#to be clear this is very much a pro mask sentiment

[commander-damneron]

Healthcare facilities have got to make up their minds on whether they want people wearing masks or not

[dragoneyes618]

It is early last November. I am about to enter the gate at the side of the East Denver Orthodox Synagogue on Friday evening before Shabbos. Out of nowhere, a person approaches me. He clearly wants to talk to me but seems unfamiliar with the surroundings.

He says, “I’m Catholic. I go to the big cathedral — you know, the big one?”

“Yes,” I say, “I know.” (It’s near our office.)

“I’m Catholic, and I want you to know that we stand by Israel. We pray for you. We are with you. I want you to know that.”

I thank him. I am moved. I proceed to the shul.

A couple of weeks later, shortly before the accusation of genocide against Israel at the International Court of Justice, I have finished shopping at King Soopers (a local supermarket chain). I am in the parking lot, loading my car. This particular King Soopers store is not in a Jewish neighborhood. A man approaches me. Like before, a total stranger.

He says, “I don’t understand why people don’t understand. Israel is right. Don’t get discouraged. What they’re saying about Israel is ridiculous.”

He repeats this a couple of times.

I wear a kippah. I have a beard. I am visibly Jewish.

An exercise acquaintance is a big man and uncharacteristically puts his arm on my shoulder. He is not the most articulate, but makes himself clear.

“You people’ve got friends. You’ve got friends. You’re not alone.” He speaks with sympathy.

Around that time was the event at Colorado Christian University. I knew it was supposed to be an evening of solidarity for Israel. Parenthetically, with no prompting whatever, the university hired the local Vaad Hakashrus to make the meal kosher, charged nothing, and held the event in a lecture hall. I knew there would be passionate speeches in support of Israel’s military response to Hamas, but a week or so before the event, I received a call from the lead organizer.

“We also want to raise some money for Israeli organizations. Suggest some.”

I responded, “Don’t do organizations. Pick one.” I figured, why should a few dollars be spread around and not do much good?

He said: “Okay, name one.”

Off the top of my head, I suggested Hatzalah and explained briefly what it is. He said, “Okay.”

That evening, after the speeches and the Hatzalah presentation, came the “ask” — trying to persuade people to respond generously. In my experience, the “ask” takes some time and usually entails some not-so-subtle pressure.

Here, the ask took ten minutes. That’s it.

The results were announced: “One million dollars!”

A different King Soopers. A different neighborhood. This time, not the parking lot, but one of the aisles. A stranger approaches me.

“I’m for Israel 100 percent. Whenever there’s a problem, they blame you people. I don’t know why.”

Anti-Semitism in the United States today cannot be denied. One simply cannot list all the instances, curses, attacks, lame justifications, and outrageous, ignorant claims about Israel (“genocide”).

But what about “philo-Semitism”? How extensive is it? How representative are the chance encounters I’ve had? I don’t know, but one thing is clear: The “antis” on college campuses and elsewhere are, by and large, loud, obnoxious, and attention-getting. They bring the power of the group, be it violent or peaceful. The pros, however extensive, are, by and large, quiet, individual, and, while unafraid to approach a single Jew, do not come together in groups.

Like a lot of people, I, rightly or wrongly, have been thinking about Germany in the 1930s. Am I paranoid? I hope so. But aside from the anti-Jewish and anti-Israel sentiments widely aired, what worries me the most is the salient contrast between the opponents of Israel in America and the sympathizers. On the one hand: Mob mentality. Chants. Masks. Slogans. Refusal to engage. Sometimes, outright violence. On the other hand: Quiet support. Very much appreciated every time I receive it, but how effective can it be?

It is not sufficient to have friends. It is not enough for people to express solidarity. We need better techniques at amplifying our voice and the voices of those who support us. Here I reach the ultimate fear: When hatred takes over, better “techniques” will not help. In the 1930s, countermeasures, such as a stronger boycott of German goods, would have been welcome; but would they have made any difference, given the mob mentality that rolled over Germany?

The history of the Holocaust is infinitely complicated, and I am not trying to draw a precise parallel. I am saying this: I have lived in Denver most of my life. It is a live-and-let-live city. With a minority Hispanic population, it elected a Hispanic mayor. He served two terms. With an even smaller minority black population, it elected two black mayors. They each served three terms.

If, even in a city like Denver, protesters can threaten university heads without consequence; can close down a Jewish center on the city’s largest campus; can witness a rude anti-Israel outburst on the floor of the Colorado State House of Representatives; can tolerate an openly pro-Hamas law student defending October 7 in a University of Denver classroom, I ask: Is this the new reality in America? Is America forever changed? If so, what are American Jewry’s best options? Answers cannot come until the real question is faced.

What is representative of America today — the hate spewing on campuses and elsewhere, or the unsolicited, heartfelt comments I receive?

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

"Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time" (c) wait a second, so you think that he wasn't going to really take over or anything, just destroy the fuck out of w britain?

I have avoided this ask long enough.

I’ll start by saying that asking me about Tom Riddle is like staring down into a bottomless rabbit hole. We could travel down that path, but it is a dark and perilous journey, and by the end of it I will come out looking like the Mad Hatter.

It also requires a few prerequisites that you’re just going to accept as true (or else got off the crazy train here).

We know very little about Tom Riddle or Voldemort

What we do know of Tom Riddle comes to us from suspect sources

I’m just going to go out there and start with the basis that Tom is not crazy

Elaborating a little on number 1. We never actually see much of Tom Riddle or Voldemort directly. He’s a bit like Thanos in the MCU, or Palpatine in the first two movies of the Original Trilogy, he’s this looming threat that we pass by and glimpse every once in a while but never really get quality time with.

Generally, Voldemort makes an appearance in a moment of crisis.

He and Harry fight over the philosopher’s stone for Tom’s very survival. He and Harry fight over the diary for Tom’s very survival. He resurrects himself with Harry as a witness. We get those very strange dreams from Voldemort’s perspective (half of which we later learn are fabricated).

None of these really lend to our, or Harry’s for that matter, understanding of Tom Riddle. There’s too much going on, it usually happens far too fast, and there’s usually something Tom Riddle desperately wants or needs that eclipses all other concerns or else he has an audience.

This is part of the reason we get those Halfblood Prince pensieve lessons: Harry knows nothing of Tom Riddle and doesn’t understand him at all.

Which leads us, of course, to number 2, most of what we know about Tom Riddle comes from Dumbledore. I’ve talked about this before, so I won’t spend much time on it, but Dumbledore has a very clear agenda in relaying these memories to Harry. Dumbledore already has strong suspicions of what objects are horcruxes and where they’re located, he already has Snape as a very reliable agent to continue work when he’s gone, his job here is to convince Harry there is no path but suicide. And that involves portraying Tom Riddle as the most evil man who ever eviled, was born eviler than the antichrist, and will die eviler than the antichrist. 

Now, does this make Tom necessarily good or bad? No.

However, it does mean when Dumbledore tells us things like, “See, Harry, an impoverished child was upset when I lit all his belongings on fire! What a monster!” (especially given that, in a similar situation, Harry thought it was hilarious when Hagrid gave Dudley a permanent physical deformity and Harry was told he was an angel child) we should take it with a very large grain of salt.

Right, so, with all that backdrop what I’m getting at is that a) we can’t take Dumbledore at his word b) even if we could he could be wrong c) Harry doesn’t have the introspection to be able to figure himself when a or b is happening. I won’t elaborate on this last much, suffice to say that Harry’s world is very black and white, divided into the camps of those who personally like him and those who don’t.

So, why do I think Tom’s goal was not to rule the wizarding world but instead to destroy it?

A few things.

First, there are so many easier ways he could have ended up ruling the wizarding world. More, even when he effectively does rule the wizarding world in book seven, he takes very strange actions so that he’s never directly in power.

Second, I never really bought Tom’s racism. It’s too convenient and too contradictory with his backstory.

The second first, because we’re going out of order today. I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t believe Tom had minions early and I think he was effectively treated as a muggleborn (see here and here) until he took on the Voldemort persona many decades later. I’m hard pressed to believe someone as intelligent, angry, and proud as Tom Riddle would willingly believe and accept he was inferior to the likes of Abraxas Malfoy. More, even if he wished he was a halfblood, I think the evidence of him being muggleborn would be stacked too high against him to deny even to himself (and when he finds out it’s not true, he has maybe a month or so before he realized that he’s the bastard son of a squib). 

And it’s just so convenient. All the people with the power, with the money, who are itching for a cause against a threat that doesn’t really exist believe in blood purity. Ergo, Voldemort shows up suddenly espousing over the top blood purity rhetoric (rhetoric that directly clashes with his “there is only power” philosophy at that). 

In other words, I think Tom Riddle gave himself a line that he knew would get him places very quickly.

And now for the first. For a guy who has had the entire country in the palm of his hands twice, one time taking it over in a bloodless coup, he’s really big on causing collateral damage and really small on actually doing the ruling thing.

The first wizarding war, Tom Riddle as Voldemort has the backing of the heirs of the most prestigious and wealthy noble houses save a select few. These are people with seats in the Wizengamot, which has a frightening control over the government itself (including the minister of magic). I imagine, in 1980 had Tom Riddle wanted to be elected as Minister of Magic, he would have been elected as Minister of Magic. If he wanted a friendly face in office then he probably could have made that happen to.

More than even this though, by this point, Tom had already won. By having control over the majority of the Wizengamot he owns the government. He’s done, it’s over, it’s finished, and many of the characters admit as much which is why Harry Potter was such a miracle. So why all the seemingly random, exceptionally pointless, terrorism? 

One answer is that Voldemort is crazy bananas. And sure, I guess we can go with that, except for someone insane he’s oddly effective and very consistent. 

I believe Tom was systematically destroying the very foundations of the country through its core aristocratic families. Within a few short years Tom decimates the Black family, it goes from having five heirs to none, and while some of this isn’t Tom’s fault he does take care of quite a few of them. He brands Lucius for life, while Lucius rises high in politics he never escapes the stigma of being a known Death Eater and in the end cannot escape the consequences for his actions. The Malfoy family is very nearly destroyed by the end of the series, had Draco died in the Fiendfyre. The LeStrange family, presumably decimated as well.

More, this is mostly me headcanoning, but I imagine Tom fuels an extremism that the Wizarding World had never contemplated. I imagine, previously, anti-muggleborn sentiment was probably fairly rampant among purebloods. Oh, some were very pro-muggleborn I’m sure, but I think most were fairly “eh” on the people and felt they were a drain on society (such as requiring constant funding for the obliviation department).

However, when Diagon Alley starts getting blown up every other week, when muggleborns start being tortured and murdered, when purebloods who aren’t anti-muggleborn enough are being tortured and murdered, this starts wigging people out in a way they’ve never wigged out before.

By the time we get to Harry Potter’s canon, it is now only a minority that are anti-muggleborn, and they’re perceived as raving lunatics. Nobody wants to be grouped with these people. Which, just goes to show, how much Voldemort rattles the wizarding world in a very small amount of time.

Then there’s Deathly Hallows, rather than become minister himself Voldemort installs a puppet minister. He shows no signs of wishing to change this and instead does things like destroy the sorting hat (which again shakes the very foundations of the wizarding world as whta will we do if we don’t know who’s a Gryffindor anymore?!)

So, where is this ramble going?

Given the results we see, that more than any others it seems to be the purebloods and often Tom’s own followers that suffer colossal losses, I think Tom’s actions are, in part, a means of vengeance against the entire damn wizarding world (but especially the purebloods).

He makes fools of these people, brands them as his slaves, and has them participate in the most over the top ridiculous rituals (the cloaks, the masks, the entire theatrics of it feels like Tom got drunk one night and planned this whole thing out). He destroys them entirely, and better, enables them to completely destroy themselves and the country they believe they’re trying to save.

Basically, I think by the time the series begins Tom is fueled by a nihilist rage that knows no bounds. But dammit all, the wizarding world is going to burn.

[writer-panda]

Hit on the groom and what became of it - chapter 2/Take me out maybe (with a sniper rifle)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Miraculous or Batman (and other DC characters). This is just a fanfiction. 

Chapter 1  -|-  Next

--------

As much as Marinette disliked the meeting with the female entourage, when the time came to start working on Adrien’s suit she wanted to scream. She could clearly see that he was uncomfortable with even the gentlest touches. She did her best to make it as non-invasive to him as possible.

They had absolutely no privacy whatsoever. The Bodyguard (Gerard; His name was Gerard) and Nathalie observed their every move. Marinette was half-convinced it wasn’t her who was under watch. 

The professional atmosphere was far cry from her usual working environment. When Uncle Jagged, Clara Nightingale, or even Diana Prince came to her for clothes, it was always very informal. They would joke, gossip, or exchange stories while she worked. Now? Now she was wary of even speaking with Adrien. 

Likewise, the boy refused to meet her eyes or open his mouth. 

At some point, when she was trying to find the right shade of white for the undershirt, she noticed a make-up stain that was not there before. 

“I’m sorry, but I will need to request you remove the makeup. It is staining my materials.” She informed Nathalie and Gerard coldly. It was all she could do to resist calling the police there and there. Sadly, the commissioner was good friends with Gabriel, so it would most likely just end her career and make it worse for Adrien. 

“I was assured it would not leave stains on materials. Please accept our apologies. We will cover the costs of destroyed materials,” Nathalie informed her in an equally cold voice.

“I see…” Marinette’s lips thinned. Inside, she was screaming. But there was nothing she could do. The hit was in place. Soon Adrien would be safe. It would go without a hitch. It had to. 

As the group was leaving, she could’ve sworn the Bodyguard gave her a mournful look. As if he shared her sentiment, but was powerless to stop it. She’d know that look. She saw it in the mirror all too often.

---------

The Wedding (even the narrator started to capitalize it) came faster than Marinette wanted to accept. And there were still no words about the kidnapping. She made sure to specify that they were to take him before he was married or no payment. Did she not make the money enticing enough? Were there already attempts that were stopped without media coverage? Maybe she forgot to check some boxes?

A million scenarios ran through her head as she wandered through the alleyways.

The whole event was happening in Gotham Botanic Garden. Whatever the weak excuse was given to the press, Marinette knew the real reason: it was one of the few places in the world where Gabriel could marry his son to Lila legally without messing with courts. And bribes were said to be cheapest there. 

As the designer for both the bride and the groom, she was invited to the main ceremony. 

Lila was kind enough to even give her a seated place… right next to Chloé Bourgeois.

Marinette had a hard time deciding if it was bigger punishment to her or the mayor’s daughter. Ultimately, the two girls did their best to not look at each other during preparations. At first, that is, because the first chance she got, Chloé to drag the designer to a remote garden gazebo in a secluded corner when she was least expecting it.

“Wha-!” Marinette was about to protest, but the blonde covered her mouth. She seated her on the bench and took the seat on the opposite side. 

“I’ve been friends with Adrien since we were kids.” She announced in the usual ‘I’m-better-than-you’ tone. “I also know that you’re not always an idiot.”

“Gee! Thanks, Chloé… I’m honored with your praise.” Marinette deadpanned, interrupting the heiress. “Now get to the point”. She really hoped her dress wasn’t damaged or she might just turn to murder. 

“Fine. You worked with Adrien on his suit.” She paused, and for a moment, just a brief moment, her mask fell. That was not what Marinette expected. She has never seen Chloé so… so… The designer’s brain lacked the word to describe how her childhood bully looked like. “How is he?” The blonde asked, her voice almost trembling. 

Marinette opened her mouth, but no sound came. 

A moment passed.

“Not good.” She finally admitted. “During the measurements, he winced even at delicate touches. Plus I was called in last week to make some adjustments to his garments. He lost weight between then and now. And he wore makeup on his right arm. On both occasions.”

“Makeup?” Chloé’s eyes widened. 

“Yes. I would’ve probably missed it if I didn’t soak my fabric into makeup removed beforehand.” She thought back fondly to her brilliant idea. 

“They hurt him!?” Chloé burst out after few seconds. “I will show those… those…”

“Believe me, I share the sentiment.” Marinette nodded sagely. She needed plan B and needed it fast. There had to be something… “I slipped him a burner phone on his way out. I doubt they found it. If it gets really bad, he can try calling the police.”

“You are devious sometimes, Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Thanks. I try.” 

“So… they are coercing him into it?”

“I think so. He is resigned to his fate it seems, but he tries to show some rebelliousness. It wasn’t his father’s idea to hire me and Lila would rather walk to the altar naked than wear anything by me.” Marinette cringed. Any interaction she had with the Liar made her feel almost dirty. And forcing politeness was physically painful sometimes. 

“I got that much from the fact he hasn’t reported it yet. That burner phone was a good move, but Adrikins was always too obedient.”

“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Marinette muttered, but Chloé didn’t hear her. The heiress somehow managed to derail her rant into telling the story of her entire childhood.

Marinette listened only with one ear, filtering the information for something useful. The rest of her consciousness focused on something else. She started to seriously entertain the idea of using Miraculous to get Adrien out. She would need a combination of several powers though. Trixx was the obvious choice. Illusions would be a great asset. Maybe the Tiger, for the Power Up? If Roaar didn’t exaggerate her power, she would be able to put a distance between them and the city before anyone even realized what happened. She would need to time her illusion right though. And there were the American Heroes to watch out for…

If she didn’t use miraculous immediately, she might get a drop on the bodyguard(s) and then make an exit using Kaalki’s power when they were alone. Disable cameras, take out the guards, get in, portal out. It was feasible but still involved too many risks. If anyone connected miraculi to the operation, Ladybug would be in great trouble. She couldn’t endanger Paris like that… not even for her partner and best friend. 

Then, there was the most dangerous plan. Don’t use Miraculi at all. She was confident enough in her skills to enter undetected. Maybe even sneak out. The question was, would Adrien make it. She could sneak him Plagg’s ring. Chat Noir would have no problem leaving any prison. But… there would be the same risk as when any other Miraculi was connected and the whole point was not to use them in the first place. 

“Ugh!” She let out an angry sound that startled Chloé. 

“What’s with you, Dupain-Cheng! Don’t you see I’m opening my heart to you!?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to do something productive.” She snapped at the blonde. 

“Why, I…”

“Silence. Your tale was entirely unhelpful. Let me focus.” 

Gotham. What was in Gotham that could help her? The most corrupt city, famous for its high crime rate, mad villains, and eternal gloominess. Even now she could feel some of it resonate in the air. As if the whole city was one big Akuma. Probably no help from the establishment… The police were more likely to put a bag on her head and deliver her to one of the crime families… 

“What in Gotham can help…” She voiced her musing loudly, causing Chloé to peak up.

“Waynes!” She proclaimed. “That serial adopter would jump at the chance to get another orphan��”

“Adrien isn’t an orphan… Yet.” Marinette grumbled. “But he will be married by then, so I would need to plan a double homicide… Meh. No great loss.” She said without a shadow of care. It was like the thoughts about the murder were completely normal for her. 

Chloé shivered. “Remind me not to get into your way when you’re in that mood.”

In the distance, the orchestra was starting to play, signaling the guests that the ceremony would start soon.

“Ugh! Hawkmoth it!” Marinette raged as she ran to the clearing. She no longer had the time and if she was the only one missing, Lila would make her prime suspect for anything that happened. Blast it. She would get one more chance. Screw the career. She could survive living somewhere in Argentina if it all went to hell. 

-------

Adrien already accepted his fate. His father and Lila made sure that all avenues of further rebellion were closed. He exhausted everything there was. 

To this day, he was grateful for that burner phone from Marinette. He made sure to hide it but always have it somewhere nearby. It became a form of a lifeline for him. A one-off save-your-life ticket. It would only work in short term, but at the rate everything was going, it could potentially save his life…

He missed his life before the mess with The Wedding started. 

Hell! He even missed Plagg’s stinking cheese. He would maim for some camembert.

“Adrien,” Gerard spoke solemnly. There was no need for more words. They both knew what was about to happen and Adrien took just a bit of solace in the fact that he was not entirely alone, even if no one could help him. 

“I’m ready.” He spoke, barely above a whisper.

Before he realized it, the ceremony was undergoing. Lila, in her stunning dress, held the attention on herself like a pro. No one even thought about looking anywhere but at them. The dress was similarly just so… Lila. It made all of her features all the more proponent. Yet, there was just a small, barely noticeable, stitch that said Marinette. A smile ghosted his face. There was some good out of this. He managed to make his friend famous. After today, no one would deny her style. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The marriage officiant spoke. Adrien didn’t even care what convention the wedding was in. 

The silence swept across the garden. 

No one dared to even breathe loudly.

Adrien lowered his head. Here, the last…

There was a rustle somewhere close to the front. He looked up, a small glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. 

Marinette was standing there, her backs straightened and one finger held up. “I…”

She felt the gaze of hundreds of guests on her. They were the most influential people in the world of modern business. Waynes. Luthor. Queen. Burgeiose. Agreste… And they all kept staring at her. 

She tried to swipe the hall with a glance, but something attracted her attention. A glint of light somewhere in the distance.

“Watch out!” She shouted, tossing a chair she was sitting on just a moment ago. 

The metal item sailed through the air until it crashed in the middle of the alley.

With an arrow sticking out of it.

For a second (which felt much longer) everyone stared at it.

Then the mass panic started. People got out of their chairs and started trying to get out of there. They trampled one another as each considered themselves to be the most important, hence first to evacuate. It was chaos.

Among the mass of people, Marinette tried her best to make it to the altar. She saw that Gerard and several other hired bodyguards were of similar minds. 

She managed to squeeze through the crowd the fastest, only to find Lila knocked out and Adrien and the Officiant missing. Adrien’s cousin (best man) and Alya (bridesmaid) were both nowhere to be found. They probably ran away. There was still no trace of the Groom. That is until she saw a giant mass of brown mud dragging the boy away. 

The sad thing? Adrien wasn’t really protesting much. 

Gerard was the next to make it through. He noticed Adrien a tad quicker and tried to chase whoever it was that tried to kidnap Adrien, but a fist made of mud slammed into him, sending him flying away. 

“Holy Hawkmoth!” Marinette cursed once more. Okay, so far, it was only a curse for her, but he deserved it. 

In the distance, police sirens could’ve been heard, but with how fast the mud was escaping, Adrien would be long gone before the police arrived. Marinette had to do something.

Wait… Why am I trying to stop the kidnapping I ordered? She suddenly questioned herself, freezing in place. 

Two guards rushed past her and started firing at the mass, but the bullets seemed to be about as effective as Parisian police when dealing with Akuma. 

The last Marinette saw of Adrien he was being taken into the sewers.

-----------

After the police arrived, Marinette was of course first to be interrogated. (“Gee… Thanks, Lila”). They wanted to know how she noticed the arrow, did she see the attacker, how did the kidnapper looked like, and dozens of other questions. By the end, she was exhausted. Somewhere after the sixth question, her phone pinged. Luckily, the police didn’t bother with checking it and believed that it was just a worried friend. 

Not the kidnapper trying to contact their employer.

Finally, after the police released her and informed her that no further information was needed, she could contact her Maman.

“Sweety? Are you okay? I’ve seen the news!” Was the first thing that came through

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine. The police held me back for questioning a bit. I’m going back to the hotel and be back in Paris first flight tomorrow, okay?”

“Stay in Gotham! I’m coming to pick you up!” Her mother informed her.

“Wha-!? But there is no need! Seriously Maman! There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

There was a silence on the line for a moment and Marinette could feel that her mother was trying to glare at her through the phone. It worked. 

“Fine… I’m at Wayne Plaza, room 30-14.” She relented, not wanting any more arguments. She would still have several hours to sort the mess with Adrien. What could possibly go wrong?

Trying her best to be careful, Marinette left the site of crime and traveled to the industrial district. The taxi driver couldn’t be bothered less about why she wanted to go there. He just wanted to get paid and leave. 

The only-slightly-creepy aura of the completely silent area full of factories and warehouses served as a perfect background to contacting the kidnapper. Marinette, after making sure she was truly alone, activated the voice-scrambling app on her burner and dialed the number that sent her the text about successful work. Her Maman showed her that, thinking she wanted it for a prank. Or that’s how Marinette presented it anyway.

“Who is this?!” A voice on the other side of the call asked.

Marinette took a deep breath before answering. “I was led to believe you have what I wanted.” She tried her best to channel Chloé into her voice. 

“Ah… Yes… There’s been a… complication.”

“What do you mean ‘complication’?” She hissed into the phone call. 

“Um… I had the package… But then someone stole the stolen package…” Whoever that was informed her. 

“Who?” She demanded. 

“Last I checked, Lawton was the one who had ‘im… But it might’ve changed. But don’t worry, Boss… lady?” They asked. Marinette didn’t give either confirmation or scolding, so they continued. “I’m still in the game.” With that, they hang up. 

“What did I just get myself into…” She moaned. Then, the realization hit her. “What did I just get Adrien into…”

Elsewhere, Adrien was starring into a pair of curious sea-green eyes. 

----------------

[dementedspeedster]

On Thad’s bed lies a folded, slightly too-large Gotham Knights hoodie, in the traditional charcoal and burgundy colors of the team. It is well-worn, and though it’s clean, it shows signs of certain prior damage, like permanent ink stains along the cuffs, small spots of bleaching, or even a stitched-up slash in the shoulder, the source of which will be unknown unless asked after. There is no one present as the giver of the gift, but his reaction is being observed, nervous eyes hidden behind mask lenses. There is a note present as well, which reads: quid pro quo.

@volucerrubidus​ [Related Ask]

By this point in his life and living in his apartment, Thad was used to his friends breaking and entering, so when he threw his keys onto his bedside table and spotted the charcoal and burgundy hoodie sitting nicely folded on his bed, a part of him wasn’t surprised. Deb had a penchant of buying him things, from a slushie maker to ludicrously expensive clothes (it was something about needing better taste or caring about how he looked or something else, he hadn’t been fully paying attention at the time), but she would just stick them wherever and whenever she pleased about Thad’s apartment (not that Thad minded in the least), so spotting new clothes about wasn’t any cause for concern for the speedster. But once he got closer and noticed it was a Gotham Knights hoodie, and a worn one at that, he couldn’t help but smile and the look in his gold eyes shifted from unperturbed and analytical and in turn grew fond and warm like honey.

“Tim.” He muttered out to himself with the same pleased smile.

Thad lifts the note from atop the hoodie and lets out a single joy filled laugh, that rang freely in the privacy of his room, as he reads it.

Quid pro quo.

“Something for something, huh?” He grins an amused and wry sort of grin as he lifts the hoodie up, taking it and all of its unique characteristics from the bleach and ink stains at the sleeves to the stitching at the shoulder. Someone else might have thrown this hoodie out or replaced it with another one long by now, but no, that had not been its fate. Something this worn and damaged still had something to give.

Thad takes a hold of an ink stained cuff, his fingers rubbing against the fabric, feeling how the hoodie is soft and thin and worn with time in the way only something washed and worn over and over again over a long period of time feels. It’s not the kind of soft like a freshly bought hoodie, but instead that worn texture meant so much more to Thad anything in the moment. It was a clear sign of well loved piece of clothing. Cherished even.

And, this hoodie’s fate was to be cherished once more as Thad held it in his hands a looked at it with fondness.

Tossing the jacket that he had been wearing while out haphazardly onto his bed, Thad exchanges it immediately for the the hoodie, bundling it up in his hands and pulling it over his head, his arms through the sleeves, over his torso, and acquainted himself with his new article of clothing. The fit was comfortable, large and cozy on his frame, perfect for lounging about his apartment or going out for a quick run or for groceries, and the sleeves hung over his hands past his finger tips, but he didn’t mind as he rolled up the sleeves on his arms to free his hands. Everything about it said comfort for him and it honestly was. It was well worn for a reason.

Despite all he was, all he was thought to be, Thad was the sentimental sort.

He pulls at the collar of the hoodie and takes in the scent that is so foreign to his apartment and Keystone City. It smelled freshly laundered, but also earthy, like rain in summer. It smelled like Gotham and Tim. His lips upturned into another smile and a satisfied sigh was exhaled before the speedster went about the rest of his night going about his apartment. Kicking off his shoes, getting something to eat, and Thad would be relaxing comfortably in his new hoodie all the while.

This had been a very good exchange indeed.

[consul-valerius]

I posted the final chapter of Damien’s intro and I cannot. Contain myself so:

Damien and random dynamics with the Courtiers 😈

(specifically Valdemar, Vlastomil, and Vulgora)

In general: Valdemar is the one who convinced Damien to run away, and he holds them in the highest regards. Their relationship is very intense, and it shifts from very cold to very sweet and sentimental. Very blurry lines between Valdemar viewing themself only as a teacher towards Damien and viewing themself as a parental figure to him— this is also the case with Damien towards Valdemar.

Vlastomil and Vulgora are more like uncles (gnc) to Dami; he’s much more relaxed with them, and they do a lot more play than just training with him. He’s more himself with them than most people— he can be crude, crass, and as sloppy as he wants to be. All masks are down with them!

They see Damien as the “Cool Valerius”; all of them really enjoyed Donna before they “turned good,” and they see Damien as being the best or both worlds. Their feelings aren’t as parental as say Valdemar’s (at least on Vulgora’s end), but they’re fiercely protective of Damien, more than Val is.

While Valdemar is more likely to let Damien find things out “the hard way,” Vlast and Vulgora are more likely to walk him through things and “coddle” him. While it’s harder to pin point Valdemar’s exact feelings towards Damien, it’s very clear Vlast and Vulgora love him quite a lot (even if they wouldn’t they it out loud lmao)

Vlastomil is much more openly affectionate and teaches Damien a lot more “domestic” and historical things. And of course Damien is a closeted worm expert 😌 Vulgora took on the more physical aspects of his training, obviously, and taught him how to spar like a pro. All of Damien’s physical prowess is due to training with Vulgora— they were never easy on him, and it shows lmao

Valdemar, then, took over the magical aspect of Damien’s training. Unlike Donna, they treat magic as a science, and it can show in the methodical way Damien tends to approach it. They’re very firm with him and have a no nonsense approach to it— there’s too much at stake to let Damien falter at all.

Damien has more than once said “Oh worm?” And died a little every time

His violent outbursts are also due to Vulgora being a model for him, despite Vlastomil trying to teach him better.

Damien’s mannerisms are very similar to Valdemar— they stim in similar ways, and when Damien is very stressed, his movements become less fluid and more mechanics. He also has a habit of sitting and staring at people for too long OwO

[3centsofbutter]

Memoirs of a medic - BNHA part 3

Part 1 (Start from the beginning)

Chisaki Kai / Eri 

Part 3 - Final 

“The heroes are outside the base, we have to go.”

It was a regular Thursday morning. It was well in the middle of spring and the sun hung high in the sky warming the earth underneath it. You had attended to the garden earlier that morning to bask in the sunlight and returned back inside to get on with some paperwork. Eri sat opposite you, studying basic kanji from one of the books you used to use when you were first brought into the Hassaikai. 

Irinaka burst into the room at 8:29 in a clear state of distress. They were here. 

Kai had told you that a few days ago, Eri had escaped and stumbled upon some UA students and had made a scene since then, the compound had been on high alert. A small part of you desperately wished they could have taken her there and then which could have spared the absolute chaos that was about to ensue. Eri mentioned the UA students offhandedly and from the way she spoke of them in such high regard, you couldn’t help yourself but feel a pang of sadness. As much as you knew that a life outside of the clutches of Kai was what she deserved, but your creeping selfishness wanted to stay by her side and watch her grow. Your loyalty laid with Kai, but you secretly wished the heroes could win just this once. 

“Eri let’s go, the time has come.”

You scooped up Eri in your arms and fast-walked behind Irinaka to Kai’s office. His desk was clear of everything save for the tiny potted plant on the corner of the table. Hari stood beside Kai with your backpack at his feet and nodded in acknowledgement to your entrance. The main few of the eight bullets had been instructed to pack their bags beforehand in the likelihood of this specific event. Your backpack wasn’t filled with much, you never found yourself indulging in materialistic goods or finding sentiment in any of them. You packed only a few things that couldn’t be replaced, the framed photo from your dresser, a leather-bound journal, a stack of white envelopes, and Eri’s doll. 

BOOM 

An explosion shook the whole room heralding the beginning of the raid, it was time to leave. The plan was to use half of the eight bullets to hold off the heroes and police while you made your escape through a hidden exit on the other side of the base. It was best to prevent conflict especially while being in possession of Eri and potentially risking everything Kai had worked for. The walk passed in silence with only the thump of footsteps and occasional echoes of explosions and rumbles filling the background. They were walking at an awfully slow pace, seemingly unbothered by the commotion above them. 

At 8:42, things got interesting. 

“Excuse me.” 

Someone had gotten here quicker than anticipated. 

“Can I ask some questions?”

It was the boy, the one Eri had described. Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright red and yellow hero suit that stuck out as an eyesore against the dull concrete walls. He was young, around 18-ish you guessed, probably in his third year of high school you presumed. He was so young. You found it sick that society glorified hero work and enabled children such as him to risk his life like this for a fabled utopia. It was a pity he was going to meet his end here. 

Your eyes flitted to Kai to gauge his reaction. He seemed unbothered, face blank of emotion. 

“You shouldn’t have been able to get here this fast,” Kai drawled, his voice was flat and lazy, completely unresponsive to the situation. 

The boy was clearly dishevelled, he was panting and sweating profusely. He must’ve run all the way here. 

 “I took a shortcut, I’m here to rescue that girl.”

You almost felt sorry for him, he had let go of Eri back then oblivious to the situation she was in and gave her back to her captor. He must’ve felt the guilt weigh down on him once he found out, now hastily throwing himself at national criminals in an attempt to repent his guilty conscience. He should’ve just taken her then. 

“This girl doesn’t want you to rescue her, she doesn’t see you as a hero.”

You could feel Eri uncomfortably shuffle in your arms.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Kai sighed and turned to continue walking. “It’s not getting through to you, is it? I’ll make it simpler.”

“Die.” 

The boy charged at Kai falling to the ground instantly. Sasaki’s quirk sloshed was in effect, ruining his sense of balance and causing him to stumble around in a drunken state. 

Hari tugged at your sleeve, “Sasaki and Nemoto will keep him busy, keep moving.”

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the scene, falling into step behind Kai. You knew firsthand how unpleasant it was to be under the influence of Sasaki’s quirk. You never enjoyed drinking and he continuously cemented that concept whenever his presence was near. His control over his quirk was only decent when he was sober— which he never was. You flinched at the sounds of gunshots and tightened your grip on Eri. You prayed his death was short and painless. 

“CHISAKI!”

He appeared from under the ground and swung at Kai’s face, failing to land leaving only a slight graze. Before you could even process the situation, his foot connected with your face, sending you flying against the wall. 

“Yasuko! Hide, I will find you when this is all over.”

You scrambled to your feet assessing the situation. Eri was in the hero’s arms and Kai was preparing to attack. He flexed his fingers, a habit he had picked up, a small ritual before using his quirk. He hid his left hand behind his back, hiding it so that only you could see. He held up three fingers and pointed downwards.

‘I’m going to use my quirk, don’t get in the way.’

It was the code you both used when you were younger on the streets. You had to leave before you got caught in the crossfire. You picked up your backpack and hastily retreated down the corridor. You hid in one of the empty rooms and slumped against the wall heaving a sigh of relief. Kai was going to be fine, he always would be. It would only be a slight nuisance to patch him up afterwards. 

The ground rumbled underneath you, a sure sign that Kai was using his quirk, the whip-like cracks of gunshots could be heard periodically courtesy of Hari’s pistol. You checked the state of the contents in the bag, thankfully nothing was harmed in the process. You lightly touched your cheek noticing it was very much swollen. 

The boy had trained his quirk exceptionally well for someone his age, his finesse and determination was unlike anything you had seen before. He was someone to be admired, a striking resemblance to All Might: the retired symbol of hope. He was young and naive, sheltered from the crippling effects of corruption and desperation, as most heroes were. He would’ve made a great role model for Eri, saved her from Kai as fairy tales and stupid marketing would suggest, cape billowing in the wind as a copyrighted theme song played over replays of the final blow. Heroes were never there for you. You had found out the hard way when one of them showed up as your customer and ignored your silent pleas of help as they got drunk off of a temporary high. They were cowards who dressed up in tight suits to instill false hope and ignored those who really needed it. What says they would be there for Eri?

BOOM 

A loud crash shook the room. Knocking over the giant oak bookshelf on the opposite side of the wall. You could instantly tell it wasn’t Kai, his quirk was fairly quiet and didn’t cause large crashes like that, the reinforcements must’ve caught up.

You scrambled out of the room only to see that the entire floor had been turned into one giant arena with a jungle of concrete spikes — courtesy of Kai — towering above you. You could only vaguely make out a giant hole in the wall, presumably the source of the crash and the vague image of a body crumpled on the floor. 

It was Kai. 

His clothes were caked in dust, skin covered in scratches and pink welts. The boy and Eri were a few metres away being tended to by the pro-hero Nighteye. The boy had sustained quite a bit of damage being barely able to stand and very visibly exhausted. Eri was fine save for a few scratches here and there, at least the pro heroes wouldn’t hurt her which left your main priority to be Kai. Just as you were about to run towards him, the pro hero Eraserhead and his green haired companion lept in the air and prepared to attack. They were zeroing in on him at an alarming speed, about to serve the final blow. Before you could even react, Kai’s voice rumbled throughout the makeshift arena. 

“GET UP, CHRONO!”

A strand of silver hair sliced through the motionless bundle of white fabric, extending like tape, cutting Eraserhead on the arm. You thanked your lucky stars Hari was alive and most importantly Kai was too. The heroes fell to the ground giving Kai a brief moment to regain composure. His hand slammed on the ground forming another wave of giant spikes across the room separating him from the opposition.

“You did a good job didn’t you, Neomoto? We can’t lose the fight here, not like this…”

His hand reached out, grabbing Nemoto’s mask which disintegrated like wet sand under his touch. He kept going, merging into his face as if it were a hologram. His other hand covered his own face melting into his beaked mask. In a flash of light, an explosion happened. The gust of wind hit you like a whip, causing you to stumble backwards from the force. Your arms instinctively covered your face to protect from the dust and rubble being flicked in all directions, seemingly the only time the mask Kai forced you to wear came in handy. You could barely make out the silhouette of the two bodies as they were shrouded in a whirlwind of debris. It was almost a blessing in disguise as what you could see was something that was most definitely inhuman. 

Both bodies were ripped apart into ribbons of flesh swirled around each other, slowly merging together building a body layer by layer. The bones, the organs, the skin welded together like a cursed puzzle piece. Glaring red eyes glowed like torches through the smoke screen as a second pair of arms ripped through his back. The dust cleared revealing the abomination that was Kai. Black crack like lines painted his face and the skin on his arms were darkened and lined with spikes resembling sharp rocks. You didn’t even know if you could consider that thing to be Kai. This wasn’t the boy who saved you from your father, this wasn’t the boy who stole bread for you when you complained you were hungry. This wasn’t the Kai who shared the ratty blanket with you when you slept on the streets. This was a monster, and he had been that way much longer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

The green haired boy launched a broken-off spike at Kai’s body. The concrete shattered like glass upon impact, reforming back into spikes just as the boy launched a follow up attack almost piercing through the soles of his shoes. The boy was lucky that his flash hero suit was made with situations like this in mind otherwise his whole leg would have most definitely been smashed into pieces. Nighteye leaped in pushing the green haired boy to the side, narrowly missing the spike Kai had sent towards him. 

If nighteye was there, that meant the blonde boy was alone. 

You weaved your way through the rubble and saw the boy propped up against the wall a fair distance away from the fight. His hero suit was bloodied and torn and he looked as if he was barely able to move. Eri was further away from the boy, possibly left there in a hurry as Nighteye went to assist the green haired boy. You cautiously approached him being careful not to underestimate him even in his handicaped state. 

“You have fought well, young man. May I know your name?”

He stared at the mask on your face, a clear sign of your affiliation with Kai. “I am lemillion to the likes of you scum. I don’t take compliments from villains like you.”

Your face soured at the label, “I don’t go by that term, I prefer yakuza.” Your hand hovered over the knife strapped to your thigh. “Tell me your real name, or this is the last face you’re going to see.” 

“Mirio Togata.”

His face showed no sign of lying, a good egg he was. A fault of heroes had to be their strong sense of morals eventually resulting in the downfall of many of them. 

“Mirio, I have a knife strapped to my leg, I can end your life faster than you can think. Give me a reason why I should let you live.”

His guard was still heightened and his distress was visibly showing on his face. The fear of death was synonymous with all humans it seemed. He didn’t speak for a moment, hesitant to come up with an answer. You almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all until he finally spoke. 

“Someone like you may not understand, but I want to live to see the relief on people's faces after I save them. I want to be able to save at least a million people and be the hero people can look up to and feel safe in my presence.”

He was so hopeful that it hurt. 

“You could have ignored her, saved a million people instead of dying for one. Why does she matter so much to you?” 

His face hardened with determination. 

“What type of hero am I if I can’t save one helpless girl? I’d die for her no questions asked if that ensured her safety.”

“Chisaki, join us in the Shie Hassaikai. Your future is one with potential.”

Slate grey clouds darkened the afternoon sky. A heavy downpour of rain had soaked both you and Kai’s clothes and chosen to seek refuge outside a brothel. The man had approached Kai after watching him materialize an umbrella from scraps you had scavenged from the dumpster. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Unlike the usual suit and tie businessmen and raggedy drug addicts that frequented the brothel, he donned a black kimono, a rarity in general even out of the red light district. His silver hair was slicked back neatly and a large carved, jade ring wrapped around his finger. He looked like royalty. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna sell me into human trafficking or something, old shit?”

“Boy, look over there.” He pointed to the flashing neon lights of the brothel, “I own that brothel. I own almost 30% of the businesses in the red light district. This could all be yours one day.”

Kai’s eyes immediately glistened with interest. He wouldn’t have to sleep on concrete anymore, he wouldn’t have to worry about his next meal, and he wouldn’t have to worry about braving the winter. He would have somewhere to call home. But the thoughts dissipated as quickly as they came. 

“What about Yasu? Can’t leave her out here on her own. I told her I’d protect her forever y’know.”

The man shook his head. “We never brought up women in our clan, its tradition.”

You tugged at Kai’s sleeve. He deserved a life in comfort whether it was with you or not. He had done so much for you already. “You can go, I’ll be fine. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Kai, very much irked by his response, held up both middle fingers to flip off the man. “Then change tradition. I ain’t going nowhere without her ya heard! Take your gedo sandals and shove them up your ass.”

“Why does she matter so much to you?”

“She’s all I got, I’d die a hundred times over if it means she is out of harm's way. Ya can’t take me without her. We’re a package deal ya got it?”

The man sighed and looked at the boy. He stood defensively in front of the girl. She didn’t look like much but appearances were deceiving. He was loyal, an honorable trait. With a little bit of guidance, he could be a great leader. 

“Fine, let us go.”

This boy looked so different but he had those same eyes Kai once had. Hopeful and kind, shining with compassion and determination. He was uncorrupted, a pure soul, the family Eri deserved to have. You had done so much wrong in your life, allowing Kai to succumb to his pride, staying silent while he committed heinous crimes, letting him hurt the innocent, there were too many sins to count. But it was time to do something right for once. 

You took the rucksack off of your back. 

“Take it.”

He was taken aback. “What?”

“Please, when Eri is old enough give her the contents of this bag. You can look through it if you are suspicious.”

“You mean— “

“Yes. I can’t guarantee that Kai will lose this fight but I entrust Eri with you. Please take care of her, be the hero she needs.” 

The bag contained a leather bound journal, your personal diary that you started when you finally learnt how to properly read and write as encouraged by your father. It documented every single tear, laugh, and worry since you were 12; a stack of white letters, For each birthday of Eri’s since you met her, outlining everything that you wished for and regretted, how much you had wanted a better life for her, everything you ever wanted to tell her if you had gotten the chance; the photo from your dresser as something she could remember you by; and the handsewn doll Eri loved that you had made for her because she cried every time Kai’s goons would buy her something new. 

You looked over your shoulder to the main fight. Kai was growing weary, his transformation wasn’t enough to fend off the pro heroes. It was drawing to a close. You looked back at Mirio. 

“Please tell her I loved her… love her for me.”

“I will.”

Nighteye broke off one of the giant concrete spikes and hurled it towards Kai’s weakened body like a javelin. He sat kneeled on the ground desperately panting for breath. The bottom half of his mask was broken off and his jacket torn in pieces, the shreds decorating the ground around him. His body was drenched in blood, some his own, some others. Hari had disappeared earlier to deal with Eraserhead and all of the Eight bullets were either dead or in the hands of the police. No one was there to save him anymore. 

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

Your body moved faster than your brain could react. The effects of the ability enhancing drugs were kicking in right on time. Time was moving in slow motion, you leapt into the battle scene, your hair extending outwards towards Kai’s body pushing him out of the way. The spike skewered your body impaling you square in the chest. 

An unknown woman had thrown herself at sure death to save a criminal. 

“MOM!”

Eri screams bounced off the walls of the building bringing the entire room to a standstill. She ran from her hiding spot stumbling over loose rubble collapsing beside you, sobbing into the crook of your arm.

Kai’s transformed state instantly melted away into goop around him. He was dumbfounded. Just seconds ago he had prepared himself to face death but was given torture way worse. He gently picked up your figure and held you in his arms. 

“No, Yasuko, what have you done.”

“Kai, I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and slurred. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“Yasu, I can fix you, y-you can’t go like this, I need you.”

“You know, I always wanted to be called ‘mom’.”

He caressed your cheek. 

“Y-you can be if you stick it out. It’ll be like old times, just you and me.”

You chuckled, the laugh reduced to only short, laboured breaths of air. “Stop this nonsense, Kai. Let me rest. Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.”

You never doubted you were a bad person, the bad things you had done heavily outweighed the good. You had never believed in a life after death or reincarnation, always in fear that what awaited after you closed your eyes was eternal punishment. But if there were, you prayed the shinigami would be kind and grant you an eternity to watch over Eri, and see her grow into someone you never got the chance to. 

“I love you, Cyclamen. I always have and I always will.”

“I love you too, Kai.”

Your eyelids grow heavy savouring the last moment you could feel. The heaviness of Eri on your chest, shirt wet with her tears; Kai’s calloused hands cupping your cheek, feeling the warmth of his body from being held so tightly. The pain in your chest seemed to melt away in their presence. An unfortunate death yet envied by many, surrounded by the people you loved. 

The cyclamen, a flower symbolic of sincere and everlasting love, finally gave in to the weather after drowning in the heavy rain for many years, weathering out the storm until it couldn’t any longer, leaving behind only broken petals in its place. It’s ethereal beauty preserved in what it had been despite the circumstances, its body now nourishing for the garden that is to bloom the coming spring. 

In the chaos, there was peace for a brief moment.

Masterlist of all my stuff

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to write. Got caught up with online school and all that. Excuses excuses I know. It was really hard to write so please forgive me. I hoped you enjoyed reading all of my nonsense, a slight break from all the romance oriented stuff lol (nothing wrong with that, love me some Bakugou). But yeah, thanks for sticking through, it really means a lot.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

The Jeans

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC) pre relationship

Featuring:  Seijirou Eguchi (OC)

Rating: Teen | Cursing, looking at butts, all around nonsense

Words:  2524

Genre: Humor / Fluff

“Do you think we’ll run into Katsuki while on patrol?” 

“My dear, if that’s where your head is at, perhaps we need to go back and do another few hundred pushups.” 

Koge instantly chomped down on her tongue at the mild scolding from her mentor, crossing her arms behind her back as she gazed up at him with those innocent blue eyes that could occasionally get her out of trouble. This time, it wasn’t working, as Seijirou glowered down at her out of the corner of his eye. “Ah, I’m sorry Sir, I just miss him a bit… and I know we’re in the same district as Best Jeanist, so it crossed my mind…” 

“I think it’s more than just crossed your mind, Koge.” Seijirou sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been distant every time we go on patrol, with wandering eyes and hardly listening to a thing I say. I know I can be repetitive, but darling, you have to get that boy out of your head sometimes.” 

After stepping out of the way of a pedestrian that wasn’t quite watching where he was going, Koge gave a heavy sigh of her own, bringing her hands up to pat her white-freckled cheeks. “It’s hard! We talk every day, and we haven’t been able to at all this whole internship…” Just thinking about Bakugou brought an intense heat to her cheeks, which she tried to hide by keeping her hands firmly in place. She knew exactly why she couldn’t get that hot headed boy off her mind. 

She was crushing. Hard. 

It wasn’t just recently, either. For months she had been admiring him, her platonic adoration for him having quickly blossomed into a desire that she had difficulty containing. Koge knew that it was obvious on her face any time he was near her or when he became stuck in her thoughts, daydreaming and fawning over him in as inconspicuous a way as possible. How Bakugou hadn’t noticed yet was something she couldn’t quite understand, or maybe he had and he was just hiding his own feelings from her. She could see it, occasionally, in a flushing of his ears or annoyed snap to silence her that wasn’t quite as harsh as normal. He was already calmer with her just for the fact that they had been best friends for the majority of their childhood, but there was a clear difference now. Koge still couldn’t read him, though, like she always had been able to before. 

That was what frustrated her the most about all of these raging emotions. She knew exactly how she felt, but there was no getting a single sentimental word out of that explosive boys foul mouth. At least, not by asking him questions. He’d say how he felt when he decided to, and not a moment before, no matter how she tried to pry. 

“It’s not the end of the world, darling.” Seijirou gave a small, comforting pat to the top of her head, pulling her gaze up from the sidewalk to look at him. His unimpressed scowl had been replaced with his typical smile, his kind eyes soothing her frustrations. “He’ll be just as excited to see you again! It makes the reconnection all the more special if you really drag out the time apart. Make him want you like you do him.” 

Letting her hands fall from her cheeks, she instead fiddled with one of the crystals that adorned her shoulders of her hero costume, hoping that they were properly in place and not crooked like Seijirou had pointed out before they left. “But what if he doesn’t think that at all? I bet I haven’t even crossed his mind not once.” 

“That’s not true! Koge, darling, that boy is smitten. With many things, but particularly with you. He waits for you after school, eats lunch with you, trains with you and everything! I bet there are already rumors around the school that you two are secretly dating as it is.” 

“Y-you think so? Would people really think that?” Koge tried to control the violent bubbling of her stomach, trying to remember if she had ever seen curious eyes or heard any whispers. That was something that had never crossed her mind, that people might assume things about them like that. Maybe they did, and if so, that was only more confirmation to Koge that Bakugou may have hidden interests that he was too nervous or just not ready to mention. 

“Koge, it’s high school, and Bakugou is not only already one of the top performers in the school, but everyone hates him. Believe me, people would gossip if they thought he had a girlfriend just for the fact that he doesn’t seem like the type that could even care for another human being in any capacity.”

“Pff, ouch. That was mean, Sir. But mostly true.” She couldn’t resist a small smile from crossing her lips as Seijirou laughed, waving his hand in the air dismissively. 

“I was going to say I was joking, but I suppose not!” 

Finding that talking through these things a bit helped her focus her mind, she was able to continue with patrol as normal, listening to Seijirous’ tips and tricks while also having to stop every few minutes so he could take a photo with a squealing fangirl. The familiar high pitched cry is what first caught Koge’s attention, though it wasn’t directed towards them. 

“Oh my god, it’s Best Jeanist! Look, look!” 

Normally, Koge could care less about such a statement flying through the streets of the city. She heard it all the time, even while just walking around normally, when people would fawn over heros as they did their daily routines. But this time, it caught her full attention instantly, making her stop walking to try and find where the irritating noise had come from. If Jeanist was out walking around, then that meant Bakugou had to be with him, and Koge wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to see how he was doing. 

“Ah, sounds like Jeanist is out and about today! If he’s on this side of the road, I suppose we could say hello and you could see your obsession for a few minutes.” Seijirou stopped as well, reaching up to push his hair out of his face a bit so he could see better. From Koge’s meager height of barely 5’1”, she couldn’t see anything past the crowds, so she was forced to rely on her mentor that towered over her at nearly 6’. Keeping her eyes on his face, she was able to tell the instant he spotted Jeanist by his catlike pupils, which expanded in favorable recognition. “Ah there, just down the sidewalk. Though I don’t see Bakugou just yet…” 

Feeling her hopes start to fade at his statement, she followed him through the crowds, which had condensed a bit at the mention of Jeanists’ presence. It was annoying, but they could manage, Koge following close behind Seijirou as he used his height and all around confident demeanor to get people to move aside. Though, in the last second as they exited the main crowd, he swiftly took a step to the side, forcing Koge to slam into the person he had been trying to avoid. Caught off guard, Koge lost her footing, giving a squeal as she began toppling backwards. 

Before she could reach the ground, there was a familiar grip on her arms and a harsh growl of an annoyed voice, pulling her up against the body of her rescuer.

“Fucking damn it, Utsuro, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Open your fucking eyes!” 

In that instant, Koge felt her face flush hot like fire, turning a confused gaze up. She was met with Bakugou’s crimson glare, his snarl instantly making her stomach bubble with nervous embarrassment. “K-Katsuki! I’m sorry, I didn’t see y--” 

Her words caught in her throat as she stared up at him, confusion swallowing her initial embarrassment. There was something… different about him, and it was as plain as the red flushed nose on his face. 

“Your hair. Katsuki, where’s your hair?” 

With a scoff, Bakugou shoved Koge off of him, though not hard enough to make her fall. In that moment, her eyes fell down to his legs, covering her mouth to stifle the shocked gasp that she couldn’t restrain otherwise. 

The jeans. 

“Don’t even start!” Bakugou barked at her, pointing a threatening finger that wasn’t even enough to pull her eyes back up to his face. He was only half dressed in his hero outfit. Everything on top except for his mask and gauntlets was present, but instead of his regular baggy pants and ‘kill with my knees’ metal pads, he was dressed in jeans. Sure, Koge had seen him in regular jeans before, though they were always baggy. These, however, were snug against his skin, leaving very little to the imagination. “And stop staring at me like that, Utsuro!” 

“My, my. Nice job, Jeanist. He doesn’t look like a feral rodent.” Seijirou spoke up before Koge could even think of what to say, sharing an amused smirk with the fellow pro that stood beside him. Although Koge couldn’t see his face, she could tell from his posture that Jeanist was both proud of what he had accomplished so far, but also quite winded from trying to tame the wild soul that was Bakugou. 

“There is still much he needs to learn. I was impressed with his attitude today, but this is definitely a change for the worst. Is this your intern?” 

“Yes!” Seijirou proclaimed proudly, giving Koge a few pats on the top of her head, though they were pretty much unnoticed by the still gawking teenager. “She is my student intern, but also my private student. Her name is Koge, she’s quite talented.” 

Bakugou scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared up at the raven haired pro, though he wasn’t intimidating enough to break Seijirou’s pompous smile. “Utsuro’s not talented, she’s just a fucking loser. Who needs to stop staring at me!” Bakugou snapped his fingers in front of Koge’s face, setting off a small explosion that finally broke her out of her daze. Blinking a few times in shock, Koge brought up a hand to her mouth, crossing her other arm around her stomach as she began to visibly tremble. 

To a regular person who didn’t know her, it could have easily been mistaken for the beginning of a crying fit, brought on by his mean words. Seeming to have made this conclusion, Jeanist gave a click of his tongue, gaining Bakugou’s attention just for a moment. “What vile behavior do you think--” 

In that instant, Koge burst out laughing, doubling over a bit as she cackled into her hand. “K-k-katsuki!! I can’t! You look amazing!!” 

With the new ruckus that was Koge laughing and Bakugou yelling at her to shut up, Seijirou sighed, reaching up to rub his temple. “Ah Jeanist, don’t fret too much over his behavior with her. They’re best friends, I’m positive there’s nothing he could say that would actually upset her.” For a moment, the two adults watched the teenagers as they did some sort of roundabout tango, with Koge trying to see Bakugou’s backside while he instead refused to turn his back to her, walking and dodging about in a circle to keep her view obscured. 

“C’mon Katsuki, let me see! I don’t want to stare at your ass, I just want to see your hair from the back!” Koge could barely talk through her giggles, her gaze indeed locked on his hair. “How’d he get it down like that?!” 

“Fuck off! You’re so damn--” Bakugou suddenly had to stop as a pedestrian walked behind him, leaving him vulnerable to Koge’s advances. Instead of darting behind him, she reached up with gentle fingers, softly adjusting his bangs back into place. “--damn annoying…” With her touch, Bakugou’s voice softened, glaring at her hand with a bright red face. His hands were poised to stop her at any moment, but he didn’t, allowing her to fix the tamed disaster on his head. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Hm.” Koge hummed softly as she took her hands back to herself, unable to help the smile on her lips. “You look good. Is this whole experience going to change your entire fashion sense?” 

“No, why the hell would it?!” Bakugou relaxed a bit, though Koge could tell he desperately wanted to shove his hands into his pockets, which was a comfort he was denied at the moment. “Once I’m done with this, you’ll never see me like this again!” 

“Shame.” Koge did her best to not let her eyes wander, though now that she wasn’t dying laughing, the embarrassment at his appearance was beginning to take hold of her. She couldn’t deny the fact that his physique looked very good dressed how he was, on top of the fact that she hadn’t seen him for a while. “I’ve missed you these past few days. It’s good to see you.” 

Bakugou scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever, I haven’t missed you at all. And I didn’t want you to see me like this, because I knew you’d laugh at me! Do I look that bad?!” 

“No! You look… I told you that you look good. Those jeans do you lots of favors--” The way his face began to flush with her words instantly made Koge choke on them, taking a few steps back from him. “I-I mean, yeah, you look freaking gross like that Katsuki. Ew, right? Sir, can we go now!?” 

Seijirou chuckled as Koge tried to promptly flee the scene, with Bakugou still standing there glaring at her in shock. “What’s wrong, Koge? Let something slip that should of stayed zipped, eh?” 

Now that Koge was standing behind Bakugou as she tried to walk away, she couldn’t resist her eyes flicking to his backside, making her face only flush darker. “N-no! Not true, I was just… I just, y’know-” She paused as Bakugou glared at her over his shoulder, cheeks and ears so red she was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of them. “- just a compliment! Totally just a compliment.” 

“Get out of here Utsuro, before I fucking destory you!” Bakugou noticed another flick of her eyes, turning to face her as his embarrassment somehow grew more intense. “Stop looking at me!” 

“Okay, okay! Butt-- I- I mean, bye, Katsuki! Wha--!” Koge covered her mouth as in an instant, his hair popped out of position and back to its regular spiked state, sputtering laughter as she took off down the sidewalk, the now beyond furious Bakugou chasing after her with exploding palms. 

“Get back here, you blank faced bitch! I’ll blow you across the city!” 

“Careful Katsuki, don’t get a wedgie!” 

Seijirou sighed as he watched them round a corner, squeezing his nose at the corners of his eyes. “And the feral rodent returned at the presence of his just as feral soul mate. Poetic and also highly annoying.” 

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 25 (Orange)

Summary: Well... when Bo fucks up, she really fucks up, Luckily, CVS is open 24/7. Even luckier, Alistair’s coming with her. How hard could it be to get some damn pink hair dye anyway?

---

There was nothing like the Normandy needing some repair work done that made him appreciate down time.

“You like that, Saren? I got it from your favorite place as a little surprise while I was out getting supplies for everyone.”

The small, round ball of fur continued to shove his food into his bulging cheeks. He was going a little faster than usual of course – that's what happened when he got his favorite snacks – but soon it would all be stored away for later. Until then, he would continue to look absolutely adorable as he sat in his enclosure.

Alistair had picked up more food and bedding for the hamster while he was out, along with a few chew toys and a new hide. Maybe he was spoiling Saren, but... well, why not? Space hamsters may have lived longer than their Earth counterparts, but they still maxed out at 10. They hadn't been sure how old   he was, so... why not make every day count?

Besides, he had pissed on Miranda. That made him a hero.

“It was really busy at the shop when I popped in today. I guess word got out that I go there.” He chuckled as he watched his hamster finish stuffing himself silly. “All full? You look like a little beach ball, Sar.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he saw Saren's cheeks puff out in indignation.  At any rate, he was soon tunneling into his bedding, to wherever he was storing his food in this cage layout. Alistair would find the remains eventually when he cleaned. It was kind of like one of the weirdest treasure hunts he had ever taken part in...

“Well, bye I guess.”

He shrugged his shoulders and started to return to his desk. However. A beeping from his omni-tool drew the Spectre's attention. There was a message there from Bo – fucked my omni-tool again, might have water damage. Fix?

Oh great... water damage.

“She's lucky I got some extra parts when I went shopping.” Alistair shook his head as he grabbed his tool box and jacket. “Saren, watch the room while I'm gone. If you see anyone from Cerberus sneaking around, you know what to do.”

That was of course look cute to entice them in, then bite the shit out of them. It was a good plan, and Saren executed it like a pro. That's why he always felt a little better when he left to go on missions. How could he not when he had his own personal attack hamster?

Bo hadn't said where she was, but he knew her enough that he stopped by the crew floor to find the XO office. The door was open, so he nudged it open and stepped through. There was water running – was she showering?

Well, good to know she trusted him.

“It's on the desk!” Her voice called out over the water. “Did Saren like the snacks you got?”

Alistair settled into his CO's desk in order to fix her very water-logged omni-tool. He cocked his eyebrow as he examined it further. At first he thought it was a trick of the light, but parts of the band looked to be faded to almost white. A smell test confirmed it as he shook his head. Luckily, he had a replacement band in her size.

“Yeah. Did you forget to take this off when you were bleaching your roots though?”

Bo shut the water off – must've been done rinsing. “Some of it dripped while I was working.”

Of course it did. Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled the stained band off. After that, it was simple diagnostic and replacement. Apart from the soldering of some replacement bits around the screen, he could've done it in his sleep. Luckily, he was awake so that made it go much faster.

He hummed to himself as he worked. “No big deal, I figured you'd need a new one eventually so I picked one up.”

“Gotta love a well-stocked tech.” Bo sounded like she was shifting around. Then she stopped moving. “Aw fuck...”

Alistair cocked his eyebrow as he put the omni-tool down briefly. “Everything alright in there?”

His XO didn't answer. From the sounds of things, she was getting dressed. At least he knew she hadn't fallen or anything, but her silence was a little concerning. However, going into the bathroom was a bad idea, so he was left waiting on the other side.

“Bo?”

Two red eyes were soon on him. “We're going to have to go back to CVS.”

At first, he started to open his mouth to ask why. That question was answered for him as Bo came into view,  adjusting her shirt as she walked. She had indeed finished bleaching her roots and touching up the color but...

Well, that wasn't pink. In fact, it was pretty damn fucking orange.

She shot him a look that definitely could've killed. “Well, get it over with.”

Alistair returned the omni-tool to his toolbox for later and started patching up details for returning to the dock. “Well... let's be honest, ginger's better on me than you. You can fix that at least, right?”

After all, there was only one redheaded Shepard on the Normandy, and he was under 6 feet tall. Besides, pink really was more her color anyway. He may have been an utter failure when it came to fashion, but at least he sometimes knew basic color theory.

Sometimes, anyway... he still didn't see why he couldn't wear neon blue sneakers with green laces.

“Yeah, just go already.” her hood was already up over the nightmare. “Before anyone really starts making Shepard siblings jokes.”

Perish the thought...

---

“Have I mentioned how much I hate C-SEC?”

“Many, many times.”

Alistair could feel a dull headache throbbing at the base of his implant as he and Bo finally cleared security. For some reason, flying in on the fucking Normandy always attracted some measure of attention. He wouldn't have minded, but they were kind of on a tight schedule.

Bo still had her hood up as they walked. “I swear I checked that damn box before I bought it, how the fuck did this happen?”

“You're asking the wrong guy, maybe the manufacturer mixed up the packages or something.” He shrugged. “I'll check it out later once we get back.”

Hell, maybe a low blood sugar had caused it. Bo might not have been as sensitive to biotic-induced hypoglycemia as he was, but there were times she still got it. For all he knew, this could have been a hypo fuck up. Of course, he'd never suggest that – that was just insult to injury.

What could he say, he was a paragon of virtue like that. Though, maybe he should consider adding a CGM to her omni-tool when he got back...

At least the CVS didn't look too busy from the outside. The parking lot looked pretty empty, but that was probably due to the time. Even the Citadel had slow periods between shifts after all – people had to sleep and eat sometime. It was just a stroke of luck they hit it when they did.

What wasn't so lucky was the guy Bo all but body checked as she entered the store.

Alistair opened his mouth to apologize, but he didn't get the chance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone coming. His reflexes kicked in, and soon a glowing blue barrier was erected around whatever was moving towards him. A shot ricocheted, and then they were down on the ground with a hole in their leg.

Huh. Now why would two guys in dark masks with guns be in a CVS? And why did the few people in there look like they had just seen a ghost?

“Oh, thank God. I thought - “ The clerk paused, realizing who was standing over her would-be robbers as if they did this every day – which, to be fair, they kind of did. It was just usually in armor. “Wait... are you Commander Shepard?”

Alistair was already checking vitals through the barrier. “Yeah. Bo, go get your stuff. I'll handle these two until C-SEC shows up.”

Their gear and weapons were honestly nothing special, and their plan seemed laughable at best. It was just their luck they had run into amateur hour at thievery school. Well, no doubt they had both earned scholarships to clown college for their boneheaded stunts.

At least the bullet wound didn't look like it had broken anything vital. He'd be able to stand trial for sure at this rate.

“Fuck...” Yeah, his sentiments exactly. “How'd you find us?”

Bo appeared from the aisle, carrying the correct box under her arm. With her hood still up, she slid it over the counter. “We walked in. Can I buy this now, or does C-SEC need to count the total?”

“Oh, they didn't get the chance to take anything! You two showed up just as soon as they drew their guns!” There were stars in the clerk's eyes as she ran Bo up. “I don't know how to thank you, I thought I was going to get shot!”

Alistair's medigel applicator dinged as it dispensed the appropriate dose for the would-be robber still trapped in his barrier. It would hold until he got proper medical attention with C-SEC. With that done, he checked on the other genius. He was still on the floor, groaning.

No surprises there – it was hard to take a full body check from Bo “The Pink Monster” Shepard and  make it out without anything broken. Definitely had at least some kind of concussion if the unfocused vision was anything to go by.

Well, at least he didn't crack his skull. Those were messy.

“I doubt they would've hit, their aim was terrible.” Bo accepted her bag just as the C-SEC sirens announced their arrival. “Well, took them long enough.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Al, mind handling them? I'm gonna get back to the Normandy.”

Normally, this was the part where a commanding officer would have totally pulled rank and made his XO stay. After all, he hated dealing with C-SEC as much as anyone did. However, unlike most CO's, he wasn't a total asshole. That he saved for people who deserved it.

“Yeah, hurry up before they realize it's you.”

Bo actually passed two C-SEC officers on her way out, hood pulled low. Alistair shook his head as he straightened up. His hands still felt sticky from the medigel, but there wasn't much he could do about that at the moment.

At least there were no news cameras.

“Stop right-” A turian with purple tattoos lowered her gun. “Commander Shepard?”

He responded with an awkward wave that highlighted the sticky residue from the medigel. At least nobody could blame him for the gunshot – for once he wasn't armed, even though his Spectre status gave him that permission. Who needed to bring a gun into CVS anyway, except idiots like the ones on the floor? “Wrong place, right time. These two need medical attention, but I think they'll be ok. Their pride, not so much, but I can't fix that.”

That dull headache promised to get worse with the incredulous looks he was getting from the officers. Alistair could only hope that the store's cameras were working, otherwise they were going to have to interview him. And oh, he hated going down to the C-SEC offices more than pretty much everything except the Illusive Man, low blood sugar, and the sound of his own voice.

Bo better thank him for this one later... hopefully when her hair was back to pink. Again, orange really was more of his color. Chalk it up to the Irish genes and all.

“So... guess you want to have a chat then?”

Why did he even ask... fuck. He should've stayed in his room with Saren.

[theguardian6]

Assistance for Isis much better in Persia web 2 . in Europe when compared to inside Syria

theguardian.com

Sustain for Islamic Declare (Isis) among Arabic-speaking social media clients with Belgium, Britain, England and also the US is usually greater than in the militant group’s heartlands involving Syria together with Iraq, a global analysis associated with across 2m Arabic-language online posts has got found.

theguardian.com

In what exactly understood to be the primary arduous mass analysis of the with regard to and about the world’s largest jihadist organisation, Italian teachers found which in a very three-and-a-half month interval getting into in Come july 1st, content posted as a result of Arabic-speaking Europeans with Twitter and additionally Squidoo was more beneficial to be able to Isis compared to content posted within those countries over the frontline in the discord.

In Syria, Isis is dramatically melting away the battle meant for hearts and opinions with more as opposed to 92% of tweets, blog in addition to forum reviews hostile to the militants who have rampaged on the east with the region and western Iraq, confiscating large tracts of territory along with declaring the store of a christian declare.

The jihadist militants are notable for operating a good slick propaganda piece of equipment - managing via the internet distribution for you to systematically evade content manages, piggybacking popular internet conversations and galvanising thousands of global enthusiasts into growing your message.

Their projects look like having a consequence. Outside Syria, assistance for Isis, at all times a tossing amongst online communities, rises substantially. Forty-seven per cent from studied tweets together with posts from Qatar, 35% with Pakistan, 31% from Belgium and additionally almost 24% of posts because of UK and 21% from the YOU ended up classified as being supporting for the jihadist setup compared with just under 20% in Jordan, Saudi Arabia (19. 7%) and Iraq (19. 8%).

Dr Luigi Curini from Suggests from the Blogs, an agency set up simply by teachers from Milan Or even which is pioneering completely new forms of large-scale examination of online feedback, known as message exploration, says the research is actually wonderful evidence for ones proposition that to understand Isis up close is planned to be hostile to your potential customers.

Your team, including statistician Teacher Stefano Iacus, political scientist Andrea Ceron, and translators, found there seems to be moreover an intense battle flaming above Islamic State’s religious legitimacy.

Out from the vastly larger quantity of anti-Isis suggestions in the posts undertook studies, 1 out of some (32. 8%) criticises Isis for destroying Islam in addition to when using the faith as a include to get pursuing strength and other “private” pursuits.

One tweet stored by the organization at 23 September go through: “They are tyrants and have marred Islam. Everyday Isis will make Islam dress in your mask of a barbarous intimate monster. ”

Almost a third (29%) of anti-Isis reports expressed scary or simply outrage towards the group’s thrashing methods as well as a further 17% broadcast fears of the group’s hostility to help spiritual and political freedoms, the research found.

In the meantime, nearly all of the scaled-down global community with Isis proponents - making up just finished 20% of the 2m posts - championed the group designed for defending and “unifying” the global city involving believers and also spreading their trust.

Perhaps counter to help you western targets, solely 8. 3% associated with pro-Isis posts had been supportive of the crew for being an opposing forces of the western side.

Curini said it was nice thing about it this Isis had been massively attacked on line over its assert to be Islamic, because it demonstrated just how fragile their particular theological standing upright was among on the internet Muslims. “I’d be a little more worried if perhaps families, when they attack Isis, should they say a product negative about Isis, they talk just terrorism, or even assault … and they weren’t for the religious difficulty. ”

The fairly new science from sentiment study - the automated exploration with opinion - has been dogged from the difficulties of getting pc systems to understand a difficulties of natural speech.

A subtleties involving jokes, sarcasm, slang and general situation can show problematic for algorithms so that you can categorise and help make any nonhuman study of a collection of views prone to huge amounts of error. There is also a possibility of which sentiment is normally influenced by people who shout loudest and many frequently inside of a discussion, but this can be mitigated by way of gathering gigantic volumes of material.

The Italian company say they've got presented a number of innovations to relieve inaccuracies. Rather than routine a computer to understand that complexities of dialect itself, these people “hand train” an criteria to be able to acquaint this with hundreds of great and negative thoughts and the compact groups of words along with mini-phrases they are made from.

The team subsequently get the algorithm to see the likelihood of thoughts and opinions within the total amalgamation associated with articles or blog posts. The group say their fellow reviewed methods have got a 95%-98% precision speed.

Trawling for Isis-related words and phrases such as Syria, the caliphate, plus the name of the group’s leader, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the power team have the ability to collect 3, 195, 000 open posts on social media marketing, 93% that originated from Twitter and the remainder coming from public Zynga pages, forums together with blogs. Posts of which did not specific any kind of clear opinion ended up being forgotten.

Form 1 July until twenty two October, the study monitored shifts around idea over some of the most extraordinary functions of Syrian conflict this year, such as Isis’s attack to the Yazidi fraction and the swift advance around american Iraq, this publication of video lessons showing the beheadings of hostages, your bombings of Isis roles by the YOU AND ME and a consortium from other Arab lands, and the duress within the Kurdish town with Kobani.

Violence generally seems to mobilise people resistant to the perpetrators, the study uncovered. The beheading involving British aid staff member Jake Haines concerning 13 September as well as the start of US-led bombardment associated with Isis positions in Syria upon 23 Sept were followed by massive anti- then pro-Isis reactions.

Curini talked about the apparent deviation inside opinions failed to necessarily show individuals were changing their opinions, but much more likely showed the mobilisation from revealed supporters or simply opponents following huge events. “The insurance plan increases, therefore you use the and you post far more issues, ” Curini said.

The organization also collected and additionally analysed around 95, 000 Arabic-language current information reports to do a comparison of the social media blogposts against. They noticed the news articles or blog posts to get hostile to Isis eight times from 10 and no record correlation between the a pair of, suggesting genuine and the most useful state-controlled media cant be found handling opinions via the internet. “By analysing web 2 . 0 we can see there isn't always this particular homogenous sentiment against Isis, ” Curini stated.

• Additional revealing by Mona Mahmood News can be according to threat …

… only just when we require it the most. Millions of subscribers around the world are flocking to the Mom or dad looking for honest, authoritative, fact-based credit reporting that can help all of them understand the biggest concern we have faced in this lifetime. However , at the crucial moment, press companies are confronting a cruel fiscal double blow: by using fewer consumers in a position to leave their houses, in addition to fewer thing vendors in operation, we’re seeing a reduction in rag sales over the USA. Advertising revenue is constantly on the tumble steeply in the meantime as businesses have the pinch. We need you help enter into a gap.

We trust each of us is deserving of equal access to necessary public service journalism. So , dissimilar to a good many others, we made some other personal preference: to keep Guard journalism open for, regardless of where they are located or what exactly they're able to afford to pay. The best selection not really be potential without financial advantages from those who is able to afford to pay, exactly who right now support our get the job done out of 180 international locations around the world.

Reader budgetary support has ensured we can maintain looking at, disentangling and interrogating. It offers protected much of our independence, which has do not been so significant. We are which means happier.

We need your sustain thus we can preserve delivering quality journalism that’s open along with independent. And that is exactly at this point for the long term. Every last site reader contribution, still big or modest, is so valuable.

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Parts 6/6 complete.

“You want to fuse with your cat?” Annie asked. “I’m sorry, we only fuse people.”

The man opposite the desk nodded his head with deep understanding, and stared off at the floor for several moments. Annie tried to catch his gaze, and smiled. “If there is someone you know who would consent to fusing with you…”

The man’s eyes gleamed as he looked at Annie. “Consent? What does this mean?”

If it weren’t for the foreign accent, Annie would have considered the question plainly offensive. But she was patient—she had been hired to be patient—and she joined her hands on the desk.

“To consent is to… well, when someone agrees to something, that’s consenting. So if someone agrees to be fused with you, they consent to the fusion.” She wanted to add something, something patronising like ‘Do you understand?’, but she decided against it.

The man stroked his chin, as if to feel a stubble that wasn’t there. “Is it necessary? To consent?”

Annie took a breath. “Yes sir, it’s quite important from a legal and ethical standpoint to consent to a fusion. It’s an irreversible procedure and… well, it’s just necessary, yes.”

The man stared off to his left, clearly disappointed. Finally, he smiled at Annie and got up. With a curt little bow for a goodbye, he left the office. Annie sighed and touched her head.

The next day, the man returned, this time with a woman. He flashed a grin at Annie. “Do you remember? I am from yesterday. George. And this,” he gestured at the expressionless woman, “This is Candace.”

Annie sipped from a glass of water, then smiled and nodded at Candace.

“She consents to fusion. We will fuse,” the man grinned.

Annie stared at the refracted world through the glass of water. She wished she could stay in it forever, ogling at a word out of shape, out of form.

“We will need to vet both of you,” she said. “It’s a lengthy, but comprehensive process that will involve several agreements, interviews, medical check-ups, and…” she tapped her chin with a pen, trying to remember the spiel. Thankfully, she didn’t have to.

“We can do tomorrow,” George said.

“No, no,” Annie resisted the urge to touch her head again. “This will take at least three months. I’m sorry, but that’s the best we can do.”

George frowned, tapped his feet, and stormed out of the room. Candace watched him leave and stuck her hands in her pockets.

“Is your name really Candace?” Annie asked.

“No,” the woman said.

“And did you actually consent to fusion?”

The woman shook her head. “He was paying me for the hour. Said I had to act like he told me to. Except he didn’t really tell me, but that’s okay, whatever. I’m a professional.”

Annie took a breath. “I’m going to tell security not to let that man on the premises again,” she said. “I’d suggest you steer clear of guys like him.”

“Like I have a choice,” the woman said as she left the room.

“I’d be happy to tell you more about how you may fuse with your husband,” Annie said. Her eyes squinted over her wide, corporate smile. “Would this be your first fusion?”

The Salunkhes look at each other for a nervous moment. “Yes,” and “Yeah,” they said.

The one of the left, Chandan, leaned forward. “At least, it is the first for me, I can’t speak for Sanjay,” he winked before his husband jabbed him in the bicep.

It was humorous, but Annie knew by now how humour is often used as a mask. Her mind was already conjuring images of bitter disputes, late-night arguments, bubbling frustrations. It was tiresome. And there was also the jab—such a simple, heartfelt action. After they fused—if they fused—they, or he, wouldn’t be able to jab himself.

“We’ve read up extensively on it, though,” Sanjay said, and adjusted his glasses. “I know you will vet us and everything first, but just to be clear, we’re very sure about this.”

“Yes, we’ve made up our minds,” Chandan smiled at his husband.

Annie smiled wider for a moment before sliding her chair closer to the desk. “Mr and Mr Salunkhe, I want you to know that once you fuse, you will no longer be who you are. Your consciousness will cease to function, and—”

“Basically, we’ll die,” Sanjay said.

“No,” Annie reacted immediately on hearing the ’d’ word. “You won’t. You will be fused. It’s just that your consciousness will be gone for good, giving birth to a new consciousness.”

“But basically, it is still death, right?” Sanjay folded his arms.

Couples like these pissed Annie off. She took a breath. “I’m sure neither of us would like to get bogged down by the technicalities, Mr Salunkhe,” she smiled and carried on before Sanjay could counter. “Now, naturally, we don’t want to change your mind about this—if you’ve made it this far, you clearly have thought long and hard about fusion.”

For a moment, Annie flinched. She remembered George, and her smile faded. What had he been up to?

“Ms Tan?” Chandan leaned forward again and smiled when he caught Annie’s attention again. “I was just saying how committed we are to reducing the population, we really think it’s a waste to be two different people, you know? When you can just be one.” He clasped Sanjay’s hand.

Annie took a sip from her glass of water. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Would you like to use an existing body, or commission a new one?”

The Salunkhes looked at each other again, unsure of their collective answer. “What exactly are the pros and cons of each?” Sanjay asked, clearing his throat.

“Well, there are no pros and cons as such, it’s a matter of cost and sentimentality. Using an existing body will be much less expensive, and well, a lot of couples prefer to retain one of their bodies post-fusion. Of course, you could choose to commission a body, which will take approximately 8-12 working days. Many couples choose than option when they want a really fresh start, you know? I’ve heard some call it the ‘full deal’,” Annie laughed. Professionally.

Once again, the Salunkhes looked at each other, sizing up each others’ opinions and bumbling towards a consensus. “Commission, yes, we’ll commission a body,” they muttered, both to themselves and to Annie.

In her mind, Annie knew they were going to go broke if they commissioned a body. Just another thing she’d learned, being in the business. That meant a shitty beginning for the post-fusion individual, but that wasn’t Annie’s problem.

Her phone lit up and danced on the table. It was a call, and the ID said “Eileen (Candace)”. Annie picked up the phone in her hands and stood up. “I’m terribly sorry, but this is urgent for me. Please remain seated, my assistant Harpal will handle the rest of your appointment.”

“I think he wants to try fusing with me again,” Eileen said in hushed tones. Annie had not expected Eileen to call her so soon after they’d shared numbers. From the whispering, she may be in a bathroom cubicle, Annie thought.

“Report him to the police,” Annie said. The receptionist returned to the lobby from her bathroom break, so Annie smiled at her and exited the office entirely to stand in the corridor.

“Are you serious?” Eileen asked. “I can’t go to the police.” Annie sensed that Eileen wanted to say just one more word, and that it wasn’t a kind word.

“Shit, okay,” Annie said and began making her way to the stairs. “Where is he taking you? Moro?”

“I don’t know,” Eileen’s voice trailed a little. “What’s Moro?”

“It’s a competing company. Uh… they have an oval, yellow logo, looks like a cough drop?”

“I don’t see any cough drops, Annie. Uh, is it okay if I call you that?”

“Everyone calls me Annie,” Annie said, with a smile almost as old as her.

“Cool. So what do I do now? I can’t stay here in the bathroom for too long.”

“Where are you exactly? I’ll come to you. I can scare him off,” Annie stepped out off the last of the steps and strode towards the exit of the office complex.

“I’m in a public bathroom by Tsai Street, near the dock end. ‘George’ is waiting outside. Shit, I think he just messaged me, I heard a notif go off.”

“Dock end?” Annie almost stopped on her way to her car. Switching her phone hand, she unlocked the car and got in. “There’s nothing there, definitely not Moro. Are you sure he wants to fuse with you?”

“I don’t know,” Eileen said, her voice breathy now. Annie heard a flush and a creak.

“Stall him, I’m on my way.”

Eileen hung up.

Annie checked the time as she spun the steering wheel and turned towards Tsai Street. She had maybe forty-five minutes to get back to the office. Harpal wouldn’t snitch, would they?

The streets were packed with people wearing red and yellow, traditional festival colours. Lanterns hung from windows and shops, some of them lit even in the daytime. Even in the poorest districts, people found a way to celebrate their ancestors, even if it meant a hit to the power bill. As crowded as it was, Annie wondered how much more crowded it would have been if it weren’t for fusion technology.

Annie expected her phone to buzz at any moment. The real question was who would be calling: Eileen, Harpal, or her boss, Constance.

When the phone did buzz, it was just a notification—but it was from Eileen. She was sharing her location, and it was at the docks. The closer Anita got to the location pin, the more she felt like she was getting into a situation she had nothing to do with. Something filthy, even.

No, Annie told herself. I need to make sure that girl is safe.

She pulled into a public parking spot, paid the bill, and walked with her phone up. The trail led us to the boardwalk, then the pier, and then the wooden bridges joining the parked boats together.

“What the hell am I doing?” Annie muttered under her breath as she made her way through the bridges and onto the first boat, then onto the second. Annie never got seasick, but she did always find the swaying of boats to be a little disconcerting.

It was mostly old, swarthy men on the decks, chatting by tables and playing digital mahjong. Some of the boats had lanterns, too. The farther away from the pier she got, the more Annie worried about Eileen. This had all the signs of some third-rate, illegal fusion shop, and they don’t care about consent.

When she finally reached the boat in question, she found an open trapdoor, and a flight of stairs leading into a lower deck. Annie confirmed Eileen’s location and descended the steps.

The stairs led to a brightly lit room, with red carpeting, a fake reindeer head mounted to the wood-panelled wall, an antique globe with outdated political borders, and a lot of other tacky shit that reminded her of—

“Oh, no,” Annie groaned.

George turned to look at her. Eileen turned to look at her. The man behind the desk was already staring at her.

“Anita,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise. Here to join me again?”

“Let’s go, Eileen,” Annie said, “You’re not getting fused with anyone here.”

Eileen’s doe eyes were tired, and she looked searchingly at the other people in the room, as if seeking their permission first.

“Get up, Eileen,” Annie said. “I have to be back in ten minutes.”

Eileen got up. George started saying something in his native language, something loud and sharp. Eileen flinched, but she did take two steps towards me. I almost had her wrist in my hands when the man behind the desk spoke again.

“You’ve been away so long, Anita,” he sighed. Eileen looked at him and gasped. Annie looked at him too, and then at the handgun in his right hand, pointed at Eileen. “Not even a ‘hi’ for me?”

Anita had sworn never to speak to him. It only made things worse when she did. This time, she couldn’t think of any words to say, either. She’d seen the man point guns at people before, but not at anyone she cared about.

“Please have a seat, Candace. Eileen. Whatever you like to be called,” the man said. Eileen obeyed, and turned her back to Annie for good measure. The handgun’s dark little hole was still trained on her heart.

“Anita,” the man looked up. “I wish I could offer you a seat, but I only have two. Don’t hold it against me, alright?” He smiled. “But of course you will.”

The phone in Anita’s hand started buzzing and then lit up with a caller ID. It was Harpal. Time was almost up. She could still make it, but only if she dumped Eileen here.

“I didn’t peg you for someone who’d fall in love with a whore, but then I never really pegged you right, did I?” the man cocked his head a little.

Annie’s skin came alive, and she felt herself transcending into dream-space, except now she was carrying real life with her.

“I’m not in love with her,” Annie barked at the man, “I’m saving her from you.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, Anita,” The man laughed and shook his head. “I had to watch your childhood videos so many times, just to remember what you sounded like. I dreamt about you, do you know that? I dreamt you were back, and I could hear your voice.”

Annie felt like she’d been shot, but there was no smoke coming out of the handgun. Just a smile on the man’s lips. Her phone was buzzing again. This time the screen said “Constance”.

“Sounds like it’s an important call,” the man said. “More important than me?”

The man plugged a device with antennae into the computer under his desk. Anita’s phone fell silent, and then the screen dimmed, and then it was dead.

“Now tell me,” the man leaned forward in his desk, gun still pointed at Eileen. “How have you been? Where do you live? Where do you work? Have you been eating right? It doesn’t look like you’re eating enough.”

Anita couldn’t bear to look at that smile, so she focused on the handgun instead. Keep your mouth zipped, she told herself.

“You know I care about you, don’t you, Anita?” the man said. “I care enough about you that I’m willing to shoot these two just to get you to talk to me.”

George frowned and looked at the man now, perhaps not having understood what had been said. Eileen just had her head buried in her hands.

“You’re more important to me than any client,” he said, casually aiming the gun at George.

“Don’t fucking shoot,” Annie said through gritted teeth.

The man’s eyes lit up at her words.

Annie wondered what to call the man. Dad? Mum? Did he have a first name now? Would it be appropriate to call him that? Should she just call him ‘Parent’ and leave it at that? But she didn’t want to be reminded that he was her parent—that he was both of her parents. But she had to at least acknowledge that he had been someone important in her life once, right?

Oh, she was distracted.

“Anita?” the man smiled cordially, chin pulled back, like a schoolteacher.

Should she tell him that no one really called her that anymore?

“What do you think about my offer?” the man asked, “Have you given it some thought, after all this time?”

“It’s not an offer,” Annie said. She had wanted to say the words a long time ago, and she had said the words so many times in her head. Saying them now, for real, was like slipping into a new reality. “It’s a surrender. You want me to surrender my mind and body to you—for what?”

“Why, to be close to you, Anita. So we can be family again—”

Annie clenched her fist. Get out of here, she told herself, but her eyes kept turning to Eileen.

“Are you listening, Anita?” the man sighed. “You will be a part of what we become, something greater, something wiser. You know I respect you. That is the only reason why I want you to fuse with me. Tell me, would I ask you to fuse with me if I hated you? If I thought you were an idiot?”

How much of him was Dad? Anita wanted to know if he was held hostage inside the body, somehow. All she could see was Mom, but surely Dad was somewhere in there too.

“Do you remember when we went to the Moro-Encetal Tower, when I was nine?” Annie asked.

The man paused and drew his chin further in. His eyes searched the desk, as if he was trying to piece together his memories.

“We stood out on the observation floor, where the floor was glass, and you could see the city below you, teeming like little ants carrying grains of sugar.”

“You were eight,” the man said.

“You thought I was eight, but I was nine. You could never really remember my birthday, could you? But Mom always remembered my age, down to the minute of my birth.”

“Of course, you were nine,” the man frowned, eyes darting between the floor and Annie’s eyes. “And it was so beautiful up there, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I said,” Annie smiled, “That it was beautiful. And you said that it’s scary, that you’re afraid you’ll fall and crush your skull.”

“Yes,” the man closed his eyes. “That’s what I said. You remember so well, even though you are just… you.”

Annie already had her next words in mind, but the gun fired, and she felt her entire body collapse. She looked at her body, searching for blood, searching for a hole, but there wasn’t one. There had been a whizzing sound.

Then another loud crack, and the room lit up for a very brief moment, and Eileen screamed, and Annie stood stunned at the man leaning back in his desk, crimson hole where one of his eyes should be.

The gun was in George’s hand. “Fucking piece of shit,” he growled at the dead man. “You want to shoot me? Me?”

The man in the seat looked surprised, and a little scared. Just like her dad had, back when she was nine and they’d visited the Moro-Encetal Tower.

"I'm sorry, was he close to you?" George said, examining the smoking handgun even as Eileen looked at him, eyes blank but teary.

"No," Annie said as she watched the many, many furrows on George's forehead. He looked through the sights, aiming the gun at a wall.

"You understand, no? He was to kill me," George went on, not looking at either of the women in the room. "It was me or him. It was defending."

"Yeah," Annie said. She tried unlocking her phone, and then remembered that the jammer was still on. She didn't want to risk making moves, though.

"But it is sad," George sighed. "I thought, maybe here they will fuse me. And it was going so well. But then..." he shrugged, hands in the air. "You never know what life brings, is that not right?"

Annie licked her lips. "Could you please unplug the device from the computer?" she asked weakly.

George blinked several times while he stared at Annie. "I am sorry. You know how it is, is that not right? So you can tell the police, and I can go to jail. Will you do that?"

"Do you want me to?" Annie croaked.

"No!" George's eyes almost popped out, furious and red. Eileen jerked in her seat. "What do you think I am? Idiot? I will leave. I will go far away, and then you can bring police and friends here."

"Okay," Annie said. She found it hard to look at anything other than the dead man behind the desk.

George did not expect that answer. He got out of his seat and casually aimed the gun at Eileen. "Candace, will you please come?"

"No," Eileen said.

George sighed and stood silent for what seemed like an eternity to Annie. Finally, he tossed the gun onto the desk and shook his head.

"I have killed the man, but I will not kill a woman," he said, pinching his brow. "I will find someone else. Then I will fuse. It will be okay for everyone."

"Why do you want to fuse so bad?" Annie blurted out.

Again, George had not expected Annie to say those words, and he stood wondering how to answer the question.

"Just be your fucking self," Annie went on. "Do you really want to lose yourself just to be more than what you are? Is that how much you hate yourself?"

George raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "You know, when you fuse, you die, right?" he asked. "I want to fuse, so that someone else will live. Someone will a different life, different problems. Maybe it will be better. I have saved money for that. I have sold everything for that."

Eileen got up and walked out of the room like she was leaving a family argument. She didn't seem afraid, just fed up of everything.

"That's really sadistic, you know?" Annie said. "Do you know what that means? Sadistic?"

The man shook his head.

"It means when you're evil for evil's sake. You just want to create someone new, with new problems, instead of solving your own."

George nodded and then shrugged. "It's how we do it, is that not right? It's how we all do it."

Author’s note: I know, I know, it’s probably not a very satisfying end. But I really enjoyed this concept, and I think it’s very likely I’ll work on this idea on a more expanded level in the future. Thank you so much for reading!

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Americans opposed to President Trump are constantly asking some version of this question: “Why won’t Republicans break with Trump?”

The personalities on Fox News are largely standing with the president amid the controversy over the Trump administration pushing Ukrainian officials to investigate the business dealings of Joe Biden’s son. So are Republicans in Congress. Vice President Mike Pence and others inside the Trump administration are also defending the president’s actions involving Ukraine (a shift from when one-time Trump advisers like Dan Coats would sometimes signal disagreement with the president��s stances).

But looking at Trump’s standing only among people currently inside of powerful Republican-controlled spaces — the party itself, Fox News, the White House, etc. — presents an incomplete picture and understates opposition to Trump among Republican politicians and activists. Almost by definition, that opposition can’t happen within the obvious GOP spaces — the president and his acolytes have accumulated enough power that it’s increasingly hard to be both be anti-Trump and a Republican in good standing at a major conservative institution.

So Rep. Justin Amash of Michigan left the GOP and became an independent. Former Rep. Mark Sanford of South Carolina lost in a primary last year to an opponent endorsed by Trump after speaking out against the president. And just last Friday, Fox News anchor and occasional Trump critic Sheppard Smith resigned,1 as did Homeland Security Secretary Kevin McAleenan, who had occasionally clashed with the president.

Indeed, widen your lens and you can find all kinds of anti-Trump sentiment in conservative and right-leaning circles. This anti-Trump bloc, in addition to Republicans still supporting the president, might have lots of sway as impeachment unfolds — if they can reach GOP voters.

The media

You could create your very own conservative, anti-Trump TV network if you hired all the Trump-skeptical Republicans who regularly appear as talking heads on CNN and MSNBC. CNN, for example, has Amanda Carpenter, Charlie Dent, John Kasich, and Mia Love. MSNBC boasts Carlos Curbelo, Susan Del Percio, Elise Jordan, Mike Murphy, Jennifer Rubin, Joe Scarborough, Michael Steele, Charlie Sykes, Nicole Wallace, George Will and Rick Tyler.2

Yes, most conservative pundits on Fox News are heartily pro-Trump, but not all conservative pundits are on Fox News.

Elected officials

There were 241 Republicans in the U.S. House in early 2017, at the start of Trump’s tenure. Since then, more than a quarter have either been defeated at the ballot box, in last November’s elections (29), or retired (36).3 Some of them, such as former Rep. Mia Love of Utah, blame Trump’s unpopularity for their defeats. Others, such as Rep. Will Hurd of Texas, hint that they are leaving Congress in part because they are uncomfortable with the direction Trump is taking the GOP, as the Washington Post recently reported in a story detailing the exodus of House Republicans.

There is also a group of Trump-skeptical governors and senators — most notably former Sen. Jeff Flake of Arizona and former Gov. John Kasich of Ohio — who left their posts after 2018. And then you have figures like former Rep. Joe Walsh of Illinois , ex-Gov. William Weld of Massachusetts and Sanford, all of whom are running long-shot primary challenges to Trump. Former Rep. Bob Inglis of South Carolina, who has publicly come out against Trump, is suing his state’s Republican Party in an effort to overturn its decision to cancel next year’s Republican primary, a move designed in part to boost the president.

So, in addition to that conservative, anti-Trump cable channel, you could also piece together a Senate majority (51 people) from Republicans who have previously served in either the House or the Senate but who have been publicly wary of Trump.

Senior Republican staffers

OK, if you’re going to have a shadow, anti-Trump GOP Senate, you need some experienced Republican operatives to staff it. You won’t have to look too hard.

In a clear and public rebuke to Trump, chiefs of staff for Republican presidents Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush and George W. Bush recently told the New York Times that the presidents they served would never have asked for help winning an election from a foreign government. A group of conservative lawyers, many of whom served in top positions in the Department of Justice under Reagan or one of the Bushes, are supporting the impeachment inquiry.

Moreover, plenty of people who served in senior roles in the Trump administration itself, including H.R. McMaster (national security adviser), Anthony Scaramucci (communications director) and Rex Tillerson (secretary of state) have distanced themselves from the president.

Again, the Republican staffers currently in the White House are defending the president, but that might mask some broader disagreement among senior-level Republican staffers.

Conservative institutions

Many organizations on the right, such as the Heritage Foundation, are in lockstep with the president. But others — the Cato Institute, the Niskanen Center — are fairly critical of him

Or, take the white evangelical conservative movement as a whole. It is often portrayed as totally behind the president, and news stories often cite people like Jerry Falwell Jr. who are closely allied with the president to show that. But white evangelicals aren’t completely aligned with Trump — a generational gap has begun to open up. And really, people like Falwell, who runs a small Christian college (Liberty University), are more accurately described as evangelical leaders who support Trump, rather than evangelical leaders. overall. J.D. Greear, head of the Southern Baptist Convention, is more clearly a “leader” of America’s evangelicals — and he is kind of lukewarm about Trump.

So it’s important to understand that many conservative organizations and power centers on the right are strongly behind Trump, but also that increasingly “conservative” has come to mean “pro-Trump,” a narrative that writes out of the story organizations and people who had what were considered fairly rightly-leaning views pre-Trump.

OK, I admit this is an imprecise exercise. What overall percentage of elite Republicans — conservative media figures, current and former members of Congress, current and former administration officials, etc. — oppose Trump? That’s basically impossible to quantify.

But I think it’s higher than often portrayed — because some opposition lives in non-GOP spaces where people aren’t looking, and because much of it is also hidden from view, as elected Republicans face strong incentives to stand by Trump publicly.

All of this helps explain why Republican voters are among the most loyal-to-Trump constituencies in the Republican Party. Surveys have long suggested that between 85 and 90 percent of Republican voters approve of the president. Only about 13 percent of people who voted for Mitt Romney in 2012 said that they disapproved of Trump in a poll conducted in late 2018 and early 2019 by the Democracy Fund Voter Study Group. According to FiveThirtyEight’s average of impeachment polls, about 14 percent of Republicans support impeachment.

I wrote recently about how rank-and-file voters often follow cues from elites, noting that impeachment support increased among Democrats after the party unified around the idea. So maybe if we had full data on the views of all Republican elites, we’d find that about 10 to 15 percent oppose Trump, perfectly in line with voters.

But I think that the safer assumption is this: Trump has in many ways successfully purged his critics from the power centers of the GOP. So a potential resistance to him among Republican elites doesn’t just face the obvious challenge that he’s the president and popular among GOP voters. Republican elites who are wary of Trump are also not well situated to make their case to rank-and-file Republican voters. They are working in lobbying shops or boardrooms instead of on Capitol Hill, speaking to audiences on CNN and MSNBC instead of Fox News, and outside of the administration instead of inside it.

The facts of the Ukraine case, or its politics, could open more doors for those anti-Trump voices in those pro-Trump spaces. That would likely have profound effects on the views of GOP voters.

For now, though, the Trump-skeptical bloc in Congress remains a small part of the overall Trump-skeptical conservative coalition.

[falkenscreen]

Joker

The problem’s not that Joker isn’t smart, it’s that Joker isn’t smart.

Think about it just a little bit – I promise you’ll give it more thought than just about anything this clown grants herein. Think about Cesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, Heath Ledger, even Jared Leto; all their iterations, however steeped in seeming chaos, hatched and considered every move they ever made so they were steps ahead.

What has made Joker arguably comic lore’s most famous villain isn’t simply his dress, manner, randominity or even the potential for open-ended characterisation. It’s always been about how a lo-fi street thug with an IQ of 300 consistently outsmarts Gotham’s greatest “with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets.”

None of that’s on display here; not at all.

Much has been made, unsoundly and worse so without prospective contributors having seen the film, on Joker as an impetus for violence. There is nothing that suggests Director Todd Phillips and co are wanton in this regard. Far from it, the catalyst for violence, rather than being lauded, is at once a pitiful, pathetic, tragic figure; being moreover so in his most extreme acts.

Significantly, Joker is not the wily brain we’ve come to expect, with almost everything that happens to him or because of his actions occurring not as a consequence of any deliberation but by happenstance, blind luck or being in the absurd right place at an even more absurd time. Overcoming the pursuit of Police Officers not by ingenuity but due to the actions of others, adorning a mask at this point and at another jumping through a police barricade at the opportune time are about the cleverest things he does. On other occasions he’s shown to be his own worst enemy, including in one hilarious scene in a children’s hospital and another later on in Joker’s apartment. These darker, funnier moments, interspersed throughout, are among this film’s very best, as is the final image on which Joker rests; a promise of what this movie might have been had the Hangover Director more leaned into his comic, outlandish strengths.  

Joker not being the brains of any operations yet experiencing such an unencumbered rise undercuts this otherwise erroneously grounded approach to Gotham here steeped in the imagery (and blatant symbolism) of Martin Scorsese’s 1970’s New York, which namely draws inspiration from Mean Streets and (overly so) Taxi Driver. This Joker being nay equipped for the role as traditionally realised may too undercut, and perhaps intendedly so, criticism that this figure is being in any way idolised by the filmmakers, yet the approach bears a direct dissonance with that which has otherwise rendered this icon resonant, believable and hitherto compelling.

The casting of Robert De Niro seemingly endorsing Phillip’s riffing on Scorsese’s oeuvre, the unavoidable King of Comedy comparisons, given De Niro’s now placement in that akin to Jerry Lewis’ role, like the direct hark-backs to Taxi Driver (Joker could just as well have done without all the pointing of fingers at skulls) are more distracting than necessarily symbolic. Otherwise laden with the imagery of other movies, the entirely unnecessary inclusion of Bruce Wayne and a formative event in his life, covered in now too many recent adaptations, was by no means compulsory; emerging tired and familiar.

On the matter of The King of Comedy, consider also the nuance with which De Niro and Scorsese portrayed Rupert Pupkin. Analogous in no small measure to this film’s own joker (Arthur Fleck) the depiction of Pupkin’s rise, not as here overwhelmingly encumbered by the language and motifs of a traditional hero origin story, made space for the hilarious irony which underlined the filmmakers’ much more apparent disdain for their anti-hero.

The fact that such an approach has been utilised for a villain as it might typically characterise one of the Justice League is fairly one of the more novel advents of this film, together with this, refreshingly, focusing on a (relatively) small-scale story rather than the wholescale destruction of some city or other. The film is unusually a drama and it’s perfectly fine, and revivifying, for a comic book adaptation to serve as such. De Niro is also exceptional as is Phoenix in every respect; for all this movie’s detractions their performances are faultless.

Yet it is the steering behind the camera that lets them down; the intendedly vainglorious characterisation of the triumphant Pupkin amid events rendering his accomplishments as evident self-delusion, intended to be mirrored here, overcome by the desire to more overtly reflect another irony in the superhero-esque treatment of Joker’s ascendance. Seen most overtly in Joker’s penultimate sequence, there’s just no place for the intended tragicomedy, as much as the creatives might wish to signal it, amid the deluge of language and circumstance so characterising a hero’s actualisation.

As to whether these particular instances could be read as treating Joker’s actions lightly, returning to the controversy that has unfairly dogged this all, the film is otherwise relatively clear in its approach and when viewed as a whole this is far from a potent takeaway. The emphasis is more muddled than feckless or forgiving as regards Joker’s worst traits; the seeming, intendedly ironic hailing of Joker at instances far from endorsing him yet when sparingly coupled with the now trenchant, ubiquitous stylings that aboundingly characterise an ‘origin moment’ (or moments) confusing rather than negating what could otherwise have been a readily apparent moral stand on this lead.

Turning to the politics of this movie (aren’t I a sucker for punishment), uber-wealthy Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen) running for Government on a populist platform sounds a lot like, I don’t know, someone else. The only thing is that those who oppose him, as well as those who empathise with Joker, could be read as stand-ins for both pro and anti-Trump sentiment. Without reference to Phillips’ recent comments on wokeness, which will contribute a lot more to publicity than any discourse on Joker, these non-committal, open-ended politics which will inspire no end of debate are actually some of the film’s more interesting advents.

Serving as a basis for a novel, mainstream dissection of populism thankfully absent it’s overt anchoring to any particular modern movement, one can only wish that the rest of the movie, or Joker himself, had been nearly so clever.

Joker is in cinemas now

Joker on Film Fight Club

[sinninginpurple2-0]

Rite of Passage - Chapter 6

I had this posted previously on my old sin blog but with the new guidelines, I lost easy access to those posts.

This was completely and utterly inspired by an ask sent to @clairelutra and her response to said ask. All credit for the basic idea goes to her.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3   <<Chapter 1  <Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7>

Pros and Cons

Chat was completely frozen as he tried to comprehend the words Ladybug had just thrust upon him.

“What?” she asked, confusion clearly evident on her face as he just continued to gape at her in disbelief.

He suddenly realised his eyes felt painfully raw and dried out and he blinked a few times to hydrate them as he suddenly became awkwardly aware of his breathing. After a moment to calm down his lungs to a normal pace, he remembered to close his jaw with a gentle snap and tried rebooting his language protocols to attempt to construct a sentence.

“Agreste?” he croaked before he quietly cleared his throat and tried again, “The other guy is Adrien Agreste?” Ah much better. That sounded more human.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” Ladybug said pouting at him, “It’s not a celebrity thing, I actually know him. He’s a friend.”

“You…are friends…with Adrien Agreste,” he stated vacantly, “And…and you like him enough to want to jump him.”

“I said don’t make fun.”

“Not making fun,” he said, “Processing.”

“Processing what?”

“That you know…a celebrity,” he finished lamely. Saying You know me would only cause problems right now. Especially since his mind was busy jumping up and down and screaming at him to consider that he’d given out two birthday presents yesterday. He saw the connection, but there was this tiny wriggling doubt at the back of his mind saying that maybe Ladybug had always lied about exactly when her birthday was in order to protect her identity. Despite his mental freak-out clawing it’s way to the surface, he decided to compartmentalise his suspicions until he found further evidence. Instead, he wanted to concentrate on the more definite and interesting information he had gleamed.

“You like him?” he asked and Ladybug nodded.

“But, as I’ve pointed out, I like you too. And I’m more comfortable with you. And it’s you I’m attempting to seduce, so let’s not get off track here.”

There were no words to describe how irrationally happy it suddenly made him to really register that his Lady truly had feelings for him. Regardless of whether or not he wore his mask around her. And as if that wasn’t enough, she was clearly very intent on getting into his pants as quickly as possible. He lidded his eyes mischievously and showed off his teeth in the sexiest grin he could channel.

“So would you say I’d be more of a model lover than him?”

“I regret everything,” she deadpanned, pulling her arms from around his neck and moving away to sit at the top of the bed.

“Aw, come on Bugaboo, wouldn’t you like to see me strut my stuff on a Chatwalk?” he said, smirking as he climbed onto the bed to crawl-chase after her.

“No, but I would like to report you and your civilian self to the fashion industry to have you banned from ever trying it.”

“Little do you know how difficult that would be,” he breathed as he leant in close over her half-sitting, half-leant back form.

“Excuse me,” she said in a coy tone, “I happen to have been accepted to École de la Chambre Syndicale, so I know how the fashion industry works. And ECSPC don’t often accept people unless they’ve already studied fashion. So you know I know my stuff.”

Both the school name and the way she beamed with pride when she bragged about being accepted were too familiar for it to be a second coincidence. The little doubt inside him shrivelled up instantly and died. This time he was certain.

Marinette his mind purred lovingly.

His Lady was Marinette. Marinette who had the most adorable little snort-laugh that she was always mortified to let anyone hear and who always smelled of the most delicious pastries. Marinette who stood up for her friends no matter what and who ran herself ragged with all her extra-curricular activities. Marinette who had just admitted she liked Chat and felt completely comfortable around him and who he could now see had such a ridiculous crush on Adrien that she couldn’t think or speak straight around him.

Marinette who liked all of him. And who, now that he thought about it, he clearly had a low-key crush on whether she was Ladybug or not. Although realising she was Ladybug had upped it to more than high-key.

“My Lady is always so clever, how could I ever doubt her?”

The words dripped off his tongue rich like honey and he watched thrilled, as Ladybug shivered when his breath met her skin. His eyes tracked her body as she leant back even further to lie against the pillows beneath him, hair splayed out around her head. Chat couldn’t help but worship her with his stare, as amazing a sight as she was to him. Cute classmate and awesome heroine all in one and definitely sliding her leg up against his inner thigh…

Chat groaned heavily as her knee skimmed against his now hardening length and he made no attempt to hide either his sounds or the bulge in his armour. Allowing his eyes to droop half-closed, he glanced at her expression and was unable to pretend he didn’t see the raw hunger her eyes projected.

Lifting his hand to brush the back of his knuckles against her cheek, Chat considered the pros and cons of going ahead with this. A very big pro was that this was literally everything he had ever wanted and this was so much more than a fantasy. Con – he had a sneaking suspicion that Marinette would become overly freaked out if he revealed himself to be the guy she had just admitted to having a crush on and he doubted it would help that he had worked out who she was. Pro – she wanted both Chat and Adrien. If he could calm her down his identity was the exact opposite of a deal-breaker.

The final con was both the most important and yet the silliest one of all. He had no idea what he was doing. Other than a handful of posed kisses for photo shoots he had absolutely no experience with this, and Ladybug had always been so quick to shut down his past attempts at flirting that the only kiss he’d ever had with her had been wiped from his memory. She wouldn’t have ever let him even know about it if it hadn’t come out during an interview. He was bound to be a clumsy, nervous mess and that terrified him.

Continuing to stroke her cheek with the back of his claws, he gazed down at her, sure that at least a hint of his insecurities were fading through for her to see.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked her, all hints of teasing gone from his voice for the moment.

He watched with captivation as Ladybug bit down gently on her lower lip as her hand snaked it’s way up from his wrist to his arm and finally sunk into his blond hair, her fingers carding through his locks as she gently nodded.

He moved his hand away from her face to brace his weight against it on the mattress as he leaned down towards her. His eyes never left hers and Ladybug made no effort to look away either as he dipped his head further down towards hers. He stopped mere millimetres from her lips, suddenly much more shy than he usually felt when in his costume but he didn’t have long to become truly nervous.

Ladybug lifted her head from the pillow, just enough to connect their lips as her other hand joined the first in his hair, teasing the strands between her fingers and gently pulling him down with her as her head returned to the pillow.

Despite his complete lack of any experience Chat trusted his instincts enough to allow them to take over, moving his lips in time with hers and gaining confidence with every moment that passed. He felt a foreign tongue slide across his lower lip and automatically opened his mouth to let her gain entrance. As she explored his mouth he felt himself melt into her, his arms bracing less and less of his weight as he allowed himself to lie flush against her. She let out a soft mewl into his mouth in response and Chat could feel the white-hot surge of arousal leap to his groin at the sound.

Moving awkwardly instead of in the quick fluid way he assumed things like this would normally happen, Chat moved onto his side, pulling her with him before hooking her leg over his hip and rolling onto his back, Ladybug now straddling him as she pulled back slightly with a bewildered expression.

“I dunno,” he answered her unasked question, “Just felt kinda awkward on top. You usually take the lead with stuff so this shouldn’t be too different, right?”

“With akumas and stuff,” she blushed, “But I’ve never-”

“Neither have I.” He watched her eyes blow open wide and smiled back timidly.

“Oh. I thought that…you’re always such a flirt that I thought…um-”

“Buginette, you would be really surprised by how shy I can be without my mask. Besides,” he added with a loving gaze, “I only ever really had my eye on one girl.”

“Minou,” she whispered her voice trembling with some sudden emotion.

“God, I love it when you call me that,” he said. Pushing himself up onto an elbow he quickly latched onto her throat with wet open mouthed kisses, determined to make her feel as good as possible despite his constant divergence into the sentimental.

He felt her soft cry in the vibration against his mouth but it was ultimately overshadowed by the involuntary roll her hips gave against him and he buried his face into her shoulder to mask his shudder. Ladybug lurched forward as her arms seemed to find themselves unable to prop her up any longer and he assumed she was just as surprised by the sudden sensation as he was.

They both collapsed in a heap, her atop him and his hands unexpectedly gripping her by the hips, trembling as he tried to decide whether he was trying to hold her still or grind her against him again.

He made a judgement call.

Quickly raising his knees up higher and further apart to push open her legs which she had bent on either side of him, Chat placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her to sit up as he silently encouraged her to brace her hands on his chest.

“Do that again,” he rasped.

Face flushed and eye clouded with lust, Ladybug did as he asked. Chat kept his hands on her hips tightly, trying to guide her to press against him the ways which felt best and he vaguely noted as she adjusted her movements here and there trying to find something that worked well for both of them. He thrust back against her gently, afraid to overstimulate himself too quickly and make the encounter an embarrassingly short one.

The noises she was making were becoming harder to ignore and he panted and whined in response to her high pitched moans and mewls of pleasure as he desperately tried to mentally cool himself down. If he didn’t change their position soon he was going to explode and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do so early on in their little encounter.

Carefully he stilled her hips with his hands and tilted his head back for a moment to catch his breath as he allowed himself to come back from the edge. The whimper Ladybug let out at the loss of movement was almost enough to make him continue regardless but he needed to keep his head in the moment.

As his eyes fluttered open he took in the shuddering girl atop him. Her body and head were slumped forward a little in frustration and she hadn’t yet ceased to try moving against him, his grip on her the only thing stopping any progress.

“Buginette?” he said as she raised her flushed face to look at him, “Was that too…are you, um…”

The first real hint of embarrassment suddenly appeared on Ladybug’s face for the first time since the whole drinking incident had started and with it, she looked so utterly Marinette that it floored him. She was so flustered and it was completely out of character for now considering everything that had happened between them. Maybe it was because of this that it dawned on him but regardless of why it did, Chat knew he had to deal with the implications.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly before sitting up and lowering his voice as he spoke in her ear closely, “were you close?”

He felt the slight nod more than saw it but the confirmation was enough.

The breathy gasp that escaped her as he trailed his hand from her hip to the juncture between her legs made him shudder as he felt the air blow against his skin which tugged at his groin, but he continued to listen carefully for her sounds of pleasure or distress as he found his destination – careful to keep his claws out of the way as he started to touch her through her suit.

His mind swam with a mixture of amazement and anxiety as her shy little gasps became soft moans and she clung to his shoulder and chest. She was trusting him completely to take control of her pleasure and he was both terrified that he’d mess it up and on a complete high that his Lady was allowing him to do this at all.

His hand trapped between their bodies moved faster against the hardened little piece of flesh he assumed was her clit based on it’s position and the the noises it elicited from her, and he listened as she became more and more lost in the sensations he was bringing her. He muffled her cries with a brief kiss, pulling back as he found he craved those sounds more than her lips right now.

The gloved hand on his chest moved into his hair, gripping tightly and stopping just short of causing pain as he welcomed the accompanying shudders and moans she made. Her voice was getting more and more desperate and her legs had started to clamp around his thighs as she rocked in place against his hand. He could tell she was right there at the edge of the precipice and he prayed he could bring her over in a marvellous cascade.

Suddenly, her shudders intensified, her head falling forward as she let out a soft cry into his shoulder, her whole body tensing. The sheer exhilaration he felt at making her orgasm completely clouded his mind with power and untameable lust. He had no idea he was even whispering to her until the words were already out of his mouth, murmured into the shell of her ear.

“That’s it, Marinette. Come for me, Princess.”

The hand in his hair tugged tightly and far too hard for the noise he made to be one of pleasure.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[iotaarcane]

XnationalZ

BUSY BLOW TORCHING DABS

Door doesn’t open it glides on rails like the entrance impales tracks leave scabs

They pick at them like a flurry of energy inertly imperil and in peril while sterile the enemy isn’t at his post busy blow torching dabs

Laughing gas to a mass of brain cells that might as well been in cell or for sale to sell for the fact of not being usable like loud theater patrons at musical

Stomping footsteps upsets the stairwell, Hercule as security

picks you up and while airborne you get the farewell.

A good bye of sorts a great try physically the body with a little help contorts but spiritually its dormant in hibernation protected in a fort.  The outside winds set him to the maximum miles per hour bumping over the welts.   Swelling is mainstream never go underground.  A golf club waving at lightning

A day filled with bad decisions.   A perfect life a nocturnal health freak who is slowing dying because of the hours he choose to sleep.  North of the sauna lives out of water a piranha gills with chankla….  Flip flop the hip hop to this mantra….   They got Bin Laden but the tomatoes slices cut au gratin and their insides just by general principal all rotten every good deed all but forgotten.

They attempted because it looked great on camera to have caughten Sadam but the madam of the ministry secretly had  many a body double dangling feet from noose corpse of course wasn’t who they thought they had bad DNA tests fail when not given. You’ll just straight believe without any thought or thinking in a closed space trying to identify who is stinking. This planet in that galaxy is sinking below where it once orbited and your whole existence is defined of what you afforded how toxins are absorbed y’all point the finger iota morbid.

As blood dripping on everything like a loop of hemoglobin training goblins to run tasks on apps.  Hairless ape with only a little fur missing - hand and the wrist  slice is still fresh magenta pink placenta veiny underwent chef prep,  impractical to prevent a story to end like this begin as it went, we muster the emotion to climb street curb like step, tentacle suction cup girlfriend tales like cotton swab on bunny ear manifesto.  One piece bikini transacting - posts no bill.  Open register the creditor turned into a collector, an editorial of breadwinner meanwhile back in the western hemisphere sky is too clear - cuts retina sundries colander fluid filter an array of enemies attacked the command post.  The mid morning foray angrily adjusted.  You could totally notice the moment the ward went kaleidoscope twist 33 degree.  As the crow fly viewpoint saw the west wing extend and to what seems like an elbow bend but they aint drinking consuming much of nothing except orders from the chief who dictates the whereabouts and you gotta be down cannot have doubts they don’t come in shouts - illest hand signals in the game it’s an artistic beauty to see the tic for tac counterattack he who gets the most vagina must be the Mack.  Diesel easel drawer no undies they were left in dresser drawer and if it don’t work out oh no the lawyer is not pro bono yet the retainer fixed the teeth apprehended the beef no more issues.

Him whose piss poor planning continues will be facing the sultry seductress Miss Hughes 4 feet 6 shoes opposite of the elephant of Hindus infamous for the pop ins on miscues So real was breakfast cereal mammal sauce from cashews.   Nipple hula hoop sports car aficionado drop top in the coupe where they kept the chickens.   Jumpy trampoline mouth fortune reader foreseen vulgar obscene potty lips unclean that contingency of the attorney of where wonder land on a poca dot which marks the spot.  Accuracy solar hot, lift off broke apart space shuttle heat pads over hot not matter if they were chosen or not.  Nudity not as bad as could be frontal, wide opening little exit funnel so many come backs you can’t shoot down every rebuttal.  We double as secret agents where birds are fowl and flagrant evil as the vortex in control of this spaceship.  I got it plannded see use that ladder granted to climb into the zoo – carefully pinpoint were from the top we landed snag a handful thus huck right between their eyes candid close to the nose as possible rancid so they go crazy - ape shit

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++NOTHING and LIKE it

You’ll get nothing and like it. No matter how much you despite it.

Like you wanted that new whip but you were too good for the bus so you bike it. 

Like it ever mattered – your best bud did the same inebriated on the way home dump truck made him splattered we identified the body basically because only thing left the t-shirt he wore that night tattered.   I want a hamburger – with a vegan patty in the current state of Armageddon it doesn’t look good brethren Xnational that’s why I rock the same hairdo as a Tibetan.  No a cheese burger yall overreacting on this meat is murder so is a relentless ethic of work especially when exhausted and it hurt. We’ve been threatened by a heavy weapon.  I was reading about Reagan and outline seems Pagan that’s as good for you as dippin Copenhagen spittin telling the surgeon do not beckon the question I love when my gummies are redden.  Cancer of the embouchure is more than a Horoscope sign I concur.   I want a hot dog.  Smothered in mustard covered in meat trimmings ground up chemicals as the fixings.  Bought my rhymes with a great bargain from Groupon.  Even added a discount photoshopped counterfeit coupon. Creating to the beat the loops on.  I don’t know is a Bentley a Rolls Royce because in the back seat the window lowered and I was offered grey poupon do you happen to have another choice.  Already had condiments on my weenie.  Get off my computer don’t you dare peep my documents.  My sentiments exactly the conference in regards to arguments approximates Many inter-nationalities at least 3 continents. Ancestor occupants with these words I’m a biochemist marketing guerrillas in the midst of this mist.  We the tapestry of ornaments via the internets correspondents it’s like I’m studied on my own no paperwork to show my doctorate of rocking it.  I want a milkshake mixed extra thick so it actually improves my life.  Massacre in the streets.  Soul gets fasten to the beats.  Emotion in a drum pattern.  Puts the spirit at ease changes lives makes memories.  We reminisce lacking candor look back in retrospect kinesis situational intensity convince myths as the centripetal force drifts making you cause conflicts with the dame you caressed whose early departure has you dismissed flailing arms is a fit temper tantrum get nothing and like it anthem in this for the marathon and beyond whereupon such a large portion of our population is related to Genghis Khan.  What was going on?  Mating a savage motivation bondage of ancestral astral projections.  In a succession of going with aggression. Talking too much now I’m a witness to this confession.  I didn’t want to know that nor should you want to share it - in your heart bear with it. I need to check up on what era that was. I want potato chips crisper than a whisper in a dark room embracing solitude twiddling a whisker brisker than podcast radio transistor, he was very bad only did one movie but he was a fister, turned that lifestyle around and became a wonderful listener, except after he kissed her, she fiddled his zipper, polished half handle of liquor, hand cuffs cutoff circulation like a prisoner, as she moved towards his waistline she announced OK noodle, his phone screen lit up he couldn’t get up - his unit wouldn’t get up, Here is the kicker, she addressed yours is so much pinker, than red shade of a swisher, Oh yes it is sir right when she was about to go to town cell phone screen with the rear camera face down accessed a video Oh yes Mister Fisher.  Vid featuring a debutante with oily wrist smash grab a sphincter.   Homegirl peeped it out the corner of her eye.  Jeez Louise Guy, you think she liked it, those are screams of terror why did you video tape and mic it?  Payback is real He said no no stop she said you will get nothing and like it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bloop Didn't Match Bleep

Flat line monitor they filed with the manufacturer to get truth because bloop didn’t match bleep

Was she dead or deep asleep it takes a large leap of courage to surpass milestones when laid out flat on  back thick as a board bright as feather totally do laps passing my stone counting per mile our style lashes out flashes of the bang - boom go sky.  They hope when it’s over something changes dramatically like a star fall macho man bar brawl telekinetic script to anyone one whom you bonded importance of existence is something you cannot deny.  

Fly by the seat of pants, advance like cash flow, difficult to rap slow, I wanna run it like you need it get roller pinned and kneaded, Hebrew jui-jitsu submission look at what his knee did.  Star of David on his playlist we turning off tech on Satur no matter bribery or how you flatter your condolences belated along with ski masks raided should of seen them coming the porch was shaded driveway isolated doctrine confirmed over something we traded urine peptide beaker foggy but perplex this –  His best amigo did too much acid like amino so when he was at cathouse heard a whore moan he could only cognate behavior to influence mood balanced hormone as the counterpoint feline payment never transacted fee to wait in line.   What skill or excellences are you pursuing how can you portray without any cueing.  Hit your marks.  Spit in pitch black fire mouth out sparks.  

It’s your energy that relay tend to take opposition and sway.  Assists their dishin’ drug addicts spinning to get spun on a mission in addition to addiction they act like they don’t lie this is no audition you’re grown why you want permission to ruin your life You see in LA a Bruin cub a forty niner in Long Beach data gets scrubbed unit information placed out of reach.   Look what the cat drug in, breeze blew in you could have been somebody a shoo in.  Migrated to Peru in a mobile pyramid amongst doubters, its like the shouters are first with inside out lower lip pouters claim to be ballers all they are is browsers knickerbockers shirtless with trousers waving a give me a freebie voucher so I roll with moon howlers now does this overwhelm like towers stimulates give us powers of the third kind and our encounters.  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gun Laws

-  No fun wit dem laws especially when encountering rough edges grainy surface with gun laws

-  The cause is mass hysteria because amendments put both sides into a predicament

-  Wing of the Eagle into action Xnational Activist after a sour apple up spring the people Active Fist raised above the forehead concurrently nobody wants more dead.

-  Not even the gunman but what about that run in my states Capitol Sacramento

-  Odd… Cell phone is not a weapon 20 trigger pulls the Police can act like a beast, On tempo protest Florida mad man rampaged blood everywhere escorted in handcuffs away facial expression wonder struck departed campus quad

-  Dem our rights in dat bill but that bill was proclaimed before our land fell ill Overdose of fluoride oxygen intoxicants horrible supplements processed food and diabetes from too much sugar in condiments

-  Now to fix your country don’t be chicken like poultry spend love to arrange a redeeming elixir

- This is precise calculation when you are overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like an exchange of demon trading evil for evil soul grasp tool sickle--- Concise to arbitration overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like is regal viper fang retention seek help contemplating like gleaming shovel off moonshine fickle.  

-  Everything even your status is the status materialism is the apparatus zero the sum on the abacus but yet the ability to function not be bullied or tempted to destroy yourself or others can be uncontrollable

-  Mental health doesn’t have a look so why they judge based on the cover texture ink print of book

-  No civilian needs an automatic machine gun.  Home protection can be accomplished with 20 gauge is plenty.  

- There are more guns in the US than people.  So agree with March for our lives.  I disagree with anything I’m not feeling and if we all could be a Democracy and meet in the middle we all should be fine with the compromise.

- First person liver body organ problem corking, ostrich keeping dome piece dipped into land chunks hoping not to get things out of proportion

-  News was sidetracked Porn Star had protection less sex with President along with a dry cleaner hanger abortion clinic minute men attacking those who look immigrated

- It’s a circle of blood you been initiated.  We do not exist in a dystopia but these large organizations can paint whatever portrait they want to fit into an agenda

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++You Can Be Anything

You are where you at in fact you could go where you want to be and you can be anything

So easy to feel like nothing complain and become doubtful with a mouthful of evil they walk in a horrible path of negativity and self-destruction same time place continuum hurting others while they just trying to get through the same as you do.  What is this reasoning?  Who created the outline?  Why if I don’t play ball can’t I get a pass down on the baseline? Appeasing you either got to be a mover and shaker or to the sideline your thrown and labeled a space waster.  Money identifies so much.  Status class how your friends and family eat continuous and fast.  Totally empty posthumous till those on top of the power structure find those beneath humorous.  Better teeth greater smile success is subjective.  I took the elective to be me why don’t you be you. Underneath all the bogus ideas and understandings  I breathe near the 14th of the month only to inhale and not exhale for another 30.  If you do business justified you can really be wealthy if you lied play dirty. Landing around the 5th I derail in a matter of moments look sick and pale living again for less than allowed.  Now the natural lines in my face is  scowled. I want to be an xnational not into whats in or rational I’ve never admired reality TV or what is force fed to me. The world is very fluid with whats not allowed how you make your bread and weather you get a box or become dust when dead.  They never said it would be like this but they never stated it wouldn’t or couldn’t I’m tired of the chosen getting a vote I never balloted giving me basically 2 options on major decisions unanimously untalented more than perfected for the future while living slithering past the masses until something so major happens to a loved one a ugly ungloved one frozen in the headline archived content someplace indefinite it is about time.  Dig through scorched Earth.   Charred ground far fewer giblets in the stew to see self in mirror the spoon is wooden and sipping left a splinter too difficult to survive this nuclear winter.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++To Get Bye

Chatted with an annoying carcass inverted in Caracas on an apparatus and we agreed about this

You’re all I need to get buy

-  The voice don’t know but like a bass line I record in mono Remember before I kissed a girl I got mononucleosis and this in general gave me a neurosis if I haven’t kissed how the heck did I get mono

-  Punctuality arriving pronto seconds click nimble with the fingertips pulling a combo characterized in metabolic state ketosis

-  Fasting near or around roses favorite floral Lotus.  To get by stay fly no aeronautics my aerobics consists of verbal trampoline pounce the guardrail carine upon the jet strip Don’t Trip.

-  Landing gear engaged to get by clearance from the air traffic controller, just this style is me high roller tip toeing soldier avoiding ebola maintain employment meeting or exceeding quota.

-  To get buy you need straight cash homie loads and loaves of bread cheddar or whatever Hamilton greenbacks, paper guap of franklin will do

-  To get by Your Blessing will be thee necessity sky beautiful.   Open heart to keep it plain and simple more than the crease unfolding the ripple

-  To get by clean water fresh air healthy food the ability to create mobility infinitely friends family meditation agility stretching.

-  Concept of these scriptures stacks all the to the back of literature willingness be the finesse all this and that’s success

-  To get by why try easier to complain make it artificial cause others through the tidal waves stress and strain

- Sitting on your knees sneaker heels tap the back of your button ups Long Barrel at temple.  Imagine the thoughts before you’re executed.   That process of it’s over.  Can you fanaggle?   Use communication for survival last chance come at them sideways like a tooth that snaggle

-  This snag will either end your current existence begin into a newish dimension an entrance how did these doors swing open? Never let them see you moping. Laugh in the face danger many elements to this for coping.

-   Change is a guarantee and you can’t get much of anything so constant.  Who can adapt the fastest?   Chip up as soon as society is cashless.  Global position the system while mapless.  I’m going to flow more rap less.

-  Concubine colorful sword edge dull, The Ktown market I copped it at in the China shop bull.     Tea party porcelain porcupine alarm module.

-  iota needs some soda caramel color cola so the bubbles can fix my upset tummy stay scummy my friend is a sin and not funny Lowest on totem pole that explains the mischievous grin

-  Never find work attitude be the jerk stay going bizerk at the store with the clerk make it impossible for them to accomplish the mish undertone a smirk relentless and abscessed until they fail find out it all evolved from silly little games your repercussions wrong answer given to test

-   Well rounded knew how art felt, Chemicals were spilt and the fumes of the 2nd story would melt.  Heartfelt never dealt a hand like that patience is all precious up til you are the doctors patients and he truly evil terrorize a boll weevil wore wild long tail lab coat crazy colors of crayon except no cotton all rayon and he would lay on the guilt deprive of medication till the truly ugly wanted to be killed subconsciously the whispers You’re all I need to get by…..

[westywrites]

WHG: Prompt 4 - The Train Ride

@ratracechronicler I’m not sure why I have so much fun writing these prompts for the Writeblr Hunger Games, but I do, so thanks for the opportunity. (Also sorry in advance for mistakes in this one, I’m on mobile now and don’t have my editing software to catch dumb mistakes)

Rylan

Rylan lounged in a chair in the dining car, his feet propped up on the table. He ate an apple while watching the escort and mentor run about trying to find the other tributes. Apparently they all didn't feel like talking. Rylan didn't understand the sentiment.

Eventually, the Capitol escort flung himself into a chair and laid across the table with a sigh. Rylan couldn't help but laugh slightly at the dramatic gesture.

“Seems you're having troubles,” Rylan said, now eating golden french fries from an equally golden plate.

“No one wants to talk to me,” the escort whined, his voice unsurprisingly nasal. “It makes it rather hard to do my job.”

“I'm sure it does,” Rylan pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward, “I suppose, if you have any questions for me, I'd be willing to talk.”

“Really?” The escort stood, slamming his hands against the table in his eagerness.

“Yes.” Rylan hid his disdain at the action.

“My name is Filian Fedoras,” the escort stuck a hand out towards Rylan.

“Rylan Foster,” Rylan shook the extended hand with the tips of his fingers. “I will admit to you, Filian, that being here, heading towards the Hunger Games, is a terrifyingly exciting opportunity. However, I'm less worried for myself than I am for my dear aunt.”

“Oh, yes,” Filian nodded, eating up Rylan’s mask of worry, “her reaction after seeing you on stage was truly devastating.”

“She has raised me since the tragic death of my parents,” Rylan said, nodding along with Filian, “and I wasn't always the easiest child to raise.” Rylan gave a playful smile and launched into the story of his life with his aunt. Just enough family love to make it sweet with enough issues thrown in to make it interesting, and just enough truth to make it believable. Filian listened intently and even scribbled down some notes as Rylan talked.

“My, My,” Filian said when he finished, “you've been through so much.”

“I couldn't have done it without my aunt,” Rylan said. “She taught me everything I know. She taught me how to live, to always be kind and honest, to whayever life tgrows at me tge very best I can. That's what I plan to do in these Games, for my aunt.” Rylan wiped at his eyes, and Filian’s face dropped. Good, he thought Rylan was tearing up. “I'm sorry.”

“You are such a gentleman too,” Filian stood up, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your auntie taught you well. I need to go find the other tributes, you enjoy the food here, okay?”

Rylan nodded and Filian Fedoras, the ridiculous Capitol escort, left the room, hopefully with Rylan’s stories spinning through his mind. Rylan lifted his feet back onto the table and laughed to himself. His aunt would appreciate the pretty picture he'd painted of her, and so would the audience watching at home.

Narina

Narina sat in a car at the very back of the train. She watched the scenery fly by, marvelling at the natural world she so seldom got the chance to see. As birds flew in the sky, she designed plans in her head, different ways to build cybernetic replicas of the soaring creatures. Birds have an intelligent design, their hollow bones allowing them to take to the skies. Narina liked nature, it followed patterns and logic. Each plant and creature served its purpose as part of the whole, people liked to believe they weren't the same, they thought they were each their own new thing. Something unique. People made little sense to Narina, she left them to Xavier, but she knew they were all part of the system, whether they liked it or not. It was just a matter of working your way to the top. Or reprogramming the system entirely. Narina smiled at the thought. If it were up to her, she’d build a world just for her and Xavier and maybe a few others who they both deemed worthy.

Her daydreaming was interrupted by a sharp knock at the carriage door. The Mentor stepped inside, her gaze as harsh as her knock. Narina didn't like the curved of the mentor’s pointed nose or the way her tight bun pulled at the skin of her forehead. She looked like an evil old librarian despite being in her mid-20s. “I'm here to help you in the Games,” she announced. Narina could believe that, this lady looked like she would willingly kill a bunch of children multiple times over.

“I don't need help, thank you.”

“I am Dr. Kazarinto, I won the Hunger Games twelve years ago and have been training tributes since.” Dr. Kazarinto had her hands clasped behind her back. “My aid will give you a better chance in the Games.”

Narina narrowed her eyes at the tall woman. “How many of those tributes have survived, Doctor?”

Dr. Kazarinto winced slightly. “The Games are not easy, I know that from experience. If you give me some information we can work together to help you in the lead up to the Games.”

“Fine,” Narina agreed. She lacked knowledge, and without Xavier beside her, she lacked people skills. A quick comparison of pros and cons made it clear; however much Dr. Kazarinto’s presence rubbed her the wrong way, the mentor’s experience was her best shot at success in the steps before she got into the arena. “What do you need to know?”

Tagging my district peeps: @k-nichelle-the-writer @concealeddarkness13 @dreamwishing @stingthescribe @nightskywriter @writer-denois