#Five star tax resolution

[llcradar]

#LegalZoomvsZenBusiness #ZenBusinessreview2022 #ZenBusinessvsLegalZoom

[animal25]

Doberman pinscher Price, Size, And Dog Breed Special Profile

The Doberman, or Doberman pinscher in the United States and Canada, is a medium-large breed of domestic dog originally developed around 1890 by German tax collector Louis Dobermann. The Doberman has a long muzzle.

It stands on its pad and is not usually heavy-footed. Ideally, they have a uniform and graceful gait. Traditionally, the ears are cut and posted and the tail is docked. However, in some countries, these procedures are now illegal and are often considered cruel and unnecessary.

Dobermans have markings on the chest, paws/feet, muzzle, above the eyes, and under the tail. Dobermans are known to be intelligent, alert, and resolutely loyal companions and guard dogs.

Visual Status

Dog Breed Group: Working DogsHeight: 24 to 28 inches tall at the shoulderWeight: 60 to 80 poundsLife Span: 10 to 13 years

Breed Characteristics

Adaptability: 5 starsDog Friendly: 2 starsShedding Level: 3 starsAffection Level: 5 starsExercise Needs: 3 starsSocial Needs: 3 starsApartment Friendly: 5 starsGrooming: 1 starStranger Friendly: 1 starBarking Tendencies: 2 starsHealth Issues: 4 starsTerritorial: 5 starsCat Friendly: 3 starsIntelligence: 5 starsTrainability: 5 starsChild Friendly: 4 starsPlayfulness: 3 starsWatchdog Ability: 5 stars

History

Dobermans were first bred in the 1880s in Upolda, Thuringia, Germany by Carl Friedrich Louis Dobermann, a tax collector who ran the Upolda Dog Pound. With access to many breeds of dogs, he got the idea to create a breed that would be ideal for guarding him.

He set out to breed a new type of dog that would exhibit impressive stamina, strength, and intelligence. Five years after the death of the Doberman, one of the earliest breeders, Otto Goeller, created the National Doberman Pinscher Club and is believed to have bred, bred, and refined them in the 1890s.

The exact proportions of the mix, and even the exact breeds that were used, remain uncertain, although many experts believe that the Doberman pinscher is a combination of several breeds including the Beauceron, the German pinscher, Includes Rottweiler, and Weimaraner.

The only exception is the documented crossing with the Greyhound and the Manchester Terrier. It is also widely believed that the Old German Shepherd was the largest contributor to the Doberman breed. Philipp Grunig’s The Doberman Pinscher (1939) describes the early development of the breed by Otto Goeller, who helped establish the breed.

The American Kennel Club believes that the breeds used to develop the Doberman Pinscher may include the Older Shorthair Shepherd, Rottweiler, Black and Tan Terrier, and German Pinscher.

After Doberman’s death

After the Doberman’s death in 1894, the Germans named the breed the Dobermann-Pinscher in his honor but dropped the word ‘pinscher’ half a century later on the grounds that the German word for ‘terrier’ was no longer appropriate.

A few years later the British did the same; Now the US and Canada are the only countries that continue to use the pinscher and have dropped the “n” from the Doberman’s surname.

During World War II, the United States Marine Corps adopted the Doberman pinscher as its official war dog, although the Corps did not use the breed exclusively.

In the United States, the American Kennel Club ranked the Doberman pinscher as the 12th most popular dog breed in 2012 and 2013.

Read Our Article On :

Boston Terrier

more details:https://animalatoz.com/doberman/

#https://animalatoz.com/doberman/

[animala2z]

Doberman pinscher Price, Size, And Dog Breed Special Profile

The Doberman, or Doberman pinscher in the United States and Canada, is a medium-large breed of domestic dog originally developed around 1890 by German tax collector Louis Dobermann. The Doberman has a long muzzle.

It stands on its pad and is not usually heavy-footed. Ideally, they have a uniform and graceful gait. Traditionally, the ears are cut and posted and the tail is docked. However, in some countries, these procedures are now illegal and are often considered cruel and unnecessary.

Dobermans have markings on the chest, paws/feet, muzzle, above the eyes, and under the tail. Dobermans are known to be intelligent, alert, and resolutely loyal companions and guard dogs.

Visual Status

Dog Breed Group: Working DogsHeight: 24 to 28 inches tall at the shoulderWeight: 60 to 80 poundsLife Span: 10 to 13 years

Breed Characteristics

Adaptability: 5 starsDog Friendly: 2 starsShedding Level: 3 starsAffection Level: 5 starsExercise Needs: 3 starsSocial Needs: 3 starsApartment Friendly: 5 starsGrooming: 1 starStranger Friendly: 1 starBarking Tendencies: 2 starsHealth Issues: 4 starsTerritorial: 5 starsCat Friendly: 3 starsIntelligence: 5 starsTrainability: 5 starsChild Friendly: 4 starsPlayfulness: 3 starsWatchdog Ability: 5 stars

History

Dobermans were first bred in the 1880s in Upolda, Thuringia, Germany by Carl Friedrich Louis Dobermann, a tax collector who ran the Upolda Dog Pound. With access to many breeds of dogs, he got the idea to create a breed that would be ideal for guarding him.

He set out to breed a new type of dog that would exhibit impressive stamina, strength, and intelligence. Five years after the death of the Doberman, one of the earliest breeders, Otto Goeller, created the National Doberman Pinscher Club and is believed to have bred, bred, and refined them in the 1890s.

The exact proportions of the mix, and even the exact breeds that were used, remain uncertain, although many experts believe that the Doberman pinscher is a combination of several breeds including the Beauceron, the German pinscher, Includes Rottweiler, and Weimaraner.

The only exception is the documented crossing with the Greyhound and the Manchester Terrier. It is also widely believed that the Old German Shepherd was the largest contributor to the Doberman breed. Philipp Grunig’s The Doberman Pinscher (1939) describes the early development of the breed by Otto Goeller, who helped establish the breed.

The American Kennel Club believes that the breeds used to develop the Doberman Pinscher may include the Older Shorthair Shepherd, Rottweiler, Black and Tan Terrier, and German Pinscher.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Labor Educationists Decry Deportations,” Toronto Star. May 25, 1932. Page 9. ----- Would Precede Alien Ouster By Criminal Trials and Convictions --- Guelph, May 25. - The convention of the Labor Educational Association of Ontario, in session here yesterday concurred in a resolution sponsored by the Women’s Educational Federation of Ontario protesting against the deportation of any alien from the country because of his political opinions without criminal charges being laid under the criminal code; a trial at the place of residence; and a conviction secured.

This motion was made in protest against the recent arrest and proposed deportations of alleged Communists.

Resolutions were sponsored calling for a compulsory inquiry into all deaths caused by industry; for the enactment of legislation equalizing income tax levies by Ontario municipalities; the reduction of the age limit of applicants for the old age pension to 65 years; a superannuation scheme for civic employees; raising of witness fees in all cases called by the crown; a national system of banking; and favoring a six-hour-day, and a five-day week.

Tom Moore was the special speaker.

#guelph #labour educational association #conscription of labour #annual convention #political protest #deportation from canada #communists #communism #anti-communism #shoveling out the unwanted #social welfare #working class politics #labour socialism #canadian socialism #great depression in canada #ontario politics

[madsdefencesquad]

The semi-companion piece to Kevin's one and it's all about Mads, of course. Dedicated to Kevison Nation (every single fudging one of you) and to @flythesail and @penny259 (your comments have me weeping haha 😚). Also on ao3.

A little into Madison Pearson by x (with additions) Summer 2026

I first met Madison Pearson a year ago at George Clooney’s 65th birthday celebrations in Perthshire, Scotland in a fashion closer to that of long-travelled friends who haven’t seen each other in years than that of complete strangers who just so happened to enjoy the same foodie indulgence (bacon-wrapped dates, anyone?). Despite the grandeur of the guests present at the lavish affair – politicians, laureates, philanthropists and A-list celebrities (including her own husband actor Kevin Pearson) – Madison Pearson had the kind of invigorating energy that just drew absolutely anyone in.

Perhaps it was the enchanting mix of contained excitement and understated class she exuded that will warm you upon beholding up close, or perhaps it was the charm of a more loquacious woman of California mixed with the rare intelligence of a world-traveller. Either way, despite the taxing social waltz her husband took her throughout the night bumping elbows with the elites, Madison was one of those people who truly left a lasting impression.

Squeezed next to her in the back of a cab, Madison is head-to-toe in Temperley London x Axel Arigato (vintage-inspired nautical jumpsuit and platform suedes) en route to a baking class where her five-year-old twins Nick and Franny are waiting for her to join them along with their father.

“I was supposed to get changed,” she says, lamenting on her attire worn for a meeting with some West Chester development executives that’s perhaps too luxurious for an afternoon of mixing flour and butter and sugar. “But you have to make at least a bit of an impression, right?”

Madison has been the powerhouse head honcho of the Pearson family business, Big Three Homes, since its establishment three years prior. With a solid background in business management and a surefooted ability to navigate the mores of an ever-changing property development landscape, it was no question that Madison would rise up to the challenge of breaking into the market with a business model founded on family, philanthropy and sustainability.

Despite growing up largely independent without people close enough to call family, Madison has also found the means to speak about her experiences in an effort to encourage and give hope to the younger generation of girls and young women who may be going through an ongoing battle between themselves and their self-worth.

“I never felt enough,” she says of the origins of her battle with her eating disorder that began when she was still in middle school. “I look at Franny and she’s so small and carefree and I want to give her everything I never had, but I know that even that won’t be enough unless she herself realises how worthy she is of all the good and all the love that she deserves.”

We pull up outside the baking studio and she brightens at spotting her husband and twins’ silhouettes behind the frosted glass windows. Nick and Franny almost topple over their stools as they rush to overwhelm their mother while their father scrambles to keep his heart rate down—a close call with their foreheads hitting the edge of the marble benches as they got down will just about do it.

Even with her petite frame, Madison carries the twins like she’s just holding a bag of groceries. Unsurprisingly, both Nick and Franny are as enamoured of their mother as she is of them and are on the verge of complaining when put down just as Kevin, grinning ear to ear, envelops Madison in his huge arms—to be fair, he’s always been quite remarkably chiselled but the Tom Ford sweater and those tailored jeans (chosen by his wife “of course” as Kevin credits) is a different level altogether. He leans down to give her a kiss.

Back in Perthshire a year ago at the Clooney extravaganza, I caught up with the married couple the day after the festivities over a traditional Scottish breakfast as we overlooked the highlands of the Gleneagles.

Perhaps unlike the Clooneys, who were still entertaining their guests from all over world, the Pearsons were much more relaxed within their own family bubble. Having just celebrated Kevin’s twin sister’s wedding three days prior with close family and friends, the pair was grateful to spend some quality time with each other and their twins without the need to be anything but present.

From my perch, Kevin and Madison were the kind of couple that were very much “old souls”. They held an affection for each other that is rooted from sincere fondness and adoration for each other—they converse like deep friends and trade wits like secret lovers. And despite the media attention of the adorable moments shared online (often by the social-savvy actor), Madison is uncompromising when it comes to the privacy of their children.

While the twins dipped in and out of the table pilfering scones or taking over their mother’s green juice, neither one of their parents were the least bit bothered by the constant attention they need to provide such a rumbunctious pair.

“They’re so funny,” Kevin said, a careful eye on little Nick who was staring at the whipped cream on his tiny finger like he was contemplating on wiping it on his dad’s face.

I do recall having a good laugh when I accompanied the family on a tour of a nearby 17th century castle and little Franny, a copy-and-paste of her mother, pointed at a wood-cut table decoration of what looked to be intertwined lovers and confidently yelled, “That’s mommy and daddy!”

The fierce mama bear of the Pearson household of four (Madison sometimes calls her husband “kid number three, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get ideas of trying for another!”), remarks that forging her own path away from her husband’s spotlight had been remarkably easy, and she gives much of the credit to the rest of the Pearson clan who all treasure family more than anything.

Even with the notoriety of her brother-in-law, rising political star Randall Pearson, who currently serves in the Philadelphia municipality and is on track for a career in congress, Madison says that quality time to rest and recuperate is a must.

“[My sisters-in-law] and I have a girls weekend every other month when we can where we literally book ourselves a gorgeous Airbnb and just glamp down. I’m talking sleep-ins, endless mimosas, spa sessions… you name it! It’s the kind of getaway that [our husbands] get really jealous for.”

And upon being reminded, Kevin, now sporting Franny’s tiny chef’s hat, shakes his head at his wife conspicuously as if in reprimand that he most definitely should be included in the gals’ next glamping session despite him being, well, not a gal.

While Nick proudly counts five of about a thousand sprinkles that are scattered on his side of the bench, Madison congratulates him with a warmth and pride that is infectious enough to make you think that she’s proud of you too. And despite her husband’s very obvious possessiveness over her—you could count only one occasion where the actor is not at arm’s length from her—when Madison focuses her attention on you, it’s not difficult to believe that this powerhouse woman could truly do absolutely anything.

“She is that and more,” Kevin says about his wife. “Sometimes I can’t believe that this is my life. Our life! Like, she’s mywife, and these two are our kids. It’s just wild! I’m grateful, just grateful.”

Despite the doubts and fear that had been Madison’s constant companions for most of her life and especially going into adulthood, there is a fierce resilience in her that she could only credit her dear grandmother Frances—her own daughter having been named after her.

“She always believed in me,” she recalls, an eye on the twins squatting by the oven watching their creations rise. Despite the deep grief and loss that are quite intimately shared by the married couple, Madison says that it has only made them more resolute in loving their children and each other as best as they possible can every day.

“You just don’t know when it’s your time,” she says. “So, Kev and I make sure that there are no ‘next times’ when it comes to our family.”

When I had asked Madison about Big Three Homes back in Scotland, she squealed at the origin story of its founding, which started with Kevin’s late father Jack Pearson having asked his wife Rebecca to start the business together as partners.

Although Jack’s tragic and unexpected passing put an indefinite hold to this dream, its fulfilment through his son Kevin and through Madison is a testament to the kind of legacy that Jack Pearson had begun through his kids.

“I mean, it started off as more of a passion project for Kev,” Madison says. “But we knew it was always going to be something really special. Especially because his first project was the house that Jack had wanted to build for his mom. And when Kevin had this wonderful idea of bringing the family together to start the business and he asked me to be a part of it, how could I have said no!”

Kevin makes a point to say though that even if the idea of Big Three Homes originally came from his parents, its fulfilment is as much a part of his and Madison’s own story as it is his parents’. And choosing to have Madison work alongside him wasn’t just the best choice (given how much of a boss she is), but it was the only choice he ever wanted or considered.

“I know this is cliché, but I can’t stand not being with her,” Kevin says. “I made a point of this when our twins were born, and I meant it!”

Madison and the family split their time between California and Pennsylvania both for Kevin’s work and for the business, but nowadays, it’s more of an 80-20 split in favour of the east coast.

When asked about a career path carved away from her hometown in California, Madison says fondly, “It surprises a lot of people when I say this but I’m actually an east coast girl.”

This fun fact translates quite well in Madison’s day to day. She could turn any conversation into an erudite discussion, and she will utterly beguile you with her knowledge of books and literature—her constant companions when she can sneak away to her own personal Taj Mahal, a stunning Japanese garden in the backyard of their Pennsylvania home which Kevin built especially for her.

As the Pearsons continue to make a splash in the world of construction, politics, arts and entertainment—a rare mix indeed for a family in the spotlight—Madison is determined to continue writing a story with her husband and her children that she never had growing up.

With the twins happily destroying their creations by the mouthfuls, Madison promises that another visit is a must and perhaps this time, she can show us a collection of Kevin’s baby photos coupled with her own personal commentary to boot.

And who would say no to that.

#kevison #kadison #kevin and madison #still not over that kadison tag but loving it coz yes to more madison yeeeeee #I tried to not let Kevin get away with being gushy but he keeps taking over!! #lezbereal he's in too deep we get it boyy #I need to do a combined one because Uncle Nicky and some of the fam has to feature am I roighttttt #anywhoo hope y'all enjoy this <3 #this is us #tiu #kevison fanfics #kevison fanfic #tiu spoilers #I know most of the deets won't be canon after season 6 but whatever I do what I want #kevin pearson #madison this is us #madison pearson

[syeko]

MariChat May: Day 4

@marichatmay

Read on AO3

Café au Chat

It was the fourth groan in the last five minutes that finally made Chat look up from his precious ball of yarn, ears twitching at the sound. Reluctantly, with one last look at the ball in his hands, he left his cozy mound of pink blankets that he’d stolen (borrowed) from Marinette to make his way to the pile of paper and fabrics that used to be his girlfriend.

“What’s wrong, Princess?”

He poked the pile in question, eyebrows raised as tired blue eyes peeked out at him from behind a bright red fabric. Chat smiled, gently pulling away the paper and scraps that covered the girl underneath, clawed hands finding her softer, smaller ones. Marinette sighed, either in relief at being freed from the paper cage or from exhaustion, Chat didn’t know.

Probably both.

A glance out her window showed that the sun was long gone, the stars twinkling down at them through the glass. Chat let out a hum, thinking.

“I’m never going to get these designs done in time,” Marinette’s shoulders slumped as she leaned against him, her mumbling indicative of just how tired she really was. The feline hero’s heart went out to the young fashion designer, knowing exactly how it feels to be swamped with a load too big and too heavy to carry alone. He reached out to brush the loose strands of midnight hair from her face, the pads of his thumb tracing the curve of her cheeks.

“Why don’t you take a break?”

But Marinette was already shaking her head resolutely, brows coming together in a frown.

“I can’t, Chaton,” she rested her forehead on his chest, and god she sounded so tired. Chat wrapped his arms around her, running the tips of his claws in loose circles across her back. He felt her shiver against him.

“Just five minutes, my love,” he implored, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. Baby blues looked into his emerald ones, the dark shadows underneath her eyes making him send silent threats to whoever dared dump such a taxing job on her. She pouted up at him, opening her mouth to no doubt protest but Chat leaned down to capture her lips with his before she could say anything.

Marinette’s squeak was muffled against the kiss, but it quickly died as she relaxed in his arms.

“No buts,” Chat whispered once they broke apart, and Marinette simply hummed, eyes closed. He bit his lip.

“Let’s go up to get some fresh air,” he suggested, “It’ll help you get the designs done faster if you give your mind a little time to process and take a break. Please? For your favourite cat?”

He could see the gears turning in her head, calculating, turning his words over.

An exhale left her, and she looked at him with a weary smile.

“Fine, but only for five minutes,”

Chat smirked, allowing himself a mental fist pump.

“Of course, Princess,”

The two made quick work of slipping out of Marinette’s trap door, with Chat practically carrying the ravenette up and setting her down on her lounge chair. The night air was warm, the slightest of breezes washing over them and rustling their hair.

Chat watched as Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths of the sweet Paris air. The lights of the city rivaled the stars, basking the two in a warm yellow light and Chat smiled at such a peaceful sight, the warm toned hues complimenting the dark midnight blues of Marinette’s hair, the paleness of her skin soaking in the colour beautifully. Slowly, the tenseness of her shoulders disappeared, the creases between her brows unfolding and Chat let out a slight breath as he unashamedly took pleasure in seeing her relax. Still, his mind searched for a way to help her out further, knowing she still probably had a long night of designing ahead.

Looking out at the buildings beyond the bakery, his eyes caught onto a cute little late night café. Chat squinted, unable to see any movement or crowd through the wide windows. He grinned.

Purrfect.

“Hey Princess? I’ll be right back,”

“Where are you going? I said only five minutes-”

Chat clasped his hands tightly, bottom lip jutting out as he put on what had been dubbed the forbidden ‘puppy-cat’ face making Marinette cross her arms.

“I promise it’s not far! Only a few minutes.”

“Fine, fine. Ten minutes Cinderella,” she waved him off, unable to keep the smile off her face.

Chat beamed immediately.

With a haste press of his lips to her knuckles, the cat hero was gone.

~~~~~

Marinette watched the black leather clad hero disappear beyond her balcony railings with a fond smile for a moment before she leaned back to close her eyes while she waited for her silly prince to return.

True to his word, it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes before she heard the pads of his boots touching down carefully onto her balcony. A moment later her nose caught on the soothing scent of coffee and cream, her eyes snapping open. Chat stood in front of her, grinning widely. Marinette laughed lightly at the sight, getting up to take the tray of cups from him, his thoughtfulness making something warm and lovely tingle underneath her skin, no doubt making her cheeks reddened.

“What did you bring me, Kitty?” Marinette leaned up to press her lips to his in thanks, the goofy grin never leaving her chaton’s face the entire time, and Marinette realized, perhaps belatedly, that it was Chat’s I’m going to make a pun grin.

“Well Princess, tonight’s special was Café au Chat,” he winked, looking a little too proud of himself, but Marinette laughed anyway, feeling lighter than she had all evening.

“I love you, Chaton,”

He looked at her so softly, Marinette wasn’t sure which was hotter, her or the coffee in her hands.

“I love you too, Marinette,” he kissed her, gentle as the late night Paris breeze. Emerald eyes twinkled. They stood together for a moment longer, simply enjoying each other’s company before Chat squeezed her shoulder.

“Feeling better?”

Marinette nodded, “Thank you, Chaton,”

“Anytime, darling,” he replied easily before smirking crookedly at her, “Now, ready to blow away everyone with some absolutely clawsome designs?”

Marinette grinned, flicking his bell, “Let’s go kick some designer butt, Kitty”

#miraculous ladybug #marichatmay2021 #marichat #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ku writes #whew i almost missed day 4

[aurantia-ignis]

Draft2 Bederia? and Elegant?

Draft2 is the story outline of the VGC (competitive pokemon gaming) AU fic I planned for Bederia. Unlike the other VGC fic I wrote, this one has a bit more of a fictitious element to the battle: players play doubles in pairs, which makes this premise ripe for co-op =D Rules are a bit too long to describe here, but I will say that competitions are fought in teams of 3-6 players.

Victor, Hop and Marnie have been competing together since seniors. But this year Victor gets a scholarship to some prestigious boarding uni that has a great soccer program, so he asks his twin sister Gloria to take his place.

Bede is the prodigy star of the M.C.Battle seniors. He's very good at battling, and the other people on the team are very reliant on him. But as he moves into the Masters category, he begins to lose battles more frequently. In fact, he keeps on losing whenever he faces a certain team online....

This is a completely self-indulgent plot, including an adapted version of Bede's character development, with a climax and resolution that should absolutely have happened in canon. Featuring Opal being badass, Oleana being awful, Gloria trying to figure out her own direction in competitive battling, and plenty of Rose-related angst.

And because I don't think I'll ever have a chance to write it, I scribbled for it instead

As for Elegant, years ago I plotted an AU which you can find here about a sort of RobinHood!Moon and Sherriff!Gladion. I revisited it for a writing practice session, in which:

- Gladion already discovered the truth behind the Grey Lady's smuggling activities, and their suspicions of Faba pocketing extra taxes somehow.

- They're still on somewhat opposite sides because Gladion wants to ask Moon to join him to fight Faba, but Moon doesn't want an outright war. She prefers a bloodless method and thinks that Gladion is therefore useless.

- Gladion hears about another smuggling case and thought he would use the chance to talk to the Grey Lady again and gain her allyship.

- He and personal bodyguards Kiawe and Ilima sneak into their operation grounds.

Excerpt below cut:

---

Within a few seconds, they disappeared from view. All except the Grey Lady, who turned and stared into the cave.

"If you show yourself now, I'll consider several ounces of mercy for you," she said in a light, almost casual tone.

Gladion hesitated. He was here to speak to her, after all, and there was no reason to stay hidden.

He stepped out. The Grey Lady looked at him for a long moment. Then she smirked.

"It's the Crown Prince himself. What an honour," she drawled. "Sneaking around our operations again? Have you forgotten what happened the last time?"

To his annoyance, Gladion flushed. Memories of their fight, before he discovered the truth behind their activities. Memories of her dagger pressed to his neck. And the longest five seconds he had ever known, when she kissed him.

He shook the thoughts away. There were more important things at hand.

"I have a proposition for you," he said.

"We don't make deals with nobles," the Grey Lady replied. "In case you didn't notice, me and mine are breaking the laws that you and yours have created."

"What if I'm planning to break more of those laws?" Gladion said.

The Grey Lady eyed him. The cloth ends of her mask fluttered in the sea breeze.

"What are you up to, Prince Gladion?" she asked.

"I'm plotting a rebellion against Lord Faba. Thought I could interest the Grey Lady and her people in joining in," Gladion replied.

The Grey Lady threw back her head and laughed.

"No," she said simply. "We won't fight against Faba."

"Because you come from Aether Castle?"

Her eyes snapped to his.

Then she moved, her hands reaching to grab his wrists. But this time, he was ready for her, and he dodged, parrying her blows with one arm as he twisted around. As usual, she was fast, and spun around, aiming a kick at his face. But he was pulling back, one hand gripping the piece of fabric he had just sliced through.

It took her a second to realise that her mask was gone.

It took him a second to realise who she was.

"L-Lady Moon?"

The dreamy airheaded artist. The foster guest at Aether Castle who could do nothing but dance and paint, and talk about nothing but dancing and painting and clothes.

Moon lunged at him, knocking the dagger from his loosened grip with a sharp blow. Gladion reaches for her, but she ducks, swiping his feet from beneath him.

And then there they were again, him lying on the floor, her sitting on his middle, holding his wrists in a death grip as she pinned him down.

Just like the last time.

Gladion swallows as he stares into her grey eyes.

"I really don't want to kill you, you know," Moon said.

He had seen this face a lot over the past month. Sometimes happy, sometimes playful. Often dreamy. Occasionally melancholic. But never before had he seen such an intense expression from her.

And never this close to him.

Except it had happened already, once before.

"So what now?" he asked. "You plan to kiss me so hard I forget who you are?"

Moon smirked.

"Maybe I'll kiss you so hard until you forget who you are."

---

yes i'm ending it here

#thank you for asking

[ineffable-snowman]

I wrote a GO Christmas fic!

or am still writing, to be honest, but here’s the first chapter. It’s a human AU, inspired by too many Christmas romance movies that I’ve watched over the years.

You can read it here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245411

Many thanks to the lovely people at the GO-Events discord server who helped me with beta-reading and brainstorming!

Chapter One: December 19th

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Crowley threw his phone onto the passenger seat. Dead battery. And he was in the middle of nowhere and it was close to midnight. He cursed Lucifer and that stupid job and the stupid snow (and ice storms, road works, poorly signposted roads, and zero internet reception). He was completely lost without his phone. What was he supposed to do? Just keep driving, without a clue where Ashville was? Everything just looked the same: heaps and heaps of snow. Why would anyone want to build a factory here of all places? (Probably low property taxes.)

Crowley got out of the car and kicked the bloody snow at the side of the road only to hurt his foot because it was more ice than snow. He cursed some more. His words formed wisps of tiny clouds in the dark and the cold. A gigantic factory would definitely be an improvement for this area. It would mean a bit of variety in this desolate place. Maybe even a signpost here and there. Or internet reception!

Finally, the glint of headlights in the distance. Crowley waved wildly to make the car stop.

The driver rolled down the window. “Do you need help?”

“Yes. I seem to have gotten slightly lost. Can you point me towards Ashville?”

“Ashville? Never heard of that.”

Neither had Crowley before Lucifer had sent him there. “Do you maybe have a phone I could use?”

“No internet reception here.”

“What about phone calls?” Not that it would be much help. Crowley did not even know Lucifer’s number by heart. But maybe he could call directory assistance to ask for the number of that Bed and Breakfast, what was it called again? Something with ‘Book’. Shit. Of course, he had all the necessary information on his phone and only his phone.

“Afraid not.” The driver got out of his car and opened the trunk to pull out an old roadmap.

“Mm, didn’t know these still existed,” Crowley said but was all the more grateful for such old-fashioned things in this situation. Back in Chicago, the first thing he was going to buy himself was a new phone, at least two power banks, and a roadmap.

Crowley and his rescuer – with a bulky flashlight – poured over the old roadmap until they finally located the small town called Ashville. Without ever having been there, Crowley already hated it. He tried to memorise the map (taking a picture with his phone would have been so helpful…) and thanked the man for his assistance.

After half an hour of driving through more snow and trees, Crowley finally arrived at Ashville. Now he just needed to find his B&B. Well, he would simply do it the old-fashioned way: go to the tourist information or, in the worst case, book another place to stay for the night.

There was no tourist information.

There was nothing that looked like a hotel.

The streetlights had already been turned off as well as all the  lights in all the houses. It was not that late, just half past midnight. Did people even live here? It felt like a ghost town.

Crowley drove down road after empty road until he finally passed a house with the lights still on. He brought the Bentley to a halt and promptly slipped on the icy sidewalk when he got out of the car. “Damn it!” Clinging to the wing mirror, he picked himself up and shuffled to the front door. He was tired and cold and hungry, his bottom hurt from the fall and he badly needed to go to the loo. The lights in this house were his only hope.

A friendly-looking man in reading glasses and a beige cardigan opened the door.

Crowley quickly started talking before the man could shut the door right in his face, “Sorry to disturb you so late at night but your house was the only place with the lights still on, so I thought I’d try my luck. Anyway, I’m looking for a B&B in Ashville – I am in Ashville, right? – called something like Books and Bed and Breakfast. It’s meant to be here somewhere.”

“Did you mean The Book Nook?”

“Yes!” Crowley almost shouted in relief. Finally, something that went right today.

“You’ve come to the right place. This is The Book Nook. Are you Anthony Crowley then?”

“Oh, thank God! Yes, I’m Crowley.” Crowley smiled apologetically at the man. He must have kept him up for longer than usual  because, apparently, in Ashville, everyone went to sleep before midnight. “Sorry for being so late but there was an ice storm around Little Falls and the road was closed in Randall and then I had to go back to Little Falls and crawl along those bloody slippery roads again and try to find another way and I got lost about five times because I didn’t get reception for my phone and then the battery was dead. Anyway, sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“It’s fine, no need to worry. The most important thing is that you arrived here safely. I am Aziraphale, by the way. Welcome to The Book Nook.” The man opened the door wider. Inside looked warm and cosy. “Please, come in. Can I help you with your luggage?”

“No need, don’t have much with me.” Crowley quickly got his suitcase from the Bentley and followed Aziraphale inside. He found himself inside a crammed little bookshop. Not what he had expected.

His confusion must have shown on his face because Aziraphale said, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to sleep between the books. Your room is upstairs and you have a perfectly nice and comfy bed.”

“Great.” Crowley followed him up a winding staircase, which was decorated with a festive garland. Aziraphale led him to one of the rooms and fiddled with the large key (Crowley could not remember when he had last stayed at a place that still used such keys. Key cards were the standard). Finally, he managed to open the door with a resolute yank.  

“There it is. I hope everything is to your liking.”

Crowley could only stare. It looked like a Christmas explosion had happened here. There were Christmas lights on strings wound around the wardrobe and the mirror. Every available surface was covered with Christmassy knick-knacks: Santa figurines, Christmas baubles, candles in the shape of snowmen, even a nutcracker (What on earth was he supposed to do with a nutcracker???). The windows were decorated with glittery stars and the letters forming ‘Merry Christmas’, missing the dot on the i.

Aziraphale looked expectantly at Crowley. Oh, yes, he had asked if Crowley liked the room.

“Yeah, great, thanks,” Crowley answered, staring in horror at the flowery bedspread and the assortment of plush cushions in various sizes, some of them with ruffles and lace. How old was that guy? Or did he rent his Grandma’s old rooms?

“So, what brings you here to Ashville? Visiting relatives?”

Crowley supposed that must be the only reason why anyone came here. Who would voluntarily go to this place? “Nah, I’m just a tourist on vacation.” He was not in the mood for small talk (and he really needed to go to the loo!) but it would not do to be rude to Aziraphale after Crowley had made him wait for so long for him to arrive, so he tried his best to be friendly.

“Vacation, how lovely,” Aziraphale commented.

Was that too obvious a lie? “Thought I’d do some hiking in the woods,” Crowley elaborated. “Just…find some peace and quiet, you know? Work’s been busy lately.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. He probably could convincingly play the exhausted businessman from the city who needed some time away from the hustle and bustle to find his  inner self or some such bullshit.

“Ah, I see. You would need snowshoes if you want to go hiking in the woods, though. The snow is very deep if you leave the road, you won’t get very far without snowshoes. I think I heard Sara say that they had sold out the last ones but I could ask Arthur if he could lend you his, he is about-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I brought my own.” Crowley did not own snowshoes, of course, but as he would never willingly go hiking in the snow, that was no problem.

Aziraphale dubiously eyed Crowley’s little suitcase.

“I left them in the car,” Crowley explained. “I hardly need them here, right?”

“Ah, no.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now so you can make yourself at home. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something to eat? I suppose you haven’t had dinner yet if the journey took you so long?”

Just on cue, Crowley’s stomach rumbled. “Starving.” The only roadside restaurant he had seen during his trip here had already been closed – at 9 pm! Ridiculous, really. “Any recommendations for a good restaurant?”  

“I’m afraid the diner is already closed.”

Of course it was. But another thing worried Crowley much more: “Diner? As in singular?”

“Well, Ashville isn’t that big. There is a pub in Elm Street but they only serve light lunches. And there used to be a lovely restaurant next to the town hall but the owner – sorry, you’re probably not interested in all of this. I have some leek and potato soup left that I could reheat or if you’d prefer sandwiches, I could prepare some quickly-”

“No, soup is fine.” Jesus Christ, Crowley just wanted to go to the loo and he needed to recharge the phone’s battery so he could shout at Lucifer for sending him to this ridiculous place – he did not need leek and potato soup. But asking the guy to prepare him sandwiches in the middle of the night seemed somewhat ungrateful. “Soup is great.”

“Lovely. The kitchen is just over there.” The guy pointed to the end of the hall. “Come whenever you’re ready.” He handed Crowley the rusty key. It had a little wooden guardian angel as a key chain. Then he finally left Crowley alone.

Crowley rushed to the tiny bathroom and groaned when he saw the crimson red and very plushy cover on the toilet lid. He was going to kill Lucifer!

After he had finally relieved himself, he unplugged the Christmas lights (because apparently there was only one socket in the whole room) so he could recharge the phone’s battery. Then he went into the kitchen, which was as crammed and full of Christmas decoration as his own room.

Aziraphale put a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Leek and potato soup was not exactly Crowley’s thing but he was hungry and cold, so it would do.

“When would you like to have breakfast tomorrow?” asked Aziraphale while rummaging through the kitchen drawers. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you a late breakfast because I have to open the shop tomorrow at half-past nine. You see, the last Saturday before Christmas is always the busiest day of the year. Many people turn to books as a last-minute Christmas present. But if you wanted to sleep longer, I could prepare something for you. Pancakes are easy to reheat, for example, and-”

“Don’t bother, I just have coffee for breakfast anyway.”

“But if you plan to go hiking, you need to have a proper breakfast! Seriously, the cold will wear you out in no time at all!”

It took Crowley a bit of time to calm Aziraphale  down but he eventually convinced him that he would not go for a long hike tomorrow but would just walk around the town for a bit. Then finally Crowley could go into his room. He removed the horrible bedspread (and two woollen blankets underneath it) as well as five cushions. Five! Who on earth needed that many cushions? Most of them not even big enough to rest your head on.

Unfortunately, his charging cable wasn’t long enough – or rather: there was no socket close enough to the bed. So Crowley sat down on the floor next to the socket and texted Lucifer: Just arrived in Ashville. Are you fucking kidding me???? Well, he meant to text him but the message could not be sent because he had no reception. Damn it, this was a town, people lived here! How could there be no reception?

Groaning, Crowley stood up again and left his room. The lights in the kitchen were still on and he could hear plates clatter and water running. No dishwasher, naturally.

“Sorry, could you give me the wifi password?” Crowley asked. “I mean, if there is wifi…”

“Yes, of course there is. But it can be a bit finicky, especially if there are snowstorms. Which is practically all the time in winter. You usually have the best reception at the top of the staircase. The password is,” Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows, “Pri-fiAndPrejudice.” He looked immensely proud of that horrible pun. Crowley could not entirely suppress a snort of laughter. What a nerd.

“If there’s anything else you need, my room is the one next to yours. Don’t hesitate to knock.”

“Isn’t that annoying, always having strangers in your house?”

“Not at all. The house would be too big for just me. And anyway, I don’t have many guests and most of them are just lovely people, so I don’t really mind it.”

Crowley shrugged. He could not imagine living like that. But he also couldn’t imagine sleeping between dozens of tiny fluffy cushions and doing your dishes by hand. Suddenly his conscience got the better of him. It was way past midnight, this guy had offered him soup in his own kitchen – which was not usually included in a B&B – and was now doing the dishes. “Can I help you? I could dry the plates.”

“Absolutely not! You’re my guest and you deserve your vacation. Besides, I’m almost finished here.”

“Ah, well. I’ll leave you a five-star google review then.”

“Oh, really?”

Aziraphale smiled at him and – Crowley was momentarily taken aback. There was no reason to smile like that just because of the promise of a simple google review. Aziraphale’s smile was just like his Christmas decorations: blinding and completely over the top.

“Yeah, no problem,” Crowley said. “Well. Night then.”

Back in his room, Crowley typed in the password and waited for his phone to connect to the ridiculously slow wifi. Finally, it sent the text messages to Lucifer. While waiting for an answer, Crowley checked The Book Nook’s reviews on google. There were only two: one anonymous who had given it two stars and one who had given it three stars and an added comment “breakfast was good.” Crowley frowned. So did that mean the rest of the place was not good, just the breakfast? It felt oddly unfair. Obviously, this place did not meet Crowley’s taste but he could tell that the owner went out of his way to accommodate him. Crowley frowned again. What on earth was he doing here, pondering over google reviews while sitting on the floor because there was no socket next to the bed? It was cold and uncomfortable in spite of the room’s fluffy carpet. This was really absurd. On the spur of the moment, he decided to rearrange the furniture a bit. He pushed the bed closer to the wall with the socket – and almost tripped over the numerous boxes under the bed. Probably where the Easter decorations were stored…

There was a soft knock on the door. “Er, just wondering, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just perfect,” Crowley grunted and then sneezed heartily because his activity had raised quite a bit of dust from under the bed. (He would have to rethink that five-star review.) He pushed the bed further towards the wall until he could sit comfortably on the bed with his charger cable still plugged in. Only to get a notification that his phone was not connected to the internet. Well, he was tired anyway. He removed a Santa figurine and eight wooden reindeers from the bedside table so he could place his glasses and a cup of water there. Then he sank back into the bed. It squeaked loudly.

“Fuck.”

#good omens fic #my writing #ineffable husbands #christmas fic #human AU #aziraphale #crowley

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #8 (1979)

This cover doesn't help me remember what this issue is about.

Having only ever read the first half of Cerebus via the collected stories in the Cerebus phonebooks, this is the first time I'm seeing most of the early covers of Cerebus. I probably started reading the monthly issues during "Flight" but had purchased the "Melmoth" back issues. So I'll be getting a lot of new material in the covers and the Aardvark Comments section all the way up through "Jaka's Story." In Note from the Publisher, Deni explains that Cerebus is currently selling 4,000 copies a month. That's four thousand dollars a month! Of course, Dave probably has to sell at half the cover price, so maybe that's more like two thousand. And then there's the expense of paying for your own printing and shipping. I have no idea what that might cost but let's pretend it's another thousand dollars. That leaves Dave and Deni with one thousand dollars per month before taxes and art equipment! And I know I'm being way too optimistic so let's say it's more like $750. In Canadian dollars! That's probably about five hundred American dollars! But then again, this was 1979 dollars and cars were about six thousand dollars back then. You could buy a house for twenty grand. So by Issue #8, Dave was either really starting to make a lot of money or heading toward financial ruin. I'm not sure why I even began this paragraph when I have no idea what I'm talking about. Although, four thousand copies of an independent comic book by the eighth issue? That's good fucking marketing. No wonder Dave Sim became the God of Self-Publishing. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim continues to explain how he was growing as a writer and artist. It's the kind of thing a fan of Sim's work enjoys reading but not the kind of thing that I can make entertaining in a brief synopsis. So fuck off to the next paragraph already. We're done here. At the end of the last issue, Cerebus escaped his battle with a gigantic Black Sun spider god. But he did not escape as unscathed as I maybe led everybody to believe. He was actually bitten and poisoned by the thing and now he's wandering the desert (unless it's the tundra (which is probably a definitive desert but what am I? A reader of The Farmer's Almanac?!), hallucinating and probably dying. Some Conniptin soldiers find Cerebus and take them back to their Commander's quarters. The Commander isn't the main leader of the army; the main leader is some cocaine snorting prince who thinks he's a god. He wants Cerebus made into a bath robe which would mean Cerebus would get the last laugh. Because remember how badly Cerebus' fur smells when it gets wet? Ha ha! That joke was so funny Dave used it five or six times in the Bran Mak Mufin issue. The Captain and the Commander make plans to oust the young Lord and take over the army themselves. But they need Cerebus by morning for their plan and Cerebus isn't healthy enough. So they take him to the army's doctor for a few Star Trek jokes that seem cheesy and overly done (but maybe not so much in 1979? Or is that the whole point of the running joke here? Because it's a tired format that Sim subverts at the end?) but which ends with a pretty fantastic punchline.

To really appreciate this joke, I think you have to remember what the world was like in 1979. If you weren't born or cognizant of the world at that time, I can't explain it to you. It's like trying to explain Ringo's obsession with the hole in his pocket to somebody who has never seen The Yellow Submarine and who also doesn't know who The Beatles are and has also never heard music or seen animation. Yeah, the 70s were that fucking cool.

The Captain and the Commander take Cerebus out later and point him in the direction of a campfire. They tell them the men around the fire drugged him and they should pay. Feverish and sick, Cerebus runs up to the small camp and begins slaughtering the four men around it. He hallucinates that three of them are Elrod and one of them is Sophia. So what the reader learns this issue is that Cerebus is ready to kill all of the other characters of his comic book at a moment's notice. How The Roach and Weisshaupt and Elrod and Rick and Astoria and Cirin last as long as they do is a miracle. Or it's just part of the contrived story. I guess if it were real, it would seem like a miracle. But since this is all written by Dave Sim, it's just the way it was meant to be. I'm not sure what their eventual plan is for Cerebus as this just seemed to be a test. I guess he's their Manchurian Candidate? The four mercenaries Cerebus killed were Hsifan. The Commander and Captain are Conniptin. I have no idea what these things mean. I think Hsifans make really good ninja assassins though so killing four of them is pretty damned impressive.

Like I said. Killing twenty-five Hsifans is pretty damned impressive.

This story highlights one of Cerebus' bigger life problems: he's constantly being pulled into other people's stories. If he's not trying to steal some treasure to get more gold crowns so he can drink more ale, he's slaughtering other mercenaries to get more gold to drink more ale. And when he's not doing either of those things, it's usually because he's gotten caught up in somebody else's story. I suppose that's what you need to expect when you're some kind of prophetic Messiah. Your story has already been told and you're just time's puppet. But — and I think this is the most important part — something about being an aardvark allows Cerebus to tell destiny and fate to fuck off. So quite often, Cerebus just walks away from the story he got sucked in without a care to its resolution. It has something to do with aardvarks being soulless and less with aardvarks being hermaphrodites. Because I think maybe that's just Cerebus. The Commander and Captain want to make Cerebus their new leader because they can't stand the selfish, greedy fops who rule. The Conniptin motto is "Might makes right! Fight, fight, fight!" Which you really can't argue with unless you're a talented fighter. So Cerebus is offered the job which he can refuse if he doesn't mind having his guts spilled on the floor.

Seems like Cerebus' future is pretty cut and dry. If you forget that he's an aardvark.

Cerebus decides he'd rather escape than be a puppet of the Commander. But after knocking out the guard and trudging some way across the snow, he thinks twice. He decides having a warm place to sleep and free food are a better deal than running for his life from vengeful Conniptins. He also likes the idea of leading an army. If you're not into Cerebus as a mercenary captain, don't worry. It won't last more than one issue!

Damn, I'd forgotten about this line. It used to be one of my favorites to quote whenever being offered some payment or reward of some kind. "What's better than X? Mayhap two Xes!"

Fred Hembeck writes in to Aardvark Comment this month as well as, if not as famous as, David R. Wooten. Pretty sure I've seen David's name in quite a few letters pages of DC comics. The Singles Page is a strip by John Barclay called "Small Potatoes!" It's twelve panels of a couple of guys singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" on, I guess, a street corner. They sing, over and over again, "DooDuckGlackaLayda!" It's social commentary of some sort. I think. Maybe he's just making fun of the repetitive nature of the song, or any song you're forced to hear out in public by buskers and bucket drummers. Who can tell?! Humor was different in 1988 (the Singles Page is only from the Bi-Weekly! That's why the date is different from the comic). Cerebus #8 Rating: A. There's something happening here. What it is ain't a standard comic book. But it's not what a lot of people thought of as an underground comic book. For one, not once has Cerebus walked around with an erect penis. What was this nonsense not being published by DC or Marvel but also not being weird animal porn that is also personal confessional?! I wish I hadn't been so ashamed of purchasing adult material that my mom might raise an eyebrow at but then say nothing at all. One time she cleaned my bathroom where I had a playboy under the sink. Instead of saying anything, she just straightened it up and left it. I couldn't look at her for weeks. Although I was pretty relieved because at least a week before that, I had about twenty Playboys in there! I can't remember why I moved them but at least she didn't know the extent of my wanking! She probably thought, "Oh how cute. One magazine! And the centerfold is an African-American lady. My boy ain't no jerk off racist!" instead of thinking, "How many fucking porn mags does he need? Does he do anything but jerk off? Oh God! I'm not touching anything of his ever again! Plus isn't this copy of Penthouse the one with an underage Traci Lords?! I wonder how much that will be worth in thirty years?" Of course she thought that last thought not realizing that thirty years later, it would be considered child porn. No, I don't own it anymore, you pervs. I threw out all of those porn mags when I went to college because I didn't know where to hide them! Also I was underage when looking at the Traci Lords' Penthouse so it wasn't weird. She was older than me in those pictures!

#Dave Sim #Cerebus

[kiminicricket]

Swords and Opals - Part Three

(previously Ruthari Fic..)

Could I possibly have part three already?

apparently yes :) and maybe even a part 4 sooner than you think 

If you missed the previous parts:

Part 1 // Part 2

Ethari scowled at the back of Tiadrin’s head as he shouldered his pack. He had been unable to convince her to change teams, and now he was headed out on what was sure to be an embarrassing ordeal from start to finish. She seemed completely unaware of his glare though, as she smiled and laughed with Lain, who was smiling and laughing right back, a certain twinkle in his eyes. Ethari narrowed his eyes. If she left him alone on this trip to canoodle-

“Ok, so we need to head South for three days.” Runaan’s voice cut into his thoughts and his attention snapped to the other elf.

“What’s the mission?” Ethari asked. Runaan had been nominated their team leader, and had therefore received the parchment from their instructors.

“We are to retrieve a rare flower that only grows on the southern tip of the continent.”

Ethari perked up “The Mesec Flower?” He guessed.

“Yes,” Runaan looked impressed, “How did you know?”

“Oh, uh,” Ethari blushed, “It’s a great focus for enchantments, I read about several that I was hoping to try, but it’s obviously pretty hard to get.”

“Hard to get?” Lain piped in, “A flower? How hard can that be?”

“If it’s our trial, probably pretty hard.” Tiadrin said, gently punching Lain’s shoulder. Lain rolled his eyes, but subtly rubbed where she had hit.

“Exactly,” Runaan agreed, “We don’t want to underestimate this mission.”

“And we should get going now because it will take us a long time just to get there and back - we only have a week.” Tiadrin said.

“Lets go pick this flower then.” Lain said, starting to move out.

“South is this way Lain,” Runaan called out. Lain turned around.

“Like I said, lets go,” he walked no less confidently for his blunder and Ethari found himself liking the elf.

The group moved out without further comment, Ethari fell into line behind his three team mates, feeling a little more optimistic about the week ahead.

***

The walk was long, and mostly silent. It was rough terrain and required a lot of concentration, especially with their heavy camping packs and gear. Runaan had soon taken over leading the group as Lain turned out to be hopeless at directions, a critique he shrugged off with a laugh, falling easily beside Tiadrin and leaving Ethari to take up the rear. They set a gruelling pace, and Ethari was soon wishing he’d done just a little more in endurance training.

Aside from being taxing though, their first day on the road was uneventful and they made good time. They set up camp swiftly and with little communication, and after a quick supper, Ethari quickly collapsed onto his mat and fell into a deep sleep.

He was awoken a couple of hours later, the sky still dark, Tiadrin looming over him.

“Your turn to take watch,” she whispered.

“Huh?” Ethari sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Right, you fell asleep right after supper. We are doing two hour watches. Wake Runaan when you’re done.”

With That Tiadrin crawled over to her mat and all but collapsed into it, snoring softly a few moments later.

Ethari shook his head, trying to shake the drowsiness. He got up and did a quick lap of the camp, which woke him up a bit. Now more alert, he settled in to keep eyes and ears out for danger.

The two hours passed slowly, with nothing but the occasional late night animal noises and soft snoring from around the campfire to break the silence. The animal noises were far enough away that he wasn’t worried about any predators stumbling across them. He spent a lot of time staring up at the sky - the stars shining brilliantly in the sky with no artificial lights to hide their glow. He began trying to find constellations and making up some of his own. He realised with a start some time later that he was three and a half hours into his two hour watch shift. He glanced over at the sleeping Runaan. Should he wake him and try and get some more rest? He was feeling pretty good, and it wasn’t going to be long until dawn anyway. Besides, Runaan looked so peaceful, curled into himself, hair splayed wildly behind him. That was going to be a mess in the morning. Ethari smiled softly and settled back in. He could take another hour.

***

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Runaan demanded. Ethari jumped and turned to find Runaan glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, I lost track-”

“You’re going to be exhausted now! Are you going to be able to keep up?”

Ethari was taken aback and didn’t reply for a moment. “I didn’t think-”

“Two hour shifts! That’s what was agreed upon so that everyone would be equally rested.”

“Hey Runaan, lay off, he was asleep for that discussion.” Tiadrin called groggily from her mat, where she had gotten up and was rolling it to put away in her pack.

“Exactly! He was already tired after yesterday, how is he supposed to keep up today?”

“Geez, I thought extra sleep was supposed to make you less grumpy.” Lain commented, also packing his mat away.

Runaan sighed in frustration and turned to pack up his own gear. Unsure how to proceed, Ethari packed up his gear as well. The group fell silently into order, Runaan once again taking the lead, but this time Tiadrin hung back with Ethari. She reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing reassuringly. Ethari let out the breath he had been holding and squeezed back gratefully.

“What happened?” She asked in a low voice.

Ethari shrugged. “I just lost track of time. It seemed like a waste to wake Runaan when dawn was so close.”

Tiadrin nodded thoughtfully. “Will you be ok today?”

Ethari nodded resolutely. He would not hold the team back. Tiadrin stopped and tugged on his hand so he turned and looked at her.

“Promise?” She asked.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Ethari dropped her hand and started walking again. Tiadrin quickly following.

By mid morning Ethari completely understood Runaan’s argument this morning. He was exhausted. His vision kept blurring and he just wanted to close his eyes for five minutes. He said nothing though, and followed the others, quietly resolute to not cause a drama, the tension from this morning already hung on like a fog cloud over the group.

Around mid afternoon the group came to the edge of a deep ravine and paused. Ethari had all he could do not to sink to the ground in relief. As it was he swayed slightly.

Runaan turned to face the rest of them, glancing at each of them, his gaze resting on Ethari the longest, seeming to study him. Ethari wilted under his gaze, but did not look away. Runaan eventually looked back out over the ravine.

“We have to be careful here, the human border comes right up to the edge of that mountain,” he pointed it out. Tiadrin and Lain walked up and observed, but Ethari hung back.

“I’ve heard they have scouting parties that venture into these ranges.” Tiadrin said, “We don’t want to run into any of those.”

“They should be pretty easy to avoid,” Lain said confidently, “Humans are anything but subtle. Especially in Xadia.”

Runaan frowned over the landscape, and glanced up at the sky. “We still have a ways to go, but this location is good for defence. I wonder if we should stay in that cavern tonight and start early in the morning tomorrow.” He glanced over at Ethari.

“There’s still a few hours of daylight, we could make it up to that ridge over there.” He pointed out, refusing to give into the exhausted part of him that rejoiced at Runaan’s suggestion. Runaan glanced over and studied the ridge. He shook his head.

“This location has a better position. I don’t want to take any chances.” He looked at Tiadrin and Lain, an eyebrow raised in question.

Lain shrugged his indifference and dropped his pack, stretching his back. “I’m good to rest up here.”

Tiadrin glanced at Ethari, concern written on her features, then out at the landscape. She nodded. “Here is a good place to camp. We should leave before sunup tomorrow though, to make better time.”

“Agreed,” Runaan stated confidently. He glanced around the group, pausing on Ethari, who had not yet moved, before returning to Lain.

“Same watch schedule?” He suggested. Ethari started, he had half expected them to change it so he would be last and not have to wake anyone up.

“Works for me,” Lain said.

Runaan approached Ethari who tensed. Runaan stood awkwardly for a moment, but then reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. I’m sorry. But please, wake me when your two hours is up tonight ok?”

Ethari could say nothing, he just nodded. Lain was staring at them, eyes wide with shock, and Tiadrin was smiling from behind him. She winked and gave him a thumbs up.

Thoughts jumbled around in Ethari’s foggy brain and he gratefully sank to the ground. He fell asleep even swifter than the previous night, and slept so hard he didn’t move.

Part 4

#the dragon prince #ruthari #runari #runaan #ethari #tiadrin #lain #tdp #my writing #fanfic #swords and opals

[pinespittinink]

flower prompt meme: spider flower; elope with me; arden & bev for @sentfromwolves

Arden stared at Beverly, his mouth hanging open. She was lying upside down on the bed, all attention on their marathon of Star Trek: Enterprise as though she hadn’t just proposed they spend the rest of their lives together as casually as she might suggest where they go for lunch tomorrow. Arden felt a bundle of fireworks explode in his brain only to immediately fizzle out the next instant like a sparkler dropped in a puddle. Beverly was still watching the tv, tacky 2000s cgi reflecting in her eyes. Arden didn’t know what episode they were on—  he’d lost count four or five hours into season three. Now he just sat frozen with a plastic bowl of popcorn in his lap, as petrified as Moaning Myrtle caught by the basilisk in the bathroom. 

“Are you—” Arden wheezed and coughed, clearing his throat. “Are you serious?”

Beverly looked up at him from where she hung over the edge of the bed, hair falling down the length of the duvet. 

“I mean,” she said, “yeah?”

“Yeah?” Arden squeaked, his voice reaching an alarmingly high decibel. 

“I mean,” Beverly began again, ever the picture of eloquence. “It would be fun, right?”

Fun, Arden thought dumbly. Not quite the adjective he would’ve first picked about marriage. 

“Okay, okay, hear me out.” Beverly rolled into an upright position, sitting criss-cross applesauce across from him on her bed. 

“First of all, the tax benefits would be great—”

“You want to get married for tax benefits?” Arden nearly yelled, popcorn close to tipping. 

“That’s just one thing—”

“You essentially propose to me and the first thing you start talking about is tax benefits?”

Arden felt like he was fifteen steps behind, Bev roaring by on a motorcycle as he peddled after her on a tricycle, trying maddeningly and pathetically to keep up.

Thankfully, if Arden was all the consistent ingredients of a haphazard molotov cocktail ready to blow whenever something threatened to chuck the tremulous balancing act of his life out a window, Beverly was a one-woman bomb disposal squad. 

“Babe,” she said, putting a consoling hand on his leg. “Please don’t freak out. I can hear the air raid sirens in your brain from here.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Arden lied. “I am absolutely, 100% not freaking out at all. My brain is filled with clandestine meadows and Tibetan monks.”

Bev snorted.

“Uh huh, yeah right.” There was a star glimmer in her eye as she commandeered the popcorn bowl. “And I didn’t propose, you doofus. It was just a suggestion. I mean,” she continued around a mouthful of popcorn, “I figured, you like me, I like you. We’re a pretty tight team. Being married could be fun.”

There was that word again. Fun. Arden could barely focus on it as Bev continued talking, heedless of his crisis. 

“And in thirty years if we get sick of each other because you’re bald and cranky and I’m addicted to VR games and we both teach too much then we can get a divorce and all our problems will be solved!”

But he wouldn’t ever get sick of Beverly, Arden thought. He liked her too much; her unicorn facemasks, the way she left empty containers of hummus and wheat-thins on her desk, her ever-changing light-up keyboards and novelty mouse collection. He liked how she looked walking around in her underwear and oversized NASA t-shirt, hair piled into a messy bun and glasses sitting crooked and smudged on her nose because she’d run out of contact solution again. He liked how she named her rice cooker and kept constant boxes of toaster strudels in the freezer, how she snorted and guffawed when she laughed and sent him memes of cats that looked like Ferro and quizzed MK on whatever mutual hyperfixation they’d found in the kid’s venture into 90’s sci-fi. 

He liked her a lot, he realized. 

“Hello in there— where’d you go?”

Bev was looking at him expectantly, a grin on her face. She was wearing one of her favorite t-shirts, this one emblazoned with the biblical lyric, “yeah my boyfriend’s pretty cool, but he’s not as cool as me.” It felt pretty accurate, Arden agreed distantly. The youngest professor at West Wembley, a colossal nerd, a philosophical debate partner, and she could eat more flamin’ hot cheetos than he could.

“What are you thinking about?” Beverly asked.

“That it’s such a shame you’re a trekkie,” Arden answered. “I might have found the perfect woman otherwise.”

Beverly cried out in offense. 

“How dare you defame the Enterprise?” she said, almost hitting him as she gesticulated wildly at the tv. 

“Star Wars is the superior media, you can’t change my mind,” Arden said resolutely, a smile tugging across his lips. A snug warm feeling was making itself cozy in his chest, curling up like a cat as Beverly grumbled beside him, settling into the welcome space under his arm. 

He might fuck around and say the L word, he mused. Not that it would be the first time. Loving Beverly came easy. 

They fell back into the episode, and Arden had almost got a handle on the current plot when Beverly jerked upright, an excited light in her eyes.

“We could do a Vegas wedding! Would you do a Vegas wedding?”

“I could be convinced to do a Vegas wedding,” Arden admitted, too swayed to even be surprised by himself. It felt less like defeat and more like the burgeoning promise of an adventure, hopping from one foot to the other on some distant horizon like a wacky, marital pied piper. He pictured himself standing at a glitzy altar before a sunglasses-wearing Elvis Presley impersonator, sliding a promise ring onto Bev’s finger while she wore a white dress. 

It wasn’t a half-bad thought. 

He could only imagine Kihyun’s face when he found out, could see Minjun hooting and falling to the floor. Ferro would start silent chuckling until he became a giggly snorting mess, supporting himself on the kitchen counter as he wheezed. 

Dare he say, maybe getting married would be fun. 

#my writing #wishlines #oc: beverly #nmoc: arden #thank you i had a good time with this also it got LONG #me: gets a prompt #also me: writes 1k for it #also i hope i did him okay i havent written him before .sobbing emoji

[darius-nefarious-blog]

AirBnBust

Why Airbnb needs some serious renovations

I began traveling over 30 years ago and I consider myself a seasoned traveler. My wife and I have been using Airbnb since 2012.  During a 5 week trip to Europe in June 2018, five out of the six places we stayed were Airbnb apartments which we carefully chose.  While our past Airbnb experiences have been mostly positive we learned during this trip that the travel platform has some very serious issues.

Let’s start with what Airbnb calls hosts.  The conventional definition of a host is, “a person who receives or entertains other people as guests.”  Airbnb has taken that definition and completely convoluted its meaning.

The potential guest may assume that their “host” is the person listed on Airbnb as host but that could be a completely wrong assumption.  The “host” on Airbnb is often just a ghost.

According to Airbnb, the host is simply the person who has sent their identifying documents to Airbnb as the human responsible for a particular listing.  The Airbnb host is also meant to be the person who has posted their photo next to their name. One assumes that this photo is an accurate visual representation of the host.

Lets just call the person paying for the Airbnb rental the “guest” Lets call the person who writes back and forth to the guest the “communicator.” Lets call the person who meets the guest and takes them to the rental and shows them the ropes the “greeter” Now lets see how this all plays out in the real world. When a guest is interested in making a booking they often first send a message to the host asking if they are able to make the booking. The guest assumes that the person or they are corresponding with is the named host.   That would also be a wrong assumption. Often the person writing to the guest is a completely different person who has an unknown relationship to the named host or to the rental.

Once a listing is booked and there are various back and forth messages with the “host” about what time the guest will arrive and exactly where they will meet to check into the rental.  The guest assumes that they are going to be met by the person who has been writing to them to be shown the apartment and to ask any questions. Wrong again.

Often when the guest arrives at the meeting place the greeter is a completely different person that the named host or the communicator.  

All of this would be fine if the guest actually was informed in advance who exactly was the host, who exactly was the communicator and who exactly was going to be their greeter.  Sadly the guest is often left in the dark.

Why does this happen?  The easy answer is that the Airbnb Host allows it to happen. This Airbnb host is free to assign a “communicator” to deal with the guests and this communicator is free to sign their messages in the host’s name even if they are a different person.  The host is also free to assign the task of greeter to another third party without letting the guest know in advance.  In reality the host is free to have no role whatsoever in the management of the listing or interacting with the guest.  The host does however always have one important role – the host is the one collecting the rent.

Let me give an example for our recent trip to Europe in June of 2018.  Some names and cities have been changed to shield the guilty but everything is as it happened.

We booked an apartment in Rome, Italy for 7 nights.  Let’s call the host “Sophia.”  There was a photo of Sophia on the listing next to a young girl.  The photo was very low resolution but you could make out a kind smile. The photo did make me sympathetic to the host.   Before we arrived at the apartment there were quite a few back and forth messages from the host signed by Sophia.  However we later found out none of these messages had actually written by Sophia.  We were told to arrive at an office no later than 6pm.  When we arrived at the office Sophia was nowhere to be found.  The person in charge of the office passed us onto another person who spoke just enough English to show us the apartment which was a short distance away.  When I asked about our host Sophia I was told that she worked at a shop elsewhere in the city and if I wanted to meet here I could find her in the shop.  I later found out that our “host” Sophia had absolutely nothing to do with the guests.  Sophia was not actually the “communicator” although all of our messages had been signed by her to and she certainly was not our “greeter.”   During our 7 night stay, Sophia never reached out, texted or made a cameo appearance. Pretty photo, named host but not involved in any manner in the listing – a ghost.

Another version of the ghost host phenomenon happened at an Airbnb on Lake Como. This named host of this apartment was a holiday rental company so at least we knew up front that the person we were corresponding with was an employee of the rental company.  The communicator named Chris was very helpful and gave us lots of help in figuring out how best get to the tiny village from the city of Como.  On the day of our arrival we were in contact numerous times.  In fact 45 minutes before we arrived at their office Chris wrote that he was looking forward to seeing us soon.  We arrived at the office exactly on time but Chris was nowhere to be found.  I young German girl was our greeter at the office.  We asked what happened to Chris.  She said he was too busy to meet us even though less than an hour before he was looking forward to meeting us.  The young German girl did her check in procedure and then something happened that had never happened before.   The girl handed us the keys, pointed down the road, said to look for a green house and just to let ourselves inside.  Never before in our long history with Airbnb had we NOT been brought in person to the rental and been allowed to ask questions about the unit.  Of course we found the apartment but we felt that our greeter experience had reached an all time low.  Chris, the communicator continued to answer any questions we had by email but never showed his face.  Chris was a ghost communicator. Now lets talk about  “Superhosts.”  Airbnb defines a superhost as follows: “Superhosts are highly rated and reliable, going above and beyond to create an exceptional stay for every guest.” Unless you have dug deep into the terms and conditions of the Airbnb website, you would have thought that someone who had earned the badge of “Superhost” would in fact a super host.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  It turns out that a host can become a “Superhost” simply by maintaining a minimum star rating and a minimum number of successful rentals per year.  The superhost designation is completely computer generated -  there are no humans involved.  There is no requirement that a “Superhost” submit a clear photo taken within a reasonably recent time frame.  The photo may or not be a real photo of Superhost at all.  There is no requirement that a “Superhost” write a reasonable description of the rental and submit reasonably accurate photos.  There is no requirement that a “Superhost” is a warm or welcoming person.  There is no requirement that a “Superhost” provide detailed instructions on how best to arrive at the rental from various starting points such as airport, train, taxi or on foot.  There is no requirement that a “Superhost” provide information to the guest about the appliances or features of the apartment.  There is no requirement that the “Superhost” provide additional recommendations about nearby sights, restaurants or local transport. The “Superhost” might be the owner of the unit, might be the agent of the owner, might be the communicator or might be the greeter.  The Superhost might be all of the above, some of the above or none of the above. There is no requirement that the “Superhost” disclose who they are or what is their role.  Like the basic host, the “Superhost” is the person who has submitted their identifying documents and may or may not be the person who is pictured in the photo.  There is no way to know if they are active in management the rental or if they are simple a ghost host.

Lets consider another real life example

We had woken up at 5 AM in Lisbon, Portugal and had traveled over 9 hours to get to Rome, Italy.  We arrived at the office about 5 PM utterly exhausted. The simple politeness of a host to a guest should have dictated some words of welcome or interest such as welcome to Rome, or how was your trip or did you have any problem finding our office. Instead our reception was more like arriving at immigration at the airport. No smiles, no welcome and no kindness.  We were asked for our passports, and then told we had to pay 21 euros in cash for a tourist tax. This additional tax was not disclosed in the listing so we felt put off from the get go. As I previous recounted, the person with whom we had been communicating through Airbnb was named Sophia and Sophia is rated as a “superhost.” Each and each and every message we had written before we arrived through Airbnb messaging had been signed by “Sophia.”  When I asked where she was, the communicator, Luigi told us that Sophia was his wife and worked at another shop. An assistant of Luigi took us to the apartment as she spoke a small amount of English.  She was not able to answer any questions about the apartment such as how to use the washing machine or where to dispose of the garbage and there were no written instructions or any kind or suggestions about anything in the apartment or the town. Other “Superhosts” have extensive written manuals written in English to orient you to the city and explain how appliances work. This apartment had nothing. The one and only written word in the apartment was how to turn on the power at the switchboard downstairs if all of the electricity went dead. When our greeter showed us the apartment I checked to see if the internet worked as I have a web based business and this was a key feature of any place we rented.  The internet was completed dead.  During the following hours various people came and went trying to figure out what was wrong. After several hours they were able to get the wifi to work but it was a hassle to deal with after an exhausting day of travel. We were staying for 7 nights and noticed there was only half a roll of toilet paper.  We sent a whatsapp message  to Luigi about this and commented that the listing said that toilet paper was included.  Luigi initially told us to buy our own but when said this was not acceptable he reluctantly brought us a few extra rolls. As we settled in to our new home we discovered one of the front door keys did not work, there was no way to boil water except in a pot, there were no wine glasses and the fry pan was not usable.  My wife makes tea several times a day, I cook eggs for breakfast and both my wife and I think its more romantic to drink Prosecco from a wine glass. The next morning I spent over an hour in the office with Luigi.  We had to write back and forth using google translate on his computer to communicate.  Luigi finally agreed to provide a working key, an electric kettle, wine glasses and a new fry pan but said in no uncertain terms that we were “difficult” and he clearly was angry with our requests.   Luigi provided the items we asked for but his unfriendly attitude and sheer lack of any warmth or kindness put a real damper on our stay.   We had never experienced a “Superhost” who was so unwelcoming. What we requested was listed in the apartment’s description or what we have experienced in most all of the other Airbnbs in which we have stayed.  In our many interactions during that week, the named “Superhost” Sophia never showed her smiling face.

Now let’s consider negative reviews.  If you have a bad experience with a host you may want to let future guests know about it and leave an honest review about your experience. I did exactly that for our experience with the ghost host Sophia and her communicator husband Luigi.  I actually wrote a very long review and was hopeful that it would be published.  However when it was finally published I found out that the maximum word count for an Airbnb review is 500 words.  This does appear if you dig in the terms and conditions of the website but on the page where you write the review Airbnb neglects to add the simple subtext that reviews are max 500 words.  By the time you find this out it is too late as reviews cannot be edited after 48 hours.  Thanks Airbnb for letting me know this upfront when I needed to know.  

If you have a bad experience with a “host” then your host might leave YOU a negative review as well.  That is as it should be.  If you are being honest and transparent then both parties should be able to express how they feel and what they experienced.  However a couple of weeks after  my negative review of Sophia was published and Sophia’s  negative review of me was published I received this email from Airbnb:

“You received an unfavorable review after one of your stays. We know that sometimes things happen, but we want both the guests and hosts that make up our global community feel respected, welcome, and safe anytime they’re using Airbnb.  Guests who receive multiple negative reviews may not be able to book a future stay on Airbnb.”

There are many reasons that a “host” might leave a bad review for a guest.  The guest left the rental messy, disturbed the neighbors or behaved badly.  However there are other reasons that a host can leave a bad review for a guest.  The guest was “difficult” and asked for such unreasonable things as toilet paper, keys that opened the door, working internet and basic kitchen implements. The fact that any negative review from a host means that the guest may “not be able to book a future stay on Airbnb” simply means that Airbnb values positive reviews and punishes negative reviews no matter what the backstory might be.  Airbnb makes their position quite clear – if you have a bad experience and your host leaves you a negative review you may be kicked off our platform. A had a problem with another rental in Milan.  It was the last 4 nights of our trip and we rented a relatively luxurious apartment. Our Superhosts were owners, communicators and greeters all in one and were indeed great at hospitality.  They were what superhosts were supposed to be.  Unfortunately the AC did not work at all and it was 95 degrees fahrenheit (35 celsius) in Milan every day during our stay.  The host did everything they could to fix the AC but nothing worked.  The strange thing was that the host persisted in blaming us for the fact that the AC was dead because I admitted that I had checked the filter.  The fact that a burglar had stood on the outdoor unit trying to break into the apartment BEFORE we arrived and that the host had shown this to us on our arrival walk through did not seem to matter.  When we got home I had a long conversation with customer service about what an appropriate amount to ask as a refund. The amount I suggested was confirmed as reasonable by Airbnb customer service and only then did I put through the request.  Later I get an email from the Airbnb Resolutions Center saying that had spoken to the host and rejected my request. There was no email address or phone number to reply to this resolutions specialist.  There was no way to contact them through Airbnb messaging or the website.  The Resolution specialist was another ghost.  Airbnb recommends that all communication between a guest and host be done through the website or app so that everything that happens can be viewed later.  That is as it should be. Further when you have any issue with Airbnb customer service you can call or view that conversation through the messaging. But when it comes to refunds all of a sudden the conversation is one way.  The take away is clear – all communication should be through Airbnb UNLESS it involves Airbnb Resolutions.  

I am well aware that Airbnb is a platform on the web and that it is difficult to police thousands of listings around the world.  However I am also aware that Airbnb has made zillions of dollars creating a platform for ordinary people to enter the hospitality market.  The problem of course is that some of these ordinary people do not have a clue about the hospitality part. Airbnb has recognized this itself and started a new division called Airbnb Plus.  The Airbnb Plus rentals have actually had a real live person verifiy the details about both the rental and the host. Human to human interaction.  How novel.  This new Airbnb Plus idea is great but unfortunately only covers a limited number of big cities.

So what can Airbnb do to make its platform more transparent for its many guests?  Here is MY checklist

1 – Get rid of the meaningless term “Host” and replace it with these more meaningful terms. a – New term – Owner / Agent If the owner is “JOE” and he is involved in the rental say so up front If the owner has designated an agent or rental company to act in their behalf then name them up front b – New term – Communicator - the person who is communicating to you about the rental. Let the guest know the real name of the Communicator and let the guest know what their relationship is the Owner / Agent or if they are the Owner / Agent   C – New term – Greeter - the person who greets you at the rental when you arrive, takes you to the rental, shows you around and answers any questions the guest may have.  Let the guest know who their greeter will be before they arrive and let the guest know what the relationship is between the Greeter and the Owner / Agent and the Communicator. 2  - Photos Currently the photo listed next to the “host” may or may not actually be the host, may or may not have been taken in the last 10 years and may or may not be clear. I suggest that AirBnb update their photo policy and require all photos be a reasonably high resolution and request that the photo submitted to be no more than 2 years old. Each Owner / Agent should submit a photo or logo Each Communicator should submit a clear photo Each Greeter should have a photo

3 -  Stop using the term “Superhost” Let’s be honest Airbnb.  It is absurd to claim that all Superhosts are  “highly rated and reliable, going above and beyond to create an exceptional stay for every guest”  You can’t every verify what role if any the “Superhost” plays. You certainly can't verify that a “Superhost” creates an exceptional stay.  There is absolutely no way to know that unless an objective third party person has vetted the host.  Stop pretending that a computer algorithm can measure the quality of an interpersonal experience. Just let the reviews speak for themselves and continue to get more Airbnb Plus rentals verified by real humans as that is a the only honest way to verify what is or is not going on at a rental. 4 – Make Reviews Fair a – below the box where the guest writes their reviews let them know up front that they may write a maximum of 500 words  b – don’t tell guests that they will be kicked off the platform if the host leaves them a negative review.  If you want a fair dialog then both sides of the transaction should be free to express their opinion without being bullied by the platform to leave positive reviews or else get kicked out 5 – Be Transparent With Disputes If you expect guests and rental operators to use your platform exclusively to communicate about a rental then have the same standard for your own resolutions department.  All communication with an Airbnb Resolutions specialist should be trackable on the Airbnb platform and resolution specialists should be contactable directly by both  the guest and the rental operator

I believe the home sharing economy that Airbnb helped to create is a good thing. I have personally been an Airbnb customer for many years and in the past most of my experiences were positive. Airbnb is still relatively new and like many new enterprises it needs to become more transparent and honest with its users.  We as internet consumers have come to expect that other internet giants like Facbook and Google become more transparent and honest about the data they collect and how it is used.  It is time that Airbnb joins the fold and starts being more honest with the millions of people around the world that entrust them as an enabler of travel. So Airbnb I have now left you a very long negative review.  But here is my question for you

Is anyone listening?

I am well aware of the upcoming Airbnb Initial Public Offering.  Let’s hope for your sake  Airbnb that your someone IS listening.  Otherwise your IPO may become an IPB - Initial Public Bust.

#airbnb #air b&b #travel #homeshare #home rental #sharing economy #ipo #technology #tech news #tech ipo #rant #travels #hotel #rentalhome #customer service #customerexperience #customerappreciation #airbnbhell

[nouies-moved]

BEST FICS OF 2017 picked by notchopsuey manips | other recs | rec page

#1. Runaway Land. 103k. Louis is sure he’s stumbled upon a secret, underground nightclub, though that is far from the truth. He’s also pretty sure he’s stumbled upon Apollo, which… isn’t very far from the truth, actually. Modern Greek mythology AU. #2. You Might Want to Marry My Husband. 24k. When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore. #3. Love's Truest Language. 48k. The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow. “Where's your order forms, then?” “I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him. Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

#4. got the sunshine on my shoulders. 124k. five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone. now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him. (or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

#5. Be with me so happily. 42k. Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated. From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes. Or ... the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn't so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them. [aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months] #6. rivers 'til i reach you. 29k. Louis can’t begin to understand how he’s always this close and still can’t manage to make Harry his. He stands up and gets another beer. AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is). #7. Fall At My Door. 29k. A-list actor Harry Styles and award-winning musician Louis Tomlinson have an acquaintances-with-benefits relationship, so whenever their busy professional lives happen to land them in the same city, they meet up. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. And that’s all it is. Until it isn’t. #8. When We Were Younger. 76k. About a week after Harry started visiting this particular chat room, he was watching some kid argue with the whole room about football, personally disinterested as he tipped a bag of crisps into his mouth. He happily chomped on the crumbs, taking a swig from a glass of Ribena to wash them down, glancing at the screen and very nearly spat the squash back out again. His heart was pounding wildly. The display icon of the argumentative newcomer had caught his eye, and not in a good way. He gulped as he clicked the picture, and when it popped up in full resolution, his heart nearly fell right out of his arse. - Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own. #9. the wonderlands. 150k. "Somewhere between chaos and control — these are the wonderlands." Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair. #10. Paint Me In A Million Dreams. 110k. Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity? In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food. #11. Divide (series). 45k. Four AUs inspired by Ed Sheeran’s album “Divide”. #12. Brooklyn Saw Me. 28k. In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find. #13. Walk That Mile. 141k. Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.” “Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.” “Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan. #14. Never Let Me Go. 55k. “Harry! I’ll tell you what,” Louis exclaims, clapping his hands together. There’s a big grin on his face. “If both of us are still single by your thirtieth birthday, we’ll marry each other.” Harry’s head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?” Harry and Louis have been friends forever, but they couldn't be more different. One night, with a little too much alcohol, they make a pact to marry in ten years if they're both still single. Now, one month before the deadline, Louis is willing to do whatever it takes to avoid ending up with his best friend. But is he, really? | Loosely inspired by The 10 Year Plan #15. Do Not Go Gentle. 70k. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.” For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust. Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back. “Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters. When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern. A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they? #16. Staring Across the Room. 26k. Harry Styles has a great life. He’s a children’s librarian at the New York Public Library, he’s got wonderful friends, and he loves cooking, green tea, yoga, and his collection of bow ties. He doesn’t mind that his life seems a little structured, maybe even a little boring. But when Louis Tomlinson joins the library staff as the new Installation Coordinator, things become a lot less predictable. Louis gets under his skin right from the start, bossing Harry around, making noise during story time, and eating the last cupcake in the staff lounge. Louis may be almost offensively attractive, but Harry will not be succumbing to Louis Tomlinson’s charms, even if the rest of the library staff have. #17. Take Me Back to Where We Started. 27k. Harry and Louis haven't spoken since they broke up four years ago. As boarding school sweethearts they once spent every waking moment together, but now they can hardly stand to be in the same room. When their five year class reunion comes around, both boys decide against their better judgement to return and (hopefully) have a good time. The only problem is, they're both still hopelessly in love. Starring Harry as the petty ex, Louis as the new James Bond, Niall as a boy genius and fake boyfriend extraordinaire, and Liam and Zayn as two friends just trying to make it out of this weekend alive. #18. Safe and Sound (You'll Always Be). 58k. When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break. #19. never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck). 59k. Louis Tomlinson is going to be the journalistic voice of his generation. He’s just waiting for his editor to realize it. For now, he’s stuck writing fluff pieces for the Life and Style section of London Now Newspaper. His latest assignment is more of the same rubbish: a profile of Harry Styles, plastic surgeon and one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Louis is intent on writing something smart and biting and unexpected; if it makes Harry look like an idiot, that’s just the price of good journalism. That is, until Louis gets to know Harry and realizes he might be kind of perfect. Featuring Louis as a writer/workaholic, Harry as a plastic surgeon with a heart of gold, Zayn and Niall as Louis’ colleagues and long-suffering best mates, and Liam as everyone’s favorite pediatric surgeon and Harry’s right-hand man. #20. Then We Talk Slow. 20k. The picture showed Harry smiling widely (with a fucking dimple) at the camera, his glossy brown curls situated artfully around his shoulders. Louis couldn’t see his whole outfit, but it seemed to consist of a pink, floral button-up with most of the buttons undone. Louis could also detect the dark outlines of tattoos on his chest, although he couldn’t quite make out what they were underneath the shirt. What he could make out was that his own heartrate seemed to have picked up significantly. Shit. This was so not good. Not only had Louis drunkenly sent messages in a deliberate attempt to interact with this man, he was now insanely attracted to him without ever having met him in person. Maybe Liam was right – drunk tweeting really was a horrible, rotten idea. A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

#hlonly #ficrec* #* #disclaimer: list based on the fics i've read; not all the fics that were published #(you won't find supernatural aus here except for the first one)

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Italy weakening its child vaccination law is a broader part of the retreat from science and knowledge that’s happening in Italy, the United States and elsewhere

More bad news this week for the children of the world. Italy is relaxing its child vaccination law, which means fewer Italian children will get the basic panel of vaccinations needed to protect them from some very terrible diseases such as polio, diphtheria and Hepatitis B.

Universal vaccination would pretty much wipe out virtually all ten of the diseases against which the Italian government wants all children to get vaccinated. A recent Italian law requires all parents and guardians to provide written proof that their children have been vaccinated against these ten ailments. The law followed an outbreak of more than 5,000 cases of measles in Italy in one year, 34% of all cases in the half billion person European Union, an outsized number: Italy’s population represents only 12% of the EU. The medical community in Europe and around the world was delighted by the new legislation.

But the new Trump-like League- Five Star coalition government of Italy has decided to loosen the rule.Now parents will only be required to confirm verbally that their children have received vaccinations against these ten scourges.  Matteo Salvini, Deputy Prime Minister and member of the anti-immigrant, far-right League, has been quoted as saying the ten obligatory vaccinations “are useless and in many cases dangerous, if not harmful….I confirm the commitment to allow all children to go to school.

With that kind of encouragement, we can be certain that lying will go up and child vaccinations will go down. Sadly, illnesses and deaths among Italian children will soar.

The ten diseases, BTW, are polio, diphtheria, tetanus, hepatitis B, haemophilus influenzae B, measles. mumps, rubella, whooping cough and chickenpox.

The origin of the contemporary anti-vaccination movement in both Italy and the United States was a fraud perpetrated on the medical community and the families of the world by a British gastroenterologist Andrew Wakefield in 1995. Wakefield published a study in The Lancetclaiming children who had the Mumps/Measles/Rubella vaccination were more likely to have bowel disease and autism. He followed it up with another article in 1998. But the good doctor had cooked the books. By 2004, the medical community realized that Wakefield was full of it. That hasn’t stopped anti-vaxers from spouting his bogus research ever since.

When a celebrity or politician talks nonsense about the supposed dangers of vaccination, well-meaning, uneducated parents listen and sometimes decide not to vaccinate, putting both their children and the entire community in danger. That’s why I still believe that while it came early in his campaign, perhaps the most odious, horrific lie that Donald Trump has told to the American people was when he claimed in a debate that he personally knew someone whose child became autistic after being vaccinated. Impossible. Overwhelming clinical evidence proves beyond all doubt that there is absolutely no connection, correlation or relationship between vaccinations and autism. Trump was telling a lie that, like all Trump lies, a sizeable slice of the American public willingly will swallow in one gulp. How shameful to put children at risk to pander to a disproven idea.

But Trump routinely puts children at risk, sometimes with the sadistic glee of a cat batting a mouse around between its paws. The current Nationdetails five distinct ways that his administration imposes “sometimes fatal burdens of children—especially black and brown ones.”The article mentions the separation of children from their families at borders; the travel ban which, as it turns out, has a disproportionately negative effect on children; work requirements for recipients of health and welfare aid; a rolling back of Department of Education efforts to rein in unfair disciplining of African-American children; and efforts to scuttle the World Health Organization resolution favoring breastfeeding. Bullies always pick on people who can’t fight back, so it makes sense that Trump and his followers target children for their cruelty.

The tragedy of what will happen to many children is not the only alarming aspect of this change in the Italian law. The news media is reporting that the medical and scientific community believes that the statements of government officials and the vote to loosen the law increases distrust of science in Italy.  

Americans know, or don’t know, something about the distrust of science. The mass media has been sowing it for years by giving coverage to wacky theories like vaccinations cause autism; treating global warming as an open questions years after science decided the issue; giving a platform to creationists; routinely denigrating intellectual endeavors; writing in feature story after feature story that school is boring; and attributing negative traits to intelligent people, e.g. socially maladroit, physically unattractive, unathletic, unstylish and awkward.

Trump, of course, has taken this anti-truth, anti-science crusade to a new level. This failed businessman turned celebrity routinely lies and uses those lies to develop and implement policies that flaunt science and scientific research. He and his administration make up lies about immigrant crime, the unfairness of current trade agreements, climate change, the renting of children to allow bad guys to cross borders, the benefit to the economy of tax cuts, the reasons behind epidemic of mass shootings, and just about everything else.  The latest addition to the hit parade of mendacity is the claim that dropping the gas mileage standards on trucks and car will benefit the economy. Trumpites have a deep distrust in experts of all kinds, especially experts who speak against their cherished beliefs, superstitions and prejudices.

The death of newspapers. The rise of the irrational as a force in social media. The decline in the number of people reading books. The gutting of scientists and other professional experts from key government positions. The continued decline in government support of public schools and colleges. Everywhere we see signs of a retreat from knowledge.

It’s happened before in world history, for example in Western Europe after the death of Charlemagne when most intellectual endeavors retreated to monasteries under the auspices of a superstitious church or during the later years of the Song dynasty when the examination system to decide who would run the country was corrupted by wealthy people wanting to make sure their children were well-positioned. Willful ignorance of the facts on the ground is probably a significant factor in the decline of all civilizations and countries. Decline always comes with extreme pain, and those who suffer most are almost always the children.

#vaccination #vaccine #italy

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