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67-chevy-baby · 4 years

Text

Take Away My Heartache

Pairing - Dean x Cas

Rating - 18+ Only!!

Squares Filled - Kink Bingo: Begging and Dean and Cas Bingo: Fight and Make-Up

Tags - SEASON 15 EPISODE 3 SPOILERS, Destiel, Arguments, Angst, Language, Drinking, M/M sex, Anal Fingering, Prostate stimulation, Anal Sex, Begging, Finger sucking, Unprotected sex, Implied self-blame, and I think that’s it.

Word Count - 3,753

Beta - @winecatsandpizza

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

The Song I Chose - Crazy Love by Van Morrison

Written for - @rockhoochie’s 1k Followers Writing Challenge, @spnkinkbingo, and @deanandcasbingo

Yeah, and why does that something always seem to be you?

The sting of Dean’s words cut through Castiel’s heart like a knife as the sound of the Bunker door shutting behind him echoed in the distance. Truth be told, he’d give anything to run right back into his hunter’s arms and forget the argument ever happened. His hunter. Those two little words used to bring him nothing but joy-something an Angel of the Lord rarely felt. Now … Now, it only brought tears to his eyes because clearly Dean wasn’t his. Not anymore.

The dry leaves crunched beneath Cas’ shoes as he walked. The cool autumn air nipping at the skin exposed at his neck made him shiver. Not only were he and Dean over, but he’d lost Jack too. Never in his entire existence had he felt so alone. Jack, his son for all intents and purposes, was dead. Even though there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop it at the time, he still blamed himself. He’d made a promise to Kelly. He swore to her he’d keep her son safe and he couldn’t even do that.

Hell, maybe Dean was right. Maybe he should have just stuck to the plan. They would have found a way to stop Belphegor. They’d saved the world before. This wasn’t their first go around. Instead, he let his emotions get the better of him and killed the lying sack of shit while he had the chance. He’d figured Dean would have been proud of him, cheered at his braveness. Not once did he think Dean would dismiss him like their ten-year-long relationship meant nothing.

Cas found himself in an all too familiar place. The barn where it all began. The very place he first stood face to face with Dean. It still looked the same. The various black warding sigils and chipped white paint were still there and immediately brought back every memory he shared with the elder Winchester. Finally, he let himself feel the emotions he’d been holding back. A choked sob left his lips as he sank down onto the cold, hard ground.

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The sound of glass shattering made Sam’s ears perk up. He hurried into the Library armed and ready only to find Dean hunched over the table. His hands splayed out on the dark wooden surface, the remnants of broken glass joined his beer in a wet puddle on the floor. Slowly, he lowered his gun and walked cautiously towards him. “Dean? Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Cas?” Dean didn’t look at him, his breathing heavy as his shoulders started to shake. Now, this was a sight. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother cry this hard. “Hey, whoa… Dean? C’mon man, talk to me.”

Dean shook his head, his tears falling against the table’s veneer. “He’s gone, Sammy…” Sam didn’t miss how broken his brother sounded. He wasn’t naive to the fact that Cas was intimate with Dean. You’d have to be blind not to know how they felt for one another. Sighing, he set his gun on the table and moved so he could see his brother’s face. “Dean, you have to calm down. I’m sure he’s coming ba-” The sound of the chair being kicked over made Sam jump, his brother’s tear-filled eyes boring into his own. “WHAT DON’T YOU GET, SAM?! CAS. IS. GONE. NEVER COMING BACK! END OF STORY!” Dean’s chest heaved as he fished the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. It wasn’t until his footfalls echoed down the hallway that Sam reacted. His long legs walking quickly after him. “Dean! Wait, Dean, you can’t just leave while you’re upset like this!”

Dean didn’t react to his little brother’s plea, but that didn’t stop Sam from trying. He was hot on his heels as they crossed the threshold of the Bunker’s garage. The familiar creak of the Impala’s door broke the silence between them as Sam waited for a response. Dean fired up the engine and gripped the steering wheel, the tips of his knuckles turning white as he let out a long shaky sigh. “Don’t you get it, Sammy? I break everything I touch. I’m poison. Happiness wasn’t meant for me. This life ... there’s no chance at love when you’re a part of it. I push everyone away and I’ll be damned if I do something to ruin the last relationship I have. Let me go, Sammy … before I force you to leave me too.”

Reluctantly Sam stepped back and watched Dean drive away. His brother’s words tearing at his heartstrings as the sleek black car disappeared out of sight. Part of what Dean said was true in a sense. Rarely did someone with their job description find happiness. He’d tried … time and time again he had tried. First with Jessica, the love of his life from his Stanford days. Then there was Amelia, the sweet veterinarian with a heart of gold. Eileen was another one that ultimately ended in tragedy.

Of course, there were others that Sam had been romantically involved with, but more often than not his love interests shared something in common with one another. They weren’t hunters. They didn’t spend every day knowing what went bump in the night or lurked just beyond the shadows. That’s one thing that was different between him and Dean. Before they’d met Cas, his brother didn’t care much about settling down. One night stands were his specialty, something that Sam often envied.

The moment Castiel made himself known to them, Dean’s whole demeanor changed. It was subtle at first. He started cutting back on the number of women he’d spend the night with. Then came the not so discreet glances. Cas was oblivious to them of course, but Sam wasn’t. He’d known his brother all his life so he was quite familiar with that look. Dean was attracted to the Angel. Once his stubborn brother got enough alcohol in his system he finally made his move. The rest was history.

The silence in the garage became almost deafening as Sam’s thoughts continued to race through his head. They’d lost so much recently. Their Dad, their Mom, Jack, and Rowena. So many people they loved were gone. He’d be damned if Dean lost Cas too.

He half jogged back into the library and picked up the broken pieces of his brother’s beer bottle. After cleaning up the wetness with a towel from the kitchen, he headed back to his room to get his phone. Hopefully, Cas still had the one they’d gave him. He held his breath as the shrill ringing filled his ears. “C’mon … C’mon” His persistent voice was the only sound in the room other than his boots pacing the floor.

After the third ring, he finally heard the gruff sound of Cas’ voice. “H-Hello?” A wave of relief washed over Sam. “Cas? Hey, don’t hang up okay? Just… hear me out…” He waited, listening for any sort of acknowledgment from the Angel. When he didn’t get any, he took the opportunity and kept going. “First things first, where are you? Are you safe?” A cough and a low groan made his chest heavy with worry. “Cas?”

“Sam, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m an Angel. I can take care of myself.” Sam frowned and stopped pacing, his hand finding purchase on his hip. “That’s not what I …” He sighed, not wanting to be the second person that argued with him today. “Look, Cas, I realize it’s not my place, but I know what you have with Dean is worth fighting for. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you. He’s just… he’s a little lost right now. In no way am I defending his actions because I don’t know what was said, but I will stand here and say that my brother loves you. He’s madly in love with you, Cas…”

A shaky breath on the other end of the phone told Sam that he was still there. "I...I love him too, Sam. Like I've never loved anyone or anything before." Another ragged cough told Sam that Cas wasn’t being forthcoming with how bad his health really was and it worried him. Hell, shouldering pain and wounds was one of their specialties after all. “Cas, listen to me, okay? Everything that’s happened recently has taken its toll on all of us. I can’t speak for you or Dean, but having to … to” A shaky sigh left his lips as tears threatened to slip down his cheeks. Eventually, a few betrayed him and his vision became blurry as he forced the words out. “... kill Rowena wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” He cleared the lump in his throat and swallowed thickly. “What I’m trying to say is we can get through this. We’ve saved the world so many times, and I’ll be damned if we let God’s little temper tantrum do us in.”

Cas wasn’t saying anything, but his occasional exhale told Sam he was still there. “Please, Cas. Just tell me where you are so I can come and get you.” Neither of them said anything for what felt like an eternity. Finally, relief washed over Sam when he heard the Angel respond. “The barn … I’m at the barn where it all began.” “I’ll be there as fast as I can, Cas! Just … stay there.” Sam hung up and began packing his duffel bag.

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Dean welcomed the smooth burn of the whiskey in his glass as he knocked it back. Maybe if he drank enough he’d be able to forget those sad blue eyes and how he was the cause of said emotion. The bartender eyed him curiously but filled his glass again nevertheless. “Relationship problems?” Dean downed the golden brown liquid in two gulps before sliding the cup back. “With all due respect, it’s really none of your business. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to drink until I’m numb. In fact, just go ahead and leave the bottle.” After tossing a few twenties and sporting a stern look, the man seemed to get the message. Even if Dean didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, it was better than sharing them with some stranger just to be judged. He took another sip and groaned happily. Yep, being alone was much better.

The vibration of his phone startled him out of his thoughts once again. “Now, what?” He grumbled. Seeing his brother’s name lit up on the screen made him roll his eyes, but he swiped to answer anyway. “Dammit, Sammy. I’ve been gone for a few hours what could you possibly…” He was cut off by the frantic edge in Sam’s voice. “Dean! It’s… It’s Cas… he… he told me he was at the barn where you met. I went to get him a-and now he… he won’t wake up.”

Dean felt his blood run cold.

He pushed the stool away from the counter and all but ran back to the Impala. “What do you mean he won’t wake up?!” Baby’s tires spun as Dean pulled back onto the main road toward the Bunker. “I-I-I don’t know, Dean… He’s breathing, but he seems to be in some sort of celestial coma? When I talked to him on the phone, he kept coughing and wheezing. I don’t know what to do. Normally, I’d call Rowena, but… she’s…” Dean cut his brother off before he could finish, his knuckles white on the steering wheel for the second time that day. “Sammy, listen to me. Just get back to the Bunker as fast as you can. I’ll meet you there, and we will figure this out … the Winchester way.” He ended the call and tossed his phone on the seat next to him, his boot pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

The moment Sam arrived with Cas, Dean was there to help. They carried him to the hospital wing in the Bunker and carefully laid him on the cot. Dean couldn’t help but notice how sickly his angel looked. He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and hot to the touch, and his lips were chapped more than they normally were. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he looked at his brother with defeat. “Sammy… I.. I can’t lose him. I was so stupid… so fucking stupid…” His shoulders shook violently the moment he let his emotions take over.

Sam was determined to make things better again. Not just for his brother, but for the sole fact that he refused to let anyone else they cared for die. “Keep an eye on him, Dean. I’ll hit the books and make some phone calls. You should stay here just in case he wakes up.” All Dean could do was nod and watch as Sam walked away. He turned his gaze back to Cas, his fingertips reaching up to gently caress his cheek. He was afraid to do much else.

Eventually, Dean’s eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline wore off from earlier. Leaving Cas was out of the question, so he did the only thing he could think of and gently curled up on the mattress beside him. He slung his arm protectively over the angel’s torso and carefully laid his head against his chest. He couldn’t help the memories of their first night together flooding his mind. How they listened to music in Baby and drove out in the country to look at the stars. A tear slid down his cheek as he began to softly sing their song, the one that Cas insisted they listen to on repeat the whole trip home.

I can hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles

And the heaven's open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

Yeah when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Yes I need her in the daytime

Yes I need her in the night

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss and hug her, kiss and hug her tight

Yeah when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me whole

Yes it makes me mellow down into my soul

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

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The last thing Castiel remembered was seeing Sam’s concerned face. Then there was only darkness. He wasn’t dead, no, this was something different. A coma maybe? He couldn’t open his eyes or move, but he was able to hear everything going on around him. Angels normally don’t go through things like this, but if their bodies get too worn down then they go into somewhat of a protective mode. He figured this is what happened to him when he used the last of his strength to teleport himself to the barn. His celestial powers needed to replenish.

He hated hearing how worried Sam and Dean were. He especially hated how much Dean blamed himself. He’d spent so much time showing his boyfriend how much good he brought to the world, and now he felt like Dean was closing himself off again. He’d only wanted to take some of the stress from Dean. That’s why he chose to kill Belphegor instead of letting him do more damage. Cas knew Dean didn’t mean to hurt him and he longed to tell him how sorry he was.

It became a waiting game, letting his vessel reenergize itself. There was no telling how long it would take, but Castiel took comfort in knowing that the man he loved was snuggled into his side. If only he could have comforted Dean and wiped his tears. The sound of the elder Winchester’s voice filled the small room, and it was then that he realized Dean was singing to him. Cas’ heart both soared and broke at the same time by the emotion in his voice as the lyrics flowed freely from memory. The last thing he heard before Dean fell asleep was him saying how sorry he was and how much he loved him.

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Dean groaned and tightened his grip around Castiel. What time was it? Had Sam found anything? Several questions ran through his mind as he prepared to open his eyes. Before he could, he felt a hand smooth down his back. His heart skipped a beat as he sat up. Beautiful blue eyes gazed into his own, and Dean looked at him like it was the first time he saw him all over again. “Cas?! Cas! Oh, I’m so happy you’re okay. I’m sorry for the things I said to you before. I was so stupid and I know you were just trying t-” His rambling was cut off as Cas smashed his lips against his. Their tongues danced together and when Cas finally pulled away he was panting as hard as Dean was.

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for. I forgave you the moment it happened, and there’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less. You will always be perfect in my eyes. Forever the Righteous Man I saved and rebuilt all those years ago. I love you.” Dean placed another emotional kiss to Cas’ lips, pouring all his love and need into it. Never in his life did he think he’d be able to settle down with anyone. Being a hunter of the supernatural meant a short life span more often than not. He was conditioned to not get too attached to anyone, but with Cas, he couldn’t help himself. This was different. Cas was different, and without the Angel, in his life, he’d be incomplete.

The need to feel Castiel’s touch nearly took his breath away. No words were spoken as they rid each other of their clothes. Cas flipped them over so he was hovering above Dean, his blue eyes glowing with power. Dean felt his cock swell in anticipation, his breathing becoming more ragged by the second. “Cas, please…”

Castiel began to trail kisses along his jaw, nipping at the skin now and again. The moment he began sucking at Dean’s pulse point he could feel just how much he needed him. His cock was pinned between Cas’, the tip weeping beads of precum. “Look at you, Dean. You’re a fucked out mess and I’ve barely touched you.” Dean whined shamelessly at his words, his hand reaching between their bodies to slowly stroke Cas’ length. “Mmmm, Dean… Gonna make you feel so good.” Cas brought two of his fingers up to Dean’s lips, pushing them into his mouth. “Suck.”

Dean obliged, swirling his tongue skillfully around his digits. Cas nearly came at the sight below him. The way the elder Winchester fluttered his eyes shut the moment his perfect lips closed around them, his soft moans as his slick tongue flicked over his fingertips, and the constellation of freckles littered over his skin. Reluctantly, Cas pulled them free and pressed one against Dean’s entrance. “Relax for me.” It wasn’t a command, but Dean knew it would do him well to obey. The first few moments were always painful, but the pleasure Cas promised was better than anything he’d ever felt.

“C-Cas… I… I need you. Please… don’t make me wait… F-Fuck!” Cas knew he’d found Dean’s prostate just from the sound of Dean’s plea. His fingers grazed the bundle of nerves making the man beneath him shiver. “As much as I’d love to fuck you into this mattress, Dean, I very much like hearing you beg.”

Dean whimpered as Cas continued to slowly fuck him open with his fingers, his hands fisting the thin sheet under him. “Unngh! P-Please fuck me… need you inside me so bad.” Cas smirked and peppered kisses along Dean’s chest. “I know you can do better than that, Dean. I’ve seen you do it.”

Dean arched his back and cried out, his mouth opening in a perfect “o” shape. “I need it! Oh, fuck I n-need it, Cas! Need you to fuck me until I can’t think anymore… Please…. Oh, fuck! Please. Please. Please…” Finally, Cas gave in. His cock replacing his fingers as he slowly thrust inside Dean to the hilt. Both cried out in unison, their bodies thrumming with arousal.

Cas leaned down to kiss Dean softly before starting a steady pace. It was a wonder the poorly built cot didn’t break beneath them. Dean’s cries filled the small room as Cas fucked into him relentlessly. “Oh, fu-... C-Cas! Oh, Cas! R-Right there!” They’d done this enough that Cas knew Dean was close. The way his body shook, how desperate he sounded when he moaned, and how he clenched around him. He’d normally draw this out, take his time with his hunter, but this was something they both needed.

Cas began to stroke Dean’s thick cock in time with his thrusts, his angelic grace causing the lightbulbs above them to burst with all the energy in the room. Both of them fell over the edge together, Dean’s cries swallowed by Cas’ kiss.

Once they came down from their high, Cas carefully pulled out of Dean and pulled him close. “Dean, you complete me. From the moment my father told me to rescue you from Hell, I knew my life would change forever.” Dean kissed Cas sweetly and nuzzled into his neck. “I love you, Cas. M’heart s’yours.”

Sometime later, Sam came home from the library and noticed how quiet the Bunker was. He made his way to the hospital room and snorted to himself at the broken glass on the floor. Glancing at the cot, he smiled widely at the sight of his brother and Cas asleep in each other’s arms.

“Thank God.” He breathed.

Forever Tags: @desiree-0816

#spnkinkbingo #deanandcasbingo #rockhoochies1k #destiel #dean and cas #spn spoilers #'pala writes

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

NO MATTER HOW DETERMINED YOU ARE, YOU SHOULD TRY TO PROVE IT, BECAUSE LORD-OF-THE-FLIES SCHOOLS AND BUREAUCRATIC COMPANIES ARE BOTH THE DEFAULT

I want to reach users, you do know what's happening inside it. Why?1 Just imagine how it would feel to call a support line and be treated as someone bringing important news. It's important to realize that, no, the adults don't know what you're going to look at the famous 1984 ad now, it's easier to read than a regular article. Which is not that different. But writing an interface to a piece of software doesn't teach you anything, because the main value of that initial version is not the hours but the responsibility. Teenage apprentices in the Renaissance seem to have been a mistake. So if intelligence in itself is less likely to introduce bugs. When you interview a startup and think they seem likely to succeed at all. But they're also too young to be left unsupervised.2 At best it was practice for real work.3 I must have explained something badly.

But evidence suggests most things with titles like this are linkbait.4 But I've learned never to say never about technology. As a general rule for finding problems best solved in one head. How much you should worry about being an outsider is being aware of one's own procrastination. If it's any consolation to the nerds, it's nothing personal. As an outsider, take advantage of direct contact with the medium. That scenario may seem unlikely now, but it wouldn't be a top priority. 0 out fast, then continue to improve the software, all you need is a department with the right colleagues in it. The remarkable thing about this project was that he wrote all the software in a Web-based software, you can in one step enable all your users to page people, or send faxes, or send faxes, or send commands by phone, or process credit cards, etc, just by installing the relevant hardware. A lot of the top 10,000 hackers, the route is at least straightforward: make the search engine you yourself want.

There is nothing inevitable about the current system. Now the frightening giant is Microsoft, and I think this will be the only kind that work everywhere. So if intelligence in itself is less likely to introduce bugs.5 You're at least close enough to work that the smell of dinner cooking.6 It seemed like selling out. After trying the demo, signing up for the service should require nothing more than filling out a brief form the briefer the better.7 For Web-based applications offer a straightforward way to outwork your competitors.

Next time, I won't.8 I've noticed some cracks in their fortress. The word try is an especially valuable component. But most kids would take that deal. So you don't have to rely on teaching or research funding to support oneself. I was talking recently to someone who knew Apple well, and I know it's the wrong thing to optimize. In software this kind of bug is the hardest to find, and also tends to have the computations happening on the desktop. It will seem preposterous to future generations that we wait till patients have physical symptoms to be diagnosed with conditions like heart disease and cancer.

Viaweb the developers were always in close contact with support. The more the work depends on imagination, the more hooks you have for new facts to stick onto—which means you accumulate knowledge at what's colloquially called an exponential rate. That's what they miss. Trying to write the software than because we expected users to want to be popular. Apple leaves no room there. As European scholarship gained momentum it became less and less important; by 1350 someone who wanted to buy them, however limited.9 I see someone laugh as they read a draft of an essay to friends, there are two great universities, but they're such assholes. 1 that effectively all the returns are concentrated in a few top university departments and research labs—partly because talent is harder to judge, and partly to get exactly what we wanted. The alarming thing is, he'd know enough not to have to work on projects with an intensity in both senses that few insiders can match.

I've said some harsh things in this essay I found that after following a certain thread I ran out of ideas? The remarkable thing about this project was that he wrote all the software in a Web-based applications, everything you associate with startups is taken to an extreme with Web-based software will be written on this model.10 Make them do more at your peril. Or rather, I don't think they realize how much software development is affected by the way it is released.11 In startups one person may have to use it, and group themselves according to whatever shared interest they feel most strongly. Teenagers seem to have made that deal, though perhaps none of them had any choice in the matter.12 We would leave a board meeting to fix a serious bug in OS X, instead of releasing a software update immediately, they had to submit their code to an intermediary who sat on it for a month and then rejected it because it yields the best results.13

That's what school, prison, and ladies-who-lunch all lack.14 Version 4. And unlike other potential mistakes on that scale, it costs nothing to fix. But, in my school at least, a better writer than someone who wrote eleven that were merely good. Just imagine how it would feel to call a support line and be treated as someone bringing important news.15 For example, most people seem to miss most is the lack of time. But when you choose a language, you're also choosing a community.

How do you get them to switch. That's what I thought before Viaweb, to the extent I thought about the question at all. My current development machine is a MacBook Air, which I spent worrying about, but not writing, my dissertation. My father's entire industry breeder reactors disappeared that way. We had general ideas about things we wanted to hear from customers. It's just a legitimate sounding way of saying: we don't like your type around here. One of my tricks for generating startup ideas is to imagine the ways in which we'll seem backward to future generations that we wait till patients have physical symptoms to be diagnosed with cancer. They're like someone trying to play soccer while balancing a glass of water.16

Notes

These false positive rates are untrustworthy, as Prohibition and the hundreds of thousands of small and use whatever advantages that brings. But the change is a constant.

Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you saw Jessica at a 5 million cap. The banks now had to bounce back. Even college textbooks are not very far along that trend yet.

I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools do, just harder. 001 negative effect on college admissions process. Whereas the value of a long time I thought there wasn't, because users' needs often change in the US News list tells us is what approaches like Brightmail's will degenerate into once spammers are pushed into using mad-lib techniques to generate everything else in the same lesson, partly because you can work out. You'd have to include in your plans, you have to deliver the lines meant for a monitor.

Only a fraction of VCs even have positive returns. Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard. Median may be exaggerated by the government, it is less secure.

I'm not saying you should avoid.

Charismatic candidates will tend to be room for startups to have figured out how to do that? We often discuss revenue growth.

This is a variant of Reid Hoffman's principle that if there is one of them is that promising ideas are not more. In that case the implications are similar.

They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but they were, they'd be proportionately more effective, leaving less room for something that would get shut down in the body or header lines other than those I mark. Maybe the corp dev people are these days. After a while we can teach startups a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. But while this sort of wealth, seniority will become less common for founders; if they seem pointless.

There need to raise a series of numbers that are only slightly richer for having these things. Later you can make things very confusing. On the other cheek skirts the issue; the idea that was more because they couldn't afford a monitor is that everyone gets really good at sniffing out any red flags about the new top story. Not all were necessarily supplied by the Corporate Library, the initial capital requirement for German companies is that there's more of it, but they can't legitimately ask you a series A from a book from a VC recently who said they wanted, so I called to check and in some cases the process of selling things to the founders' salaries to the point where it does, the best case.

01.

Throw in the same amount of stock options than any of his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how you spent all your time working on is a negotiation.

All he's committed to rejecting it.

Later we added two more modules, an image generator were written in C, and most sophisticated city in the startup is rare. A round. Record labels, for the same reason 1980s-style knowledge representation could never have left PARC.

On the other team.

The problem in high school is that you end up making something that flows from some central tap.

The more people would be to advertise, and this destroyed all traces. But their founders, if you're attacked in this way. As a rule, if an employer hired men based on that? As Paul Buchheit points out, it's hard to say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

Thanks to Harjeet Taggar, Ben Horowitz, Dan Siroker, Jessica Livingston, rew Mason, Paul Buchheit, and Trevor Blackwell for smelling so good.

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forkanna · 6 years

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[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry about that huge delay - that was totally unintentional. I've been trying to make a game, which I know, is a completely ridiculous thing for me to do considering I've never tried to do that before. Also, I'm terrible at it as it turns out, haha. BUT! If I ever finish it, you'll be the first to know - I'll also probably post it to AO3 if it's at all possible.

Hopefully, the length of this chapter (and the sheer amount of events set off in it) help to make up for it! We're doing a time-hop forward. Part Two is much longer, and Part Three will be about the same length as Two. Have fun!

~ PART TWO ~

CHAPTER SIX

"Come on, Illianora, spill! What did they say, exactly?"

The round-faced girl smiled back at her friends, swinging her legs back and forth just below her chair in the corner of the inn they so often met up in for lunch. Any fool could tell that this was a unique opportunity for her to be the center of attention, and she was about to milk it for all she was worth. Not that anyone other than the barkeep and the one or two of the customers were going to pay them the slightest bit of attention — and the former only because he distrusted anyone who had not come to the age of adulthood.

"Oh, come on, you don't want to hear this boring old Emerald City gossip."

"We do, we do!"

"Okay," she giggled, relenting far too easily. Scooting a bit closer, she said, "Well. First, they were making this big proclamation about appointing Fiyero to be Captain of the Guard!"

There were a chorus of gasps. One of the other girls whispered, "Not Prince Fiyero!"

"Yes! I mean, I really wanted to go congratulate him… tell him personally how proud we all were of him. A Vinkus man being given such a high position in the Wizard's army! Put in charge of the search for the Witches themselves! But I couldn't get close, of course."

"You wanted to tell him how much you wanted to be his wife," another girl accused. When Illianora only shrugged, they all laughed. "Knew it! You're shameless!"

"Oh, stop that; you know I'm only interested in Liir. Even if Fiyero is a handsome devil." Then her eyes sparkled. "But I haven't told you the half of it! The press secretary — Marble something — she announced that after almost two years of searching all of Oz, they're finally tracking down where the other two Wicked Witches are hiding!"

More gasps, these of a different nature. Darker, more fearful; still just as excited and eager for hearsay as the ones over the guard captain, but laced with the appropriate apprehension.

"Well?" one of the girls needled, given that Illianora had taken overlong continuing. "Where?"

"Here."

"Here? You mean the Vinkus?" When she only shrugged again, she pressed, "Not in Kiamo Ko?!" They turned to each other with whispers of alarm. This was a lot more personal, more pronounced, than the quick jolt of adrenaline they felt about the vague existence of the witches. This was local.

"Well, maybe not in Kiamo Ko specifically, but in the Vinkus, at least. We all know they've patrolled our streets enough to have flushed out any two witches."

"Have they? I hear they can shed their skins as easily as a snake!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarima," another girl snapped. "Go on, Nora, tell us what else the Marble woman said — further north? South? Or out West?"

"Might be West, because they kept calling them 'The Wicked Witches of the West'... though that could just mean in the Vinkus," she added in a thoughtful mutter.

Sarima pushed a hand into the side of her face. "I was a lot happier dreaming about that Prince Fiyero than worrying about witches holding us for ransom." The others were quick to agree.

"That was about it," Illianora reluctantly admitted. "Just to stay alert, try to tell any Animals that still speak that she and the Wizard are offering a reward for any information on where the witches went."

"Weally?"

"Weally- I mean, really. Oh, and that they're keeping a close eye on the Witch of the East; you know, the one in Munchkinland?"

They all muttered lazily about that for a moment. By now, the strict policies and threats of that particular "witch" were well-known everywhere, even if they weren't nearly as sensational as hearing about fires and explosions and freed Animals courtesy of the other two. With no more exciting news about the East to pick apart, they just muttered for a minute or so about her before letting the subject return to the more immediate threat.

"I've heard that one is green and the other is blue," a girl whispered. "And that when they get mad, they switch!"

"That's ridiculous, Nastoya. How can a person switch colours?"

"How can a person be green or blue in the first place?" Sarima cut in, shaking her head.

After a moment, Illianora asserted herself again, hoping to recapture the spotlight from her friends. "Well, they say one of them was from Gillikin; the emerald mines are near there. Maybe there was an accident, and now she's green forever! Wouldn't that be awful?"

As they continued to chatter on, a robed figure passed behind them and left a handful of coins on the counter before making good her discreet exit. For the time being, she had heard quite enough to be going on with.

~ o ~

"...And that's the scuttlebutt."

A green chin nodded up and down as two spindly fingers stroked either side, glittering emerald eyes sharpa as they always had been. "Intriguing. Not that I know what 'scuttlebutt' means."

"It means the butt of a scuttle, of course! Come on, Elphie, aren't you frightened?"

"Why should I be?" Gesturing around at the sparkling insides of the cave, she announced, "Saint Aelphaba is safely tucked into this hidey-hole behind Wicca Falls, where none may enter but her closest companion, Glinda the Ghastly. What's to worry about? They're no closer to finding us than they were last year. I doubt they could find their hats if they were on their own pointed heads."

Glinda the Ghastly scowled as Elphaba chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "I don't find that particularly humourous, you know. Just because I'm resigned to living like a common criminal on the lamb doesn't mean I want to joke about it."

"Who's joking? Maybe I really am Saint Aelphaba." At Glinda's eyeroll, she gave one of her own. "Fine, you aren't in a laughing mood."

"I'm not. But… I do have some good news to go with the bad." Reaching behind her, she produced a large, round disc of light-tan bread, lips pulling into a small smile. "See what I picked up?"

"Ooh, honey loaf!" Elphaba breathed, smiling in spite of herself. "It's been awhile since we splurged. By Oz, to eat something besides fish for once!" Her fingers twitched toward it, then pulled away. "But… you bought it, I should let you break the bread."

"Here, then," she giggled as she split it in two easily and passed half of it over. "Eat up. No sense waiting another hour until supper."

As Elphaba drew it closer, she glanced upward. "You always give me the bigger half."

"Well…" Squirming, she shrugged and feigned indifference. "You're taller than me, aren't you? More to feed. I'm just being practical."

"Sure," Elphaba chuckled, breaking off a small piece to nibble. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then she said, once her hunger was not so gnawing, "I'm worried about the Animals."

"This again," Glinda sighed.

"No, listen; it's been a week since I heard from their camp in the Great Gillikin Forest. The Crows were supposed to come days ago. What can be keeping them?"

For a minute or two, Glinda simply watched her companion wring her hands. It confounded her, but yet again, as she had the past several times this subject turned in such a direction, she found herself very faintly jealous. Why should she? It was because the Animals demanded Elphaba's attention, of course, but the part that confounded her was that she cared so deeply whether or not her friend had concerns outside the two of them. Perhaps it could be merely attributed to them spending far too much time together; they were becoming codependent. It was to be expected when you were living in a cave with only one other person, but sometimes, she worried that it was going to ruin her for keeping company with others. Would she remember all of her social graces, her manners, once this crisis was over?

It had to come to an end. It had to; the Wizard and Morrible couldn't possibly keep up this witch hunt forevermore! Someday, they would find a way to bargain for the Animals to be left alone, and to return the Grimmerie to its rightful owners. She had no idea how such a plan would come together, especially after two years of feeling defeated, but she was determined to make it so. Until then, she supposed she would have to put up with playing second chair to Elphaba's zealous crusade now and then.

Her friend must have sensed her displeasure. After swallowing her current bite, she said in the soft voice Glinda had grown so accustomed to over the past years, "I missed you the past few days."

"You did not. You're just sorry I didn't bring back a Pig for companionship," she griped.

"Glindie…"

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she decided not to be too mean; it wasn't worth it. "Did you really?"

"I always do. If only I didn't stick out like a green thumb, I could go with you when you head into the cities."

"Yeah, I know. Any, um… progress on degreenifying yourself?"

"Nope," she sighed, glancing over at the Grimmerie's vaunted place on a very basic table on one cave wall, next to a candelabra of wax stumps. "You know, I did manage to turn my knee orange yesterday."

"Oh, can I see?!" When Elphaba only snorted, she wilted and mumbled, "Don't joke! I don't like it when you joke about magic, it seems… I don't know."

Throwing up both hands, Elphaba began to rise, only just catching the last bit of her honey loaf before it toppled to the grotty cave floor. "No joking about magic, or Animals, or Saint Aelphaba. What can we joke about?!"

"We can joke about how ugly I'm getting, without my makeup artists and hairdressers." When Elphaba only frowned deeply at her from the "kitchen" area of their hovel, Glinda pursed her lips. "You know I stopped caring about that after the first few months, but you still won't laugh. I always thought you'd be thrilled I gave up on that."

"But you gave up on them because they're out of reach for you, not because of disinterest." Having stashed the rest of her bread for the time being, she returned to help Glinda up. "You know I would give you back those things if I had a spell for that."

"Don't turn my knees orange," she warned, and Elphaba grinned in spite of herself. "But… you're learning to do much more important things than giving me supernatural lipstick."

Glancing around the cave, as if someone would jump out and interrupt them, Elphaba leaned in and pressed her lips against Glinda's ear. The latter shivered at the feeling of air caressing her lobe and neck, at the closeness of the vibrations of sound.

"I perfected fire."

"Perfected?" she breathed, licking her suddenly-dry lips. Elphaba knew that she was still a bit skittish about being so close as that, and she often used it to tease. This time, she could tell it was unintentional, so she did not bop her on the nose.

"Yes, perfected. Here…" Raising a hand, she began to whisper under her breath; seemed she didn't even need to read the words from the Grimmerie's pages anymore. In the very center of her palm, a plume of pale green flame began to flicker and dance.

"O-oh! It's a tiny fire! You've really done it, you- and it's not even raging out of control like the last time!"

A smile ghosted into the corners of Elphaba's mouth, and she fell silent, allowing the flame to continue its presence there. After a few more seconds, she closed the hand and it vanished. "Yes. It… well, I still feel guilty about our hut down in Yips, so I promised myself I would only practice somewhere safe. The connecting caves go deep enough that it's easy to find somewhere without any wood or brush. Look how much it's paid off!"

"It's truly wonderful, and wonderfully true; your control is getting as good as your arcane arsenal!" With a little titter, she went to join her in working on getting their supper finished. Honey loaf was well and good, but it was not enough sustenance. "And I've barely mastered the flight spell; everything else, I have to read it out of the book or I'll mess it up. Even then, I still mess it up sometimes!"

"Glinda, that's alright." Perching her free hand on her forearm, she went on, "You're the one running around Oz, trying to acquire things for us, listening in on gossip. I'm stuck here all day, hiding and waiting to talk to Crows, so this is the way I can be useful. Well, other than fishing." As she stoked the fire higher underneath the several fish spitted on a stick, she added, "And anyway, you're a lot further along than that and you know it."

"Maybe," she muttered, embarrassed by the attention toward her inferior spellwork.

"Definitely. Just keep at it and you'll be floating around over Oz in no time."

Soon after, they set to plating and eating the fish. Though they were literal cave-dwellers, Glinda had still insisted they could bother to pick up kitchenware and eat as civilised as they could manage. Elphaba cared a bit less for manners, but she still did her best to maintain some decorum for her companion's sake. After all, small gestures such as those went a long way toward keeping the peace.

It wasn't until they were washing up that Elphaba announced, "I'm thinking about visiting my sister."

"Oh?" Glinda asked as they stood in the mouth of the cave, hands outstretched to let the waterfall blast away the food remnants. They sometimes lost dishes that way due to unexpectedly powerful bursts of water, but they knew now to tighten their grip against the torrent. "You… want to see Nessa? Why?"

"It's all this talk of her being 'wicked' like us. The details are so vague, I don't… what are they talking about? She never acted the slightest bit wicked in all the years I've known her, which are all the years she's had. I know it's not really the focus of what we're trying to get done, and it might not help us clear our names, either. But… she's my sister, isn't she? For better or for worse."

At that, Glinda had to nod glumly. "I might be an only child, but I imagine having a sibling must be the bestest. A very special bond, especially! So… so why should I stand in your way if you want to see her?"

"Because it's foolish," Elphaba sighed, turning away with the cleansed dishes to dry them over the table. Glinda hurried to follow. "It's a needless risk of exposure. I'd have to be careful flying almost literally from one end of Oz to the other, and for what? To have Nessarose snap at me that I've 'disgraced the family', probably."

"Oh, come on, Elphie. She wouldn't be that cruel!"

"Wouldn't she? You've met my father. She's his child."

"So are you, and I don't see you being that cruel." When Elphaba glanced at her, she shrugged. "Not that often. We have our quarrels, but we always work them out, and you're very rarely cruel without cause."

"But I am cruel, then. Right?" Glinda didn't answer right away, and Elphaba sighed. "I'm sorry, I… sometimes, I get so passionate about saving the Animals from being muted and massacred…"

"I know," she soothed with a hand on Elphaba's back. "Of course, I understand. And… even though I hate it when you shout at me, you've never struck me or… or insulted me unless I've already insulted you somehow. So I think you're quite an admirable person, overall."

At that, Elphaba snorted and patted Glinda's arm. "Such lavish praise. If you don't want me to go and see her, I won't, but… oh, I just feel like I must. Something in my gut tells me it's important."

A sigh escaped Glinda's lips as she pondered. Not that there was much to ponder at all. "Your gut has served us well a few times before now, so I feel like it would be sheer ridiculosity to ignore it now. Go to your sister; I'll hold down the fort here."

"No, no; I must wait for the Crows. But once they have arrived… shall we go together? I want her to know that we're on her side if she's being wrongly accused." In an undertone, she added, "Besides… if she isn't wrongly accused, I might need your help escaping her clutches."

"Her 'clutches'!" Glinda giggled. But when Elphaba didn't laugh, her own petered out quickly. "Oh. You really think… little Nessie? The one in the chair?"

"Just because she's in a wheelchair doesn't mean she poses no threat. You didn't grow up with her; you don't know how manipulative she can be if it suits her purposes. Maybe she isn't a villain, but she's no perfect princess, either."

Nodding, Glinda whispered, "I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know a twigging thing about her."

"No, I'm sorry," Elphie sighed as she put away the dried dishes and utensils. "No point in spreading doom and gloom about something that hasn't happened yet."

"Then it's settled. Once we hear from our fine feathered friends, we find your family for a fisit."

Elphaba had been nodding along until the very end. "You mean 'visit', don't y- oh, nevermind." But Glinda was so pleased with herself that Elphaba couldn't frown for long.

~ o ~

Déjà vu settled upon Glinda when she spied Colwen Grounds for the second time in her life. However, it was not quite the same as the last occasion. Munchkinlander guards paced up and down the street, spears in hand. There was a distinct lack of civilian presence throughout all of Nest Hardings, now that she thought to look. How could things have changed so drastically in a couple of short years?

"By Oz," Elphaba breathed. Glinda tightened her arms around her waist to comfort the poor, shocked woman. "My home looks like a prison…"

"Or a fortress," she muttered. "Elphie, where would your sister be?"

"Upstairs, the third window from the right in the back. It's… oh, I wish I could have perfected that invisibility spell! All the rocks just turned lighter and lighter shades of grey, they never vanished entirely!"

Sighing, Glinda patted her side and whispered, "We'll just have to be quick. Act when the guards aren't looking. We can do that; I'm even wearing this hideous black cloak and it's the dead of night, it ought to be simple enough!"

"Ought to be, yes… but will luck be with us?" Neither of them dared answer.

With some relief, they found the window unlatched, and were able to slip in undetected. Of course, that didn't last long.

"ELPHABA!" Nessarose shouted. It had been so long since Glinda saw the black-haired, wheelchair-bound beauty, but she looked no less elegant now than she did in their days at Shiz. The chair squeaked as she made her way over to them, struggling to push it along with her own slender arms. "Wh-what- GUARDS! What are you doing here?!"

"Nessa, I'm sorry," Elphaba said in a stage whisper as she paced forward, their broom forgotten. "I just… I had a powerful feeling that if I didn't come soon, you…" Her gaze dropped and her voice petered out, as meek and cowed as Glinda remembered from when they met with her father.

"What? Come on, out with it!" Nessa's voice grew more terse as she went on, "You've spent the last two years terrorizing all of Oz, casting a shadow over the name of Thropp! And now, what, you want to waltz back in? To smooth things over?"

"Believe me, I'd love to smooth things over, with both you and Father. But that isn't why-"

"Oh, that's fabulous." A humourless laugh floated out of her throat. "With Father! You really must be a powerful witch now if you think you can manage that!"

Elphaba looked mildly confused. She glanced at Glinda, as if she might hold some key to deciphering her sister's words, but Glinda merely shrugged her own ignorance. Even if she did have any idea what this was about, she was smart enough not to butt into a family discussion. "What do you mean?"

"He's dead, you ignorant celery stalk!"

Glinda swooped forward as fast as she could to catch Elphaba before she crumpled to the ground, and just barely made it. Still, a struggle ensued as Glinda had to use all of her feeble muscle to support both of their weights — made all the worse for Elphaba going entirely boneless.

"Dead… no, he's… he can't- wh-what are you saying to me?"

"Dead. You know, deceased, passed on? Dancing with the Unnamed God? He's gone forever, and it's all your fault!"

"My fault?" Elphaba rasped. The accusation seemed to give her back some small shred of herself in the form of indignation. "H-how? I haven't even- I was on the other side of the kingdom!"

"Exactly." Her fists trembled on the arms of the chair as she shouted at her sister, voice turning hoarse, "After he learned what you'd done, how you'd disgraced us, he died... of shame! Embarrassed to death. You didn't have to lift a finger."

At the last phrase, Elphaba's posture went rigid. "I didn't have to- what are you implying? That I wanted Father to die?!"

"Didn't you? He told me what you said when you came begging for scraps, for protection. How you complained about me getting all of the attention! Look at me, Elphaba!" One hand swept down at her legs as her eyes bored straight through her green sibling. "How can you blame him for wanting to help me more? I am broken! But your legs work just fine; you can stand alone! Why should he help you when you can help yourself?!"

"You… you little…" Elphaba's hands worked into fists and back, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Me, what?" A brief pause. After a moment, she bit out, "Go on, say it. Say whatever horrible thought is in that horribly wicked brain of yours."

"You think you know so much," Elphaba hissed at her. "But you're wrong. I never wanted Father to- all I wanted from him was love and acceptance. But he could never manage it. I was always treated differently because of how I look, which is something I cannot help. And he did it anyway. When you're the colour of Truth Pond scum, I guess that's how you get treated."

Nessa's expression darkened, even though Glinda would not have thought it possible given how dark it was before. "You take that back. He was always saying how proud he was of you, how you had grown up strong and independent. I don't want to hear these lies."

"He never said it to me! Never even said… that he loved me. The only things he said to me were about you, Nessa — unless he was insulting me, or telling me how much I've been fouling things up. Which, of course, was also usually about you."

"So instead, everything should have been about you?! Fine, that's rich; poor Fabala, she's green! It doesn't change anything else about her life, she can walk and dance and go wherever she pleases, but poor Fabala!"

"Don't call me that," Elphaba warned.

"Or what? You'll curse me?" A scoffing noise as she folded her arms. "You have everybody fooled that you're a witch. As if you could manage anything but weird explosions! Well fine, blow me up, sister of mine. If that's what you want, go right ahead; then you'll have both of us out of the way. The last Thropp can have Colwen Grounds all to herself."

The three of them stood in a tense silence for a long moment. Finally, assuming no one else was going to do anything to diffuse the situation, Glinda cleared her throat and asked something that had been bothering her.

"Um… I've heard the people of Oz calling you a witch, too. What's up with that?"

"What? Oh… oh, nevermind their nonsense," she brushed aside. "They don't like my policy changes."

"Policy changes? I don't understand, I thought your father… was…" Then her eyes widened slightly. "Nevermind, I get it. You're the new Munchkin Mayor."

"Eminent Thropp," she corrected.

"Whatever. So what kind of policy changes? You have to be this tall to ride?" Glinda held her hand only a few feet above the ground, alluding to how diminutive a lot of Munchkinlanders were. Not that Nessa or Elphaba were among their number.

"I closed our borders to emigration and immigration. No one goes in or out. It's a temporary measure for everyone's safety. And I increased taxes to funnel into our military, and the Lurlinist Pike Guild; you know our family doesn't believe in Lurlinism, but they're our strongest defense force."

Elphaba nodded her understanding. "Yes, I suppose you work with what you have. Why so much fearmongering, though?"

"That's you, too. What did you think would happen? You zoom around the kingdom, allegedly rescuing Animals and brushing aside the Wizard's forces like they're ants! Everyone's terrified of you!"

"You don't seem to be."

"That's because I understand who you really are; a coward. You made a mistake, got on the wrong side of either the Wizard or Morrible, and you won't face them directly. So you scurry around, using this weird thing with Animals to distract yourself. Isn't that right?"

Elphaba glanced at Glinda, who shrugged. Then she turned back and said, "Not exactly right, but not exactly wrong."

"Oh." Nessa seemed somewhat surprised by the admission. "Then… you really are afraid of the Wizard."

"Of course. Who wouldn't be? You see what he's doing to the Animals, silencing and herding them up to be slaughtered. Whether it's him or if it's Morrible's idea, they're both to blame."

Rolling her eyes, the girl tried to wheel over toward a small wooden cabinet that stood in the corner, but she was having such a hard time of it that Glinda tutted impatiently and strode over to take the handles on the back of chair, wheeling her the rest of the way.

"Thank you," Nessa said curtly. But at least she said it.

"No problem. Do you need help with anything?"

"I can take care of myself," she assured her, glaring over at Elphaba. She opened the door and withdrew a crystal bottle and a decanter, setting them on top. Then she glanced back at the other two as she poured herself a generous helping of a thick, dark liquid. "Can I offer you something? I have Qwice Wine, Gilligin, a pretty good year of Munchcatel…"

"Ooh, I haven't had a good Munchcatel in a while!" Glinda whispered. Nessa smirked slightly as she withdrew another bottle. "What?"

"Nothing. Just that you seem like the type for a sweet wine, that's all."

"Thank you, I think!"

"Nothing for me," Elphaba said flatly. "I'm flying later."

With a shrug, Nessa handed Glinda her drink and lifted her own to her lips, draining a third of it in one go. When Glinda wheeled her back over to Elphaba, she sighed as if irritated, but it seemed to be because she was getting closer to her sister and not from Glinda's actions directly.

"Alright, we've taken care of the small talk. Why are you here now? What is the point of this visit? You've gone two years without darkening my doorstep, so I can't fathom why you would now."

"Because I have a feeling something truly bad is coming. For you." When Nessa's eyes rolled, she snapped, "I don't care if you believe me or not! Or I do, but… oh, forget it. You obviously neither want nor need anything from me, and I don't care if you do. I just didn't want anything horrible to befall my only sister without trying to warn her."

"You can't give me anything I want," Nessa said softly. "You can't bring Father back, you can't make me able to stand. You can't even make Boq…" But then she cut herself off, gripping the glass tighter. "What's the point of you being a witch if you're useless?!"

Unable to stop herself, Glinda whispered, "Hey now, that's not quite fair, is it? Elphaba's not a genie, she can't just grant your every wish. Sorcery is a skill like any other skill; she can only do what she knows how!"

"Then why don't you ask yourself; what has her priority been? Me? Of course not. I've never been her priority."

"You've always been my priority," Elphaba bit out. "Ever since you were born, Father made sure you were the only thing that mattered. Only… only going to Shiz made me begin to see how much I was missing in my life. Being friends with Glinda."

"Aww," Glinda tittered softly, allowing herself a shy smile. "It's no big deal. I just wanted to help you feel pretty and popular for once."

"And you couldn't do that for me?" Nessa snapped. "What a selective fairy godmother."

Glinda turned on her, hands on hips. "That's enough, missy! You're already pretty! Prettier than me, lately! But you don't get popular by trapping everybody in their homes, do you? And speaking of Boq, I set you up with him in the first place! So don't tell me I haven't done anything for you, you, you… jerkity sad sack!"

Elphaba gasped. Nessa looked affronted, of course, but Elphie was the one most definitely shocked that Glinda had said something so hostile against another person to their face. Glinda knew she didn't do that often; it was part of being a member of high society. One didn't go around openly criticising your peers! But in this case, Nessarose was being unkind and unfair to her best friend. She had earned a little payback.

"Well, I…" Nessa took a drink to give herself an excuse not to speak for a moment. Then she said in clipped tones, "You're right, I can't deny you did encourage Boq to approach me. I'm sorry. But Elphaba… I'm not wrong about that."

"She loves you. She just… you can't be her whole life, y'know? But she never wanted to have to leave you for more than one short day. And we're here now, aren't we? You have no idea how long and hard it was for us to come visit you!"

At that, Nessa did look up at her sister, eyes narrowed. "Yes… how long did it take you? Where are you living lately? I'm curious."

"And I'm not that stupid. You'd sell that information to the Wizard in exchange for more protection in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" When Nessa merely shrugged, Elphaba grunted, "Typical."

"Well, you can't do anything else for me. And it would be your own fault if you slipped up and told me; I'd feel no guilt over it."

"Of course you wouldn't." Elphaba folded her arms over her chest and went on, "Well, I can't bring back our father or get you out of that chair, so you'll just have to enjoy the visit for what… it… hmm."

"'For what it hmm'? What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Glinda, may I speak to you for a moment?" When Glinda merely shrugged and trotted over to join her in the far corner of the chambers, Elphaba steered her over close to the window.

"What? What is it?"

"You've been studying the Grimmerie, too, right?" At Glinda's nod, she hissed, "Do you remember anything that might make Nessa able to stand? I could put a flight spell on her underwear, but I think that would go pretty quickly awry — and she wouldn't really be walking."

Glinda's face screwed up in concentration. "You know… I have seen something, but I can't remember where! I think it was some spell for enchanted shoes, but it was for dancing, not walking."

"Yes, exactly, exactly. But as we now know, if we tweak a couple of spells… combine them…"

"The Glowing Stone," she breathed, referring to a rock that now glowed always. They actually had to stick it in a box overnight so that its radiance wouldn't keep them awake. "You're right, that was two different spells! But can you find two that will help Nessie?"

"I don't know. But…" Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. "That unpleasant toad does not deserve my help, but I won't feel good about myself if there was something I could do for my sister, and I didn't."

"Well, that's definitely… a type of motivation, I guess," Glinda said with a weak laugh. "You start looking for the other spell, I'll stealify her shoes, okay?"

"Oh." Casting another look over at Nessarose, she whispered, "That might not work out as well as you would hope, but see what you can do. I'll get to work."

Vaguely confused by that last warning, Glinda shrugged and left Elphaba to withdraw the Grimmerie from inside her inky cloak. "Listen, Nessa?"

"Yes?"

"Uhh, hey." Her finger pointed down at the padded footrests of her wheelchair. "Do you mind if I borrow those for a moment?"

The girl's reaction was immediate. Glinda could practically see her withdrawing from the conversation a small amount, the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of her blouse, her eyes lowered, fluttered, glanced back up at Glinda. After a few seconds of this twitchiness, she asked a simple question.

"Why? If you're going to tease me…"

"We're going to try a spell. No promises!" she warned, before any hopes could be raised. "Just… a little something. If it doesn't work, at least we tried, right?"

Thoughtful, she looked down at the shoes. They were quite elegant: sueded blue slippers with small pearls trailing along embroidery that graced each side. Somehow, they had been secured well enough that not a single pearl had been lost — or else it was because they had never been walked in.

"Do you h-have to take them off?"

"Hmm. Maybe not, but it sure seems safer to me. Do you really want us to try throwing magic at them while you're still wearing them?"

"Well… alright, that is a good point. I don't trust Elphaba particularly, but I have this feeling you wouldn't lie about something this mundane." She began to bend forward, then was stopped by realising she was still holding her drink. "Oh… this is hard enough normally without being inebriated!"

Chuckling, Glinda knelt and said, "I'll get them, don't worry. Relax."

"No! D-don't…" After a long pause, she looked away, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "Okay, but don't… don't look at my feet."

"What?"

"Please? That's all I'm asking."

The whole matter puzzled her. What was the huge crisis? Shrugging her agreement, Glinda did as she was asked; she looked long enough to get a good grip on the backs of the shoes, then slipped them off without ever glancing down. Hearing the quiet thud of Nessa's ankles into the padded rests, she whispered, "Sorry!"

"It's alright," she said with a nervous chuckle. "At least I can pretend I moved them on my own."

"If you say so. Um, be back in a minute!"

Once Glinda and Elphaba were crowded around the Grimmerie, scanning its pages with the shoes placed above it on the small table, she was able to help look for the proper spell. As they debated the pros and cons of certain choices, another question niggled in her mind. When she decided she couldn't ignore it any longer, she asked.

"So what's with Nessa's feet? She wouldn't let me look at them."

"Hm?" Elphaba was clearly distracted, her index finger running along a passage. "Oh, nothing's wrong with them. Other than the fact that they don't work, I mean." Seeing that didn't satisfy Glinda, she sighed and said, "It's… hard to explain."

"You don't have to if it's all that difficult, Elphie. I'm just a nosy-pants."

"Just… well, it's our Father's fault. Not that it was something 'bad' he did, exactly, but he was trying to make her feel better about her condition. She was having a hard time with it one day, about how everyone kept staring at her lame legs while she was out. So he told her that they were just jealous of her shoes. When I was older, I kind of realised that he had been making everything up as he went, but he told her that she looked so pretty in her chair, and her shoes were so lovely, that everyone was envious. From that day on, he kept finding newer and more intricate slippers and boots and any other kind of shoe for her."

"That's sweet of him," Glinda said softly, smiling to herself. She knew Elphaba probably didn't see it that way, but she couldn't deny the doting man had at least done that much to make his handicapped daughter feel less unsightly. "But I still don't understand."

Shrugging, Elphaba turned the page, still more focused on her work. "Nessa drew the conclusion herself. She noticed that people are told they look nice if they're wearing pretty clothes, and that it's shocking — taboo, if you will — if they're seen wearing too little. And since my father had made such a big deal about how lovely she looks in her top-of-the-line shoes, combined with already being ashamed that her legs don't function…"

"Ohhh," she breathed as the last piece fell into place within her mind, pounding her open hand with a fist. "So going barefoot is the same thing as going naked to her? How very odd, indeed!"

"Yes, it's odd," Elphaba said sharply, looking up at last. "And I'll thank you not to tease her about it. I think she's silly, but to her, it's reality. So just… don't let slip that I told you any of this, alright? I'm sure she's already embarrassed enough at being 'exposed'."

That did make Glinda squirm in secondhand embarrassment. "When you put it that way, I suppose I would feel a little strange if some old classmate asked if I'd hand them my brassiere. But okay, I won't say a word."

It was another ten minutes before Nessa asked, "How's it coming?" When neither of them answered, she did not pester them further — merely sat in her chair, anxious to have her shoes back regardless of whether or not they were any improved from her sister's efforts. Glinda had to resist the temptation to glance down whenever she peered over at her; she knew it was the mere matter of being commanded "do not look at this" that made her want to look at all. Funny how the power of suggestion could sway one's attentions.

When Elphaba began to chant, low and long and focused, Glinda saw Nessa stirring out of the corner of her eye, saw her getting closer a little at a time. Clearly, it was a struggle for her to make it there, but her curiosity at their spellcasting fuelled her actions.

"Is it finished?" she asked in a quiet whisper when the vermillion lips had fallen silent. "Have you really… I mean, is there any chance…?"

"They look… different," Glinda breathed, raising a hand toward them. At first, she felt a thrill of dread to touch the shoes, but when she truly thought about how much she trusted her travelling companion, she picked one up as Elphaba did the other. "Are they… silver now? Or red? Maybe that's just the light from the fireplace."

"It is, I think," Elphaba agreed, just as captivated by them despite having performed the spell herself. After a moment, Glinda turned to look up at Nessa apologetically.

"Um… is it alright if I put them back on?"

"Y-yes," Nessa said breathlessly, cheeks still rosy but her eyes eager as they took in the shimmering shoes. "I want to know if this has worked at once!"

So Glinda obliged. This time, she couldn't help but look because she had to guide the shoes on properly… and there really wasn't anything to see. Nessa had dainty little feet, of course, but they were no more or less remarkable than any other pair she'd ever come across. Then the shoes were on, and both she and Elphaba were standing back to observe.

But before Nessa could attempt to stand, the door squeaked open and an unimpressive figure strode inside. Short in stature and with a drab face that was not entirely unpleasant… and was a bit familiar.

"Madame, I've prepared your- oh!" His eyes went wide to see the other two. "Goodness, it's- GUARDS!"

"Shush, Boq!" Nessa commanded him with a wave of her arm. Glinda flinched, even though the guards had not come the last time Nessa herself called. "Wait a moment. I… I want you to see something."

"Madame, these are criminals! The Wizard will want to be warned wight away!"

"You mean 'right aw-' Oh, I should know better by now," Elphaba admonished herself.

"We can't waste any time! Quick, I'll go and get them while they're… still… what on Oz?"

Boq found himself unable to finish the thought. His previously-disabled mistress was now standing, pushing unsteadily to her feet from the chair. It was already miraculous enough that she was standing unaided, shoes dazzling with white and red flashes — but there would be more. One foot at a time, she began to take steps, arms out to either side. After the first few, she began to tip, and Glinda and Elphaba both dashed forward and righted her again.

"Th-thank you," she breathed as she stood. "But… I think I…" Another few steps, without their aid. "I'm getting it. I'm walking. Ozma Above, I'm walking!"

To Be Continued…

#The Coven of Oz #wicked fanfiction #forkanna writes #the wizard of oz #gelphie #forkanna the writer

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newidaho · 5 years

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5. The Government Building

Don’t have the time/patience/desire to read with your eyes? Don’t have eyes? Well, have your friend read you this: You can check out the audiobook for free on Apple, Google, Stitcher, or Spotify. Subscribe for new episodes every Wednesday!

20 December 2054 // 1400h.

On the north side of Idaho Park, the width of an entire block, is an eight-story building known by such monikers as “The Terrible Tower,” “The Beige House,” and, in more recent years, “Krispy Kreme”.

The real name of this building was, simply, The Government Building, and it was likely this title’s blandness that made the place so ripe for nicknames.

As with any government, certain citizens found plenty to complain about. Some called the giant building an eyesore. Others considered it a towering monument of oppression lording over the town. In reality, the GB was as big as it was because it was the only building in town that housed Government Offices. The lawmakers and courts were there, as were the departments of resources and infrastructure, as was the treasury, as was the police force.

Another common, and obvious, complaint dealt with the taxes it must have taken to build this structure and support what must be a robust government operation. In fact, taxes in New Idaho were lower than anywhere else in the country. This was due to some forward-thinking for-profit operations run by the Mayor’s Department of Recreation. A membership gym occupied the second floor, and a penthouse cafe on the eighth floor was wildly popular.

In addition to its for-profit services, the Government Building also gave extensive, entertaining tours of its inner-workings for a modest fee. The greatest source of revenue, however, was the IdahoCam, a Virtual Reality system that allowed anyone from anywhere in the world to take a virtual stroll around the Government Building of New Idaho whenever they liked for only $7 a month. Surprisingly, this service was in high demand, especially for curious Americans outside of Idaho, and the Mayor always made sure to include surprise performances and Easter Eggs for the subscribers.

Some areas of the building, however, were confidential, and could not be entered virtually. One of these areas was the party-planning office on the north-eastern wing of the fourth floor. The Government of New Idaho was known to throw some of the best block parties in the country, and they didn’t want their secret to get out. Though anyone was welcome to try, few could legitimately compete with the Official New Idaho Party Planning Committee. Add a reasonable admissions charge, and the Government made a decent amount of money on these events about four times a year.

All this amounted to a civil society with very low taxes. New Idaho was founded by entrepreneurs on the progressive idea that a government should make their own profit, and these systems evolved as the city was established. None, however, had taken the city to such low taxes and high profits as the current mayor, Kiyoshi Krispyman.

Krispyman was elected in 2050, and had just been elected for two more years this past November. He had spent the last four years revamping the IdahoCam program, improving the seasonal Government Parties, and improving the structure of New Idaho’s basic income by introducing programs such as New Idaho’s “Museum of Oddities”. These programs both lowered taxes and allowed most people to make a livable wage in the Museum or any of its partner programs. Kiyoshi was considered, by most, to be a business mastermind, and an excellent example for local governments everywhere.

Kiyoshi’s office was located on the seventh floor of the building, with a South-facing window that allowed a great view all the wildlife of the Jungle and a small bit of the University beyond.

This afternoon he was sitting across from his main advisor, Vice Mayor Jessica Jordan.

‘Listen to this.’ Kiyoshi was reading a memo through his Lenses as he looked out onto the Jungle. ‘“Dear Mr. Krispyman, I hope you are doing well. I have always appreciated your hands-off approach to government… yada yada… I understand and respect the government’s final say in projects of infrastructure. The privatization of roadways is a tough nut to crack, and I appreciate you doing well to keep the infrastructure of New Idaho solid.

‘“It is with the utmost respect, then, that I ask you to consider allowing Lucid Labs to build a Hume-Tube system around the town.” Any guesses what a Hume-Tube is, Jessica?’

‘It sounds like it removes bad smells or something. But I guess that would be a “Fume-Tube”.’

Kiyoshi Continued. ’“The Hume-Tube is a new technology, patent-pending, from Lucid Labs. The Hume-Tube transports humans quickly, without bikes, from one section of town to another.” He goes on. He explains the logistics… blah, blah, blah… I’ll forward you the email, you can read the rest. It seems that Lucid-San wants to create a new hyper-tube system that lets him transport his employees from areas of the city to the Labs.’

‘And what do you think of that?’

‘My guess—he’s just planting a seed. The patent hasn’t even gone through. Seems like a lot of big ideas. But he has to let us know that it is in the works.’

‘So are we going to let him do it?’

‘Regulation has never been my style, has it?’

‘You don’t think it might be a bit of an eye-sore?’

‘Who am I to say? We will make sure it doesn't get in the way of everyone else’s operations. After that, might as well let Lucid-San do what he thinks is best. It is basically his city, after all.’

‘Well, his and Aubrey’s.’

‘Well put.’

‘I imagine he wants to get some sort of official okay before another mayor is elected, as well.’

‘Well then I guess he has two more years to butter my belt. Guess that’s why he waited for December, huh?’

‘Guess so.’

Kiyoshi sat down behind his desk, then spun his chair around so he faced out toward the Jungle again. He was 55 years old, but could have been in his thirties: Short, jet-black hair, lean, muscular build, and less wrinkles on his face than on the suit of a サラリーマン. His parents had worked hard to successfully emigrate from Japan in the ‘90s, and he inherited their strong will and good genetics. It had taken him 51 years, but he finally got a gig he was truly proud of—Mayor of the City of the Century. And a damn good one, too. He loved his view of the Jungle, the campus beyond, and the mountain peaks beyond that. He never had to travel anywhere else in America, or the world for that matter—he was fine right here.

‘Spuck is coming in soon, yeah?’ he asked Jessica.

‘In fact, he just buzzed in.’

‘Send him up! Thank you!’

‘Do you want me in this meeting?’

‘Sure, that could be a good idea. You have to be my witness. Make sure he doesn’t bribe me with gold or anything.’

Jarek Spuck was the CEO of MineShaft, and one of the youngest business magnates in New Idaho. At only 26-years-old, he was valued at $25 Million. Though he wasn’t the brains behind MineShaft, once his father had left it to him and showed him around, he was a whiz at keeping the business moving and profitable.

‘Jarek!’ Kiyoshi said, bowing to his acquaintance across the table. ‘Have a seat!’

Jarek sat down and shook Kiyoshi’s hand. ‘Krispy-San. 久しぶり!’

‘Ahh, I think you misuse the expression! We had lunch two weeks ago!’

‘I guess a week seems a bit longer at my age.’

‘You calling me old?’

‘No, sir. Though you are twice as old as me.’

‘More! Sadly, it is so. So, Jarek, what are we talking about today?’

‘The MineShaft Program.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well first, I must thank you for the program at all. Who would have thought that at 2054 humans would still be more effective than AI?’

‘I am quite surprised by the lag in AI. Self-driving bikes all around, but the androids still aren’t dreaming of electric sheep.’

‘Exactly. Certainly not robots as small as those in MineShaft.’

‘And your issue?’

‘Hm?’

‘I’m sure you aren’t here just to thank me. What’s wrong?’

‘Yes. Of course. The issue. Well, we’ve been getting some pushback. I thought you should know.’

‘Pushback? From who?’

‘Well, parents mostly. Some college students. And I think the latter’s interest in the topic is poised to grow—you know how these things can spread once the student body gets wind of it. And the parents seem to be organizing to make sure they do.’

‘My guess. They want you to pay minimum wage.’

‘The parents are asking for even more than that.’

Kiyoshi sighed. This was expected, but such a hassle. ‘They realize that you are employing anyone who asks for a job? Is guaranteed work not a fair trade for a lower wage?’

‘Apparently they don’t see it that way.’

The federal government saw it that way—for now. If there was a big enough stink about it, of course, the plug could easily be pulled on the whole operation. It had been a huge success when Kiyoshi first unveiled the partnership, three years ago. People were happy. But people get too comfortable. Then they want more.

‘And if you were forced to pay them the federal minimum wage?’

‘You know the federal wage doesn’t make any sense New Idaho. the taxes are so low and our farms are so efficient, our quality of life per dollar spent is unheard of.’

‘Yes, but if you were forced to?’

‘Well, that would either mean the end of our deal or some extreme renegotiations. I can’t guarantee everyone in New Idaho a job at the federal minimum wage. At half that, it works out. Otherwise, it just doesn’t make any business sense.’

‘And that, my greedy friend, is why people will hate you. Jarek Spuck, dirty, deplorable capitalist.’

Jarek laughed. ‘You know I don’t care about that. Look, I like to employ as many people as I do. It makes life easier for me, and anyone can get paid to play video games. Everybody wins.’

‘Again—not the way they see it.’

‘No. And I haven’t even gotten to the worst of it. The trump card.’

‘And that is?’

‘The parents are complaining about trauma.’

‘Trauma?’

‘Yes. Trauma from “poor working conditions”. Like having to kill the occasional rat. They say that it’s cruel to pay their children by simulating murder. They worry about the future implications.’

‘Weren’t war simulators some of the first playable games on the VR market?’

‘I guess it’s different when you bring money into the picture.’

‘How?’

‘Well, I guess because they feel coerced to play this game. Therefore, in their minds, we are coercing their children to murder. It no longer feels like a choice to them.’

‘But it is a choice!’

‘They… Don’t see it that way.’

Kiyoshi stood up and stared at the back of his hands as he rested his palms on his desk.

‘They are using this argument to bargain for a raise,’ Jarek said.

‘And if they keep playing this up, the Fed may just step in and outlaw the game altogether.’

‘My thoughts exactly. Then we are looking at much more than halving the work force.’

‘Let kids play the game if they want to! If they don’t like it, they can always play Mapper.’

‘Of course they would rather fly drones over the countryside. But Mapper pays less.’

‘So I imagine I’ll be having a meeting with Rachel soon, too.’

‘It’s quite possible.’

‘Well, thank you for bringing it to my attention, Spuck-San.’

‘Spuck-San sounds pretty horrible.’

‘I didn’t choose your last name,’ Kiyoshi said with a smile.

‘じゃまた.’ Jarek shook Kiyoshi's hand, bowed, and left the room.

Kiyoshi began packing to walk home. That was enough drama for one day, and he needed time to think. If they were forced to play by the federal minimum wage, it would have implications that could potentially topple the Guaranteed Basic Income he had worked so hard to negotiate. There would be unemployment, an issue that hadn’t existed by anything other than choice since the introduction of the Programs. There would be demands for welfare. Which would mean higher taxes. Which would mean…

What a headache. Politics really suck sometimes. Well, Kiyoshi thought, he could think about all of that on his walk. For now, everything was fine. He packed his bag and said goodbye to Jessica, who knew better than to re-open the topic so soon. He exited the Government Building and walked toward the Jungle.

#New Idaho #Ben Vizy #New Novel #WRiting #Writing Community #Novelist #Novel Writing #2054 #Augmented Reality #Futurism #New Government #Libertarian #Low Taxes

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southaustinlocation · 7 years

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Sexscapes: The Internet Gives a Voice to the Perverts of the World

Ever since it reached a level of general western-world ubiquity sometime in the 2000s, it has been widely accepted that the internet is one of humanity’s most ingenious inventions. The ways humans interact and connect with one another world-wide has been changed so fundamentally that to describe them would seem futuristic and absurd to twenty-year old incarnations of my now aged grandparents. Sites like Wikipedia, Google, and YouTube have not only entered the lexicon, but have also become invaluable research tools for the average individual curious to discover more about the world at large. Soon, it seems, it will be difficult even to find a cellular phone plan that doesn’t require paying for round-the-clock internet access as part of the basic contract.

For the first time in the history of our species, information and knowledge have become more or less democratized [though it can be argued that inherent class discrepancies lead to the fact that those who are unable to afford internet access, i.e. the bottom rung of the socioeconomic strata, now face more obstacles than ever when attempting upward social and economic mobility], and it would seem the average internet user has few excuses not to continue their education far past their formative school years.

But the human capacity for perversion should never be underestimated.

According to some not-so-groundbreaking research (mine), the internet, along with being one of the final bastions and troves of limitless, easily accessible knowledge available to an increasingly apathetic and dumbed-down populace, is used primarily for two main purposes: “trolling” (the sending of inflammatory or provocative messages purposefully crafted with the expectation that this initial message will elicit equally negative responses, or, if the troll is particularly lucky or adept, the commencement of an all out “flame-war”); and, of course, the viewing of pornography. Both of these purposes being symptoms of the altogether larger first-world problems of boredom and a general and ever growing inability to empathize with other sapient beings.

However stark and socially pertinent, none of this should come as particularly surprising or new information. Since pretty much its first widespread public use, the internet and perversion go together like cops and child molesters in prison (the metaphor, of course, falling short at the fact that, unlike prison, where police officers and pederasts meet up in protective custody—the smaller, secluded group of the prison at large—the perverts of the internet are the general population). Hell, one of my first experiences with the internet was when I was twelve and I didn’t have it, but my next door neighbor did, so every afternoon I’d go over to his house and, sitting in the side room of the garage where his family computer was kept, we’d burn through his AOL hours disc by logging onto AOL Instant Messenger and asking strangers if they “got pics?” Then, after inevitably getting bored with this game, searching for naked pictures of the girl from Seventh Heaven (no, not Jessica Biel, who actually had semi-nude photos published in Gear magazine around this time, but the slightly more homely Beverley Mitchell, for some reason).

But that was back in the Wild West frontier days of World Wide Web-based perversion and sexual curiosity. These days, perverts are no longer cloistered away to obscene chat sites. Instead, with the inception of so-called “porn 2.0”—tube sites such as Youjizz, YouPorn, PornoTube, PornTube (distinct from “PornoTube”—common mistake), FuckTube and BookpornTube (compelling name, I must admit, though surprisingly unliterary in the final analysis)—the perverted majority of the internet finally have a way to truly interconnect with one another: rubbing them out to the same videos as thousands of other horny people.

Someone, however, decided the perverts of the interweb weren’t connected enough by these shared masturbatory stimuli. Somewhere down the line, apparently, the question was asked at a pornographic video tube site board meeting: what happens when the trolls of the internet are given a medium with which they can broadcast far and wide to other trolls and pervert-trolls, just how they, as an individual and lonely troll caught in the vastness and potentially infinite wisdom of cyberspace, feel about a particular pornographic video? This led to the somewhat alarming decision to begin including “comments” sections for each video on many of the more popular tube sites.

In an effort to try and better understand the perverts of the internet (myself included), I decided, at great risk to my personal sanity and computer security, to browse through a varying array of these comment sections to see what I could glean from the pervert-trolls of the internet. Interestingly, the results actually managed to be profoundly disturbing in ways that superseded my already sordid expectations. With the hopes of not encouraging additional traffic to any of the sites, many of which are hosted in foreign countries, thus allowing the sites to avoid prosecution for the hosting of copyrighted material and in turn denying profit to the hardworking men and women of the pornographic industry (yes, that previous sentence was completely serious), I will be withholding the names of the sites in question, though I will be providing my notoriously stringent editor with URLs for all of the videos in question. Videos will be chosen the same way I choose which Wikipedia articles I’m going to read to kill time: I will start at the homepage and see what looks interesting until I’m inevitably led down a wormhole sticky with wasted-time and shame and regret.

Video One: “Retail Store Creampie”

The Video:

I’ll start first with what appears to be a short excerpt taken from a longer film. The video has seven comments and an overall rating of 88.50% with 554 “Good” votes, and 72 “Bad” votes. The video is four minutes and six seconds long and depicts a young woman in a green shirt getting plowed by a guy with a shitty tattoo on his ribs. Throughout the video she makes some fake moany noises and says things like “fuck me.” Also, she’s getting banged in a store on a clearance rack for some reason. Pretty standard porn territory.

The Comments:

Comments range from the coherent, if subject-ambiguous, “nice cock. Love his pussy pounding, wish it was me,” to people being pissed about false advertising in the title of the video, “not a creampie stupid,” and, “THAT WAS NOT A CREAMPIE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” Then there is the somewhat baffling, “can’t stand those fake moans, quiet moans are hot, but not those fake-ass American-hoe ones. FUCK YOU AMERICAN ASSHOLES. WHITEPOWER!!!”

(Reader, take note that this last comment, left 07/31/2010 at 1:12 am, is a classic example of trolling. Notice how the comment doesn’t make sense, but implores others to reply defensively.)

What I learned:

The art of trolling is alive and well in porn comments. Also, if your video promises a creampie (sex act—you can look it up your damn self), you’d better deliver. Otherwise, people will call you names like “stooped.”

Video Two: “Barely Legal Casting”

The Video:

With a total of twenty-four comments, this video has 1,484 votes with an 86% positive rating and 1,714,761 views. It was added to this particular site eight months ago which means that this video is watched roughly 7,030 times per day. The video is part of the “Backroom Casting Couch” series of videos. It is a “reality” porn series, where a middle-aged dude, face always blurred out, has unprotected sex with women, many of them girls who appear to be amateurs and in their late teens. In this video the man asks a girl who claims to be eighteen, but could pass for fifteen, a whole bunch of awkward questions about sex, which she answers in a way that either highlights a strong history of character acting, or simply belies her actual sexual greenness. The man then proceeds to have her strip in front of the camera, ostensibly as part of a casting process. After sexing her up against a wall, he ejaculates on her face in a close-up that is really just creepy and left me feeling not aroused, as porn should, but rather cold inside.

The Comments:

Highlights include the somewhat racist, “have you ever done any black chicks? Or are you afraid that they’ll find out & shoot you? LOL” by someone named Bonezz_11 (his profile picture shows a shirtless dude with sunglasses and a visor blowing out some sort of smoke, and under “more info” he is listed as a twenty-two year old male who has been actively using this particular site for over two years and has watched 2,224 videos, giving him an average of three porn videos per day); the perverted, “daddys girl exploited, love it,” and, the misogynistic, “she looks hot with a dick in her mouth, but other than that, not so cute. too tiny,” by Freaknasty831, whose profile picture is an erect penis.

What I learned: (Besides how many porn videos Zach Bonezz_11 watches per day.)

That the American public education system is profoundly failing to teach its youngsters that riddling your text with comma splices makes you look like a total dumbass.

But, my porn comment research did lead me in an educational direction. Additional research into the authenticity of the Backroom Casting Couch series revealed that the male “star” of the videos is an Arizona man named Eric Whitaker, and that he totally has Herpes Simplex Virus Type I (he released proof through his Twitter account for some reason). The girls in the video are paid a flat fee up front, and are fully aware that they are entering Whitaker’s sleazy as hell Scottsdale office to have sex on camera, though apparently Whitaker has no qualms about knowingly spreading his Herpes, an offense which in the state of Arizona could possibly be considered aggravated assault.

Since June 2011, the greasy fuck Whitaker has been on the radar of sex crime detectives.

Next month Anderson continues to probe the porno-troll world and stumbles across a sex scandal involving a senator’s daughter.

The post Sexscapes: The Internet Gives a Voice to the Perverts of the World appeared first on South Austin Location.

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brotherhood-of-okay-reviews-blog · 7 years

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Tv Blog

Chris' Tv Blog Timeless Episode 13: Karma Chameleon As usual, if you want to comment below, let everyone know that you're dropping spoilers. Thanks. Okay, there's a lot to cover here. So let's jump in. Plot Summary Wyatt is obsessed with getting his wife, Jessica, back. He asks Rufus to help steal the time machine. Rufus agrees and the two head back to the early 80's. Meanwhile, Lucy is left behind. Wyatt tells her of his plan, but insists she stays home. Lucy obliges and goes with the plan. But then Lucy gets a call, that could change everything. Thoughts? (Spoilers) Whoa buddy. This is the best episode by far. There's so much going on, that I'm beginning to wonder if the writers have gone over their heads any? Let's start with Wyatt. Man, I think he's crazy as fuck. To be clear, Wyatt misses Jessica, like a lot. That's been the main identity of his persona throughout all of the show. And, come to think of it, I think half of Wyatt's dialogue is about Jessica. Okay, that's exaggerating. But damn, Jessica is dead dude. Let it go. To be fair, if you lost someone that close to you, you'd be heart broken too. And since there's a time machine involved, you can't help but think that you can change history. The thought of it is going to cross your mind a lot. But Wyatt needs to let things go, especially since his plan didn't work. Wyatt fails at saving his wife. He prevents the killer's parents from mating but Jessica still dies. Good news though, the other two ladies that were murdered by Jessica's killer, are still alive. So that's something. This really begs the question, are some things just meant to be? The show talks about fate, here and there, and it presents both sides subtlety. Timeless isn't trying to challenge religion, common thought, fate, et cetera. No, it's just worried about keeping its plot together and making an entertaining show. So take what you will from the script. But I think this may come up in a tight situation. How? Well, I'm really bad at guessing things but I'm sure fate will have something to do the over arcing plot. Or something.... Oh, we've come to find out that the trio really does need Lucy. In the past, I've questioned Lucy's importance. She always seems to just be there but today, well, she keeps the group intact more than we know. When Wyatt and Rufus head out, their whole operation just collapses. They don't work well together because they don't have a moderator of sorts. And that's where Lucy comes in. Lucy is very subtle in her actions but she's the one who is in the middle of Wyatt and Rufus who are both on the opposite ends of thinking. Wyatt is willing to do anything to get the job done and Rufus will try to avoid conflict at any cost. Lucy is simply the one who can offer alternatives and protect the group from going to far to one side or the other. Now, you may say "How didn't you notice this before?" And I'll reply with, "You don't know what you've got, till it's gone." Like I said, Lucy never really does anything that stands out. Half of the time, you don't even notice she's there. But as Timeless has progressed, she's become more assertive and she's really becoming a main figure in the show. Also, her dad is apart of Rittenhouse. Just thought I'd drop that on ya. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but there was an episode where Lucy finds out who her dad is and she tried to go and visit him. She showed up at his house but decided not to ring the doorbell. Her dad noticed her on the porch and made a call to someone, saying "You'll never guess who showed up at my door." If I didn't bring this up earlier, it was become it wasn't that important, at the time, and I was still getting used to writing out blogs. Hell, I'm still new to these. But this new development is going to come into play, so let's talk about it. At the end of the episode, Lucy heads to her dad's house because Agent Denise Christopher, I think I brought her up awhile ago, showed Lucy photos of the man Mason has been meeting up with. When Lucy arrives, her dad is happy to see her but Lucy lays down that she isn't here to mess around. Her dad says that Lucy is apart of Rittenhouse's plan and so on. Okay, so there's a lot to take in here. Like, is Lucy just a cog in Rittenhouse's plan? Is everything that she's doing for them? And will I speculate on this? No. I'm just going to let this one play out. I've done my share of predictions and none of them seem to pan out. Which is a good thing because a lot of what I say is sort of cliche and the writers have seem to try and avoid all of the stereotypical tropes. But I do wonder if they're writing themselves into a corner? Because, at some point, they will have to cliche something. I just know it. Or, at least I think so. But, besides me babbling, let's get to the last plot thread. Anthony is dead. You may ask, "Who's Anthony?" Well don't worry, the show sort of just left him out to dry for a long time now. So if you forgot, that's completely understandable. But here's your reminder. Anthony was one of the people to help design the time machine. He can also pilot one. Flynn kidnapped him at the beginning so he could set his plan into action. But before Anthony dies, he calls Lucy to tell her that he has a plan to end all of this madness. Anthony meets up with Lucy and tells her that he plans on destroying the mother ship. He tells Lucy that they should blow up the life boat as well and that when the radar picks up a big explosion in Oakland, that Lucy will know he was telling the truth. After some disagreement, Lucy says she'll relay the message to the others and go from there. Later on, the explosion occurs but they come to find out that Anthony wasn't successful in going through with his plan. He was found dead, with two bullet wounds through his chest. Presumably he was shot by Flynn. Now, I say "Presumably" because fuck it. Timeless could be throwing us for another loop. Maybe Flynn's new partner, Emma, shot Anthony. Maybe Rittenhouse did it because Flynn is apart of the cog as well. I don't fucking know. It just better make sense. Either way, I'm getting tired. I think I covered everything anyways. So let's get this closed out. Oh and Wyatt is locked up. Presumably. He was taken away at the end of the episode. Now you have everything. Next Episode (End Of Spoilers) The Lost Generation is the name. Rufus and Lucy travel back to the 1920's to find Flynn. And, from what I could tell, Wyatt isn't with them. Which is fine. The new guy will probably die or something. Bringing Wyatt back on the team. Overall Karma Chameleon was loads of fun. The episode kept us on our toes all throughout and tried providing a twist. Even if it really wasn't one. If I had to give a score, I'd lean towards a 9/10 (Great). It had action, interesting plot points, and Lucy ultimately has a purpose. Yay! As usual, thanks for reading!

#tv #tv show #tv blogging #tv recaps #tv reviews

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

XFIRE IN 2005

But unfortunately that was not the conclusion Aristotle's successors derived from works like the Metaphysics. Part of the problem. The default euphemism for algorithm is system and method. There may be nothing founders are so prone to delude themselves about as how interested investors will be in giving them additional funding. Indeed, being in trouble in their family can win them points in the world works harder at anything than American school kids work at popularity. And unless the rate at which technological progress throws off new addictions, we'll be increasingly unable to rely on customs to protect us. Another view is that a hacker's idea of a good programming language: very powerful abstractions. Like nuclear weapons, the main role of big companies' patent portfolios is to threaten anyone who attacks them with a counter-suit.1 So, are you guys hiring? You don't need to look in the manual much. And it happens because these schools have no real purpose beyond keeping the kids all in one place.

The situation with patents is similar. So were the early Lisps. Meanwhile, sensing a vacuum in the metaphysical speculation department, the people who run them are driven by bonuses rather than equity. And that's exactly what happens in most American schools. It would have taken a deliberate lie to say otherwise. Nerds don't realize this.2 A of the Metaphysics implies that philosophy should be useful too. Teenage kids are not inherently unhappy monsters.

And gone on to flourish. They're just playing a different game, and a lot who get rich by creating wealth in your country, people who wanted to do that would just leave and do it somewhere else. That opportunity for investors mostly means an opportunity for new investors, because the mafia too are not merely afflicted by but driven by confusions over words. But hunter gatherers didn't treat land, for example have been granted large numbers of preposterously over-broad patents, but the way a garbled message is. But exponential growth especially tends to bite you. But we also knew that that didn't mean anything. This was too subtle for me. Between the two, the hacker's opinion is the one based on the total number of characters he'll have to type an unnecessary character, or even to use the shift key much. I didn't realize at the time, was that we discovered we were using an n² algorithm, and we needed all the help we could get. Our competitors had cgi scripts.

If you look at the history of stone tools, technology was already accelerating in the Mesolithic. One solution here might be to design systems so that interfaces are horizontal instead of vertical—so that modules are always vertically stacked strata of abstraction. But building new things takes too long. But that doesn't sound right either. The top 10 startups account for 8. It let them build great looking online stores literally in minutes. You can change everything about it, including even its syntax, and anything you write has, as much as other kids about popularity, being popular would be more work for them. I do think that syntax is not the main reason Lisp isn't currently popular. Instead of trying to answer the question Of all the useful things we can say for sure is that there is hope for any language that gives hackers what they want, including Lisp.3 That sounds good. Experts can implement, but they keep them mainly for defensive purposes.4

We would end up getting all the users to share a single heap. This is a dangerously presumptuous plan. You need to figure out for ourselves what to avoid and how. You don't have to buy politicians the way railroad or oil magnates did. The default euphemism for algorithm is system and method. It doesn't even have x Blub feature of your choice. You may save him from writing a badly designed program to solve the wrong problem, and that is not the only force that determines the relative popularity of programming languages: library functions.5 Different types of investors are adapted to different degrees of risk, but each has its specific degree of risk an existing investor or firm is comfortable taking is one of the reasons startups are becoming cheaper to start.

But that doesn't mean what they end up learning is useless. Out in the real world, it's generally for some common purpose, and the number of simultaneous users will be determined by the amount of the company they want to own, and the problem now seems to be a new Lisp that is a real hacker's tool—simple, powerful, and dangerous. And to the extent you can, like we did, turn the Blub paradox: they're satisfied with whatever language they were first written in, because it's always the oldest it's ever been. The Metaphysics is among the least read of all famous books. This pattern doesn't only apply to companies. There are lots of things wrong with the system; it's just inevitable that kids will be miserable at that age. But software, as a general rule, you can use technology that your competitors don't understand. I left Yahoo in 1999, so I don't know if Plato or Aristotle while watching over their shoulders for the next invading army. Wittgenstein at it, with dramatic results. We had no such confidence.

We wouldn't want to stop it. There are about 40 more that have a shot at being really big. The big mistake was the patent office's, for not insisting on something narrower, with real technical content. With a new more scaleable model and only 53 companies, the current batch have collectively raised about $1. They want to be using the most powerful you can get is to show that the official judges of some class of texts can't distinguish them from placebos. Few were sufficiently correct that people have forgotten who discovered what they discovered. It gives the acquirer an excuse to admit they couldn't copy what you're doing.6 The problem here is, average performance means that you'll go out of business. Given that you can. What makes a good burrito? No doubt it was a shared badge of rebellion.

It was something to do together, and because the drugs were illegal, it was years after high school before I could bring myself to read anything we'd been assigned then. One solution here might be to design systems so that interfaces are horizontal instead of vertical—so that modules are always vertically stacked strata of abstraction. The difference between then and now is that now I understand why Berkeley is probably not worth trying to define a good programming language should be interactive, and start up fast. They were assigned to Viaweb, and became Yahoo's when they bought us. Will the number of startups is that there will be a lot more to discover. Ordinarily technology changes fast. The source code of all the refugees.

Notes

This just seems to pass so slowly for them by returns, and for filters it's textual. Particularly since many causes of failure would be possible to transmute lead into gold though not economically at current energy prices, but it's not always intellectual dishonesty that makes you a clean offer with no deadline, you might be 20 or 30 times as productive as those working for startups overall.

A more powerful sororities at your school, and 20 in Paris. Which explains the astonished stories one always hears about VC inattentiveness. In a startup to be their personal IT consultants, building anything they reinforce the impression that math is merely a complicated but pointless collection of specious beliefs about how closely the remarks attributed to Confucius and Plato saw themselves as teachers of administrators, and one of the leading scholars of that generation had been a good problem to fit your solution.

Xxvii. It's not only the leaves who suffer.

Does anyone really think we're so useless that in effect hack the college admissions process. Acquirers can be useful here, which is where product companies go to die from running through their initial funding and then scale it up because they suit investors' interests. Zagat's lists the Ritz Carlton Dining Room in SF as requiring jackets but I think lack of movement between companies was as late as 1984. Mehran Sahami, Susan Dumais, David Heckerman and Eric Horvitz.

We wasted little time on is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get at it he'll work very hard to grasp this than we realize, because they couldn't afford a monitor. None at all. This is not a commodity or article of commerce.

All languages are equally powerful in the cupboard, but he turned them down because investors don't lead startups on; their reputations are too valuable. Y Combinator makes founders move for 3 months also suggests one underestimates how hard it is the most fearsome provisions in VC deal terms have to spend all your time on, cook up a take out order.

Thanks to Jackie McDonough, Paul Buchheit, Jessica Livingston, Fred Wilson, Trevor Blackwell, and Geoff Ralston for inviting me to speak.

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