to run and chase him, but the blond is tired and shifts back, staring into the sky. Kirishima follows him. They talk and laugh, pointing at clouds and telling one another what each cloud reminded them off. 

So this was much longer than I thought, so I’ll type the other half into a different post. 

[astharoshebarvon]

Coming across Steve/Tony art in vampire knight tag is just so —surprising. Seeing the art pieces remind me of the time I used to enjoy reading Steve/Tony fics, about three years ago.

But now, that horrid film has made me so angry that I can’t even read stony fics or stucky for that matter without remembering how they ruined Steve’s character and turned him into a freakin pendulum who was oscillating between aunt and niece then went back to aunt.

I get it, I totally do that these people were so scared of Steve/Bucky popularity that they had to show Steve with a woman no matter what. Seriously, I get the homophobia, it literally jumped out with this forced steggy crap.

But why the overhyped, annoying, aunty carter?

Sharon was right there, their relationship was established in CW, but no they had to turn Steve into a disgusting weirdo who went back to aunt after saying to Sharon that it was late. This is coming from a person who doesn’t like either her or her dumb aunty. Steve going back to aunty is just so creepy.

This bullshit of forced hetero crap is just so annoying! No one expected Steve/Bucky to happen, but you didn’t have to butcher Steve’s character and turn him into some gross individual. You wanna show him with a woman, Sharon, Natasha, hell, that café lady in avengers 1 were right there.

Why aunty carter? To make him a gross fellow? Well, you succeeded, only steggy shippers and homophobes liked that shit, no one else liked that bull. It’s like these people’s goals is to make fm couples as gross and vile as possible.

I have to say though, it was satisfying to see that even after being so called canon, that shitty ship never made it top ships on Tumblr. Stucky, Stony and Steve/Nat all made it in 2018, 2019, and 2020. Well, Steve /Nat didn’t last year but point still stands, the gross ship didn’t.

This forced hetero bullshit is ruining everything.

Another stellar example is the vile fanfic sequel.

What was done to one of my favourite characters ever is just too horrifying to contemplate. At least Steve wasn’t turned into a full-fledged paedophile like the bitch from that fanfic garbage sequel.

Same bull of forced heteronormativity was done to the silver haired dude, the man who must not be named, Inu no Taishou’s first loser son. They wanted to show him so badly with a female, with babies and all that cringe worthy crap that they turned him into a paedo.

Even though the man has no romantic bone in his body. Him being in love with Tetsusaiga made more sense than whatever fuckery is shown in that vile sequel.

If they wanted a female that badly, well, kagura was right there. There was no need to turn him into a bitch and show him with a kid.

I suppose I should be happy. Sweet Kohaku dodged a bullet since he was a boy. I shudder to think what nastiness would have come out of this bullshit sequel if Kohaku was a girl too.

Kohaku, dear, you are safe since this author and creators and a large part of this fandom are homophobic as hell. The vile ship wouldn’t exist if the child bride had been a boy too.

It’s actually hilarious that all these paedo ships are fm/straight. I guess they should keep this shit up and at some point people will just stop seeing these rotten shows. It’s painfully obvious that the only people enjoying the garbage show are lovers of that vile ship.

Sorry, Kirinmaru, Moroha, Inu no Taishou, you are not enough to save this horrendous show.

Great Dog Demon, please stay dead, you are not a piece of garbage or a goddamn pedo enabler till now, don’t come back from dead. Have a great afterlife with your lovely wife Izayoi!

Nothing will make this right since they have turned Inu no taishou’s first son into a full-fledged child predator.

And, Zero, please, just take a hint and fuck off! You are a creepy stalker! The man had more romantic moments with Kirinmaru than with your creepy, ugly ass.

Funny, on one hand you have top class shows with stunning visuals, heartwarming love stories, great music and brilliant animation like : Given, Maria watches over us, Akatsuki no yona, Tsubasa reservoir chronicle, Junjou romantica, Sekaiichi hatsukoi, Snow white with red hair, Betrayal knows my name, Kamisama kiss, Kobato,

Then you have fanfic garbage sequels which glorifies paedophilia with oc Mary sue bullshit, the show I don’t even want to write the name of since it gives me the fucking creeps.

Shishinki from afterlife really must be like : Oh, ew!!! He is a vile pedo! No wonder his father favoured his younger son. This bitch deserves to be humiliated in every way.

And, he even touched me that one time, gross!

Ten Count, Sasaki to Miyano, Tokyo Babylon, Given movie, please come soon so I can forget this shit show ever existed. My love for OG Inukag, Inu no taishou/Izayoi, Naraku can only stretch so far.

Wow, it hurt so much to not include sesshoumaru in the list. Well, that’s what you get for being a vile bitch.

[firelord-frowny]

and honestly??? i’m SO aware of the fact that ~hypersensitivity~ is a thing, and yes, sometimes people do tend to go from 0 to like 87 about things that they maybe only need to be at about a 22 for, but...

when you have wounds that get picked at and torn and reopened, wounds that are never allowed to heal and keep getting infected from a filthy environment, OF COURSE it’s going to be overly sensitive. OF COURSE women who spend their actual entire lives literally moving through the world like a don’t-get-raped obstacle course are going to be a bit jumpy at a perfectly harmless man who just happens to stand too close to her in the elevator. OF COURSE a black person who’s been stereotyped as uneducated and unprofessional is gonna get miffed when their prospective employer gasps and smiles and comments on how ~articulate~ they are. OF COURSE people who spend their lives constantly ducking and dodging bullets both figurative and literal are going to become short tempered and easily set off by even a hint of the danger or cruelty or humiliation they and others like them have been subject to for so long. 

A lot of people probably could stand to chill about some things. A lot of things really don’t require as much outrage as people express. But it’s a freaking trauma response. 

I guess we don’t culturally consider it to be ~traumatic~ since it’s so damn commonplace, but how is it NOT traumatizing to be a female-bodied person who’s constantly lectured about how to avoid all the many men who may want to rape or kill us? Don’t walk alone - you might get attacked! Don’t go out at night - you might get attacked! Don’t take your eyes off of your drink - you might get drugged and attacked! Don’t go to a private place on your first date - you might get attacked! Don’t smile too much at your boss - he might get the wrong idea. Don’t wear that skirt to your meeting. Your male colleagues might get the wrong idea. Don’t laugh at his jokes - he might get the wrong idea. Don’t invite him into your house after your date - he might get the wrong idea. Always carry a taser/pepperspray just in case you get attacked! Hold your car keyes between your fingers just in case you get attacked! If you get attacked, yell “fire” because it will get more attention! 

How is that not harrowing?? How is it not scary and demoralizing to have that constant narrative shadowing your every waking moment? At school? At work? At the grocery store? ANYWHERE. So yes, I’m going to be creeped out when some man I barely know thinks it’s appropriate to try to kiss me on the cheek when he ‘congratulates’ me on something. Yes, I’m going to loathe the male boss who always needs to put his hand on my waist any time he stands next to me. 

And lmfao that’s only the bullshit that comes with being a female-appearing person! Nevermind being black at the same time! 

Don’t walk too slow, you’ll look suspicious. Don’t walk too fast, you’ll look suspicious. Don’t wear baggy jeans and a t shirt - you’ll look suspicous. Don’t wear a nice suit - you’ll look suspicious. Don’t stand outside - you’ll look suspicious. Don’t put your hands in your pockets - you’ll look suspicious. Don’t wear your hair like that - you’ll look suspicious. (bonus: you’ll never get hired with hair like that).   Don’t hang out with your friends outdoors - You’ll look suspicious. Don’t spend too much time in that store -  you’ll look suspicious. Don’t rush in and out of that store - you’ll look suspicious. 

And god forbid if cops get involved: Don’t move. He might kill you. Don’t say anything. He might kill you. Don’t ask questions. He might kill you. Stay in the car or he might kill you. Get out of the car or he might kill you. Show him your hands or he might kill you. If you move your hands, he might kill you. 

THIS. SHIT. IS. TRAUMATIZING. 

And going through a LIFETIME of this shit??? A lifetime where it’s a daily concern?? And then you have to turn on the TV and see where some creep-ass politician thought it was okay to rest his hand on the waist of a woman who’s not his wife just because she’s a woman and that’s just How You’re Supposed To Touch Women???

It’s FUCKING INSULTING. Is it a heinous offense? No. Should it cause him to lose his job? I don’t believe so. Does it automatically mean he’s a predator? Definitely not. But it makes sense for someone’s gut reaction to be one of outrage. I don’t live my life in a constant state of trying-not-to-give-men-the-wrong-idea just for some old fuck to put his hands on an intimate part of my body in a context where I would be considered the rude one if I were to nudge his hand off of me or step away. 

YES, women* are liable to feel uncomfortable at any degree of physical contact initiated by a man, because OUR CULTURE TELLS US THAT ACCEPTING ANY PHYSICAL CONTACT FROM A MAN IS “IMPLYING” THAT WE’RE DOWN TO FUCK, SO DON’T! FUCKING! TOUCH! ME! YES, women are sensitive when just laughing at a guys joke makes him feel like we’d be totally cool with it if he groped us. Yes, we’re sensitive to the fact that men will convince theirselves that we’re ~trying to seduce them~ when literally all we’re doing is being alive while having boobs.

People wanna bitch about ~oversensitivity~ but don’t want to address the culture that caused certain people to live in the state of constant anxiety that made them ~oversensitive~ in the first place. 

im so UPSET omfg i cannot believe i stayed up until 7:04 to rant angrily because I overheard like 3.5 seconds of bill maher saying something idiotic. 

[ridleytheknight]

Son of a Mafia Part 7

Sorry for the Wait!!!

---

           Coming to had always been a strange feeling, albeit not an unfamiliar feeling. The slight roll in his stomach from various pain killers, the tightness in his chest from bandages, the heavy weight of his skin on his body. His eyelids that were more like obstacles to his sight rather than protection for his eyes. His body ached and burned like a sore muscle. His leg twitched, but it felt restrained. Stuck.

           Trapped.

           He needed to get out. Out. Out. OUT.

           His limbs weren’t responding however, it was cold. Like a liquid clogging up his joints and covering his entire body. Freezing cold and weightless. It was like he was submerged in the ocean. Lance’s mind scrambled. He wasn’t home. He was far from it. He’d been in the Galran… no, Keith and Shiro came. Was, he in the cryopods? Lance’s eyes forced themselves open just in time for the weightless feeling to drop from him suddenly, dragging him down to the ground with a pop and a hiss. Leaving him flailing as his limbs failed to catch him, spending him spiraling to the floor. Until strong arms caught him right before he and his traitor noodle limbs could flop to the ground.

           “Ah! Lance! My dear boy I do believe you’ve lost some weight. Well, Hunk’s been baking enough for entire planet so I wouldn’t worry!” Lance’s lips immediately sighed and quirked up into a fond smile. His hands grasping a little tighter onto Coran’s sleeves as the man propped him up onto his legs, which still shook with the effort.

           “Coran, you always say I’m too light.”

           “You’re skin and bones!” Lance snorted.

           “You’re not complaining now, it’s no secret about half the people here could bench press me in their sleep. If you haven’t looked at Shiro or Hunk you’re blind.” Coran made a sound of indignation, still half holding Lance up as the male toed out of the healing chamber suit. Visibly averting his eyes at the sight of Lance’s new scars. With a glance down, Lance didn’t blame him.

           The scars were stark white against his skin, gnarled and ugly. It just added to the collection of bullet wounds and slash marks. They weren’t even the first scar tissue made by claws. Just, these claws had been a hell of a lot bigger. Lance averted his own eyes as he managed to squirm into his shirt.

           “You are maybe half of Hunk’s weight sopping weight, how is that healthy for your species?” Lance shrugged.

           “Body types differ around humans I guess, where is he by the way?” A voice interrupted Lance’s question.

           “Coran? Where are the-? Lance! Lance!” Lance didn’t have to turn around to hear the clatter of a dropped pan and the sound of rushed footsteps. Lance simply wriggled out of Coran’s grasp and opened his arms, allowing himself to be crushed in his best friend’s arms. “Lance, don’t you dare, ever scare me like that again. I will personally hunt you down and drag you back down. You can deal with your angry relatives.” Lance laughed.

           “Hunk, buddy, pal, amigo, the light of my life. Please, never deal with my angry relatives without me even if I don’t die.” Hunk snorted, but chose not to say anything. Only holding Lance tighter against him. Lance bones groaned in a sore agony, but he ignored it. Closing his eyes and melted into the embrace. His best friend needed him. Or maybe it was the other way around.

           “Hunk? Wait! I get dibs on the middle!” The tan male didn’t even bother to open his eyes, only maneuvering to allow the smallest body to squish into the now group hug. Pidge’s joint practically dug into all of his sore points and tender spots, but Lance’s arms refused to let go.

           God, he’d missed them so much. It’d been torture.

           Literally. Hah.

           Pidge would kill him for that joke.

           After a few moments they let go, all of them sporting massive grins. The Garrison trio was whole again. Pidge was the one who grinned the widest though, grabbing Lance’s hand and smirking.

           “Now, we’re going to the kitchen, you’re gonna get food and then we’re going to… chat.” Hunk looked alarmed.

           “Ah, what exactly does that-?” Lance waved Hunk off.

           “You mean you want whatever Hunk won’t let you eat without my approval and want to attempt to corner me into telling you stories. How close am I?” Pidge’s eyes twinkled with mirth as Hunk gave a sigh, eyes rolling.

           “Almost. It’s not attempting if it happens?” Lance whined.

           “Hunkkk, Pidge is harassing the cripple.” Hunk stared at Lance as if he’d grown a third head. Wide and unbelieving. Even Pidge was staring. “What? I had at least an injured leg. I can hear Emilia calling me gimpy from here.”

           “Lance, you had four fractures in your left leg alone. Your ribs were practically powder and you had more blood on your clothes than in your body.” Lance paused, contemplating, before he gave a frown and glared at Pidge.

           “That makes me a cripple squared! That’s even worse! Hunk, why are you letting her get away with stuff like this? The little gremlin is a menace!” Pidge cackled happily and Hunk’s sigh seemed to almost make his entire body sag. Coran only chuckled softly as he put the cryopod into rest mode and let the three teens drag themselves to the kitchen. Lance basically being carried by the two as he subtly limped in between the two. Until Pidge sprinted off and Hunk threw Lance over his shoulder, running just on her heels. Their laughter shrieked through the hallways. Coran smiled, children would be children. He hummed, turning off the healing pod with a satisfied smile.

           He was glad to see his favorite was still among them.

---

           “Hunk! We’re gaining on her!!! I think.” Hunk snorted, readjusting his grip on Lance, who was stomach down on his shoulders in a fire man’s carry. Lance’s head hanging loosely just to the left of Hunk’s chest. It made the older male worry a little bit, with how Lance’s head jerked around as it dangled, but the wide grin on his best friend’s face melted away the anxiety like a drug.

           “It’s the little legs I swear to god, we have longer steps, but she has like four strides in one of ours. She’s leading four to two! hUNK AMIGO!” Hunk narrowly dodges the random item, he thinks it’s that space pseudo granola bars, that comes hurtling at them a Pidge cackles. Hunk however, also trips over his feet and the two go shrieking and crashing to the ground right in the door of the kitchen. Lance rolling just feet in front of Hunk as they both groan and clutch various body parts. Pidge grins above them, sitting cross legged on the table.

           “How’s the fall boys?” Lance doesn’t even say anything, just throws a convenient shoe at her, Hunk’s boot he thinks. Lance holds his ribs that had hit the ground the hardest and groans on the floor.

           “My bruises have bruises you heathen. Cripple squared.” A flicker of guilt flashes in Pidge’s eyes. “Getting stabbed and other various things I’ve felt still hurt worse, try harder than that gremlin.” Pidge grins at the challenge and Hunk manages to stumble to his feet enough to stabilize his stance and lift Lance’s limp body off the ground. The tan male swoons and groans again. “I have nothing in my stomach, but something wants out. I hate the tea cup rides so much more now.” Pidge just rolled her eyes as Lance limped to the nearest chair, Hunk striding over to the kitchen and Pidge grabbing her lap top and plopping herself onto Lance’s lap before starting to work. Basically using Lance as a human chair. Not that the tan male seemed to mind as he simply laid his head on top of Pidge’s and watched quietly, arms wrapped securely around her waist so she wouldn’t slip.

           “Lance! Lance!” Two voices echoed down the hallway, only stopping short as they halted at the mouth of the kitchen to the peaceful and domestic sight with a bit of both relief, fondness, and confusion. Keith watched it quietly as he and Shiro slunk into the room, still staying at the fringes. Watching.

           Hunk had always reminisced about the days when Pidge, Lance, and him would just hang out and play games, or quietly work in tangent. Keith knew they were a team. He remembered watching Lance lead, self-sacrificing, a confidence in his position. Eyes straight ahead like that of a predator. He’d also seen the silly Lance that liked to flirt with everyone (except him irritatingly enough). The way Lance would tease his friends, dramatically fall into Hunk’s arms pretending to sob at little inconveniences. He also remembered seeing Lance laying on the ground, a pool of crimson beneath him, shards of flesh and bone peeking out of his body, the glazed and unfocused way those ocean filled eyes stared at the ceiling. Keith had never hated the color red more.

           Yet, those Lances were much different than the Lance he was seeing now, the vibrant boy with a loud voice and heart was just quiet. Curled around Pidge with a gentle smile (why couldn’t he smile like that at them?) holding tightly as if some outside force was going to try and rip the girl from his grasp. The soft murmurs of Lance and the snarky replies of Pidge, and occasionly the low humming rumble of Hunk echoing like a siren’s peaceful song in the kitchen.

           It was bizarrely unlike Lance, yet it suited him. The domesticity. The peace.

           Keith was just about to leave Shiro’s own watchful side to squirm his way into the last open seat near Lance -Hunk was always at Lance’s left side, Keith was in no mood to fight and lose- When Allura walked in like a quiet wind. Powerful and calm, and breezing past Keith to take the seat Keith was just about to occupy. Shiro just observed with wide eyes as the princess’ whole demeanor changed.

           Once where there was a distaste and cordial air there was an undertone of respect and comradery as Shiro watched both Lance and the princess stare and acknowledge each other, before Lance’s mouth split into a wide grin and Allura snorted, an amused smile spreading across her face.

           “If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put u-s, together.” Allura rolled her eyes, yet no enraged and disgust comment spat back to Shiro’s surprise. The princess only smoothed her hair over one shoulder and examined her nails.

           “Why? N and O are already together.”

           “Your eyes are looking gorgeous from here.”

           “I know,” A bemused smirk formed on her lips. “You’re eye bags look rather striking today as well.” Lance gasped, forcing Shiro to almost let lose a laugh himself. The Hispanic boy placed a hand over his chest as if he were hurt. Making Pidge bat as his limbs, annoyed that he moved from her comfortable position. Allura and Lance just grinned and settled back down enough that Hunk was able to slip them plates of food and move into his spot beside Lance. It made Shiro frown in thought.

           How long had it been like this? How had he not seen the changing dynamics in the team, or noticed how Lance had changed as well? Shiro glanced at Keith, who seemed to be watching with the same curious look. As well as the restrained desperation. Keith had been torn up when they found Lance. Reluctant to even leave the healing pod or let Lance out of his sight. Shiro still felt a shudder of fear and pure rage whenever he saw the image of Lance’s near lifeless form. Their Lance. Sweet, innocent, bubbly, beautiful Lance.  Broken and nearly silent on the cold metal ground. Keith wanted physical reassurance, see and feel that Lance was warm, safe, and alive.

           Shiro gave Keith another glance and the dark haired man seemed to nod, which led Shiro to advance forward. He was so close, just inches, he could just reach out and touch Lance, Shiro wouldn’t, not without permission. But he wondered if Lance’s hair was as soft as it looked. A rich brown that swayed just slightly in the whispers of the room’s internal air currents.

           “Shiro, Keith!” And he glanced back, his hand falling to his side as Lance barely even responded, almost half asleep on Pidge’s head as the Garrison trio and the princess held their quiet chatter. Shiro gave a soft smile, resisting the urge to put a small kiss on the crown of Lance’s head and instead reaching back and grabbing Keith’s hand to pull him along before Keith would attempt to escape so he could quietly stalk Lance. Coran greeted them in the hallway with a large smile before placing his hand on the backs and ushering them away from the kitchen.

           “Just a little calibration for the training room is all, I want to avoid any major injuries, well, the one’s that can’t be helped.” His grip on them tightened just as they approached the training room, making them stop to glance at him questioningly, until he gave them a dark smile, “Just so you know however, Lance is my favorite, and I understand your feelings, encourage them even. But if you hurt him… well, we can always get new paladins.”

           Immediately the dark look was gone and they were being shoved into the training room by a bright cheerful grin. The door locking solidly behind them. “Good luck!!!” Keith and Shiro both looked at each other, shocked. A shudder went down Shiro’s spine. Allura had always intimidated him, he’d seen Coran as the level and harmless one. He’d been very wrong. Coran was just patient.

           “He doesn’t actually mean that does he…?”

           “Let’s… not find out.”

[randomwoohoo]

Judy: Previously on Zoomorphia!

Nick: Our works aren’t gonna go smoothly, are they? There have always been other stuffs keeping interrupting us from investigation. This time, we were sent to participate a school assembly about dangers in Zootopia, which include the monsters, Savages.

Judy: Anyway, what should we do!? Clawhauser saw us wearing MidniDriver!

Nick: Use the force to erase his memory?

Judy: Like heck we can do that!!

Nick: Let’s find out what will happen next in Chapter 9!

.-.. . - .----. ... / -.-. --- -. - .. -. ..- .

    The sunlight cast a shadow of the roundish cheetah onto a narrow path between school buildings where the doe rabbit knelt beside the tod fox propping on one elbow. They turned their heads towards the male feline, panicking as they were still wearing the transformation gear on their waists even though they had already detransformed.

    The doe pondered what excuse sounded most believable, but then again, she and the tod had these arm-sized black devices with sticking out purple circle core in the center, silver syringe on the left and maroon motorbike handle on the right.

“Oh hey, Clawhauser~ Ah, you see-” Nick tried to explain, hustling his way out like old days.

“Can you get up, Nick? Let me give you paw.” Clawhauser unexpectedly walked towards the pair to help the fox up together with the rabbit. “And What about you, Judy? Are you hurt?”

“Aren’t you-” She touched her Driver, “-shocked?” voice expressing her confusion.

“I’m surprised indeed but I sorta see this coming.”

“H-H-How?” Judy wondered what Clawhauser meant by saying ‘see this coming’.

“Well, it’s clearly Nick’s voice in doe bunny’s figure… Easy guess.”

    Taken aback, she got mind blown by the big cat’s honest words, turning to her partner slowly with raising one eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t like to admit it, but he’s right.” Nick nodded, lips compressing.

“Eh?” She frowned. Suddenly, something popped into head. “Hold on a sec! Clawhauser, how could you pass through Savages out there?”

“Ah… The thing is… They all were just finished off.”

“What!?” The duo bawled in unison.

    It has been only a brief period! Impossible! The bewildered doe and tod could not believe their ears, but then they recalled the recent event.

“I’ll take care of the rest.” That was what the mysterious silver chrome wolf said.

Did- Did he really kill those Savage s in this short amount of time? They speculated.

-. . .-- / .... . .-. --- / .- .-. .-. .. ...- . …

    After a Savage incident, the officers and the agents went back to check on civilians especially students. The reinforcement which Jasmine called earlier came to clean up the school since there were no monster to fight anymore. On a side note, the mysterious wolf was gone...

“We, SCU, will handle the rest. You guys may leave if you want.”

“Thanks, Jasmine. Late-”

“Wait!” A yell interrupted Judy. The revived white horse, Maximus, loped closer to ZPD trio and his feline subordinate. He had taken off his uniform shirt because it was stained with black liquid.

“Thank you, Hopps, Clawhauser, for your time. Fox...” He stared at Nick, who prepared for insults at him. “Thanks… When children asked us what happens after death, I don’t even know what to say although I was the one who brought the subject up.” He, arm akimbo, rubbed his blond mane troubledly.

“Owing to me, we dodged that bullet~” Nick gave himself credit.

“‘Taking indefinite leave for a sleep’ huh?" Judy quoted her partner.

“Yeah~” Nick confirmed that they were his words. “I wish I could take a long vacation leave to sleep all day~”

“I’d send you straight to hospital bed, lazy fox! I guarantee you won’t wake up any time soon.”

“Awe, I’ll pass. I’d hate not to wake up, not to see your gorgeous smile~”

    The doe rabbit blushed at the tod’s rejoinder, her long ears reddening.

“If your work here is done, get lost, Fox!” Stallion about-faced angrily.

“Excuse me!” the doe held him back.

“Ah, sorry!” The horse rapidly turned around. “Where’re my manners? You must be busy, so see you later, Clawhauser, Hopp-”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Nick. He has a name. Stop calling him Fox!”

    A feeling of unease came over the tigress. She had predicted this incident would occur one day. Her current leader was not a bad mammal (Diligent and dedicated) but he could be obnoxious sometimes and finally, he got on her rabbit friend’s nerves.

“Only Fluff can call me Fox, Clever fox, Sly fox, you name it~” The tod, grateful to the doe for standing up for him, lightened up the mood.

“That’s not helping, Nick!”

“I’m sorry… Officer Wilde.” Maximus bowed. “Please, excuse me, I must get back to work.” He walked away.

“Good grief. Sorry.” Jasmine apologized for her leader, then “Hang on, boss!” caught up with him in a rush.

    Three of the ZPD officers used this opportunity to greet students and teachers informally, taking photos with them, before leaving the school. Along the way in a police car which Judy was driving, they were having a private conversation.

“Basically, whenever you two transform, Nick’s soul will be transferred to Judy’s body?” Clawhauser, sitting humpbacked on back seat, asked to make sure.

“Who says red foxes have no soul?” On passenger seat, Nick jested.

“Does that mean Nick’s body would be left unconscious and defenseless?”

“Correct, it’s a huge drawback of Hybrid.” Judy confirmed with the curious cheetah.

“And you have 3 forms in total? Light green torso one, police uniform one, and hooded tunic one” Clawhauser counted on his fingers.

“Yeah, more or less.” Nick tilted his head back.

“Just to be clear, we don’t mean to put ZPD logo on Police form. It just happens.” Judy waved her right paw around shoulder level.

“So, you use those Midnight... thingies to transform?”

“Bingo~ Jinx!” The duo coincidentally replied at the same time.

“One more question, where do you keep your morphers?”

“I carry mine with myself most of the time.” She gave a straightforward answer.

“H-How do you oftentimes carry something that big with you!?”

“I have my own method.” Judy frankly spoke.

“You heard her.” Nick delivered a deadpan response.

.--. . .-. ..-. . -.-. - / - --- --. . - .... . .-.

“In all honesty, you both are real heroes!”

“Shh!!” Nick and Judy placed one finger vertically over the lips.

Rabbit, fox and cheetah officers continued their conversation at the reception desk in the next day.

“Could you keep it down? This is Nick’s and my ultimate secret. Here’re our yesterday reports.” Judy handed Clawhauser the reports about previous day’s event.

“Toddangit, why so many assignments? Missing mammals, Night howlers, yadda yadda yadda.” Nick complained childishly.

“There! Speaking of missing mammals and Night howlers, you cracked the missing mammal cases and exposed ex-mayor Bellwether’s evil scheme when you, Judy, started working here in ZPD and you, Nick, wasn’t even a cop yet. Two of you are heroes who saved Zootopia back then!”

    Judy was flattered by Clawhauser, rubbing her nose while averting her eyes.

    All of a sudden, an idea came into Nick’s mind. “Carrots! There’s someone probably helpful we haven’t interrogated yet!”

-. . .-- / .-.. . .- -.. …

    Turning left and right to and fro in searching, Jackson Rajah the bengal tiger officer paced across ZPD’s hallway.

“Oh, Hi Jackson~” Clawhauser saw Rajah heading towards the reception desk.

“Hi Benjamin. Did you see Wilde, Hopps? I can’t find them anywhere.” The tiger had already checked those two’s cubicle but they were not there.

“Ah, they’ve just left. They said they found a new lead.”

Appalled by the fellow feline, “On their own!?” Rajah raised his voice.

    Clawhauser plugged his ears with his fingers due to a loud sound. “Chill out! What’s going on?”

“I…” Rajah cleared his throat which turned sore after speaking up abruptly. “...may realize who’s behind this time missing mammals...”

..-. .-. .. --. .... - . -. .. -. --. / -.. .. ... -.-. --- ...- . .-. -.--

“Great to see you alive and wool, ma’am~”

“Oh ha ha, so funny.” A small white sheep inmate laughed dryly at Nick’s pun.

“I’m aware that you don’t wanna meet us, so better you cooperate, faster we can let you go-”

“Go where? Back to my cell? Senior Officer Hopps...” She interjected.

    The police duo paid a visit to a correctional facility on the outskirts of Zootopia and at the time, they were interrogating a ewe sporting an orange prison uniform, ex-mayor Dawn Bellwether, inside a dim concrete interrogation room.

    Judy ignored questions from the mastermind behind one of the biggest crimes in Zootopia’s history. “Because you and your men used Midnicampum holicithias to produce a dangerous serum, I bet you know who John Silver is.”

“Pardon me, Midnight-what?” Bellwether, seated behind a steel table opposite to a pair of officers, asked.

“You really should just call it ‘Night howler’, Carrots.”

“I’m messing around~ I know Night howler’s a binomial name. Mind you, what do I gain by answering your questions?” The ewe sheep sneered.

“If you behave well, we might be able to reduce your punishment.” The bunny attempted to compromise.

“So I can get out of here quicker? Please~ I’d rather be safe ‘n cozy in here than live in society full of mammal freaks.” The sheep crossed her arms.

“Mammal freaks?” The fox looked perplexedly at her.

“Y’know, savaged- I mean Savages.” She quickly corrected herself. “Plus, the city is in bad shape. There’s no mayor, only committee as acting mayor. Who wants to be mayor when the city is under terrible circumstance-”

“Quit going off topic. Answer us. What relationship do you have with John Silver?” The bunny made a stern expression.

“Just to clarify, I do not collaborate with predators. Besides, that prosthetic armed bear is a drug lord. Why would he get involved with the pesticidal flowers back then? He may trade them now but that’s because they became illegal plants. What’s more, if we had indeed worked together, wouldn’t we have splintered when he learned my true goal?” She launched into a monologue.

    Chatty as always… The twosome thought to themselves.

“In a nutshell, you do know him.” The fox summed up briefly. “He’s still just distributor. Why in the world would somebody buy loads of Night howlers from him? An antidote for the night howlers has already been created.”

“Oh, trust me. Night howlers can be used more than for concocting the serum. Oh wait, it’s not like you believe I’m telling the truth anyway.” The sheep tucked her left leg under her steel chair.

    Eventually, both cops started to question how many percentage of what Dawn Bellwether said could be trusted.

“Tell me one thing, officers.” She demanded. “How do you ZPD and a security agency normally deal with Savages?”

    Nick and Judy exchanged looks, supposing there was no harm in answering Bellwether this question; therefore, “Sending the specialized unit to eradicate them.” she replied.

“You mean ‘kill’ huh?” Bellwether lowered her gaze.

“Why?” Nick was suspicious of the sheep’s body language.

“Nothing~ That’s right… That might be the best solution. Good luck protecting innocent civilians, officers.” Bellwether stared at Nick and Judy back and forth.

    It was obvious that she messed with the cops, which made the duo feel as if they were not supposed to waste their time with this ewe any longer. After prison wardens came to bring the ewe inmate back to her cell, the doe and the tod proceeded to another interrogation at a visiting room.

“Officer Hopps! Officer Wilde! I’ve been waiting for you!” A blue inmate costumed large golden brown lion greeted them cheerily.

“Good afternoon, former mayor Lionheart.” Judy greeted him back.

    Calling this interrogation was not quite accurate. It was more like the duo were casually interviewing Bellwether’s predecessor, Leodore Lionheart, a culprit who imprisoned animals that turned savage during night howler incident, at a visitor table. They hoped to earn some useful information from him.

“We heard that you’ll be released from jail soon. Congratulations sir~” Nick congratulated him.

“Right~ All the hosting seminars really paid off.” Lionheart clasped his paws. He had volunteered for numerous community services, especially hosting seminars on political science. Moreover, he behaved himself well during his sentence. Consequently, his prison sentence was reduced.

“Thank you both. I’ve got inspiration to write a book about the time I falsely imprisoned 15 mammals, got arrested by the very first rabbit and fox officers, then sentenced to jail.”

“So... Mr. Lionheart, may I ask you about that? When you captured those animals...” Judy ended a pep talk.

“What about it?” He did not sound upset one bit.

Accordingly, she carried on. “Whom did you hire to capture the savage mammals back then?”

“My subordinate timberwolves. You’d have already known, shouldn’t you?”

“You didn’t hire any criminals, right?” She rephrased the question.

“Well, I was a mayor of Zootopia at that time. I had plenty of resources. No reason to spend more money than necessary. In fact, it helps misleading cops.”

“How?” Judy wondered.

“You may not know this, Officer Hopps, but more than a decade ago, there was an infamous kidnapper terrorizing the city; thus, the police officers except new recruits such as you would be misguided.” Lionheart elucidated.

“I see.” Nick nodded, causing Judy to wonder whether he seriously knew whom the lion referred to or not.

“Let me guess. You came here for some clues to solve the new missing mammal cases.”

“Uhh, well...” She was embarrassed to be read easily by the friendly yet imposing lion.

“I’m in here.” Lionheart leaned forward. “It’s highly probable that I’ve heard jailers or other inmates talking about the current situation in the outside world. Speaking frankly, with Savages roaming around the city right now, it’s not surprising if some mammals… disappear. We have no idea what they really are. Some rumors say they are aliens. Some say they are beings from different dimensions. Or even bio weapons. Nonetheless, many are convinced that these monsters came from Cliffside because it was the first place where they showed up, wasn’t it?”

    He dropped a truth bomb… The truth that Judy was not aware of… Wrong. Actually, it was the the truth that no matter how well she knew in her heart of hearts, she did not want to acknowledge it… She would not like to think that mammals who had gone missing fell victim to Savages...

.--. --- - . -. - .. .- .-.. / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - .. --- -.

    Nick and Judy expressed their gratitude to Lionheart for his time. They left the prison, hanging around the Rainforest District in the late afternoon to gather their thoughts before they returned to the station.

    While experiencing the unique moist cool atmosphere, they gazed upon the 300-ft gothic clock tower which had not struck the bell for few years since the beginning of renovation. Nick was leaning against their police cruiser as Judy was organizing thoughts to take down notes with her trusty carrot pen.

“You still carry that pen around?”

“Yep. Why not? I even recorded the interrogation just now for relistening later.”

“But you didn’t notify them of recording.”

“In my defense, they didn’t ask~” Speaking tongue-in-cheek, she winked at the tod near her.

“Sly bunny~” He smirked.

    She looked obliquely across the city road. Subsequently, something immediately grasped her attention. “Hey Nick, what kind of canine is he?”

    He looked in the same direction as his partner. “Oh, that’s a St. Bernard, dog derived from wolf.” He identified breed of a grey shirted tan-pawed slender brown dog who astonished the doe since she had never seen this breed before. In fact, she had barely met dogs in general.

    They observed the business casual St. Bernard, standing on a footpath, long enough to notice a red panda sneaking around him, so they stayed cautious in case the red panda was a pickpocket.

    Shortly afterwards, a running plain white van came to a stop on roadside in front of the dog. At the same time, he brought out a handkerchief to cover his nose, then sprayed perfume at the red panda. She was tranquilized later on. He picked her up into the van before it immediately ran off.

    Without second thought, the duo got in their cruiser to pursue the van. The police siren loudened reverberantly, driving the van to flee faster.

“Officer Wilde to dispatch! Officer Wilde to dispatch!”

    The only response they received over the police radio was buzzing noise, which can be presumed that their signal got jammed.

“We won’t catch up with them-” Judy sounded anxious. She glanced at her canine partner reclining the passenger seat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready~” Nick putted on his MidniDriver.

    Knowing what he was up to, she putted on her driver. They subsequently transformed into Hybrid Police form and summoned the automag, spinning its cylinder, sparks flying out.

    Driver side car window was lowered. Hybrid stuck the left paw with the pistol out of the car to shoot a shining tiny bomb. It exploded above the moving van, sending electromagnetic pulses throughout the vehicle system to instantly disable it. Luckily, thick mist helped concealing the armored blend’s presence.

    Right after the van stopped moving, a group of criminals hurried to get out of the white van.

“What about this lesser panda, sir!?” A middle-aged hyena asked the dog politely.

“Leave her. She’s just gonna slow us down. Now, move!” He ordered, letting others escape first, then soon followed.

    Hybrid carefully stepped out of a car to avoid attention. Following that, they looked at the red panda in the abandoned van to make sure that she was safe. Once they confirmed her safety, Hybrid chased the criminals straightaway.

    St. Bernard guided other mammals through a smooth grey stoned street. They turned around the corner, entering an alley between red brick townhouses.

    The armored bunny officer with a spiky yet fluffy fox tail hunted down the gang of animals who attempted kidnapping. When they went around the same corner, Hybrid ’s legs stopped short as they found those criminals running towards a trip of caprid Savages. At that moment, they were in Police form. If they had used their pistol, there would have been a lot of risks that the bullets might accidentally hit the mammals.

    The duo were about to yell to the criminals in order to bring them to a halt. It turned out that they ran past the monsters which merely stood there on all fours and let them through.

    Lost for words, Nick and Judy tried to get their heads around what just happened. Why didn’t those monsters attack? Out of the blue, the Savage s pounced on Hybrid. Duo as one counterattacked by firing a gun. However, shots without aiming were hit-and-miss. Despite few bullet holes, the monsters persisted in assaulting the target.

    One Savage bit on Hybrid ’s right arm holding the pistol, one bit on the left leg, another shoved the front of Hybrid with horns. Even though it did not hurt, it was tough for Hybrid to move. In addition, the rest of a monster trip were on standby to attack.

    At the critical moment, a silver flash fell ahead of the united duo. The reflective paw grabbed the nape of the Savage biting the arm with black armlet before yanking it away. Once Hybrid’s right arm was free, they promptly shot the nearby monsters in the heads.

    Hybrid turned to look at the rescuer. It was the same silver chrome wolf they previously met. He threw the monster he was grabbing upward, then “Volt Strike” uttered calmly while crossing his arms above the head, both knifepaws glowing. When it dropped, he struck it with paw chops. It fell to lie on the floor, eventually breathing its last.

    The combined doe and tod had several big questions to ask but it was not a good time since they were facing the dangerous beasts.

“Duck!” Nick shouted to the wolf.

“I’m a wolf, not a duck.”

“Get out of the way!” He reworded. Hybrid tossed the gun to hold in left paw and then raised it before the right paw twisted the handle back. “ CRITICAL BREAK ” The pistol fired a energy ball which later exploded similar to a firework. The beams came down to strike other caprid Savages.

    However, some of them survived Hybrid Police form’s finishing move, skedaddling. Hybrid charged off to pursue the remaining Savages.

“Sit tight, Hybrid .” The wolf blocked the way, “Track down those Savages.” whispering through some sort of wireless communication.

“Bac-” “Back off, wolf.” The fox in rabbit’s body said out loud to drown out her voice.

“Don’t call me a wolf! How rude! Name is Bolt.” Jokingly offended, he introduced himself, pointing thunderbolt strips on his abdomen. “Shouldn’t you do your fuzz job? Taking care of the victim first? Leave the rest to me.”

“He got a point. Plus, he can defeat multiple Savages on his own… Fuzzy fuzz.” Nick told Judy softly.

    She sighed, somewhat fed up with the situation, not to mention his pun.

    Ultimately, Hybrid headed back to the van prior to the wolf vanishing.

.- -. --- - .... . .-. / .--. .-. --- - . -.-. - --- .-.

    At a later time,

“Where is Sir. Pan?”

“He’s left.” The hyena replied.

    From an outside perspective, mammals were meeting up on a mezzanine with stair in an old warehouse beside Rainforest District’s river.

“Is there anyone following us?”

“I don’t think so. Even if there is, that mammal must be stupid-”

“Hi~” A fruity male voice came from an entrance of a warehouse, preceding a white tundra wolf entering the warehouse. “So, this is your hideout huh? I have couples of questions for your boss. Is he here?” He unzipped his groovy black leather jacket.

    After the mammals on the mezzanine shared a look, they bursted out laughing.

“Alone!? What a joke. Like a moth to a flame.” The hyena scoffed at the uninvited guest while two mammals descended the stairs to shut a gate.

    Next, few caprid Savage s came out of the shadows to surround the wolf. Indicated by healing burn marks on their skins, they were the same ones that encountered Hybrid earlier and survived. The fleering criminals expected him to be horrified.

“Argh! Thank you!” Unanticipatedly, he grew relieved. “I prefer fists to do the talking. Mittens, hack security cams. I’m gonna have some fun.” Seemingly, he talked to himself, rolling up his jacket right sleeve.

“Switch on” The wolf uttered calmly.

- --- / -... . / -.-. --- -. - .. -. ..- . -..

[opedguy]

Iran’s Foreign Minister in Hot Water

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), April 28, 2021.--Unloading his frustrations on a London-based Farsi-speaking satellite news channel, 61-tear-old Iranian Foreign Minister Mohammad Javad Zarif did the unthinkable, complain about the fact that he has no power, no clout, not influence in Iran’s foreign policy.  Zarif admitted that only Iran’s 82-year-old Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and his Revolutionary Guards Corps have any power over foreign policy, not Iran’s diplomatic corps at the Foreign Ministry.  Zarif committed the cardinal sin in theocratic dictatorship expressing his true feelings.  Like so many other educated Iranians, Zarif got his education in the United States at San Francisco State and the University of Denver where he earned him M.A. and Ph.D. in international relations.  When you’re educated in the U.S. it’s natural to speak your mind, even when it might destroy your future.      

       Zarif complained to the London-based Farsi-speaking satellite channel, expressing disappointment over his titular role serving as the face of Iran’s foreign policy, when, in fact, he has no influence.  Zarif sweated it out for two years banging heads with 77-year-old former Secretary of State John Kerry with whom he hammered out the July 15, 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action [JCPOA] AKA the “Iranian Nuke Deal,” an agreement with the P5+1, U.S., U.K., France, Russia, China and Germany, to limit Iran’s nuclear enrichment programs in exchange for $1.6 billion in cash and $150 billion in sanctions relief.  Former President Donald Trump, 77, cancelled U.S. involvement in the Nuke Deal May 8, 2018, largely due to Iran’s proxy war with Saudi Arabia and Israel.  Biden hopes to revise the JCPOA to stick it Trump as much as possible, regardless of harming U.S. national security.      

        Since taking office Jan. 20, 78-year-old President Joe Biden has tried to resuscitate the Nuke Deal in Vienna, with the P5+1 continuing to placate Ayatollah’s demands for a new agreement, demanding an unconditional end to U.S. sanctions.  U.S. officials, working through other signatories because Iran won’t talk directly to the U.S. have been bending over backwards for a new deal.  Since taking office, Biden has done everything possible to undo all of Trump accomplishment, including Southern border security.  Biden has hit U.S.-Russian and U.S.-Chinese relations with a wrecking ball, turning the U.S. border with Mexico into a raging calamity.  When Biden delivers his quasi-State-of-the-Union speech on Zoom tonight, everything will sound like unprecedented success.  Anyone paying any attention to what’s happening with the border, Iran, Russia and China know differently.        

     Zarif now apologizes for his remarks leaked to the press, complaining about the limits of his power with foreign policy.  “I am very sorry how a secret theoretical discussion about the necessity of increasing cooperation between diplomacy and the fied [the Guard]—in order for the next officials to use the valuable experience of the last eight years—became an internal conflict,” Zarif wrote.  Zarif was considered a viable presidential candidate to replace 72-year-old outgoing moderate President Hassan Rouhani who’s termed out.  Zarif’s gaffe for the Ayatollah and his acolytes to see most likely will see him replaced as Iran’s Foreign Minister.  Zarif, while doing the bidding of the Ayatollah, was a less extreme face to Iran’s foreign policy, despite the fact, as Zarif confesses, he has no real clout.  Zarif takes his orders from the Ayatollah and his rubber stamped Assembly of experts.    

        Zarif finds himself caught between a rock-and-a-hard place admitting to the London-based Farsi station that he has no real power to do anything on foreign policy without expressed approval of the Ayatollah.  “I did not censor myself, because this is a betrayal of the people,” Zarif said, trying to excuse statements made in the interview.  With the Ayatollah and Assembly of Experts knowing Zarif’s frustrations with Revolutionary Guard Commander Brig. Gen. Esmail Qaani calling the shots.  Iran still wants to retaliate against the U.S. for Trump killing Al Quds Leader Qassem Soleimani Jan. 3, 2020 in a predator drone strike outside the Baghdad airport.  Soleimani was responsible for the proxy wars against Saudi Arabia and Israel, not to mention Limpet mine attacks on Persian and Oman Gulf oil tankers.  Zarif admitted in his interview he has no say over Iran’s foreign policy.     

        When it comes to dictatorships like Iran, no one should be surprised that front-man like Zarif has no power in Iran’s foreign policy.  What’s surprising is that he would air his frustrations to a foreign TV station knowing the possible consequences, including his possible termination and vaporization.  Rouhani said Iran’s Intelligence Ministry “must do its best to find out how this tape was stolen and publish a report to people,” Rouhani said.  “There will be no mercy for those that made a mistake like this,” not mentioning the political fallout to Zarif, now in Ayatollah’s dog house.  How the Ayatollah could trust Zarif again is anyone’s guess, knowing he harbors frustration about Iran’s power chain of command.  “It was published just when Vienna was on the road to success, to create conflicts in the country Rouhani said.  Rouhani knows that nothing gets past Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.

.About the Author

 John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.   Reply  Reply All  Forward

[wobblegong]

I was going to squee about my space-cat but I just got shotgunned through the Chains of Harrow quest & subsequent orbiter thing so instead I’m going to spew my thoughts everywhere. I have too many emotions about this ok. WARNING: Massive story spoilers (for many quest lines), massive gameplay spoilers, massive worldbuilding spoilers, BASICALLY NOTHING BUT SPOILERS UP IN HERE. You probably don’t want to read this unless 1. you’re caught up on everything including 2. you dgaf and find me nattering about a game you don’t play interesting. (~2200 words.)

I. Gameplay/Mechanics

Chains of Harrow is VERY WELL DONE, jfc. I continue to be impressed by Warframe’s execution. Some previous quests weren’t quite ideal but this one... this one was on point.

(Shout-out to my game dev friend who does totally unrelated stuff and their ANGUISHED GROAN when I asked how they’d do the one bit with moving the audio around in their not-Warframe engine; they stared into Hell as they contemplated it. “But Unreal engine apparently lets you do it just fine.” It’s so fun to be reminded that one engine’s effortless task is another engine’s “the only thing that eclipses the suffering this would require is your hubris”.)

There were spoopy screen effects, not that I’m surprised– already seen plenty of demonstrations of what they can do when I get flashbanged or fade in/out of a menu. One section has you chasing directional audio aka heading towards wherever the sound is coming from. (This was the worst section for me, I had to pause three times to get my panic wrangled.) The talking-heads approach to story, combined with the setting, combined with a few lite-cutscenes & one interactive segment... was actually fucking perfect. I usually feel like the exposition-dumps are somewhat contrived and aggravating, but here I was SOLD.

If I had any criticism, it’d be that the spoopy starts wearing off like 1/3 of the way in and just keeps eroding until the end isn’t spoopy at all. It didn’t feel like a deliberate tone-shift, just that they ran out of jumpscare (which is what the spoopy is 100% made of) and didn’t really replace it with anything. I don’t consider it a drawback though... if it had actually been scary the whole way through I’d be a gibbering jelly. Also everything else going on is so fantastic that I prefer the lack of distraction.

I did laugh when the main combat section goes Ghostbusters: you have to trap a spoopy in a box you toss on the floor, complete with a glowy beam trapping said spoopy. Mild grumble because I wasted a dozen traps before I googled wtf to do in that section (hint: APPLY BULLETS TO BAD THING) but fine, if I hadn’t been accidentally lied to I would probably have tried that first instead of faffing around.

Final “boss” fight was indeed kind of a bear but I was warned beforehand that I was gonna get punched out like forty times so when I only got punched out thrice it was like all my namedays had come at once! HOLY FUCK DON’T DO IT BEFORE YOU’VE DONE THE GARA QUEST THO & GOTTEN AN OPERATOR AMP ON CETUS. This quest predates all that BUT THE AMP IS GOOD. EVEN A BAD AMP IS BETTER THAN NO AMP. So... hot tip, get your little shit a little piece of shit and be thrilled when you can actually kill the boss fight adds in under 12 hours.

Ok no I have one true criticism: BLOOD ISN’T RED WAX, WHY WERE THE BLOODY MESSAGES ON THE WALL THAT COLOR. Actually they were... really 3D... ... ...maybe it WAS wax? Where the fuck did the spooperson get so much red wax for writing creepy messages?

II. Story

So the story is that you get a haunted I mean hecked up transmission, it’s spooky; you go to a fucked-up empty ship and find one Red Veil chick just hanging out with her cat. She says a lot of baffling things and then forty ex-Red-Veil zombies/ghosts/possessed assholes try to murder you, ineptly. Ok maybe they’re less inept if they’re not going in ultra-slow-motion. (My god, I will never stop being happy that Frost Prime was my first frame. So good and useful when I’m going into shit blind.)

You haul RVC (Red Veil Chick) out of there and plunk her ass down in the Steel Meridian camp because I guess the factions like each other enough for casual favors like that. She says some more barely-less-confusing shit and very earnestly (there’d be dewey eyes and heaving bosoms if she wasn’t wearing a full-body-inculding-head suit) begs you to go find some relic. Off you go to another fucked-up empty ship! UNNECESSARILY CREEPY WHISPERS lead you to said relic, which was the thing Rell focused on for soothing because most sensory stimulation was too much for him. Wait, what? And then ASSHOLE MCINVINCIBLE tries to stick his hand up your ass like a puppet and if you’re me you sprint in circles for 30 seconds crying while the NPC frantically tries to get you out.

You go back to RVC and she does a seance. It works. To summarize/paraphrase including story bits revealed further into the quest line, Rell was one of the Tenno who got shunned out of the gaggle even before they all got Tenno’d. Apparently this put him in a position to discover what the fuck is in the Void, at which point he had his meatsack body killed so his mind(/soul/whatever) could be chained to his specific ‘frame, leaving him awake/conscious to keep doorstoppering the badbadnotgood, even while the other Tenno were off snoozing per the Lotus’ plans. A line of RVCs (Red Veil Chicks) were in on this and dedicated themselves to... looking after him, inasmuch as you can look after someone who shoveled themself into a robot that’s been chained up somewhere it’ll never see the light of day. They could talk to him anyways– I guess they were mostly there to keep him from going bonkers and maybe intervene if anything ever went wrong.

Anyways, that’s all fine right up until it isn’t; RVC & the Lotus determine that his transference fucked up and fragmented so you need to go Ghostbusters the creepy phantoms of this guy’s psyche. Collect them all while dodging ASSHOLE MCINVINCIBLE (and a smattering of forgettable mooks– fuck off Infested, I don’t care if it’s your ship) and RVC thanks you/tearfully asks you to take them back to where his ‘frame rests so he can die because THAT’S ENOUGH SUFFERING FOR ONE PERSON THANKS.

Nothing gets to be easy, not even that, so when you find the ‘frame and start snapping its chains it wakes up. RVC has about five seconds to go “thaT’S NOT RELL” while your little shit self scurries behind a pillar before boss fight! Red Veil operatives (except dead or mind controlled or who knows what) try to punch you out while some kind of awful red glowing tear pops in and out to fireball you. But eventually you snap all the chains and yaaaay Rell gets his eternal rest. (I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

III. Meta Story/Worldbuilding

It’s SUCH A THING to me that RVC casually knows what the Tenno are. I mean, ok, makes sense because the RVCs were so involved with Rell, buT LIKE. MAN. NOBODY ELSE KNOWS. THE “KIND OF HAVE A CLUE” PEOPLE STILL DON’T KNOW MORE THAN “IF YOU DISSECT A WARFRAME YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THAT EXPLAINS WHAT THE TENNO ARE”. Fuck, I think the RVC even dresses down the Lotus over it a la “fuck u, u say they’re ur kids but u suck and u never knew about Rell”.

They completely skate right past RVC setting up shop in the hyper-secret Steel Meridian HQ. “Yeah, no big, me and my ouija board are gonna hang out at the secret base of a completely different faction, which happens to be located like three centimeters from the balls of the genocidal maniacs they defected from. Sorry you keep seeing my kavat in the background of my transmissions.” W h a t . ?

...ok, side thoughts out of the way: OH FUCK OH FUCKOHFUCKOHFUCK THE MAN IN THE WALL

As of this point in Warframe’s existence (out of game I mean) they have done... not the WORST job defining the Void, but of course a lot of it hasn’t been written out. (Both because good storytelling and also because the writers probably haven’t gotten that far. :p) Things we do know:

The ship of people who got stuck in there was (afaik) 100% casualties among all the adults. Fuckers all went feral apparently? But the kids lived. Although they came out weird and dangerous (understatement). People do still go into the Void atm, generally via opening a portal on another planet. People... don’t always come OUT of the Void, although presumably they come back out often enough for the major powers to feel like it’s not a waste of time to ransack that shit. I don’t know where they stuck this lore but iirc there’s some kind of horrible THING in there that basically shoves some kind of hijacking device into you, if it catches you, and then it controls you forever. (IDK if dying gets you out of it or if it can just be like HA HA NICE TRY MEATPUPPET and get you back up. With how this setting is, could go either way.) This is why all the Void tilesets have a variety of mob types: the THING has been hijacking the assortment of factions that wander in. Like I said, people don’t always come back out during those expeditions.

So the first badbadnotgood hint I personally played through was at the end of The War Within (Space Lil’ Shit 2 Electric Boogaloo, Now With More Tremors). It’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it brief, but while Space Dad is congratulating you, your Operator suddenly stares into the camera, eyes turning into voids, and a creepy voice taunts you, something about “don’t forget what you owe me kid” or the like. It’s a single line, but the way the camera snaps around (complete with some fucking over-the-top visual effects) & Space Dad catches your arm while you shake it off... thaaaaaat’s not a trivial hallucination.

Anyway. Among other things, during the Chains of Harrow the RVC is very fucking explicit about how Rell was grappling with/cockblocking a specific “vast and indifferent” entity that lives in the Void. Offhandedly, The Lotus dismisses this while mentioning that basically all Tenno have mentioned or claimed similar things. (RVC keeps on insisting.) Right before Rell finally dies, he asks who’s gonna take over his job if he stops, and the RVC coos that all the other Tenno will have to help now.

I have been told by one friend– without checking around, so could be wrong, but– that once you’ve finished the Chains of Harrow you’ll periodically get jumpscared on your ship by a creepy asshole who looks identical to your Operator, but has a different (asshole) voice. Said friend randomly turned around once and what looked like their Operator was sitting on their nav console. And taunted them. Said friend sprinted down to the transference pod to make sure their Operator was in the right place– they were– but was pretty freaked out by it.

Obviously, we don’t have much more detail at this point, but uH. This is not painting a rosy picture of the shit lurking out there in the Void. To me this is pointing towards some kind of extradimensional horror that you really don’t want to draw the attention of... and we’ve gone and done that. Possibly even that the Tenno were lucky to scamper away the first time after it got to play with an entire ship of people (some guessing there, but given its asshole moves so far...) and going anywhere near the Void after that was about as wise as standing on a hilltop in a thunderstorm while double-dog-daring Zeus.

I’m so excited to find out how fucked we are.

Given what the orbiter shit involved, the answer is probably very, and also creatively. BALLAS? WHAT?? WHAT?????

IV. Further Thoughts

I really would love to hear the perspectives of autistic folk. That said, I... more or less liked how the Chains of Harrow handled Rell? The quest established that he was very different; the other kids-eventually-Tenno ignored him, while his mother loved him (I’m open to other interpretations but everything I heard pointed to sincerity). He had the intelligence and agency to deal with badbadnotgood, and while the RVC had a certain maternal vibe she was pretty damn reverent when discussing what he’d done/was doing. Also (maybe most importantly in my reckoning) he didn’t get a happy ending, but he succeeded at what he was doing. By this setting’s standards that’s a rosier conclusion than almost anyone else gets.

Now that I’m thinking of it, I’m racking my brains for any parties that have known the truth of the Tenno and been kindly disposed towards them without getting all maternal/paternal. I’m coming up blank. (The fuck is with this setting and everyone treating them like kids btw? All indications are that they stopped aging so they look like young teens, sure, but all indications are ALSO that they’ve lived awhile time, even excluding their cryosleep! I’m willing to believe a certain amount of “their brain maturity stalled along with the rest of their aging so they have the hardware of a 13yo” but that wouldn’t undo living long enough to form a small civilization. SOME parts of teenagers not being like adults are hardware, but a lot of it is pure lack of life experience, which the Tenno have in spades by now. Also, you know, THEY PSYCHICALLY POWER SPACE NINJA ROBOTS, SHOW SOME RESPECT.)

...

And now I’m going to pass out to sweet dreams of tomorrow’s fully-grown space-kitty.

[kitsutoshi]

Perspective on doors

Children should show respect for their elders and speak politely when adults address them.  Most of us probably agree with that.  And yet, we train our children about “stranger danger.”  If I approach a child in the park or a store, or if you do, or if almost anyone does, we mean them well.  We’re speaking to them for kindly reasons.  If we offer them help, it’s out of a genuine interest in helping.  A vanishingly small number of adults approach children to abduct or harm them.  And yet, children are taught to walk away without speaking to us.  Diligent parents and teachers tell them that politeness doesn’t matter, and that their safety very much does.  Adults understand that and don’t take it personally.  Politeness is always secondary.

I’m drawing a parallel, because I think we’ve got some cognitive dissonance in our culture.  Recently I’ve engaged with several friends in social-media discussions of a particular meme.  You may have seen it.  The post suggested that men opening doors for women was an oppressive and terrible form of patriarchy and a controlling behavior.  It’s designed to make everyone call bullshit. “our society is becoming so uncivil!  radical feminism! men who don’t open doors for women are awful!  women who don’t appreciate men opening doors must hate men!”   Whoever started this meme was a genius. Every time I’ve seen it come up, I see feminist (male and female) friends scrambling hard to assure the world that they think this idea is insane and that they appreciate the custom and think it’s harmless and healthy and should be observed at every opportunity. The implication being that even considering otherwise might be a social breach, let alone doing anything other than complying with the custom.

But I take a different view.  Not about politeness, I’m all for that.  I don’t think anyone is suggesting we should stop holding doors for each other and I plan to keep holding them and walking through doors held for me.  No, I take a women’s self-defense view to that quaint old custom. Specifically the custom of men holding doors for women.  Not the other way around, not men holding doors for men, or women holding them for women.  Specifically, the dynamics of men holding doors for women.  Of course almost always, it’s a nice guy holding a door because it makes sense, and he’d hold the same door no matter who was right behind him needing to enter.  But sometimes, it isn’t that.

We give children carte blanche to throw away respect for their elders to protect themselves, always putting their safety above “being polite.”  I don’t see us doing the same for women.  We say contradictory things to women.  We often seem to value niceness and compliance above women’s safety while we talk out of the other side of our mouths about women standing up for themselves.

It’s not a solid comparison with child-snatchers.  Children need bright-line rules (“ALWAYS walk away from strangers who offer to help you, don’t speak to them”).  Adults don’t get that luxury, and really don’t need that kind of rule.  On the other hand, child-snatchers are incredibly rare, but rapists and abusers are not and yet we allow more latitude for children to avoid a rare situation than adults to avoid a common one.  The situations are different.  But the fundamental question I suggest we should ask is the same.  “Is self-protection more important than being nice?”  

When we teach women to protect themselves, the primary lesson is “listen to your gut.”  Following on that, we try to teach them to put aside cultural conditioning and be rude if that’s what it takes, yell if that’s what it takes, to put their own safety above the comfort of others.  Women have mountains of conditioning and social pressure to climb all in a moment when they must take action.  

Abusers test women they are interested in forming a relationship with to determine whether those women can be manipulated and groomed.  Rapists trying to get a woman into a compromised situation use manipulation techniques to create trust and obligation.  They hide those activities in social constructs, innocuous cover like holding a door.  Nothing they do in that context can get them in trouble.  No one thinks anything of it because there is no immediate threat or risk.

In martial arts training, we like to talk about how “awareness” will allow us to spot a situation before it escalates to needing to use actual martial (fighting) arts.  It’s a nice theory, but a hard premise to prove. How does training on a mat teach us to spot subtle “wrongness” in communication?  Is it wishful thinking that martial artists are more “aware” of indications that a situation is heading in a bad direction than others might be?  I don’t know.  Maybe we’re just more willing to trust our guts, or engage in the question. But it is true that many of these manipulation techniques used by attackers and abusers are easy to hide in common everyday interactions. It’s also true that if we take those interactions at face value, fail to even consider that more might be going on, then we won’t spot a red flag.  We won’t hear our gut over the sound of cultural conditioning.

Door holding is one of those interactions.

I propose that we need to go back to fundamentals of women’s (and all other) self-defense.  Listen to your gut.  Yes, almost every person holding a door for another is being polite; when you and I hold a door, we do it with good intention.  But some people holding a door flick your radar.  Running ahead to get a door can be weird.  Speaking to you in some unnecessary or overly-familiar way.  Or something you can’t put your finger on.  But our guts can give us a heads-up if we’re aware that a seemingly-safe situation can lead to much worse.

It’s not our job to guess what’s in anyone else’s head.  It’s not sensible to walk around with suspicion of everyone around us.  But it is valid to recognize that some percentage of people (usually men) holding a door for a woman may be doing it to enforce “the order of things.”  Here and there are ones trying to see whether they can get a woman to alter her movements in some way, or accept an overture that will generate a hint of obligation.  (Just like the charities that send you greeting cards or a stamped envelope knowing that your sense of civility, obligation, or connection will make a contribution more likely.)  

Someone who has made a “gentlemanly” gesture may be counting on lowering our guard, creating trust or liking or familiarity.   The next step could be to “happen” to exit the store at the same time, and again extra-helpfully offer to help get groceries into the car.   If he hadn’t first held the door it would be easy to turn down that next “gentlemanly” gesture that seems like “too much.”  Or maybe it doesn’t seem odd at all, because the manipulation has already worked. We’ve put him in the “nice guy” category and we’re no longer listening to any part of us saying otherwise.  Or maybe he’s already reinforced it if we looked hesitant “hey, no big deal, just trying to be helpful!” with the implication that you’re being rude if you refuse.  There’s no potential immediate danger, it’s just a guy holding the door!  Isn’t that always nice? so how can we justify rudeness?

If you’ve ever experienced that guy who offered to be “helpful” in some way, and when you turned him down he got angry, you may have wondered “who does THAT work on?”  Well, it does work sometimes, and those guys are looking for the people it works on. Some women will apologize, backtrack, and ask him to help.

Going back to the child analogy: as a society, we’ve made the decision to throw out common wonderful interactions between children and perfectly amiable adults in order for children to protect themselves.  We allow children to be rude to adults to avoid a really rare but far-too-dire attack. It’s the only thing that makes sense.   I would like to see us consider these cultural structures around “politeness” between women and men in the same way.  Not to throw them out, because adult women are not children.  Just to acknowledge that rape and abuse are not rare, not at all rare. That if we want for people to “be aware” and spot a problem before it comes to needing to fight their way out, then we need to look harder at common interactions that attackers and abusers use as cover. That is when “earlier” takes place.

The next time you see that meme, maybe discuss it.  Consider your own biases in favor of men holding doors for women (as opposed to people of all genders holding doors for each other) and the power structure involved.  Consider what we do by reinforcing the requirement that all men hold doors and all women walk through them.  Everything we do to dismiss early warnings in situations routinely used by predators is a disservice in my opinion.  

It helps me to think of the goal of a polite gesture.  To smooth the way for someone. But shouldn’t it always be optional to accept a polite gesture?  If we didn’t ask for help, can’t we turn it down?  Especially if that help might have emotional hooks. Not in a child’s blanket rule that takes away a common courtesy, just in a way that allows us to consider that that common courtesy may actually be something else. People who try to reinforce those gender-role behaviors with ridicule or anger are people we need to watch out for.  

It’s easy enough to teach ways to avoid a problem.  If a gut-check says “avoid that,” stopping to look at a phone, walking back to the car, or just saying “no, after you” and insisting on noncompliance shouldn’t cause anyone to bat an eye (or if it does, that’s a bullet dodged).  But the first key is knowing a gut-check is important.  

This is just one opportunity for martial artists to put our money where our mouth is, understand a common early indication of trouble, talk about it, and raise actual awareness.  Any social situation where people feel obliged without considering is a place for an attacker or abuser to fly under the cover of people just being decent to each other.   It won’t bring down civil society to let women off the hook sometimes to avoid those niceties for their own safety.

[elementaldragon-slayer-blog]

Colour War

I actually felt really damn accomplished. Mira and Master asked me three days ago to come up with something I wanted to do. I think I did a great job, who doesn't love getting a little dirty.

“Team Captains are Gajeel and Laxus, this is mandatory guys, so just agree and get your white shirt and come hear the rules.” I hopped off the bar top and settled in my seat again.

“Bunny, why do you do this to me” I rolled my eyes and pushed his head off of my shoulder where he was whining from.

“Oh stop Gaj, you don't even know my genius idea yet” I smirked and passed him his white shirt “Put this on and stop being a big rusty baby”

I could hear him grumbling as he pulled his coat off and threw it on my head. 'Virgo can you bring the rest of the white shirts and pants' I felt a grin pulling on my lips “Gaj, don't forget the pants” Virgo popped up like clockwork and held out a pair of white denims for him and the lightning dragon slayer. Which they took with some trepidation.

“This had better be good Blondie” My smile grew wider when I saw him in his white outfit.

“It is,” I smirked at him and raised my voice so the whole guild could hear me, “O.K. Guys! Come get your outfit from Virgo and then have a seat” I turned and grabbed Gajeel and pulled him to stand beside the overgrown spark plug.

“You both need to pick teams. It'll be one pick then the other, first to go is the one who guesses the closest number in my head”

“26” Gaj grunted, pulling the new white headband on and tying it under his hair.

“13” Laxus looked supremely bored with all of this. I know a few ways to make this better for him

“O.K. Boys, time to learn the rules. You're going to pick your teams and split off, one's sanctuary is going to be Kardia, the others is going to be the east forest. You're going to take 10 minutes and we're going to meet back in front of the guild. The weapons are already at the designated areas, you just need to make up a strategy. Magic is allowed, but the aim is to not break things around us” I locked eyes with both of them “Are you with me so far?” They both nodded so I picked up my permanent marker and put a '1' on Iron Man and a '2' on Sparky.

“O.K. Everyone, when you get called by Gaj or Laxus you stand behind them or in their general area, we're making teams. No trading, no complaining, no bitching, no whining or I swear to Mavis I will hang you by your toes from the bell at Kardia.” I smiled sweetly and let them form their teams, letting my eyes slide down to that fantastic ass in those delicious jeans and I slipped away silently to finish getting ready.

I stretched my arms over my head and reclined back in the chair I was waiting in. This was going to be great. I heard chattering and footsteps coming from both sides, so I flicked on the lacrima stereo and let

'O Fortuna' by Carl Orff play loudly through the speakers. I let a victorious grin slide onto my face as both teams stood face to face, on either side of me, paintball guns resting against each of their shoulders, and their team carrying various buckets of balloons and different types of paint wielding weapons. I smirked and climbed up on my chair.

“O.K. Teams! Yellow is Laxus' team, and blue is Gaj's team, the point is to not get 'killed', if you get hit in a 'vital spot' like your chest, or your face, you're out, but you join my team and try to get other people out, like.. colourful zombies. Last person standing wins for their team. I'm neutral. My colour is pink, and I'll kick all your asses!” I grabbed my whip and flicked it to attach to the flag pole up above the square, and flipped myself up to the roof where my supplies were.

“READY! SET! FIGHT!” I yelled down to the large groups of mages and watched as they clashed in a giant puff of yellow and blue. I grabbed my paintball gun and shot a test run between Laxus' feet. His eyes lifted and I shot the gun in his hands twice. I grinned brightly, winked and promptly ducked down as shots started showering down where I was hiding. I grabbed two paint balloons and threw them down to the middle of the giant clump of mages. Pink splattered everywhere and I successfully gained five more zombies. I scanned the crowd for spiky blonde hair or the even spikier black hair. I watched as Erza sliced through the paint, twirling to avoid backsplash, and how Grey had created a shield to block the blue paint that was being thrown at him. Natsu was being carried by Happy, dodging and twirling the paint that was being thrown his way and shooting everyone with his yellow paintballs. I shouldered my gun and aimed it at the flying furball. I could hear the squawk of surprise as his aera dropped and both of them fell to the bucket of blue paint balloons.

I grabbed my side bag full of pink paint balloons and flicked my whip to wrap around the flag pole again, swinging up over top of the leftover mages, letting my gun shoot constantly as I twisted and landed in a crouch. I grinned and let my eyes scan for the team captains, I saw Gajeel, he was back to back with Lily and Levy. I flicked through plans in my head before rolling backwards and throwing myself up with my arms. Those damn gymnastics classes have been so useful.

I dropped into a sprint, one hand reaching into my bag and the other pulling my paintball gun up under my arm. The closer I got to the trio, the harder I pushed my legs, as I hit the sweet area where I would hit them, and jumped up in a spin to throw the balloon, cackling as I watched it splatter all over Levy's chest and I fired the little paint bullets at Lily, getting his chest and stomach before I tumbled out of my jump and into a somersault. I knew Gaj would be after me now, so I flipped myself over a few times to get a head start and booked it the hell out of there.

I ended up back on the roof to replenish my stores and scope out the mess, less then half were left, and I still hadn't seen Laxus. I hit Levy and Cana in the butt with my gun and laughed loudly when they yelled about being out already. I jumped back down off the roof and ran through the cloud covering Erza from behind, breaking a balloon in my hands and jumping on her back, I pressed my paint covered hands to both of her cheeks and smeared it all over her face before dropping and sprinting the hell out of there. I could hear her mini rage fit as I ran towards Bix, I jumped on one of his babies and vaulted over his uncovered head, smashing another balloon onto the surprised mage.

“Ha! Got ya Bixy!” I let my tongue loll out and grinned at him “welcome to the team, have you seen Laxus?”

He wiped the paint off of his eyes and shook his hair out “Yeah, he was on the roof last I saw him, something about stalking his prey” my smirk widened as he cackled and jumped on his babies to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting leftovers.

Fifteen minutes later and everyone except one person was out, and it was going to be a face off between team leaders, well not Gaj because Levy got him in a place where paint really shouldn't be shot at. Men like Laxus are easy to mess with, and I had the perfect plan. He stood opposite me in the giant circle of paint covered mages, both of our white shirts were near perfectly clean. I checked the bag that was attached to my hip, and cocked my head to the side.

“You ready spark plug?” I smirked and balanced my gun on my shoulder.

“Should be asking you that Blondie” He had a similar ammo situation, just sans paintball gun.

“Count it down” and I heard someone start counting from 5.

“GO GO GO” a loud cheer went up as I pulled up and shot at the spot where Breaker was, 'shit', I dropped to the ground and rolled just as a balloon dropped right where I was standing. My gaze flicked over the arena like area, pulling up to look at the sky, I smirked when I saw lightning streak back down to the ground, shooting rapidly at the area where he landed, but never materialized, I realized I was running out of bullets. I tried to follow the flashes of lightning with my gun, but the awful sound of a click interrupted my assault. I threw the gun to the wall of mages and pulled a balloon out just as he materialized right in front of me.

“Give up yet” he sneered at me and I smirked.

“You wish sparky” I pulled a balloon out of my bag and threw it in the air, followed closely by the tip of Fleuve d'etoiles, letting it wrap around the balloon gently before I brought my whip slashing down towards the blonde behemoth. I flicked my wrist right before it hit him, making the balloon explode right in front of his chest. I heard a crack and watched at the paint splattered to the ground. I let out a huff 'goddamn lightning mages and their stupid teleport bullshit'

I dropped into a crouch and scanned the skies for lightning, I saw a glint and grabbed another balloon. I waited for him to get closer, I saw the yellow balloon flying straight at my face and I turned and tucked into a roll to my left, just as another was dropping from above me “Shit” I grumbled before lifting my feet over my head and flipping away quickly. The gymnastics avoidance tactic worked for a bit, I would throw a balloon at where I thought he was throwing them from and he would send a barrage to try and hit me.

“not now” I whispered to myself as I felt around my ammo bag. He zapped himself in front of me again, his breath heavy and his hands by his side. I have this in the bag.

I smiled sweetly and started towards him slowly, almost predator like, letting my hips sway enticingly. I lifted my chin when I got close, and ran one hand up his torso, biting my lip and smiling as seductive as I could.

He coughed and looked down at me “What are you doin' Blondie” I slid the hand on his chest up around his neck and into the hair at the base of his head.

“You're awfully sexy like that, paint dust in your hair, skin glistening with sweat. It looks like you had one hell of a time... and I want in.” I pulled him down slowly, raising onto my tip toes. Stars I can imagine how sexy it would be to let him take me right here, rolling around in the paint... BAD LUCY no dirty thoughts, I need to focus!

I nipped his bottom lip and heard him gasp, his hands found my hips and pulled them to his, I flicked my tongue over the seam in his lips and let my breath blow out over his mouth. I felt his hands slide down to cup my ass and lift me a little, I lifted my eyes to see his were closed and I smirked.

“You want to kiss me don't you Laxus” I purred softly, rolling my hips against his. I heard his barely audible answer and tightened my hand in his hair, leaving our lips millimeters apart.

I let a small moan escape my throat when his hands tightened on my ass, and I slowly brought my other hand from my hip, pulling his face down against my neck while I licked the shell of his ear and let my breath fan out over the wet skin.

“Hey Laxus” I whispered, dropping my voice and making it as husky as I could

I heard him moan against my neck, his lips sucking lightly on the skin and I let out a small whimper.

“You lose” I whispered, licked the shell of his ear once more and used his hair to steer his face back to mine.

“What?” He choked out and opened his eyes, which had darkened with lust.

“you lose” I smirked and brought my free hand from the bag at my hip fully and smashed the balloon against the side of his face where it exploded everywhere, his hair and face got the worst. I took a step back and absolutely lost it, I ended up on the floor clutching my stomach.

“Blondie...”

I was pretty sure I had tears streaming down my face at this point, it was in his mouth. 'Oh Mavis I got him so good'

“Lucy...”

'I'm so going to be getting it later, he's going to zap me into oblivion. I'm going to fry from the inside, or worse... my hair will never be smooth again!'

“Mavis, LUCY!”

I whipped my face around to see the paint covered mage, his hands crossed over his chest and a deep scowl on his face.

“Yes Breaker?” I smiled sweetly and hopped up onto my feet, still holding back the giggles I knew wanted to break free.

“Congrats Blondie, you won” he smirked and I narrowed my eyes, opening my mouth to reply, and just as I was about to comment, I felt a viscous liquid pour over my head. I watched as the ridiculous amount of blue paint was poured over my head, it went down my face and over my shirt and pants, pooling at my feet.

“Gihi” I heard that distinctive voice from behind me before I heard the dropping of the giant bin. I dropped my head and wiped the paint away from my eyes and nose before slowly turning and putting the creepiest grin I could on my face. I knew there was paint going in my mouth, I could taste the goop on my teeth, but Mavis if it didn't add to the creep factor.  

“Gajeel” I let my voice raise several octaves and lifted my eyes to meet his. The laughter died from his face and it slipped into one of horror.

“Why is there paint all over me Gajy” I fluttered my eyelashes and took a squelching step towards him, and he backed one up in kind.

“Heh... Bunny, I-I uh...” He shrugged his shoulders and pointed behind me “It was the Lightning rod's idea” he nearly screamed before he dropped into his shadow mode and flitted away.

I turned to see Laxus' back walking away from me, smirking, I dropped into a semi crouch and took a deep breath before pushing my muscles to surge forward. I quickly reached him and launched myself onto his back, knocking him forwards and onto the ground. I hooked my foot around leg and onto the others thigh, tugging on his arm and flipping him onto his back, settling my legs on either side of his hips.

“Sneaky sneaky Laxy-poo” I smirked and leaned forwards to rest my chin on his chest. His hands moved up to swipe blue paint off of my face, sliding down to grip my butt and pull me further up his body.

“If I didn't know any better I'd say you like me being on top Breaker” I teased, sliding my hands through his half painted hair.

If I was paying attention to anything but Laxus, I would have noticed how literally everyone had dispersed, leaving Laxus and me in the middle of the little square outside of the Guild, me being literally on top of him with his hands massaging my ass. It was an interesting change to say the least, but not one I was totally opposed to. I felt him tense, and next thing I knew I was on my back. 'well this is a position I'm used to'

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on either side of my head, placing gentle kisses on the skin that wasn't covered in blue paint. Hot kisses trailed up my neck and back down, I felt him suck on my pulse point and I let out something akin to a whimper and moan at the same time. I tightened my hands in his hair and steered him from my neck to my lips. I moaned as my lips met his, reflexively wrapping my legs around his hips and pulling his body closer to mine. His hands went under my back, lifting both of us into a seated position as his tongue slid along the seam in my lips and he nipped my bottom lip.

His lips stilled and he pulled away to bury his face in the crook of my neck, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Happy Birthday babe” He whispered against my skin, nipping the pulse point one more time before lifting his face to mine again and kissing me softly.

“I love you Breaker” I whispered against his lips

“I love you too Blondie” He rested his forehead against mine with a soft smile.

It had been a fantastic two years, and I just fell in love with him more and more every day. I couldn't ask for better.

[flauntpage]

DGB Grab Bag: Predator Fans, Fan Voting, and Bettman Handoffs

Welcome to Sean McIndoe's weekly grab bag, where he writes on a variety of NHL topics. You can follow him on Twitter. Check out the Biscuits podcast with Sean and Dave Lozo as they discuss the events of the week.

Three stars of comedy

The third star: These two Predator fans – It was fun times all around in Nashville. Good presence of mind to slow down when the helmet almost slipped off.

The second star: The catfish has a hat – He also has a tiny stuffed penguin but we can only focus on so many things at one time.

The first star: Bike Guy – The NHL combine was this week. That's the event where the top draft prospects gather, compete in a bunch of physical tests, and then get made fun of for not doing enough bench press reps by out-of-shape sportswriters like me. The highlight every year is the Wingate bike test, in which prospects cycle furiously while a scary guy yells at them.

It's all quite terrifying. But this year, the Golden Knights decided to put the guy's talent to some use by getting him to yell at random Twitter users to be more productive.

Well, I just cleaned my whole house. For some reason I also just studied for all my exams, of which I have none. The guy is good.

Outrage of the week

The issue: We just had two Stanley Cup final games in Nashville, and all the fans there were really loud and into it and just generally having a great time. The outrage: None, of course. Literally nobody could be mad about this. Is it justified: Phew, dodged a bullet there. OK, on to the next section where we can… The issue: We're tired of hearing about how great Predators fans are. The outrage: Seriously, give it a rest, cheering on your team in the Cup final doesn't make you great fans. Is it justified: Wait, what? Is this actually a thing? Are people actually saying that? (Checks.) Yes, apparently they are. This is a bad take. The issue: Anyone criticizing Nashville as a hockey market is wrong! The outrage: In fact, it's always been a great market, and anyone who ever doubted it sure looks silly now. Is it justified: And then, right on cue, here's comes the backlash to the backlash. Look, can we all enjoy what's happening in Nashville right now while also acknowledging that it really did look dicey for a while there back in the day? That seems fair, right? The issue: The Predators have the greatest fans in the world. The outrage: If you deny this you are a terrible person and also probably Canadian. Is it justified: See there is a middle ground where we could… The issue: Predators fans are front-runners who only support their team when it's playing for the Stanley Cup. The outrage: Real fans are there for their team through good and bad, they don't just hop on the bandwagon when times are good. Is it justified: Well, first of all, that thing about Predators fans only showing up now just isn't true. But yes, they're more excited now because of the playoff run. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? The issue: Nashville had thousands of empty seats back in 2010. The outrage: If you don't sell out the building every night you're a bad fan base. Is it justified: Well, fine, but then you're throwing stones at just about everyone, including places like Chicago and Boston and basically everywhere outside of the really die-hard Canadian markets. But sure, fine, if it will get everyone to stop complaining and hyper-analyzing every hockey market, then we'll agree: Only Canadian fan bases that sell out every game are good fans. Can we all please stop this now? The issue: Canadian fan bases that sell out every game are pathetic sheep and the reason the country never wins the Stanley Cup. The outrage: A real fan base would only support their team when they were in the Stanley Cup final. Probably by being really loud and maybe throwing some kind of fish on the ice. Is it justified: I hate all of you. The issue: Hockey fans can never just let their fellow humans be happy about anything. The outrage: It's tiresome, predictable, and the reason why nobody likes us. Is it justified: Yes.

Obscure former player of the week

Penguins' goalie Matt Murray is trying to win his second Stanley Cup as a rookie, which doesn't sound like it should be possible. But it is — a player's status is determined by his regular season play, so it's possible to have two or even more postseason runs as a "rookie".

The list of goalies who've actually done it isn't all that long, but Murray's certainly not alone. It's been done by Ken Dryden and Jacques Plante (who I wrote about earlier in the week), as well as fellow Hall-of-Famers Ed Belfour and Martin Brodeur. Jake Allen did it three years apart, with appearances in 2012 and 2015, and Corey Crawford and John Gibson are also in the club.

As you might expect, the list also includes a few less well-known players. That includes this week's Obscure Player, Daniel "The Bandit" Berthiaume.

You may remember him from the Bob Miller tribute a few months ago, in which we all learned we'd been pronouncing his name wrong all along. But his career began when the Jets made him the 60th pick in the 1985 entry draft, a few picks behind future Conn Smythe winner Bill Ranford. He debuted in Winnipeg a year later, seeing his first action in the 1986 playoffs before he'd ever even played a regular season game.

He followed that up by earning regular duty the following season and splitting time with Pokey Reddick, who I just realized has never been an Obscure Player and we will damn well fix that over the summer. Berthiaume joined the rookie two-timer club in 1987, playing eight games as the Jets won a playoff round for the second (and last) time in Winnipeg NHL history.

From there, Berthiaume began a tour of the NHL; he was traded twice in 1990, first to the North Stars and then to the Kings. He spent a few years backing up Kelly Hrudey in Los Angeles before being dealt to Boston, where he had a falling out with the team during the 1992 playoffs. He was later traded back to Winnipeg, but never earned a roster spot, and by the start of the 1992-93 season he was plying his trade in Europe.

But the expansion Senators came calling, and Berthiaume signed with Ottawa to back up Peter Sidorkiewicz. He wasn't very good, winning just two of 25 games, but nobody on that year's Senators was. Here's a fun clip of Berthiaume trying to pretend he's not miserable in Ottawa. Berthiaume closed out his career with one of the sadder season stat lines in NHL history. In 1993-94, he appeared in one game, played exactly thirty-nine seconds, faced two shots and allowed two goals.

That made him the only goalie since the save stat's been recorded to give up goals in a season in which he never stopped a single puck. Even in the high-flying early 90s, a save percentage of ".000" was considered bad, and Berthiaume's NHL days were done.

He'd kick around the minor leagues (as well as some professional roller hockey) for another decade before hanging up the skates in 2005. He was inducted into the ECHL Hall of Fame last year.

The NHL fans actually got something (kind of) right

As part of their 100-year anniversary celebration, the NHL unveiled a fan vote to determine the all-time 10 greatest teams. And everyone immediately went "Oh no, this will be terrible."

After all, the league made a minor mess of its Top 100 players list, and that was an unranked list put together by experts. This was a ranked list, and it would be determined by fan vote. If the last year has taught us anything, it's that nobody should ever be trusted to vote for anything. And that's especially true for hockey fans, who'd no doubt cast their ballots for the 2015 Blackhawks or 2016 Penguins or a write-in vote for "Whoever just beat the Leafs, lol they suck".

This week, the final list was unveiled, and the winner is: the 1984-85 Edmonton Oilers. That's… well that's not terrible, is it? You can defend that pick. That team had 109 points, scored over 400 goals and lost just three games in the playoffs, never facing elimination. It was the Gretzky/Messier/Kurri/Coffey core at the height of its powers.

It's not a perfect pick — you could make a case for one of the late-70s Canadiens teams or maybe one of Al Arbour's Islanders Cup winners, and the 84-85 team might not even have been the best Oilers teams of the era (it was the only one between 1984 and 1987 that didn't finish first overall). But still, it's not a cringeworthy pick. As far as fan voting goes, that's progress.

So let's focus on the positive and take our wins where we can get them. And let's definitely not look at the rest of the list, which is like half Oilers teams and ranked an 87-point team as the second greatest ever. They got the winner reasonably close to right. We'll take it.

Classic YouTube clip breakdown

Win their win last night, the Penguins are now just one win away from a championship. That means the Stanley Cup will be in the building on Sunday night in Nashville. And that means Gary Bettman will also be in the building, ready to do his annual awkward Cu handoff while being booed.

A few years ago, I celebrated Bettman's 20th anniversary on the job by ranking every one of his handoffs so far. Today, let's take a look back at the handoff that ranked number one on that list, and remains to this day the most awkward Bettman Cup moment of all-time.

It's June 19, 2006 and the Carolina Hurricanes have just defeated the Oilers in game seven to capture the Stanley Cup on home ice. The crowd is roaring, friends and family have poured onto the ice, and emotions are running high. Who wants to hear a corporate executive deliver a rambling speech?

We actually start off with Cam Ward being interviewed by Ron MacLean. Ward's just been named the Conn Smythe winner, but he informs us that the honor is "completely irrelevant". He then adds "Unless I'm mediocre at best for the next ten years but keep getting huge contracts, in which case I guess it will turn out to be pretty relevant after all".

As Ward talks, we get a shot of Rod Brind'Amour talking to somebody, who starts laughing. Presumably, Brind'Amour has just told him what he's about to do.

The Cup is ready to make its way to the ice, so Ward has to get back to his teammates. Sadly, MacLean does not end the interview by poking him in the tummy.

And here comes the Stanley Cup, carried as always by its two longtime keepers: Phil Pritchard, and the other guy who apparently doesn't have a PR agent and almost definitely secretly hates Phil Pritchard.

Something to note: With this being the year after the lockout, the NHL broke with tradition and didn't introduce Bettman or have him announce the Conn Smythe. Instead, they introduce the Cup, and then Bettman slips in while everyone's cheering. Whoever it was at the NHL office who came up with this plan was immediately fired for making a good decision.

I think having an ominous thunder and lightning sound effect right as Bettman begins speaking is a little on-the-nose there, guys.

Oh good, it's the legendary "Peter Karmanos had a dream" speech we all learned about in grade school.

At this point, Brind'Amour has had enough and decides to just skate over and interrupt Bettman, because Rod Brind'Amour IS A FREAKING HERO. But Bettman hilariously shoes him away, admonishing him with an annoyed "I'm almost done" into a live microphone. This causes Brind'Amour to have to stand there awkwardly, and causes me to laugh so hard my lungs hurt every single time I see it.

That face where you're ready to go but your partner wants to talk for a while first.

Brind'Amour gets bored and decides to start randomly pointing. Bettman speeds through his last few mentions, and gets ready for his very favorite moment of the year: The handoff. Seriously, Bettman lives for this. He knows fans hate it and wish he'd give the job to someone else, but he doesn't care. Once a year, he gets to pick up the Stanley Cup and hand it over to the winning captain. And he always milks the moment for all its worth, mugging for photos and refusing to let the Cup go for as long as humanly possible. I honestly think this moment might be the only joy Bettman gets out of his job. He lives for it.

NOT THIS YEAR GARY.

In a moment that should absolutely have resulted in his instant induction into the Hall of Fame, Brind'Amour grabs the Cup off the table before Bettman can get to it. You can tell that Bettman realizes what's happening, but speeding through his speech has thrown him off and now he's caught still holding the microphone in his trophy-grabbing hand. It's a small delay, but it's all Brind'Amour needs, and he just straight up jacks the Cup before Bettman can do anything.

This may be the greatest moment in Stanley Cup history. They should have the kids in that bank commercial act it out for the next chapter.

Also, Brind'Amour proceeds to kiss the Cup on the neck instead of the main body, which always seemed weird but that sentence is already making me feel uncomfortable so let's just move on.

The rest of this clip is just the Hurricanes skating around the ice with the Cup, occasionally pausing to step over a sobbing Fernando Pisani or the remnants of Dwayne Roloson's knee ligament. Glen Wesley gets the OGWAC first handoff honors, Ray Whitney swears on live TV, and the whole thing is one long exercise in going "Wait, that was the 2005-06 Hurricanes roster? They really won a Cup with those guys?" I don't recommend any of it.

As an epilogue, I highly recommend watching Bettman's handoff with Scott Niedermayer one year later. Niedermayer tries the Brind'Amour yank move, but this time Bettman is ready for him and holds on. You know he worked on that all year long. Defending Cup yanks is basically Bettman's version of having to shake hands with Donald Trump.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com .

DGB Grab Bag: Predator Fans, Fan Voting, and Bettman Handoffs published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[opedguy]

Iranian Missile Downs Ukrainian Airliner

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Jan. 9, 2020.--Killing all 176 passengers and crew Jan. 8, a Ukrainian Boeing-737-800 airliner Flight PS752 suddenly exploded at 8,000 feet, plummeting into an Iranian field near the town of Shahedshar.  Iranian authorities insisted the crash was “mechanical failure,” something so preposterous, it raises even more suspicions about the likely cause: A  surface-to-air-missile.  What gives away the probable cause is Iranian officials refusing to allow any international access to the crash site, very easily confirming the presence of explosive residue or missile components from a Russian-made Tor surface-to-air missile.  Whether the missile was launched deliberately or accidentally is anyone’s guess, coming only six days after 73-year-old President Donald Trump ordered the Pentagon Jan. 2 to hit Al Quds chief Gen. Qassem Soleimani and Kataib Hezbollah chief Abu Mahid al-Munhandis with a predator drone at the Baghdad Airport.

            While Iranian officials claim they recovered the “black boxes” or flight-data recorders, aviation experts doubt pilots would not have called in a “mayday” signal before the 737-800 exploded on impact. Pentagon officials, requesting anonymity because they’re not allowed to speak with the press, indicated that it’s “highly likely” a missile brought down the jetliner, killing all 176 on board.   “Some people say it was mechanical. I personally, I don’t think that’s even a question, personally.  So we’ll see what happens,” said Trump, hinting at an Iranian missile.  “I have my suspicions.  It’s a tragic thing when I see that, it’s a tragic thing.  But somebody could have made a mistake on the other side,” giving Iran the benefit of the doubt.  It’s also possible that Iran shot the jetliner down to retaliate for Soleimani’s death.  Iran’s military was on high-alert after the Jan. 2 U.S. predator drone strike..

            U.K. Prime Minister Boris Johnson called for a “full, transparent investigation,” something that’s not happening with Iranian officials not letting any outside party in the crash site.  With or without investigating the debris at the crash site, plane crash investigators can draw reasonable conclusions about probable cause. “Iran’s Civil Aviation Organization [CAOI] chief Ali Abedzadeh outright dismissed the idea that a surface-to-air missile took down the plane.  “The issue of the missiles impact on the aircraft cannot be true in any way,” Abedezadeh said, before finishing a detailed report based on surveying the crash site.  Dismissing out-of-hand the very real possibility of a missile strike shows the Iranians are actively covering up what happened.  Iranian Air Defense Authority has Soviet-era Tor or SA-15/Gauntlet system, capable of bringing down a commercial passenger jet.

            Abedezadeh said Iran would not turn the “black boxes” over to the U.S. National Transportation and Safety Board [NTSB] to review the data.  “This accident will be investigated by Iran’s aviation organization, but the Ukrainians can also be present,” Abdezadeh said, though, so far, they haven’t been allowed access to the crash site.  Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said he expects “a thorough and independent investigation will be concluded in accordance with international law,” demanding that Ukraine be allowed to inspect the crash site.  Killed on Ukrainian Flight PS752 were 82 Iranians, 63 Canadians, 11 Ukrainians [including the crew], 10 Swedes, four Afghans, three Britons and three Germans, including 15 children, mainly college-aged students returning to Ukraine after their Christmas break.  As many as 65 victims may have had dual Iranian citizenship.

            Citing “mechanical failure” as the probable cause, Abdezadeh capitalized on recent Boeing 737-Max planes, currently grounded March 13, 2019 to repair software malfunctions that caused the Ethiopian Airlines crash March 10, 2019 killing 189 and Oct. 29. 2018 Indonesian Lion Air crash, killing 157.  In both crashes, pilots called in distress calls to airport authorities.  Ukrainian official clocked Flight PS752 taking off from Iran’s Iman Khomenei International Airport at 6:12 AM local time, disappearing off the radar at 6:14 AM.  Canadian President Justin Trudeau confirmed his sources tell him Flight PS 752 was downed by an Iranian missile.  “The evidence indicates that the plane was shot down by an Iranian surface-to-air missile,” refuting Iran’s denials, continuing to defy all available evidence, including a videotape, showing the jetliner was struck at 6:14 AM local time by a missile.

            Iran’s refusal to allow international inspectors to examine the crash site tells the story of what brought down Flight PS 752. Trudeau and Zelensky want a fully independent investigation, not one controlled by the Iranian government.  When you consider Flight PS 752 took off from Khomenei International Airport, it’s inconceivable that it could have been an accidental shoot-down.  Reports circulating about an “accidental” shoot-down don’t take into account Iran’s promise to take revenge for Soleimani’s Jan. 2 targeted assassination by a U.S. predator drone.  Contrary to official Iranian statements, all evidence points to Ukraine’s commercial airline shot down by a Soviet-era Tor surface-to-air missile.  “Something very terrible happened.  Very devastating,” Trump said, pointing to an Iranian surface-to-air missile.  All other explanations make no sense, demanding that Iran own what happened.

About the Author      

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.