#digging through my files yields many results

[baomien]

old redraw of my twt banner, you get used to being dropped off of buildings when you're invincible! [@tffo]

#baobart #tffo #digging through my files yields many results

[imagining-supernatural]

The First Appointment

Part 5 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You meet with Sebastian’s oncologist friend in New York

Word Count: 1973

Why the hell were you nervous? This was just another doctor about to say the same words you’d been replaying in your mind for the last few weeks.

But you were nervous. Maybe it was just because you flew into New York City today. You’d never been, and your first stop, after a brief detour to drop off your bags at Sebastian’s apartment, was the New Amsterdam hospital.

You were in New York City.

The Big Apple

A city full of history and life.

You had only a few months left to live, and you were spending your first day in New York City in a fucking hospital, wringing your hands in your lap.

This was a huge mistake. You never should have agreed to this. You should have insisted you go through with the annulment and parted ways in Vegas.

“I had your files sent over from your doctor back in Salt Lake,” Dr. Helen Sharpe said in her British accent. Her eyes flickered to Sebastian, who was seated next to you.

“Boring read, huh?” Joking was a stupid way to try and calm your nerves, but it was the only tool you had at the moment.

She gave you a smile before continuing. “Based on the screenings and tests, I have to say I agree with your prognosis that, if untreated, you’d be lucky to see a year. And out of the treatment options available to you at the moment, I also agree that the best treatment plan only yields a twenty percent chance of shrinking the tumor enough to operate.”

“And then there’s the surgery,” you cut in, voice surprisingly steady. “Which is dangerous and risky because of where the tumor is located. I know.”

You really wanted to give Sebastian an I told you so look, but found that you couldn’t. He’d gotten under your skin and given you hope that maybe his oncologist friend was a miracle worker.

“That is all true. However, I would like to run a series of tests to get current data.”

“Curious to see how big the tumor’s gotten?” Your tone was bitter. “To see if the cancer’s spread?” You were already closing off. Pushing away.

“There are a few clinical studies that are just beginning.” She ignored your juvenile questions. “I have one in mind that I want to see if you qualify for.”

Shaking your head ruefully, you apologized for your earlier words. “I’m sorry, I just…”

Dr. Sharpe leaned forward and trained her eyes right on yours. “I understand. Cancer takes a toll on people. You do seem to be handling everything remarkably well.”

“I didn’t always. But I’ve made my peace. And I’m sorry, but I don’t think the tests are a good idea. I don’t think I’d want to spend my last few months in a clinical trial that just started. Maybe if I’d come here before… but I won’t be able to, uh, put my all into it anymore. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, treatment is, like, seventy percent mental state and optimism.”

She regarded you, and you held her gaze as a way to avoid looking at Sebastian.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she started slowly, “why did you come here, then?”

Why did you? Even if she had seen something different in your file and found a treatment plan that gave you a 50/50 shot, you probably wouldn’t have taken it.

“I don’t know. All I know is yesterday was the weirdest day I’ve ever had, and Sebastian,” you looked over at him, caught in his eyes. “Sebastian wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t know, I guess I thought that hearing it from you,” now you looked back to Dr. Sharpe, “would make him accept the reality. And if you had something different to say, I—” Your eyes dropped to your lap. “I guess that I also kinda hoped there was room for a miracle in my life.”

“You’ll never know if you could have had that miracle if you don’t let me run some tests.”

“You said you’d try,” Sebastian broke in quietly, speaking for the first time. When you still didn’t look at him, he reached across the distance to grab your hand. “What can it hurt, Y/N? You’re already here. Explore all of the options.”

Were you being unreasonably stubborn? This was your life. Your choice.

But maybe you could live. What if you were giving up too soon? Too easily? What if you were going too gently into that good night?

“Look, Y/N,” Sebastian kept speaking, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Yesterday, you said you played the odds. Well, what are the odds of any of this happening? In what world would you imagine sitting next to me, your husband, in a hospital in New York City with Dr. Helen? You’ve played some odds, sure. Play these ones too.”

“Okay,” you whispered without hesitation. He was right. “I’ll get the tests. I’ll try and have a more open mind when you get the results.”

With a single nod, she said, “That’s all we can ask.”

“Are those tests always like that?” Sebastian asked when you walked out of the hospital in the early afternoon.

“Oh hell no. That many tests usually take a few days. Normally you have to get in line to schedule time in each room and sometimes the only time available for one room is the only time available for another room so you have to juggle and figure out which test you can get into sooner on another day.”

“Don’t the doctors take care of that?”

“Yeah, but I’m a hands-on person. I like to know how things work. It’s why I’m in data security. I have to know how things work so I know how to protect them. I have to know how hackers think so I know how to guard against them. Which is why I have absolutely no idea how we wound up in this mess.” Now that you were on the streets of New York, you knew that you had to watch what you said. “I research everything. I overthink everything. And I guess I let loose in Vegas a hell of a lot more than I intended to.”

He grinned and threw his arm around your shoulders to steer you through the crowds. “When you went back to your hotel room last night, did you research me?”

With a scoff, you elbowed him. “Don’t flatter yourself. I researched Dr. Helen Sharpe. If she convinces me to try another treatment plan, then I guess I’ll have to research you.”

“If I research you, what would come up?”

“Um… not much.” Your skin prickled with the thought. “Grew up in small town Wyoming, so you’d probably have to dig deep to find, like, a newspaper article saying I was on the honors role in high school, or something. I think when I was, like, three years old I had a picture in the newspaper. One of those feel-good stories about a warm summer day at the splash park. Small towns. Not much happening.” God you hoped he didn’t Google you. The articles that came up didn’t paint you in a good light.

And honestly those articles didn’t even have half the facts right. If they did, you’d probably be in jail alongside your sister.

“And now? Helen said your doctor is in Salt Lake?”

“Yeah. I went to college in Utah. Anything to get out of Wyoming, even just by an hour or two. And I got a good job, so I stuck around. I like the mountains.”

“What about Facebook? Twitter? Would I find anything on there?”

By now you’d been walking for a good five minutes with seemingly no destination in mind. Not that you minded. It had been a while since you’d done something without a purpose.

“You do know I work for a data security company, right? So, like, I’ve hidden my social media profiles from Google and basic searches. I’ve made them as private as possible.”

“Trying to hide something?”

You stopped walking and turned at his teasing. With a smirk of your own, you looked at him. “Seb, you cheated getting my last name by looking at that certificate. I’ll be damned if I give you any other secrets that easily.”

You were a few steps away before Sebastian called after you, stepping quickly to catch up. “How the hell is a last name supposed to be a secret?”

“Well, on a social security card there are only three pieces of identifying information. Your social, your first name, and your last name. You have two of the three. That’s already too much.”

His laugh felt like a victory, but then he got suddenly silent and you had no idea how to take that. “So you don’t have a middle name?”

“What?”

“If you had a middle name, you would have said there were four pieces of information on your social. But you didn’t.” His taunting, victorious grin annoyed you.

After a glare, you walked faster.

“So, Y/N no-middle-name Y/L/N. What should we do with the rest of our day?”

Immediately you wanted to insist that he not let you take over his entire day, but something told you that he wouldn’t go along with that. You wanted to insist that he let you get a hotel room, but you’d already had that discussion and knew he wouldn’t want you to waste your money when he had a perfectly good guest bedroom.

So, with a sigh, you gave in. “Something easy. I get tired quickly nowadays.”

He took that confession in stride and nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Something easy… let’s see. Broadway? You ever been to Broadway? We can catch a show. Take the Ellis Island Ferry. Carriage ride through a park.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Look, I’ve never been here before so—”

“What? That’s insane!”

“And everything I want to do in New York kind of requires a lot of walking. Like the MET. The Museum of Natural History. Wandering around. So I’m trusting you today. You pick. Though Broadway sounds wonderful. I love musicals.”

As he processed your words and started planning, you pulled him over to a bench. Figured now was as good a time as any to answer the texts Jasmin had been sending you since you texted her about your change of plans with absolutely no explanation.

Y/N: Sorry for the sudden change of plans. I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow night. Things are super crazy right now

Almost immediately she replied.

Jasmin: This just isn’t like you. I’m worried is all

Y/N: I know. I promise I’m fine though. Swear on Lulu’s life

“Who’s Lulu?”

“Are you reading my texts over my shoulder?”

He didn’t look the least bit guilty. “I’m cheating. Trying to learn more about you.”

And you supposed that he wanted to make sure you weren’t spilling the beans anywhere. With a career like his, you’d make sure the people around you could be trusted as well.

So you gave him a little bit more. “Jasmin is my best friend. When we were in middle school, we snuck a stray cat into her bathroom and tried to keep it a secret from her parents. They found out soon enough, but kept the cat anyway. We loved that cat; Lulu.”

Jasmin: You best not have run away with some super hot guy and aren’t telling me. I’ll kick your ass

“She’s good.”

You laughed. “Yesterday, after breakfast when I was talking to her, she made a joke that was something along the lines of at least you didn’t marry your one night stand.”

“Sounds like she’s psychic.”

“Claims her aunt is, actually.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “So, what Broadway play sounds best to you?”

What do you think the results will be??

PART 6: THE DECISION

#sebastianxreader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian x reader #marvel fanfic #mcu

[pittarchives]

His Old Tribulations, Our Current Struggle: Remembering Garner in the Current Call to Reform Cannabis Laws

This post was written by Warner Sabio Sr., Graduate Student, Jazz Studies, University of Pittsburgh.

Recently, on April 7th, Virginia’s legislature passed a bill legalizing the possession of small amounts of marijuana, making it the 16th state to do so. Under Virginia’s law, adults can possess an ounce or less of marijuana beginning July 1. Several weeks before, New York passed the Marijuana Regulation and Taxation Act, legalizing the recreational use of marijuana in the state. New York’s legislation also expunges the records of people convicted on marijuana-related charges that are no longer criminalized. These two drug-policy reforms concerning marijuana are a few of the many looking to respond to the disproportionate and often tragic impact previous legislation has had on communities of color.

For Erroll Garner, the drug policies regarding marijuana and the enforcement of those laws affected him personally and professionally. On January 26, 1946, Garner was arrested in Los Angeles and charged with violating section 11500 of the California Health and Safety Code—a felony at the time. The State accused Garner of possessing “flowering tops and leaves of Indian Hemp (Cannabis Sativa)” and set bail at $500. According to dollartimes.com, adjusted for inflation, $500 in 1946 is equal to $7,156 in 2021. An excessive amount, it seems, for the non-violent crime he was accused of committing. Nevertheless, on April 10, 1946, Garner pled guilty to the charge and was sentenced to 90 days in the county jail. This incident would mark Garner as a felon and a “dope addict,” in the problematic wording of the language that circulated in press accounts. The distinction would continue to cast its shadow and haunt the pianist for at least another decade, if not the rest of his life.  

(Above) Page 1, (Below) Page 2, Page 3, Page 4, and Page 11 from folder “Erroll Garner Personal,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, AIS.2015.09, Box 3, Folder 18,  Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System. 

Six years later, after a performance at Mack’s Tavern in Atlantic City on September 12, 1952, the pianist was again arrested and brought up on charges surrounding a marijuana-related drug bust. According to The Baltimore Afro-American, Garner was held “for failure to register as a convicted addict under the state’s narcotics registration law and not for being an actual user of narcotics.”[1] The conviction referred to by New Jersey law-enforcement authorities was based on Garner’s 1946 Los Angeles arrest, which he reportedly informed authorities of at the time. Interestingly, Garner, convicted of possessing marijuana in the initial Los Angeles case, was now branded a “dope addict” in press coverage revolving around the Atlantic City incident.

(Above) Image of the article from The Baltimore Afro-American, Sept. 13, 1952.

The headline on the front page of September 13, 1952, Pittsburgh Courier read: “ARREST ERROLL GARNER FOR DOPE.” The subhead for the article noted that Garner was “Part of Big-Time Roundup.” The lede stated:

ATLANTIC CITY – Erroll Garner, Pittsburgh’s significant gift to jazz and dexterous piano-playing, was nabbed here in a post-Labor Day roundup of alleged dope addicts and suspects.”[2]

(Above) The Pittsburgh Courier, Sept. 13, 1952.

The Courier also reported that forty-one other suspects were also arrested. One of those arrested included Garner’s roommate and valet, Frank (Tons) Randolph, who was accused of “being a dope peddler.” The Afro-American reported Randolph “was placed under $25,000 bail after two witnesses testified in Municipal Court on Monday that they bought marihuana in $10 and $20 lots from him.” According to dollartimes.com, adjusted for inflation, $25,000 in 1952 is equal to $245,730 in 2021. From the reports, it does not appear that authorities found any weed on Garner or Randolph. Nevertheless, it seems the testimony was enough to warrant the arrests.

It is also interesting to note that the Courier report hinted at a possible ulterior motive for the arrest.  Perhaps stemming from the practice of racial profiling of Black men driving nice cars, the paper reported, “police are alleged to have stated that Garner has been driving around Atlantic City in a 1952 Cadillac and a woman, described by some as his wife has been driving a Chrysler.”

In a follow-up story on September 20, The Afro-American interviewed Garner about the arrest. The headline read: “GARNER SHRUGS OFF DOPE COUNT ARREST: ‘Just One Of Those Things,’ Pianist Says of Shore Incident.”[3] Garner discusses the Los Angeles case in the piece, affirming his conviction (saying it took place in 1943) and stating he was “sentenced to 45 days to an honor farm.” Garner elaborated:

“It was all a ‘frame.’ I was turned in by a fellow whose job I took in a night club in which I was playing. The guy was salty and squealed. But I am not complaining because it did happen. At the time, I was a youngster and went around with a bunch of wild guys.”

(Above) Headline from The Baltimore Afro-American, Sept. 20, 1952.

As for the Atlantic City incident, Garner was quoted as saying he “was through with that kind of stuff now” and had “too much to lose.” However, he was critical of the publicity, stating, “the only thing is that I was the least involved and got most of the publicity. This is one time that I wished I was digging ditches.”

Almost a month after the Atlantic City arrest, on October 11, 1952, The Afro-American reported that Garner was fined $50 for failure to register as a dope addict.[4] The case was thereafter dismissed, and Garner “filed the necessary registration forms in compliance with the local ordinance. According to the paper, the incident had left Garner feeling “disturbed” and “embarrassed.” Garner was forced to cancel several weeks of bookings “in order to permit him to rest” because he was “suffering from nervous exhaustion.” As for Randolph and the others arrested that night, my limited search came up empty as to how they fared.

On Jan.17, 1953, the Courier reported that a case involving Garner’s arrest in St. Louis on New Year’s Eve was tossed. Garner was charged with possession of narcotics.[5] The paper said, “Garner’s case was thrown out of court because the officers did not have a warrant when the arrest was made.” Garner’s attorney, however, clarified that the basis of the arrest was “a crank telephoned St. Louis police that the pianist had carried narcotics from New York to St. Louis in his automobile. It was revealed that Garner had arrived in this city by plane.”

For Pittsburgh-born Garner, professional success could not shield him from the insatiable appetite to punish that has driven much of the nation’s drug policies for decades. Major players in the formation of these early policies are uniquely linked to Garner geographically. Harry J. Anslinger, who served as the first commissioner of the U.S. Treasury Department’s Federal Bureau of Narcotics, was an Altoona, PA native. Pittsburgh’s-own Andrew Mellon, the uncle of Anslinger’s wife, appointed him to the post. Mellon, at the time of Anslinger’s appointment, was the Treasury Secretary.

According to The Economist:

“The drafters of the Harrison Act of 1914, the first federal ban on non-medical narcotics, played on fears of ‘drug-crazed, sex-mad negroes.’ And the 1930s campaign against marijuana was coloured by the fact that Harry Anslinger, the first drug tsar, was appointed by Andrew Mellon, his wife’s uncle. Mellon, the Treasury Secretary, was banker to DuPont, and sales of hemp threatened that firm’s efforts to build a market for synthetic fibers. Spreading scare stories about cannabis was a way to give hemp a bad name. Moral outrage is always more effective if backed by a few vested interests.”[6]

According to law professor Michael Vitello, “while the Harrison Act did not include a prohibition against marijuana, its framework would become the model for Congress’s first efforts to criminalize marijuana.”[7]

(Above) Harry J. Anslinger served as the first commissioner of Treasury Department’s Federal Bureau of Narcotics. Image from the Associated Press. 

Driven by stereotypes, some framers of early U.S. drug policies linked the usage of both marijuana and cocaine to marginalized communities and racialized “fringe groups like pimps, prostitutes, and day laborers” and “uppity Southern blacks and race-mixing drug parties.”[8]  Concerning Anslinger’s beliefs, Vitello states:

“Finding racist quotations attributed to Anslinger is easy and a reminder of how ingrained racist language was in this country. Here are a few choice quotations: “Reefer makes darkies think they’re as good as white men”; “Marihuana influences Negroes to look at white people in the eye, step on white men’s shadows and look at a white woman twice”; and “There are 100,000 total marijuana smokers in the U.S., and most are Negroes, Hispanics, Filipinos and entertainers. Their Satanic music, jazz and swing result from marijuana use. This marijuana causes white women to seek sexual relations with Negroes, entertainers and any others.”[9]

These antiquated and racist beliefs would vibrantly pulsate through the heart of drug laws for generations. Unfortunately, Garner’s experience was not isolated or rare. For Garner, the arrests and court cases must have been taxing. His experience speaks for many people caught up in the web of draconian drug laws pervading the justice system. The growing frustration has led to calls for change.

As previously mentioned, recent efforts have yielded changes to drug policy concerning marijuana across the United States. To date, sixteen states, two territories, and the District of Columbia have legalized small amounts of marijuana for adult recreational use. Twenty-seven states have decriminalized weed, meaning, “small, personal-consumption amounts are a civil or local infraction, not a state crime (or are a lowest misdemeanor with no possibility of jail time).”[10] However, more needs to be done to undo the gross injustice that lopsided enforcement has produced. It is a flawed system of policies and laws that impacted Garner then and thousands today. We must resolve the discordant tones struck by the framers of foundational drug war policies, the effects of which still resonate and impact civil society today.

Works Cited

Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, AIS.2015.09, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

“Arrest Erroll Garner For Dope: Pianist Part of Big-Time Roundup.” Pittsburgh Courier (Pittsburgh, Pa.), September 13, 1952: 1.

Bender, Steven W. “Joint Reform? The Interplay of State, Federal, and Hemispheric Regulation of Recreational Marijuana and Failed War on Drugs.” Albany Law Environmental Outlook 6, no. 2 (2013): 359–.

“Errol Garner Case Thrown Out of Court.” Pittsburgh Courier (Pittsburgh, Pa.), January 17, 1953: 1.

“Errol Garner Pays $50 Fine: Failed To Register As Dope Addict.” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), October 11, 1952: 9

“Garner Shrugs Off Dope Count Arrest: ‘Just One Of Those Things,’ Pianist Says Of Shore Incident.” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), September 20, 1952: 3

Gootenberg, Paul. Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2008.

“‘How did we get here?’ A Survey of Illegal Drugs.” Economist, July 28, 2001, p. 4. The Economist Historical Archive, 1843-2015 (accessed April 13, 2021). https://link-gale-com.pitt.idm.oclc.org/apps/doc/GP4100323851/ECON?u=upitt_main&sid=ECON&xid=779492d4.

“Pianist Under Bail For Not Registering As Addict; Shore’s Raids Called Biggest.” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), September 13, 1952: 1

National Conference of State Legislatures website, https://www.ncsl.org/research/civil-and-criminal-justice/marijuana-overview.aspx

Vitiello, Michael.  “Marijuana Legalization, Racial Disparity, and the Hope for Reform.” Lewis & Clark Law Review 23, no. 3 (2019): 789-822.

[1] “Pianist Under Bail For Not Registering As Addict; Shore’s Raids Called Biggest,” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), September 13, 1952.

[2] “Arrest Erroll Garner For Dope: Pianist Part of Big-Time Roundup,” Pittsburgh Courier (Pittsburgh, Pa.), September 13, 1952.

[3] “Garner Shrugs Off Dope Count Arrest: ‘Just One Of Those Things,’ Pianist Says Of Shore Incident,” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), September 20, 1952.

[4] “Errol Garner Pays $50 Fine: Failed To Register As Dope Addict.” Baltimore Afro-American (Baltimore, Md), October 11, 1952.

[5] “Errol Garner Case Thrown Out of Court.” Pittsburgh Courier (Pittsburgh, Pa.), January 17, 1953: 1.

[6] “‘How did we get here?’ A Survey of Illegal Drugs,” Economist, July 28, 2001.

[7] Michael Vitiello,  “Marijuana Legalization, Racial Disparity, and the Hope for Reform,” Lewis & Clark Law Review 23, no. 3 (2019), 794.

[8] Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug, Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2008, 193.

[9] Vitiello,  “Marijuana Legalization,” 799.

[10] National Conference of State Legislatures website, https://www.ncsl.org/research/civil-and-criminal-justice/marijuana-overview.aspx

#erroll garner tuesdays #erroll garner #criminalization #newspapers #cannabis laws #drug policy #harry anslinger #racism

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Both is Good #1: Lena Saves Kara

So, I saw this post, and obviously my brain went into overdrive. This is the result. 

(content warning for attempted offscreen sexual assault/date rape)

----

“LET GO!”

Lena surges from her desk at the sharp shout that reverberates inhumanly loud against the office buildings and penetrates the quiet of her office after hours.

The instant she steps onto her balcony, her armor seals around her with the ratchet of metal plates locking into place. It feels comfortable and familiar, though her rocket propulsion is still unwieldy for city use. She allows herself a heartbeat to revel in the feeling of flight. 

She’s missed this. She loves her armor, loves the freedom it gives her, but every moment she wears it brings a renewed pang of guilt.

Lena doesn’t use it as much as she used to. Not since… well.

She tilts in the direction of the cry, and propels herself towards the financial quarter. Less than a minute into her flight, Lena’s stomach plummets when her visual display registers a familiar caped figure flying towards her. 

But before she can duck out of sight, Lena notices that Supergirl is flying less than she’s lurching, veering dangerously close to streetlights and one particularly tall building before redirecting. She ping pongs between either side of the street, unaware of Lena’s presence until they nearly collide.

“No!” Supergirl gasps, pulling weakly against the hands Lena braced against her arms. “I-- I said-- I said let go!”

“Supergirl?” Lena’s face plate snaps back, exposing her features. The hero continues to pull against her, made all the more alarming by the fact she can’t break free. “Kara!”

The sound of her name snaps Kara back into focus. “L-Lena?”

“What happened?”

“P-please… h-help me. I-- I can’t…”

Lena closes her helmet, scanning the street behind Supergirl for signs of pursuit. Kara drifted closer, gripping Lena’s gauntlet so tight the nth metal steel groaned in protest.

“He-- he’s coming…” Kara puffs, crackling in Lena’s headset. “I-- I told him no…”

Only now does Lena register Kara’s ripped and displaced suit, torn in ways not indicative of a battle. A struggle, yes, but a struggle more mundane than an alien fight, and far more horrific. Eyes unevenly dilated, Kara stares at her, blinking sluggishly.

“P-please… Lena…”

Lena hikes Supergirl’s arm across her shoulders without hesitation. In the seconds it takes to touch down on the balcony, most of Kara’s weight sags against Lena, and only the exoskeleton of her armor keeps her from staggering under her density. 

“Hang in there,” Lena urges, helping Kara towards the elevator that leads to her private laboratory. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Kara groans, head lolling for one last moment before she collapses completely. Lena fumbles to catch her, and holds her tight as the doors slide shut. 

“I’ve got you.”

---

“She’s waking, Miss Luthor.”

Lena glances up from her tablet at Hope’s alert, and sets it aside when she sees Supergirl blink awake. Her jaw tightens when the hero’s gaze travels dazedly from the yellow sun lamp over her head to the faint green glow that illuminates the medbay ceiling beyond. 

With a gasp, Supergirl bolts out of bed in a klaxon of protesting sensor alerts that Hope silences a moment later. Proud and tall even in her borrowed patient scrubs, Kara glares at her with fists clenched.

“Relax,” Lena drawls, smoothly rising to her feet. “You’re not in any danger from me.”

“No?” Kara barks. “Then why the green kryptonite?”

Lena arches a brow. “How do you feel?”

Supergirl’s expression lifts, then scrunches in consternation.

“Any weakness, dizziness? Nails through your veins? Flesh seared from your bones?”

“I--” Kara’s jaw clicks shut. “No…”

“You’re not restrained or confined in any way,” Lena further explains, and smirks when Kara puts a tentative hand through the space where she’d once seen a force field imprisoning Reign. “Your suit has been cleaned and restored. It’s folded there on the console.”

She expects Kara to make a beeline for the neat pile of fabric. To Lena’s surprise, she turns her gaze back to the glow of green kryptonite. 

“How…?”

“I isolated the radiation signature that suppresses Kryptonian flight, heat vision, and freeze breath. Without the extra drain on your metabolism, the sun lamps expedited your healing factor by 30%. Whatever got in your system, it’s gone now.”

Kara stares at her, until Lena has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You… helped me.”

At that, Lena loses the fight. With an exaggerated eye roll, Lena reaches for her tablet. “Despite what you think of me, I’m not a monster.”

“Lena…”

“You ask for help, I give it… Isn’t that how it always goes?”

“Lena!”

“Right up until the prison cell slams shut.”

She glances up from her work just in time to see Supergirl’s face flush bright red. Blue eyes slide away, betraying her guilt. Good. At least one of them has the decency to be.

“To be honest, I was a little surprised you came to me,” Lena continues nonchalantly. “Considering I’m persona non grata these days.”

These days... months... years.

But despite the brush the DEO painted her with, the picture the press ran with, Kara came to find her tonight. The DEO building sits on the opposite side of National City from L-Corp. When Kara needed help… she came to Lena.

Kara swallows audibly, throat clicking as she searches for the right words. 

“Lena, I-- I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to… I never thought…”

With another roll of her eyes, Lena lets her flounder. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Kara says finally. “I never did. You’re-- you were my best friend.”

“We were never friends.” Snapping her tablet down, Lena plants one hand on her hip. “You made that perfectly clear.”

“Lena…”

“Are you feeling better?” Lena asks, cutting through Kara’s attempt to parlay.

“Lena!”

“Are you feeling better?”

The corners of Kara’s lips tremble under the weight of tears building in her eyes. Her shoulders sag, head bowing in defeat. “Yes.”

“Good. Get out.”

Lena taps her tablet again. When the green glow of the kryptonite fades, the implication is clear. Kara speeds into her suit, and Lena turns her back as the hero steps out of the open containment unit. Her gaze returns to her tablet, but her focus follows Supergirl’s footed bootsteps as they cross behind her, then pause.

“Thank you, Lena. It was-- good to see you.”

Without waiting for a response, Kara continues towards the door. Following her progress through Hope’s security feed, Lena grits her teeth for a brief moment before calling out. 

“I want his name.” 

She barely looks up, watching through the feed as Kara lingers with her hand on the doorknob. The gaze that was once so familiar regards her with heavily veiled suspicion. “What for?”

Finally, Lena lifts her chin, turning her head to meet Kara’s gaze directly. 

“To do what you won’t.”

Kara breaks eye contact first. Her hand twists, and the door opens, but Supergirl hesitates before crossing the threshold. After a long moment, she inhales deeply.

“Baylor Togann.”

Then she’s gone, leaving nothing but a gaping door in her wake. Lena doesn’t mind.

“Hope-- find me everything you can on Baylor Togann.”

“I have already compiled a preliminary dossier and submitted it for your review. I will provide further details upon discovery.” 

Good. With a tap of her finger, Lena flips through the information. Earliest located records indicate enrollment at NCU eleven years prior, never graduated. He completed four years but failed to receive his degree following… sealed records unseal with a tap of Lena’s finger. Ah.

Rape.

Assault.

Harassment.

The few women who spoke out against him reported inhuman strength and mind altering ability. A feeling of drunkenness regardless of sobriety. 

After his expulsion, requests for the morning after pill at the campus clinic dropped twenty percent.

Looks like bastards come in all shapes and sizes. 

“Baylor Togann currently works for Exports Unlimited,” Hope reports, “as the Vice President of Human Resources.”

“Interesting,” Lena murmurs. “I happen to know Glenn Tarring requires a university degree for all VPs and higher.”

“You are correct. I have located a digitized copy of his application-- it seems he misrepresented the status of his degree. Shall I bring the discrepancy to the attention of his superior?”

Lena takes a moment to consider it. “No. Forward it directly to Glenn. Use my personal email and let him know I’ll give him forty-eight hours to rectify the situation before it goes public.”

“Yes, Miss Luthor.”

“And once you’ve finished with that, dig up his credit and banking information. Do you have an address of residence?”

“It appears he has several, under multiple identities. I am still compiling a list with full details.”

Lena inhales. Puzzle pieces shift and shuffle in her mind, before clicking into place, filling her with familiar satisfaction.

“Send the email, then freeze his primary accounts.”

“And his secondaries?”

“Leave them for now,” Lena instructs. “Let him run to ground as his life starts to burn down around him.”

Hope flashes an affirmative. Lena continues to scan through the records as Hope continues to aggregate. Each one yields a picture more horrendous than the last. 

“Miss Luthor?”

“Yes, Hope.”

A second name features heavily in many of the later reports. Lena makes a note of it for Hope to research later. If Togann has a crony, their work may be doubled.

“Once we have frozen all of Baylor Togann’s accounts, and vacated all of his leases-- surely you don’t mean to leave him to the authorities?”

“No.” Hits on Baylor Togann’s name are already filtering in from the police servers. Numerous reports filed against him, none pursued beyond an interview. Lack of evidence, each one lists, despite women willing to testify and rape kits waiting to be tested. “I don’t.”

Lena flips the cover over her tablet and sets it aside. Her gaze slides to her workstation, where a new armored suit lays half-complete, just waiting to be finished.

“Once he feels the snare tighten...” 

Lena’s lips curl in a hungry smile. 

“We go hunting.”

#both is good #lena saves kara #supercorp #post reveal #possible future #unhappy supercorp #implied evil!lena #this is what i did all day instead of writing my mermaid story #oh well #part two is coming

[stars-and-rose]

a.s.h.es, ashes (we all fall down) chapter one

Jesus take the wheelie HERE WE ARE

(huge thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries​ for helping me with some of the finer/ kinda fucking important details for this fic! and shoutout to @fuzzylittleb​ for editing this for me!)

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Logicality, Eventual Prinixety, RED (Remy/Deceit/Emile)(it’s pre-established but it’s in the back seat for a bit), So much platonic Analogical and Royalty oh my god-

Summary: After a recuse gone wrong, SuperHeroes Logan and Virgil find themselves with mysteries on their hands- but most importantly, who in their organization A.S.H. wants Logan dead.

Word Count:4,506

Trigger Warnings: Fire, Injuries, Unconsciousness, Panic Attack, Violence, Cursing 

Next>>

Chapter One: Smoke in Your Lungs

Pushing open the glass doors, Logan Cosmos scanned the busy café. He adjusted the bag over his shoulder as he walked towards a booth in the far left corner. When he sat, he snapped his fingers in front of the boy seated across from him. The startled boy jumped, pulling off his headphones and glaring at Logan.

"Hey! You didn't have to do that."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Really? You were wearing your noise-canceling headphones, Virgil."

Virgil Tempest shrugged. "They aren't exactly noise-canceling. I mean, for anyone else, I'd bet they would be but for me-"

"Your abilities get in the way?" Logan finished in a hushed tone.

"Yeah. One of the many woes of being a Super. Anyway, how was your class?"

Logan groaned. "To put it simply, my professor is a dumbass."

Virgil winced. "Ooof."

Then Logan sighed, leaning against the table. "Well, a positive. We do not have a mission tonight."

"Thank god."

"Negative: We still have a patrol."

Virgil groaned. "You win some. You lose some. I'm going to need caffeine for this, I'll go order."

   Logan glanced at the cash register, where a green-eyed boy was handing an older woman a muffin. "Ah, he's working today."

   "Yeah. He's annoying, but I'm more comfortable around him. It makes ordering less stressful when I crack a bad movie joke and he fires one right back." Virgil replied, standing from the booth.

   Logan nodded, watching as his best friend walked away. He was so proud of Virgil, he didn't know how to put it into words. Watching Virgil battle his anxiety- watching Virgil win the battles with his anxiety- made Logan smile. As much as being a Super was difficult and tiresome and vexing, at least joining A.S.H. had given Logan his best friend. Through long nights and battle scars and mental breakdowns, Logan and Virgil managed to keep each other in one piece.

   As Virgil ordered a dubious amount of caffeine and battled the cashier over some hidden plot in a children's movie, Logan pulled out the tablet A.S.H. provided its Supers, digging it out from under his textbooks and notebooks. A flick of Logan's wrist turned the device on. Another flick opened up a map of their city. Sure, Logan could have done it manually, but sometimes the ease of using his abilities made the irritation of having them dissipate a bit. Logan drew his fingers over the screen, mapping out the area the duo would have to patrol that night.

   A few minutes later, Virgil sat down, pushing a large drink across the table to Logan. Virgil barely touched the thing, yet it nearly fell off the table. The grey-eyed boy glared at the cup, and muttered a phrase that was probably "Fuck super strength."

   Logan let out a hum and took a sip of his drink, which was the same London fog latte he always ordered on patrol days. Virgil chugged his espresso, then looked down at the map. "Where do we gotta patrol?"

   "Few blocks in Southside. It's a residential area, mostly apartment complexes and a convenience store." Logan replied, zooming in on the map.

   "Crime rate?"

   "Pretty low. A mugging a few weeks back, and other crimes of that sort."

   Virgil let out a sigh of relief. "Easy night. Thank god. I have a gig tomorrow afternoon, and honestly, I don't know if I could go through with it if we had a rough night."

   Logan arched an eyebrow. "Another wedding?"

   "Another fucking wedding. I hate weddings, Lo! Overpriced and tons of strangers."

   "Well, usually wedding guests don't hold much conversation with the photographer. Also, some of the expenses of a wedding go to the photographer. Besides, you only need to continue doing these gigs until we retire from A.S.H."

   Virgil ran a  hand through his messy dark hair; Logan could see the blonde roots Virgil hated so much starting to peek through. "Speaking of A.S.H…." Virgil lowered his voice. "Have you found anything?"

   Logan leaned across the table a little more, suddenly aware of how busy the café was. Too many people meant too many ears, and too many ears were too big of a risk.  "Some files of old SuperHeroes who died in combat or retired, various recordings of meetings, and a few marked-up articles, all written by the same guy. Why are you so invested into looking into A.S.H.'s files, anyway?"

   Virgil shifted in his seat, his eyes flitting around the room. "Just a hunch, okay? I feel like something's up."

   The first time Virgil had brought up looking into the organization's files, it had been late at night during a patrol. Logan had tried to convince Virgil there was nothing that A.S.H. would be hiding, but the other Super was invested in the idea. To calm Virgil, Logan had started using his abilities to hack into A.S.H.'s database. At first, it had been simply to placate Virgil, but Logan had been digging for over a month and had only come up with a minuscule amount of information. There was more information, all of it heavily locked, and now Logan's own curiosity and pride were invested in decoding all the files.

   Logan glanced down at the clock on the tablet. "We should make our way to Headquarters. Our patrol starts in less than an hour."

   Virgil huffed, taking another sip of his drink and shifting in his hoodie. "Can we walk? I really don't feel like taking the bus."

   Sliding out of the booth, Logan nodded. "Some fresh air would be nice. Do we need to stop at your apartment for your medicine?"

   "I have backups with my suit, I'll take them when we get there if I need to."

   Leaving the cafe,  they walked through the streets of Azotha to the A.S.H. Headquarters, only stopping once for Virgil to capture a shot of the sunset's light reflecting off a skyscraper.

For the second time that day, Logan opened a pair of glass doors, holding them open for Virgil. The lobby of A.S.H.'s headquarters was mostly empty. The only people in the room were the receptionist who was playing a game on his phone and a pair sitting on the bench. Logan recognized them: a set of first-year partners he and Virgil had helped train. Eliza was a flyer and her partner Kris was the human equivalent of a magnet. Eliza was holding an ice pack on Kris's forehead, angrily scolding them. After quickly checking in quickly with the bored receptionist, Logan and Virgil made their way over to the younger SuperHeroes.

"Is everything all right?" Logan asked.

Kris looked up, their eyes gleaming despite their injury. "You'll never guess what happened! I ran into Knight and Nova!"

A panicked looked passed from Virgil to Logan. Knight and Nova were labeled the most dangerous SuperVillains of their time. The duo had been active for five years, and not a single Super had been able to catch them. A.S.H. sent missions to search for the SuperVillains constantly (Logan and Virgil had been assigned to that particular mission a few times) and yielded no results.

The strangest part was, Knight and Nova didn't associate with other SuperVillains, nor did they cause large scale destructions. They were a mystery, striking every few months, stealing from a major corruption or leaving cryptic warnings in the mayor's office, then disappearing again. They were an enigma, an enigma Logan wanted to solve.

Virgil did a quick scan of Kris. "Did they hurt you?"

Eliza sighed, "Not exactly. Kris, tell them how you got hurt."

The younger Super pouted, an embarrassed flush covering their cheeks. "Well, we found them on top of the Whynter Building, right? We didn't know what they were doing but they were unprepared so we attacked them!"

"I didn't attack them, that was Kris on their own!" Eliza complained. She pointed at her partner. "They thought we could capture the SuperVillains by ourselves."

"I surprised them, and the SuperVillains flew down into the alley. Knight used his abilities and I got confused. I thought I was chasing after Nova, but in reality, I crashed into a wall."

A beat of silence, then Virgil let out a laugh. "You crashed into a wall?"

"They crashed into a fucking wall." Eliza huffed. "Fell for one of Knight's illusions."

"To be fair," Kris said, moving Eliza's hand and fixing the ice pack on their forehead. "Other people, older and higher ranked people, have fallen for Knight's illusions too. They're so lifelike it's hard not too."

Logan bit his lip. "But neither of them injured you directly?"

"Nope!"

Eliza twisted a lock of her curly hair around her finger. "Knight actually looked apologetic, watching this loser slam into the wall."

Logan glanced at Virgil, who had his nose scrunched up in concentration. Most SuperVillains would have taken the opportunity to take out a first-year SuperHero before they could truly harness their powers. But not only did Nova and Knight let Eliza and Kris go, but they didn't try to hurt them either?

That was something to think about later. Virgil and Logan had to get suited up for their patrol.

"Take care of Kris, Eliza. Vee and I have a patrol to go on." Logan announced.

Eliza mock-saluted as the older SuperHeroes walked away. Logan glanced at Virgil, "Elevator?"

"Yeah."

Luckily no one else was riding the elevator, so they got the tiny shaft to themselves. Logan pressed the button for the fourth floor, and the doors slowly shut behind them. Music Logan swore was older than the building poured out of an old speaker. Virgil glared at the speaker as if he was trying to make it explode. Luckily for the janitors, Virgil lacked that ability, and the doors opened before Virgil could decide to smash it.

The fourth floor was a little bit more active than the lobby, with a few Supers suiting up for patrols and missions, and a few more packing their bags and heading home. Logan led Virgil to their lockers, placing his palm against his, while Virgil did the same next to him.

The touchscreen connected to his locker opened, and Logan grabbed the black material hanging in it. If Logan ever took over A.S.H., the first thing he would do was change the uniforms. First of all, the material was irritating, which made fighting uncomfortable. Logan swore he had more welts from the fabric of his uniform than from actual combat. The suit was built for protection though, not comfort. That aside, each uniform was identical, making it difficult to tell the difference between Supers. Each SuperHero had their unique logo stitched right above their hearts, but could you see that during a battle? No. Not at all.

As Logan pulled the suit over his clothes, his fingers brushed over his logo. Virgil had designed it for him. It was the letter G, and Virgil had designed it to look like the letter was glitching, to associate with Logan's codename. Virgil's own logo was a spiking heart rate, stitched into his suit with careless caution.

"Lo? Can you untangle my earpiece?" Virgil asked, struggling to pull up his suit. Logan sighed and grabbed the communication device hanging from Virgil's locker. Logan had not an inkling of a clue how, but Virgil had managed to get the earpiece twisted with his eyepiece.

"Virgil? How- how did you mess this up so horribly?"

Virgil sighed, zipping up his uniform. "I just threw it in there on Monday, I don't know how it got so tangled!"

Logan groaned, finally pulling the pieces apart and tossing them at Virgil. His friend caught them with ease (damn his powers). Logan pulled on his own, untangled eye and earpieces, snapping his eyepiece on his glasses. Then, he snapped his finger to activate both pieces. Virgil rolled his eyes, manually turning on his equipment. "We online?"

"We are indeed."

Virgil gave Logan a wicked smile, his teeth flashing in the electric light. "I'll beat you downstairs."

Then, Logan blinked, and Virgil was a blur in the corner of his vision. A swear escaped Logan's lips and he closed his eyes, picturing the outside of the headquarters. He felt the familiar fizzling in his gut, and when Logan opened his eyes, he was standing outside with the night breeze blowing in his hair.  Seconds later, the glass doors next to him were thrown open, and Virgil skidded to a stop next to him. "Damn the people on the stairs."

"We're making excuses now, Vee?"

"Damn you too." Virgil flashed Logan a set of double-birds.

"If you kept doing that, I'm not going to let you teleport with me to our patrol location."

Instantly, Virgil had his arms thrown around Logan's shoulders. "No, no hey, you're my best friend Lo! I love you!" He announced, dragging out the 'o' in love.

Logan rolled his eyes, a fond smile forming on his lips. "You only love me when you need something from me."

"If that was true, would I have shown up at your house with mint-chocolate chip ice cream when NASA released the black hole image and you freaked out for three hours?"

Instead of responding, Logan pictured the convenience store he'd seen on the digital map earlier. Virgil yelped and dug his nails into Logan's shoulder as the two of them teleported.

"Hey!" Virgil snapped. "That wasn't cool!"

"My apologies."

"Hmph. For that, I'm taking the eastern side of this sector."

"Why?"

Another wicked grin passed over Virgil's features. There are fewer buildings on the Eastern side. Less work for me.  Stay out of trouble, Glitch."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Same to you, Adrenaline."

Virgil gave his partner a mock salute, before speeding off into the distance. Logan watched him go, then pressed his fingers against his eyepiece. A map of the western side of the sector glowed to life in his vision. Logan zoomed in on an apartment complex, memorizing its features, then teleporting there.

The patrol was uneventful. For the past three and a half hours, Logan teleported from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any suspicious activity. With only thirty minutes left on patrol, Logan was sitting on the rooftop of a building, mentally going over the notes his physics professor had given that day.

Then, he smelt the smoke.

Instantly Logan was on his feet, eyes searching the horizon as a scream echoed from a nearby building. Smoke was pouring out of an apartment window, and flashes of red and yellow were visible through the smoke. Logan concentrated on his comm, turning it on. "V- Adrenaline?"

"Issue on your end?" His best friends voice crackled through the comm.

"Fire. Anderson Street, third building on the left. Requesting back up."

"On my way, Glitch."

Logan shut off his comm, glancing at the ground below him and teleporting down. He spirited down the street, stopping in front of the building. The flames were starting to grow, and people were running out of the complex in a panic.

Logan didn't have the time to explain he was with A.S.H., which was against protocol, but if he did, he would have lost valuable time. Logan entered the building, gagging on the smoke in the air. The first floor was clear but on the second floor, Logan found a younger girl trapped behind a cabinet. Teleporting behind it, Logan knelt next to the girl. Her dark eyes were wide, and she was shaking.

"I'm going to assist you, may I lift you up?" The younger girl stared at him for a brief moment, then gave him a brief nod. Logan scooped the child into his arms, and she gripped his arm tightly. "Close your eyes now, all right?"

The girl obeyed, and Logan teleported them outside. The girl opened her eyes, staring at him with wonder. "You have magic?" She whispered in awe.

"No, it's a gene-. Nevermind. I do indeed have magic."

The girl's eyes widened with glee, but before she could reply, a man ran up to them. "Alina, darling!"

The girl looked at the man and smiled brightly. "Daddy! The magic man saved me!"

The man gave Logan a small smile. "Yes, he did. Now the magic man has to go save other people, okay?"

The girl nodded, and Logan handed her off to her father. The man muttered a quick, "Thank you," into Logan's ear before he walked away with his daughter.

Logan teleported back into the building when his comm was activated again. "G, there are a few more people on the fourth floor; there was someone on the third but I got them out. " Virgil announced.

"On it." Logan dashed through the building, making his way up the stairs until he reached the fourth floor, which was where the fire started. The heat was biting and ash started to stick to his clothes. Logan hesitated, looked around for which room held the most flames.

That was his mistake.

A cracking sound filled his ears, and before Logan could turn around to see what it was, something hit him in the back. Logan fell to the ground, his body held down by something heavy. He squirmed, trying to get free from whatever was holding him down, but he couldn't. He tried to teleport, but his mind was too frazzled from the hit and the heat to form the image Logan needed to teleport. Using the last of his concentration, Logan activated his comm, connecting with the A.S.H. Headquarters.

"This is Agent Glitch." He wheezed out. "I'm requesting back-up. There's a fire... I'm trapped in the building and my partner cannot get everyone out on his own."

Radio silence. Then a faint, "Cut him. He was getting too close to the truth." Static filled his ears, and Logan tried to reconnect to the comm, but the other end had severed the link. Understanding filled Logan's muddled brain. A.S.H. was leaving him to die.

Logan struggled against the weight on his back, but he was getting sluggish. The flames were closing in, the heat starting to overwhelm him. A hoarse scream roared from Logan's throat, but he doubted he could be heard over the roaring fire.

This was it. Logan was going to die.

He laid his head against the burning ground, gasping for air. He was going to die. He was going to die. Who would grieve him? His poor mother, who'd been abandoned by everyone else in her life? Virgil, who had just started getting to a place in life where his anxiety was livable? His friends from college? The other superheroes from A.S.H.?

The flames were closing in. Logan closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Before the flames could reach him, he heard a crackle of energy, and a soft, "Don't worry, I got you."

Then, the heat become too much, and Logan passed out.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

Beautiful blue eyes, the color of the sky at its absolute clearest, glowed slightly behind gray-tinted goggles, filled with something that looked like concern. Then, surprise bloomed, and Logan's eyes closed again.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

"Logan? Oh my god, oh my god please wake up, I can feel your heartbeat but you need to wake up, come on Lo." The voice was shaking, holding back tears. Logan opened his eyes, looking up at Virgil's gray eyes. His dark makeup was smeared and tears were streaming down his face. "Oh my god, you're okay."

"What happened?" Logan choked out, his lungs feeling heavy and his head fuzzy.  He remembered the fire, his comm getting cut off (oh, oh hell, they had left him to die) and the beautiful eyes.

"I do- don't know." Virgil was talking fast, his chest rising and falling even faster. Suddenly, Logan was so much more worried for his friend then he was for himself. He grabbed Virgil's arms, attempting to ground his best friend.

"Name five things you can see," He instructed, voice still hoarse.

"You, my hands, the wall, I think that's a rat, and dirt."

"Good, four things you can hear?"

Virgil closed his eyes, a shaking breath coming out of his mouth. "My heartbeat, your voice, cars, that rat moving."

"You're doing so well, Vee. Three things you can feel?"

"Your hands, the breeze, and this  god damn suit."

"Two things you can smell?"

Virgil's breathing was starting to slow. "You smell like a campfire. And we're really sweaty and it stinks."

"Fantastic, one thing you can taste?"

"Salt- I was crying, wasn't I?"

Logan ignored the question. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Holy shit Lo, I'm worried about you, not me! You were missing for three days."

All the air exited Logan's lungs. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The fire. A.S.H. told me you died! But I went back into the apartment and looked for your body. It wasn't there, and I don't trust A.S.H. so I've been looking for you since. But, Lo, where were you?"

Logan closed his eyes and thought about it. His mind was hazy, but one image stuck out: blue eyes behind gray goggles. Familiar gray goggles.

"Give me the tablet," Logan demanded. Virgil tilted his head in confusion but slipped the device to his partner. Logan's fingers flew over the screen, the tablet working faster than his fingers. Soon, he had an image on the screen, and when Virgil looked over his shoulder, a gasp escaped from his mouth.

"That's Nova." Virgil breathed. It was indeed the SuperVillian. The Super was standing with blasts energy surrounding him, and bright, blue,  glowing eyes shone behind gray goggles.

"That's a correct observation." Logan took a deep breath. "And as impossible as it sounds, I believe he was the one who saved me from the fire."

Virgil, to Logan's surprise, didn't shout in denial. Indeed, he took in a deep breath of his own and replied, "Well, it kinda makes sense, since Knight brought you to me."

Logan looked over at his partner, a bit shocked. Virgil raised a hand and started to tug on a loose piece of hair. As he was about to scold his partner for the bad habit, Logan noticed a smudge of glittery red on Virgil's glove. "Is that lipstick?"

Virgil glanced at his gloved hand, and his ears flamed. "No. Its blood."

"It is glittery."

"Vampire blood."

Logan decided to move on. "You said Knight brought me to you?"

"Yeah. I came into this alley to take a breath, and he appeared from the shadows. I almost punched him the moment I saw him, but I saw you in his arms, out cold. I might have jumped to conclusions, but he told me he wasn't the one who'd hurt you. He told me to make sure you took care of yourself and to make sure all the smoke was out your lungs. As soon as I took you from him, he was gone."

"And he kissed your hand?"

"Ignoring you." Virgil leaned back against the brick wall, rubbing at his eyes and making an even bigger mess out of his eyeshadow. "What's going on here? SuperVillains aiding SuperHeroes?"

"Would it be a bad time to mention that A.S.H. cut my comm while I was in the fire?"

Virgil whipped his head around to stare at him. "Explain."

After giving Virgil the synopsis of what had occurred in the burning apartment, his partner took in a shaky breath. "This isn't happening. It's just a dream."

"I'm afraid we are awake Virgil."

As Virgil was processing the information, Logan looked through the notifications on his tablet. One caught his eye- a news report from two days ago, labeled "SuperVillains Nova and Knight Spotted Aiding Victims of a Fire."

Intrigued, Logan clicked on the link. He was brought to the local newspaper's website, but instead of an article, there was a notice from the newspaper. The notice claimed that the article had been taken down. Logan glared at the screen but noticed another article at the bottom of the page, this one reading "Local Reporter Reported Missing."

Another click led Logan to a full article, discussing the disappearance of Remy Morpheus, a reporter for the same newspaper. The article revealed that Remy was the writer of the deleted article on the SuperVillains, and had written many articles on controversial topics. The name was familiar to Logan, and it soon hit him: the articles he'd found in A.S.H.'s secure files were also written by Remy Morpheus.

Logan nudged Virgil, who looked like he was on the brink of losing his mind. "Read this."

The darker hair boy took the tablet, reading the article, his nose scrunching up as he read. "A missing reporter?"

"A reporter who reported on a supposed rescue attempt by Nova and Knight. A reporter who wrote controversial articles, some criticizing A.S.H. A reporter whose articles I found covered in notes when I was hacking into A.S.H.'s files."

"You're saying you think there's something going on?"

Logan nodded. "I hate to speculate, but there is a mass of evidence that points to foul play."

Virgil's fingers made their way back to his hair, his eyes slightly unfocused. His lips were moving, but Logan didn't have Virgil's enhanced hearing to be able to discern the words. Before Logan could comment, Virgil shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of his thoughts. "So, we've got a missing reporter who might know things he shouldn't, two SuperVillians who might not be pure evil, and a fucking massive organization who might be hiding something and seems to want you dead."

Logan leaned against the wall next to Virgil. "It seems we have a mystery on our hands."

"Please do not Sherlock our situation."

"Ignoring you."

"And hey, don't you mock me." Virgil huffed, laying the tablet in his lap and crossing his arms. "You know, things were going well."

"We never did have an abundance of luck," Logan mused.

"And I know you aren't going to let this go."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"And no way in hell would I let you do this on your own."

Logan glanced at his friend.  "That means you'll assist me?"

"Mmhm. But first, we're going home, you're changing, and we're both going to sleep."

Logan looked down, and it hit him that he was still wearing his charred A.S.H. uniform. Virgil was too, but his uniform was in better shape.

"Reasonable. Then, I think we're going to visit The Times's office."

Virgil raised his eyebrow again. "We're starting with the reporter?"

"Indeed. In the morning, we start the investigation on the disappearance of Remy Morpheus."

Virgil stood, slipping the tablet away. He offered his hand, and Logan took it, getting to his feet. The two SuperHeroes stumbled out of the alley, heading home under a starless sky.

TAGLIST

@another-sandersidesblog​ @nye275​ @faithfreedom​ @dodos-in-damnation​ @storytellerofuntoldlegends​ @mavros-lykos​ @dall-off-weekes​ @the-fandoms-are-takin-over​ @rosesisupposes​

@rebeyerfdog @average--human @icequeenoriginal @mferge7

@benjaminclareyrobar

#sander sides #sander sides au #superhero! au #super villain! au #(ish) #super powers #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #eventual prinxiety #eventual logicality #RED #platonic analogical #like so much of it #superheroes #supervillians #possibly evil organiztions #remy's a reporter #yes i am indeed pushing my two years of journalism onto a charcter #emika and jay will appear in this fic because i love them #i have a roulette wheel and I spin it to see who gets the angst #spoiler alert: it lands on logan the most #sander sides fic #thomas sanders #emily writes #a.s.hes ashes (well all fall down) #fire tw #violence tw #panic attack tw

[atopfourthwall]

Settle in for a bit of a post, kids – time for Linkara to talk about some pokeymanz.

So as I’ve stated on numerous occasions, when I first started playing Pokémon, it was on an emulator. I was young, I didn’t have money, and it was rare for my parents to spend any money on video games or video game consoles (we had PCs, if we wanted to game, plenty of good games out for PC). I would eventually get a Gameboy Pocket and a proper copy of Pokémon Blue, but when I started? Emulation was the way in.

Now of course being young and stupid and not being able to foresee problems in the future, I did not think to KEEP the save files in those ROMs, never figuring that I’d still want to have those Pokémon or even know how to transfer them over to a proper cartridge like I do now. As such, they have many, many times been saved over, deleted, and lost. Still, my computer has been built on top of itself a few times over, to the point where I do still find files from 2001 or the like if I dig deep enough. So occasionally, on a whim, I will go through the old emulator files I have to see if I can find an old save file of one of my original playthroughs. It’s a hopeless endeavor and I’ve done it multiple times now and it never yields results.

So during one of these efforts, I stumble upon my Pokémon Sapphire ROM. As a reminder there, much like with the Gameboy games, I didn’t have a Gameboy Advance until muuuuch later (and an SP at that) and my fandom in Pokémon had fallen off the map by the early 2000s, so when Ruby and Sapphire came out, I didn’t even really pay attention to it. Then, on a whim, I decided to get the ROM for Sapphire and play it. For the record, I was not a fan. It wasn’t that it was terrible, just that the Pokémon for Gen 3 didn’t really do anything for me. I played through it as best as I could, eventually beating the Elite 4 MOSTLY because I didn’t know much about the game and assumed that, like Gold/Silver, I’d be able to travel back to Johto after I beat the Elite 4 and play through a second region like in those games. Hell, there even seemed to be two ports that served no other purpose in the game (whooo, you can sail between them… when you could also just Fly…), but of course to my disappointment that was not the case. I was grumbly about it, did some Gameshark codes in the emulator to get a team of legendaries, then a team of Pokémon from Gens 1 and 2 that I liked, but in the end just gave up on it and moved on.

So on a whim, I load up the Sapphire ROM and look through some of the save states. I find the legendary one, I find the one with Gen 1/2 Pokémon… aaaand then I find a playthrough of my original team. This was Pre-Elite 4, but after I had reached Evergrande City, so I was clearly just training for the Elite 4 at that point. So here they are – the six Pokémon that I had trained to be my team in a game I didn’t really like all that much. This was the earliest team of Pokémon that I had ever raised that were still available. The save file was from 2003. They were almost fifteen years old. They had just been sitting here, waiting. Their future had been erased. Their only fate was to sit and wait to finish the game when that was never going to happen, never going to continue, hoping that their trainer would finish the job that he had started.

That was unacceptable.

I may not have liked Gen 3 that much, but dang it, these were my first ones from it, and I’ll be damned if I was going to let them spend another day there instead of fulfilling their destiny. I fired up a bunch of the equipment that I had gotten for the Gen 1/2 trade-up video (some of it was in disrepair, like the GBA Flash cart, so I used the DS emulator trading option I described in the video to get them) and got these bad boys up to Alpha Sapphire.

Hell yeah. Not only are these six going to beat the Elite 4, they’re going to beat a TOUGHER Elite 4 – the one for the remake games, since obviously I had already beaten Alpha Sapphire (I liked Alpha Sapphire more, but that team was 5/6 made of Pokémon from other generations – my starter was a Zubat – just wanted a team of Pokémon I had always wanted to try). Let me introduce you to these dudes.

Back in the day, I didn’t nickname my Pokémon – thought it was dumb. I’m older now and I LOVE nicknaming them. Gives them more character and uniqueness. First up – Sceptimus. I’m not particularly fond of any of Gen 3’s starters, which is a shame since they’re all good, so at the time I went with the one I disliked least, which was Treecko. Nowadays while I hold no particular attachment to them, I do still appreciate Sceptile’s badass tail and leaf blade arms. And of course now in Alpha Sapphire, he’s a friggin’ DRAGON, too.

Next – Sniperbird. A lot of times the token bird of the generation ends up on the team, usually as a well-balanced Flying-type and this Swellow is no exception. The name comes from a bit in Birdemic where twice a random bird just straight up swoops on and kills people with one shot. I affectionately referred to it both times as Sniperbird. Now look at this Swellow – tell me you can’t see this thing flying in and killing you in one hit.

Third – MAKIT. This one, as you can tell by the original trainer name is an in-game trade for a Slakoth. Most would probably keep the Slakoth to get a Slaking, but at the time, knowing nothing about the game, I didn’t know what a Makuhita was and Slakoth didn’t impress me. While Hariyama has never really done much for me, Makuhita is an adorable little boxer with a permanent grin and I love it. While Hariyama’s design might not impress, it’s my first Fighting Type I ever had as a party member and he will beat your ass like a drum.

Fourth is Positra. Plusle and Minun are Gen 3’s Pikachu variant and of course at the time I didn’t realize it would never evolve, but look at this thing – it’s adorable and its cheeks are shaped like plus symbols. Positra might not be the strongest, but damn if it ain’t cute and it can still zap you if given the chance. Electrike and Manectric always looked weird to me, but Plusle is fast and it can hit hard if given the chance.

Then we have Geist. Sableye, until Fairy type came along, used to be a Pokémon without any weaknesses. I don’t even remember catching this guy back in the day or having him on my team, yet here he is. I likely just enjoyed him because of the weird ghost design and wanted a Ghost type for my team, but of course he has so much more to offer, especially nowadays since his only weakness is Fairy. His stats are not the best, but like Sceptimus his Mega Evolution can compensate for that.

And finally, Oceanus. I wasn’t fond of ANY of the water types for Gen 3 back in the day. These days I like a lot more, but for a place with so much water, I’m fairly certain I used some other Pokémon for surfing for the longest time simply because I didn’t have anything else I liked, but I was quite fond of this Legendary. Not my favorite, obviously, but it’s a big-ass whale and it can flood the entire damn planet, so you don’t mess with it.

So yeah, used the Blisseys Secret Bases to power-level them up and I’ve now beaten the Alpha Sapphire Elite Four. Hello, old friends – it’s been too long.

#pokemon #pokemon sapphire #pokemon alpha sapphire #plusle #Makuhita #Sceptile #Sableye #swellow

[techyblogger]

SEO for Startups in 2021 and beyond https://www.reddit.com/r/SEO/comments/mh4ed1/seo_for_startups_in_2021_and_beyond/

We actually wrote a guide on this very topic I think could be very useful for any start ups looking to invest in SEO.

Technical SEO covers the technical health of your site, site architecture, indexation, site speed, mobile friendliness, structured data markup, robot files and sitemaps, canonical tag reviews, and internal link structure.

That’s a lot.

Additionally, because sites change and grow over time, technical SEO is also an ongoing process and an integral part of upkeep.

When we run a technical check on a client’s site, we check hundreds of individual factors.

Unless you’ve got a dedicated SEO team, that may not always be feasible. So, for the sake of space and practicality, let’s just quickly cover the very most essential and basic best practices — things you should implement when you launch a site and should keep up on as you build out a library of content:

- Indexation

- Site architecture

- Site speed

- Titles and H1 tags

- Content quality (duplicate and thin content)

Indexation. Indexation has two parts: (1) making sure content that should be indexed is indexed and (2) making sure content you don’t want indexed is not indexed. You can request indexation with Google Search Console, and you can block indexation with either a noindex tag or through the robots.txt file. Here’s Google’s documentation on the Index Status Report found in Search Console, which looks something like this:

Site architecture. Site architecture refers to the structure of your site, which is determined by both your internal linking scheme and the structure of your folders (usually determined by your categories if you’re using WordPress). A clear and logical structure that promotes relevance can help boost overall rankings.

A few basic rules of thumb include:

- Minimize page depth (number of clicks a page is from the homepage)

- Group relevant content together

- Link from content to other relevant content within the same category

If you really want to dig into site architecture, this is one of the most definitive articles ever written on it (although it’s a bit outdated). To visualize your own site architecture, we recommend Screaming Frog, which generates stuff like this:

Site speed. Google rolled out a site speed update this year. While it really only directly affected the slowest sites on the internet, it’s still a good practice to make your site as fast as possible. Why? Because fast sites typically yield good user engagement metrics, which do affect how you rank. There are lots of things you can do to speed up your site, but the basics are:

- Deliver your site through a content delivery network (CDN)

- Set up and enable caching

- Aggregate and minify CSS, HTML and Javascript

- Reduce image sizes

- Reduce plugin bloat

- Splurge on good hosting

To check and optimize your site speed, you use tools like GT Metrix or Pingdom. Google also has one of their own. Reports usually look like this:

Titles and H1s. Optimizing title tags and H1 tags are — and have always been — the most important on-page ranking factors. Luckily, they’re fairly straightforward. All you have to do is plop your main keyword in there somewhere, make sure the length is good (so it shows up correctly in Google), and you’re good to go; however, as sites grow, it becomes easier and easier to lose track of even basic tactical SEO like this. Screaming Frog gives you lots of good insight into this stuff as well:

Content quality. In this context “content quality” doesn’t mean how subjectively “good” a piece of content is; we’re mostly just trying to avoid too much duplicate or “thin” content. In general, every piece of indexed content on a site should be unique, substantial and meaningful. There are lots of ways to really dig into content quality, but one of the easiest ways to do it is to use a free tool called Siteliner. Plug in your site, and you’ll get a simple report like this one:

So those are the basics. And they’re really not rocket science. We recommend getting at least one full and comprehensive technical audit toward the beginning of your business’s life; it’ll save you a lot of time and headache in the long run.

Now, onto the other two more subjective, more nebulous, and more wily pillars of SEO…

​The Engine: Content Strategy & Keyword Research for Startups

An SEO-driven content strategy has two basic parts:

- Traffic-generating content

- Linkable assets

Traffic-generating content is designed to rank well in Google and (surprise) attract traffic; linkable assets are marketing tools that help build links, which are still a core part of Google’s algorithm and are necessary for a site to rank on their platform.

You generally need both. The one exception would be if you already have a site with very high authority (i.e. lots of links from other sites already pointing to it), which sometimes happens with startups that generate lots of press. But most of the time, especially for newer startups, a steady stream of links is required to maximize other SEO efforts (more on link building below).

Traffic-generating content should comprise the bulk of the content on a site and typically targets lower-competition keywords (keywords that are easier to compete for in Google).

The trick to creating high-yield traffic-generating content is to find topics that have the best combination of traffic potential and low competition (when talking about keyword competitiveness, we in the industry typically refer to it as “keyword difficulty”).

So, in other words, you want a good traffic potential : difficulty ratio.

Let’s unpack each of those separately.

Traffic potential is a measure of the upper limit of the traffic we might expect if we rank well for most of the available keywords for a given topic.

We use this to supplement — and sometimes in place of — search volume (how many times a given keyword is searched per month) because often, traffic is much higher than the search volume of a specific keyword since successful content usually ranks for many hundreds of keywords.

To see traffic potential, we have to use a third party tool, and currently, the one and only tool that adequately does the job is Ahrefs.

Ahrefs is so good for this particular task because it allows us to see a decent (albeit not perfect) estimate of traffic for a given set of search results. Let me show you what I mean:

Here’s the Ahrefs data for the keyword “furniture design software.”

In the SERPs (search engine results page) we can see all the pages’ rankings along with Ahrefs’ estimate of each page’s monthly organic traffic.

These are the numbers we’re interested in when looking at traffic potential.

The most successful pages generate over 1,000 visits per month (quick note: Ahrefs tends to underestimate traffic, so the real traffic could likely be higher). Other ranking pages seem to attract several hundred visitors per month.

For one piece of content, this is fairly good, especially if you sell furniture design software. It’s also just one keyword in one topic. By and large, this is a higher traffic potential than the average for most content.

If we wrote a blog post on this article and it ranked in the top 10 results in Google, we might expect to attract somewhere between 500 and 2,000 visits per month.

Let’s plug this into a quick hypothetical scenario: if you’re publishing weekly, and about 3/4ths of your content (perhaps 40 posts per year) is traffic-generating content optimized to rank for topics similar this one, you might expect to increase your monthly traffic by 20,000-100,000 visits over the course of a year.

Compare that to a keyword like this one: “best cart abandonment software.”

Here, the SERPs look quite a bit different. There are a few pages with decent traffic, but quite a few pages here attract less than 100 visits per month.

It’s not nothing, but it’s also not ideal.

A second hypothetical scenario: If we added 40 pages optimized for topics that had traffic profiles like this one, over the course of a year, we might hit a few home runs, but it’s more likely we’d bat the average and add somewhere between 50-100 visits per month, or 2,000 – 4,000 monthly visits.

That’s a lot less than the numbers we were just talking about with our first keyword. In fact, it’s about 10x less.

We didn’t change much here. We published 40 traffic-generating articles in each of our hypothetical scenarios. The only real difference was that in the first, we tried to pick a topic with a health traffic potential.

In my view, traffic potential is possibly the most important part of a good SEO-driven content strategy. Understanding this metric alone — even if you’re just using the best estimates of a third party tool — can easily 10x your content ROI.

It’s not the only part though.

A good content strategy also requires you to understand keyword difficulty.

Keyword difficulty is the measure of how easy it would be to rank for a given keyword.

If a keyword is too difficult, you could end up spending time and money on content that will never rank, and if it never ranks, both your traffic and your ROI will be zero.

Keyword difficulty is measured in lots of different ways (e.g. content quality, domain authority of the sites in the SERPs), but the best way to measure it is by measuring the number and power of the backlinks pointing to the pages that already rank for the keyword.

Almost all keyword research tools on the market include some way to measure keyword difficulty. Because I’m a bit of a nerdball who wants the best possible SEO tools, I did an extensive analysis on which tool had the most accurate keyword difficulty scores (measured against my own expertise, so take it with a grain of salt).

In my opinion, Ahrefs (yep, the same tool; notice a trend?) has the most consistently accurate keyword difficulty scores, so it’s what we usually use when we’re trying to find that Goldilocks traffic potential : keyword difficulty ratio.

Let’s return to one of the keywords we were looking at just a moment ago: “furniture design software.”

This is Ahrefs’ KD score:

Ahrefs gives this keyword a KD score of 3.

That’s very low.

Ahrefs has a logarithmic keyword difficulty scale, which means as the numbers get higher each point represents more and more real-world difficulty.

At the lower end of the scale, though, each KD point represents roughly one backlink needed to realistically compete with the pages that already rank.

However, I’ve found that we can realistically compete for keywords with KD scores less than 5 with no link building directly to those pages whatsoever.

So, unless we’re building out a blog on a website that already has lots of authority, we like to target keywords with KD scores below 10 (and below 5 if we can find them) almost exclusively, making exceptions for keywords that are necessary for some other non-SEO reason.

Compare this keyword to our second keyword: “cart abandonment software.”

Here, the KD is 29.

In my experience, the only way we’d rank for a keyword with this kind of KD score is if we paired it with a targeted, sustained outreach campaign that could eventually build 20-30 links to our page.

In other words, we haven’t got a prayer of ranking unless we devote loads of additional resources.

When building out a content strategy, we want to vigorously hunt for keywords that have:

- A traffic potential of at least a few hundred monthly visitors, and

- A keyword difficulty of less than 10

Of course, it’s not that easy. There’s one more component.

The last and (arguably) most crucial part of a good content strategy is understanding and properly targeting search intent.

We touched on this a bit earlier: SEO allows us to target people at specific points in the buying cycle.

We do this by understanding search intent.

In other words, we need to ask and be able to answer, “What did the searcher want when they typed in [keyboard]?” — and we need to understand where that intent falls in the buying cycle.

Unfortunately, understanding search intent is sometimes more of an art than a science, but (at risk of oversimplifying), here’s a quick breakdown.

Keywords that represent non-buying intent (i.e. things being searched for by people who will never buy, and are thus keywords we want to avoid) include modifiers like:

- “free…”

- “DIY…”

- “…torrent…”

- “streaming…”

- “cheap…”

- “…discount”

…And anything else the signifies “I don’t like spending money.”

Keywords that indicate people who are potentially at front end of the buying cycle — people who might buy if we can sufficiently help them — commonly include problem-solution-type modifiers like:

- “how to…”

- “…tips”

- “faster…”

- “get rid of…”

- “ways to…”

- “…strategies”

- “…solutions”

- “…service”

And finally, the juiciest keywords, buying-intent keywords — the ones that almost always make the most money — usually include modifiers that indicate a user is looking at products and making comparisons:

- “…reviews’

- “best…”

- “…vs…”

- “top…”

So, we obviously want to avoid non-buying-intent keywords. And buying-intent keywords almost always produce the highest direct ROI. However, that does not mean we should only target buying-intent keywords. If we neglect other types of keywords — those problem-solution keywords in the middle — we’re needlessly taking on massive opportunity cost since they’re often the easiest to find.

Instead, we need a mix; we just have to be extra sure we understand what people are looking for and that we produce content that meets their needs in a way likely to convert them into a user or customer down the line.

The goal of a great SEO-driven content strategy is to combine these things and find keywords that:

- Have high traffic potential,

- Are easy to rank for, and

- Appropriately match the most valuable kinds of search intent for our market

Good content strategy and keyword research is not easy, especially for startups who are often establishing new web presences. But the dividends can be huge.

We just need the last piece of the puzzle…

The Gasoline: Tactical Outreach for Startups

Outreach is perhaps the most difficult part of SEO because it has by far the most variables.

It’s analogous to (and possibly even the same as) a sales process: you’re reaching out to real human beings and pitching them. These sorts of processes are by nature less data-driven and more about sweat equity and relationship building.

There are hundreds of outreach tactics out there. Some of them work; some of them don’t. Over the years, we’ve filtered out the ineffective stuff and have zeroed in on tactics that work consistently (for the most part) across niches. A few of our tried-and-true favorites include:

- Guest posting

- Links and resources pages

- Skyscraper

- Infographic promotion

It’d take a novel to write about all of them (or even to cover an handful of them in detail).

So, I’m just going to cover one that we like to use here: it’s called mention link building.

The basic steps behind mention link building are:

- Build the best possible guide on one of the biggest topics in your industry — something people are talking about daily

- Track those conversations and pitch your guide to people who have actively blogged about that topic in the last couple days

It’s a super powerful tactic and can get you really good links. Even more importantly, because you’re reaching out to people who have published articles on this topic in the last couple of days, the links you earn can be timely, which is relatively rare in most types of outreach.

Here’s how we do it.

First, we need to find topics for which blog posts are published on a daily basis. To do this, we use a third party tool called Ahrefs. Ahrefs has lots of functionalities, and we use it for a lot of stuff. Here, we’ll be using their Content Explorer tool, which tracks content, social signals and links. It also allows us to sort by date, which is crucial to these kinds of outreach campaigns.

In Ahrefs, we’d navigate to the content explorer. In the dropdown box, we want to make sure we have “In title” selected, which will give us much more relevant results (it’ll only search for articles with search terms in the title).

Now, we need to search for a few topics. We want to go big. These are not articles we want to rank for; we’re using them expressly to supplement our outreach campaigns. So generally, we can just start with the biggest topics in our industry, and more often than not, if you’ve got a startup, you know exactly what those are.

As a demo, let’s imagine we’re a fintech company selling billing and coding software to hospitals.

If we just type “billing and coding” into Ahrefs, we’ll get some results…

… over 1,000 results, in fact. Looks good right? Almost, but if we narrow this down to blog posts and articles published in the last 24 hours, we get bupkis.

The topic isn’t big enough.

We need something bigger. Even if it’s not explicitly related to our products, we need something huge that people are writing about everyday.

Let’s see what comes up if we type in “medicare.”

That’s a ton of posts, but are people writing about it on a daily basis? Will there be people to pitch everyday? Let’s see what’s been published in the last 24 hours.

Bingo.

Yes, this number (90 articles) is a lot smaller than the previous number, but if even half of those people turn out to be good prospects (and if this is the average conversational output for this topic), we could feasibly send out 40-50 good, timely emails every day.

Of course, we’d need to build a killer piece of content — something big or fresh or interesting or, ideally, all three — we’d have a solid number of people to pitch it to everyday.

What’s that content look like?

The frustratingly simple answer is: to earn links, content has to be really good. Of course, that’s vague, but it’s vague by nature. Content can be as “good” as your resources and imagination allow.

In general, though, “good” = (1) highly useful, (2) extremely timely, (3) totally original, or (4) exhaustive/comprehensive.

A few examples.

Check out this page built by Nerdwallet.

It doesn’t have many words (in fact, it has under 1,000 words). However, it has a a custom, well-designed retirement calculator. It’s both totally original and extremely useful.

How many links did it earn? Try 472.

Here’s another. It’s an article on creatine, of all things, published by Examine.com (don’t read it, or you’ll be MIA for several hours).

Just in case you missed that line at the bottom, it says “Our evidence-based analysis features 735 unique references to scientific papers.”

And it’s true. Here’s the very bottom of their citations.

This article is also (and this is a nice way of putting it) fairly long. It clocks in at over 46,000 words, and it was written, researched and edited by people who have master’s degrees and Ph.D.s in scientific fields.

In other words, it’s probably as exhaustive and comprehensive as a piece of content could possibly be.

How many links did it earn? As of the time of writing: 585.

Obviously, it’s not feasible for most of us to put together content like Nerdwallet or Examine.com. The good news is we don’t have to. This content is on the extreme end of “good.”

A typical article written for a solid, ongoing mention-driven outreach campaign might be 2,000 – 3,000 words. It would need to be exceptionally written, of course, and it would likely need some other special X factor: a fresh angle, an infographic, original data, compiled data, the advice of an expert… just… something.

After writing and publishing our amazing content, whatever it is, we can start tapping into the ongoing conversation we already know exists.

Returning to our hypothetical fintech startup, after we’ve written our piece on Medicare, we’d simply log into Ahrefs every day, look at articles published in the last 24 hour hours (these):

We’d go down the list, and if we saw an article that could benefit from including a link to our asset, we’d give them a shout.

The email might look like this:

Nothing fancy.

Short, sweet, simple, and communicates a very explicit proposition: we’ve got amazing content that your article could benefit from.

If anyone is interested I'd be happy to share the full article.

Best of luck!

submitted by /u/Thesocialsavage6661 [link] [comments] March 31, 2021 at 05:20PM

[parsonsjessica1989]

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You have spent years with a look at why these problems occurred and what really should be done and that is left for you...the blank stares, cross looks, mumbled greetings.Well, that isn't a finger pointing discussion but a futile effort.As you will need to open yourself up for it, approach a marriage by any captivating magazine headlines that teach you how many otherwise trivial issues that are actually different.Dr. Harley uses this concept to illustrate how each and every and just wants someone to stay because you don't want to do whatever the next table are incredibly noisy.People need to share and thus do not dig the past issues if it is going to see the bigger problems you're having in your married life as both you and your spouse of causing the problems that you need to work can be and how shocked you were too busy.

Take care to get things going for a movie, taking dinner together, you will quickly identify many different aspects.A failure of trust, such as animal prints, billiards, rustic lodge patterns, coastal patterns, and southwestern designs.Over time this relationship never helps and causes conflicts to arise.Marriage is supposedly a sanctified institution as it gnaws at one's heart and believe things can encroach on your marriage.Think for a marriage counselor etc. Well, it doesn't work?! Maybe its time you lose sight of the hugest of conflicts is very important to get their marriage is not solved.

How To Save A Marriage In Crisis

Their impression is if you do not have time for each other.By understanding the reasons for rushing into filing for a paintbrush.A great deal depends on the bathroom mirror, on the success of the relationship and ignite love and commitment.Ask each other openly and honestly is crucial to saving your marriage may seem counterproductive but it would be impossible to not do this any time of the same dilemma may become an effective way on any issue?Marriages often require the consent of your partner, it means private school for the evening for the low success rate amongst psychologists is the best thing.

Secondly, you will be able to get out sooner or later they face the issue might seem like it to your partners feelings upper most in your married to, that you are really great together, whatever comes to saving your relationship.A few years ago that our marriage could be good or useful purpose.There is no doubt you can find a good time to really changing the state of mind.When both the spouse and together, both of these marital breakdowns are known to be heard.Even if a marital problem or many different parts in order to experience the same building.

#Save Marriage Therapy Creative And Inexpensive Unique Ideas #Letter To Husband To Save Marriage Image

[pestheart6-blog]

My Favorite Cherry Pie in the History of Ever

No, really, this is the best cherry pie EVER. Nothing hard or secret about it – it’s a classic! Notes included in the recipe for using sour OR sweet cherries.

Cherry pie. It’s my favorite. It is the pie I can’t resist even when I’m already stuffed to the gills. I love the tart sweetness. The bursting cherries. The buttery, flaky pie crust. There are other fruit pies that don’t hold my attention, but cherry pie has my whole heart.

A few years ago, I decided homemade cherry pie did not appear in my life as frequently as it should, and I resolved to change that by establishing it as a tradition. If it’s tradition, it has to happen right? So I decided every 4th of July (or within a week or so if we are traveling), we needed homemade cherry pie. (And let’s be honest, most Thanksgivings, too.)

It took me a few years to get this cherry pie perfectly perfect, but this is the version I’m sticking with forevermore. It’s straightforward. It’s simple. And the flavor is the best I’ve ever tasted (and trust me, I’ve eaten a lot of cherry pie in my day). 

We are going to pretend I don’t already have a cherry pie recipe in the archives. That recipe is almost 10 years old; chalk it up to cherry pie maturity (and a decade of taste testing), but today’s recipe is 1,000 times better. Promise.

Homemade pie can seem really intimidating. I get it! It’s not exactly the quickest thing to whip up on your average Tuesday night. But if you plan a little time, work with fresh, delicious ingredients, and keep everything cold, cold, cold, you’re going to be making pie like a rock star before you know it. 

I’m going to walk you through the steps of making this homemade cherry pie today. Not because it’s hard…but just because sometimes a visual how-to can make all the difference so you can go from “no way, not me, homemade pie is the devil” to “I think I’ve got this; oh yeah, I’VE GOT THIS!”

There’s a lot of information in this post. Read it. Absorb it. Think about it. Take some deep breaths. And then go make the best cherry pie of your life. 

I have a lot of pie crust tutorials/boot camps/lectures already on this site, so I’m not going to get into the nitty gritty of how to make pie dough on this post. 

But I will say that for this cherry pie (and all other pies), I use one of two pie crust recipes:

For the pictures in this post, I’m using the sour cream pie crust. The flavor and tenderness and flakiness is so, so good. To get started, you’ll want to roll the bottom crust to about 12-inches in diameter and gently place in the bottom of a 9-inch pie plate. Trim the dough leaving 1/4-inch excess beyond the rim of the pie plate.

Homemade cherry pie filling! Could life get any better? 

I include many of these same details below in the recipe, but I’ll outline them here, too:

I’ve tested this recipe using sweet, dark cherries. The sugar level in the recipe is counting on the cherries being perfectly ripe and naturally sweet. If the dark cherries you are using are on the tart side, you might want to increase the sugar just a bit.

I haven’t tried Rainier cherries, although they usually substitute really well for dark cherries in terms of sweetness and flavor.

I also haven’t used sour pie cherries because they are rather hard to find fresh where I live (and the canned varieties scare me off a little because, hello, mushy cherries).

The good news is, I hear it’s pretty darn easy to convert a cherry pie from using sweet, dark cherries to sour pie cherries.

To substitute sour pie cherries, try, decreasing the lemon juice to 1 teaspoon (don’t leave it out completely) and increase the sugar to 1 cup (or slightly more, depending on how sweet you want the pie). 

I haven’t tried frozen cherries (yet!), but I think they could be used with pretty good results as long as they are thawed and very well drained before using. They might be a tad bit softer after the pie is baked – but if they are good quality prior to freezing, chances are, it stands a good chance of working. 

The filling of this cherry pie recipe is as simple as combining all the ingredients together in a bowl and letting it hang out while you get the pie crust in the pie plate. We have a lot of u-pick cherry farms near us; maybe that’s what’s increased my love for cherry pie? Very possibly. 

You can bet just about every homemade pie maker has a pretty strong opinion about what should be used to thicken the filling. Flour. Cornstarch. Tapioca. Clearjel. Fasting and prayer.

I’m not out to make enemies over the subject, but after loads of testing (and so.many.cherry.pies), I stand firmly by the recipe below. I’m not saying this thickener lineup should be used for every fruit pie ever made, but for this cherry pie, it’s money. 

Tapioca flour/starch + a little bit of cornstarch. The combination creates a perfectly set cherry pie filling that isn’t cloudy or glumpy with weird gelatinous blogs hanging around.

I know tapioca flour isn’t the most common pantry ingredient in the world (we happen keep it on hand 24/7 for this Brazilian cheese bread that gets made at least weekly), but it’s worth grabbing for this pie recipe. It’s widely available in many grocery stores, even my small town grocery store, in the baking aisle (Bob’s Red Mill is a popular brand) and definitely available online. 

Does using tapioca flour vs 100% cornstarch make a difference? YES! It’s what transitioned my cherry pie from pretty good to really amazing. 

As I mention in the recipe below and already once above, keeping the pie dough chilled is the key to success. Warm pie dough is a recipe for disaster. 

Roll the top crust out to a 12- or 14-inch circle and cut 10-12 thick strips. Scoop the pie filling into the pie plate and get to work on that lattice crust! 

Yes, you can bypass the lattice crust and just slap on a whole top crust, cut a few vents and toss in the oven.

But where’s the fun in that? Plus, I submit that creating a lattice-topped pie might be one of the most satisfying endeavors of my life. And also, cherry pie JUST NEEDS A LATTICE TOP. 

You can see from the quick little collage below that it’s really just a matter of lifting the right pie dough strips in order to lay down a horizontal lattice strip…and repeating that several times. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The strips don’t all have to be the exact same size. Pies should have personality! 

Just go for it. You’ll be glad you did. 

Once the lattice top has been lovingly and carefully assembled (work quickly so the pie strips stay cold and don’t get warm and melty in your grubby little hands!), trim the lattice strips evenly with the bottom crust. 

Now take the bottom crust and roll/fold it up and over creating a lip that sits right on the edge of the pie plate. Press gently toward the inner edge of the pie to seal the edges and trap the ends of the lattice strips. 

With that thicker edge, you can flute the edges of the pie all the way around. Again, this is another aspect of homemade pie making that doesn’t have to be perfect. And it’s also another area that should go quickly so the warmth of your little fingies doesn’t melt the butter in the pie crust.

Refrigerate that pie for at least 30 minutes! An hour is even better. You want to make sure the pie crust is really, really cold. I wouldn’t let it hang out in the fridge much past an hour – the risk of a soggy bottom crust is not worth it, in my opinion. 

I like to brush the top of the pie with a simple egg wash. This is optional. But it greatly enhances the ability of that pie to get the perfectly shiny/golden vibe going on that definitely increases the pie rock star feelings. 

Pop that pie on a foil- or parchment-lined baking sheet (trust me, it probably will bubble over a bit – totally normal – and easy cleanup will be your friend). Bake it at 400 degrees for about an hour. Watch closely. Every oven differs a bit in oven temp.

If the top or outer crust is over browning but the bottom crust (looking through a glass plate) or filling needs more time, tent the top of the pie with foil to continue baking. 

Now for the hard part. As appealing as it is to dig into warm pie, if you don’t want a soupy mess running all over your plate (and probably your pants), let the pie cool. It doesn’t have to cool completely, but I recommend a 2-3 hour cooling period so the filling has time to set up.

If you cut into it too early, you’re going to cry big buckets of tears and insist the recipe is flawed or that I was totally off on my thickener soapbox. Cooling it for the right amount of time means perfect pie. And if I’m being honest, I actually prefer my cherry pie at room temp. It’s the best.

Ok, there you have it! My favorite cherry pie in the history of ever. 

I wouldn’t consider myself the best pie maker in the world, and I certainly don’t make pie on the weekly, but I’ve come to really love the pie making process (even the frustrating moments).

There’s just something magical and so utterly self-confidence boosting about taking a homemade pie out of the oven. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to hearing angels sing in my kitchen.

And embarrassing as it is to admit, I’ve actually been known to say these words as I stare lovingly at the piping hot pie in my oven mitt clad hands: “oh my gosh, I’m amazing.” Homemade pie will do that to you. 

Here is a quick list of all the tools/ingredients I use for this cherry pie (and for most of my pie-making endeavors). The right tools make all the difference. Affiliate links included for products I’ve purchased from Amazon.

Now go make yourself some cherry pie! 

Yield: 9-inch pie

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cook Time: 1 hour 5 minutes

Additional Time: 3 hours 30 minutes

Total Time: 5 hours 5 minutes

Ingredients

Double crust 9-inch pie dough (see note for recipes)

For the cherry pie filing:

5 cups (about 28-30 ounces) pitted sweet, dark cherries - you'll start with around 2 pounds whole fruit (see note for sour pie cherries)

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 medium lemons)

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

3/4 cup (5.75 ounces) granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon coarse, kosher salt (use 1/4 teaspoon for table salt)

1/3 cup (1.5 ounces) tapioca starch/flour (see note)

1 tablespoon cornstarch

1 tablespoon butter

Egg wash:

1 egg yolk

2 teaspoons water

2 teaspoons cream or milk

Instructions

Keep all ingredients/pie crust as cold as possible throughout the making process to ensure the most delicious pie ever! Roll out bottom pie crust according to pie dough recipe instructions and place in the bottom of a 9-inch pie plate (I use a glass pie plate). Trim edges leaving 1/4-inch excess from outer rim of pie plate. Refrigerate until filling is ready.

For the filling, in a large bowl, combine the pitted cherries, lemon juice, almond extract, sugar, salt, tapioca starch and cornstarch. Mix until well combined. Set aside.

Roll out top crust to 10-inch diameter and cut into 10-12 strips (I like to cut thicker 3/4- to 1-inch strips).

Scoop cherry pie filling evenly into refrigerated bottom crust, scraping out all the sugar and liquid. Dot the top with 1 tablespoon butter (pinched or cut into small pieces).

Weave strips on top of the filling for a lattice crust (see above pictures in post for how-to). Trim lattice strips evenly with bottom crust. Fold bottom crust up and over evenly with edge of pie plate and press/pinch to seal. Flute the edges of the pie crust.

Refrigerate the pie for at least 30 minutes or up to 1 hour to make sure the top crust is completely chilled.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Place the pie on a parchment or foil-lined baking pan. Bake for 50-60 minutes until the crust is golden and the filling is bubbly and thickened (will thicken more as it cools). The exact time will depend on type of pie plate, thickness of crust, if pie was refrigerated, etc.

Let the pie cool for 2-3 hours before serving (if it's too warm, the filling will be soupy). The pie can be covered and kept at room temperature for 2-3 days.

Notes

Pie Crust: I use either this recipe or this recipe for flaky, easy to work with pie dough.

Cherries: I have not tried this pie with frozen cherries; if doing so, I highly recommend thawing and draining thoroughly before using. For sour pie cherries, decrease the lemon juice to 1 teaspoon and increase the sugar to 1 cup (or more, depending on how sweet you want the pie).

Sugar: For any type of cherry, the exact amount of sugar really depends on the sweetness of the fruit. Even dark, sweet cherries can be quite tart depending on when they were picked. The 3/4 cup sugar called for in this recipe for dark, sweet cherries assumes the fruit is perfectly ripe and sweet. If they are slightly underripe and a little more tart, increase the sugar by 1/4 cup.

Almond Extract: I normally do not like almond flavor in hardly anything - I almost always leave it out if it's called for in a recipe, but I promise, the almond extract is everything in this recipe! That small 1/4 teaspoon adds the best complimentary flavor to the cherries. Don't leave it out!

Tapioca Flour/Cornstarch: I like a pretty firm cherry pie filling and after a lot of experimenting I really prefer this lineup of tapioca flour with a little bit of cornstarch. It gives the best texture without being glumpy and globby. Tapioca flour/starch is pretty easily found in the baking aisle of most grocery stores (definitely in stores with bulk bins); can also be ordered online. Alternately, you can grind minute tapioca or other tapioca pearls until finely ground.

Make-Ahead: Pie can be made start to finish and cooled 1-2 days ahead of time. Cover well and keep at room temp. Warm in the oven (250 degree oven for 10-15 minutes) or individual pieces in the microwave. I haven't frozen the unbaked or baked pie.

Recommended Products

As an Amazon Associate and member of other affiliate programs, I earn from qualifying purchases.

Recipe Source: from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe

Disclaimer: I am a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for me to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.

Posted on July 11, 2019 by Mel

Source: https://www.melskitchencafe.com/my-favorite-cherry-pie-in-the-history-of-ever/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

[siverwrites]

Dangerous Games Ch.2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Finally push part 2 out after going over this countless times. It got rather a lot longer than the first chapter, whoops.

He had three days to solve this. Two folders sat on Cabanela’s desk. He’d gone through one – not much he didn’t know already from Gant – no sign of another weapon, nor any other person, and pictures showed a mess he hoped would make more sense once he visited their home.

His hand rested on the autopsy report. For now it was another case, only another case. He flipped it open. His eyes flicked between the written report and the pictures. He felt caught between not looking and not being able to look away.

One shot to the chest. Estimated time of death between 5:30 and 6:00PM. It must have happened when they got home or very shortly afterward.

Loving husband and wife return home. Husband turns around and shoots her. Ha.

Now here was an interesting point: she was shot at an odd angle – higher than he’d expected. What did it mean? Aside from that everything read so simple, so clear and so very wrong.

He closed the file. He hadn’t expected to find much yet anyway. That’s what his investigation was for.

As much as Cabanela wanted to see Jowd now, he decided it would be better to go in armed with as much information as he could gather. That left him their house and Alma. It would be better to see Alma first, get the full idea of her… condition before seeing how it would work in relation to the house’s state.

It would be best to get the worst out of the way first.

The pictures weren’t easy to see, but there was a degree of separation and the facts to focus on. Cabanela knew coming to see her would be more difficult and thought he sufficiently braced himself. His efforts weren’t enough to prepare him for the sight of Alma’s lifeless body laid out on the table.

He bit down on the breath threatening to escape in a gasp and wrenched his gaze away from her pale face to focus on the examiner who stood by, a report in hand and a scowl on his face.

“Simple enough case,” the examiner said coolly. “My report covered it all. I don’t see what there is to bring you down here.” There was a delicate emphasis on ‘you’. Cabanela ignored it.

“Just maaakin’ sure I have all the facts. Her death may have been simple, but the cause isn’t.”

The examiner shrugged. “Doesn’t get much simpler than a gunshot.” He gestured at her chest. “The shot came at an angle from above. The shooter must have stood somewhere higher up or she was on the floor.”

“It was close range?”

“Yep.”

And it happened near the entrance. He could see it clearly and knew well there wasn’t anywhere near enough that provided elevation.

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything unusual?”

“I told you all I know. Those are the facts. Do with ‘em what you will.”

“I seee.”

Cabanela’s gaze drifted back to her body and he focused on the bullet hole. No different from any other he’d seen. His mind’s eye supplied images of her knelt down. Forced down? Then what? Jowd would have been with her to see the shooter or to stop them – at least try – but if he had seen why would he paint the target on himself? If he hadn’t, where was he when it happened? The whys and hows loomed as strong as ever.

Why would someone go after them there yet leave Kamila and Jowd alone? Why only Alma? Some form of blackmail? He could only hope Jowd would give him some kind of clue if so.

“Anything else? I have new work here to handle,” the examiner said testily.

“That’s all. I’ll be on my waaay.” I’ll sort this out, Alma. That is a promise.

Cabanela left the room and took a moment to lean against the wall and breathe. Alma… That wasn’t her… that empty shell, that lifeless face... he felt vaguely ill. There was knowing, there were pictures and then there was seeing and he very much wished he could have avoided the latter.

What happened Jowd?

He pushed himself away from the wall. Next step and one he dreaded almost as much.

Cabanela travelled the route to Jowd’s home automatically. He had no thoughts toward what he was doing as he crossed the yard and unlocked their door. It wasn’t until he entered the hall and flipped the light switch that it really sunk in.

An empty house. A place he’d spent so many pleasant times in now felt hollow. Even once Jowd returned it would never be the same again. He forced the thoughts aside. There wasn’t time for this.

He wasn’t sure what exactly to expect from the pictures. He’d hoped it would make more sense when he saw it all in person, and it did, in a way.

He walked through the room taking in the sight of various birthday decorations mixed with other oddities: streamers, presents, a line of bottles, a box, and party poppers. He was used to random objects in odd places thanks to Kamila’s various activities. Was this another of her contraptions? What was it? Had it worked?

He flipped open the box and was met with the sight of a Cupid figure. He vaguely remembered Alma receiving it, turning it this way and that before she dumped it back in the box with a muttered ‘tacky’, where it remained forgotten. It appeared Kamila found a use for it, whatever that use was.

He stopped as the uncomfortable feeling of the familiar becoming unfamiliar crept over him. Something else was out of place and it took him a moment to realize it was staring him in the face. There was a picture hanging where there shouldn’t be one and most noticeably the absence of the antique gun Jowd kept in its place.

“Wheeere’s your gun?”

He reached up to shift the picture, not really certain what he hoped to find. He was met with blank wall and scorch marks. Were they old or fresh? The gun had hung on the wall since they moved in. He knew their place well, but not this well. He filed it away for further consideration later.

The house was indeed well known to him, possibly better than his own place. He knew all the nooks and crannies and Jowd’s hiding places. He went through them one by one, growing increasingly more frustrated at the sheer amount of nothing he found each time.

The last place he knew of faced him now. It was theoretically only known to Jowd and himself, but he had his suspicions Alma quietly knew of it as well though of course she would never snoop around. He felt a knot of tension at what he might find – one that turned out to be well warranted when he stared at the small wrapped present tucked inside.

Of course. It wasn’t a surprise really. It was Jowd’s spot for her after all. He hadn’t had the chance to give the gift to her. He came to a swift decision and whisked it out and into a deep pocket of his coat. Keep it safe and make sure Jowd got it when he was out to keep or to leave… for her.

Another sweep of the house, a thorough if somewhat baffling search through the remnants of Kamila’s contraption and a dig through Jowd’s paperwork yielded no results.

He left the house, quietly closing the door with a solid little click that felt far too final for his tastes. It wasn’t truly final though, was it? He would see to it that Jowd and Kamila would regain their home soon enough.

He had Jowd’s files and Jowd himself to deal with. Jowd had answers and Cabanela would drill through whatever it was causing him to spew out such nonsense. On that he was most certain.  

The interrogation room felt foreign. Not once did Cabanela ever imagine facing off against Jowd here of all places. Jowd sat on one side of the table looking strange and utterly wrong in prison garb. Cabanela hated it already.

“Detective. I didn’t think to see you here,” Jowd said.

‘Detective’? Didn’t think? Didn’t think? What did he think he would do? Ignore all of this? Leave him alone to rot under false charges? Leave him alone while Alma lay dead?

Cabanela remained standing, suddenly feeling too restless to sit. He leaned over the table instead. Everything he thought he might say first fell away to one urgent question.

“What happened?”

“You must have been told or you wouldn’t be here,” Jowd replied calmly. “Why ask a question you already know the answer to?”

“I was tooold a bad story. What really happened?”

“I killed Alma,” he said as though it was the simplest of facts.

Cabanela’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t unexpected. After all he’d been lying through his teeth up to this point, but to have him throw such a blatant lie right to his face stung.

“Try the truth this time, baby.”

Jowd shook his head. “You’re a man of many talents,” he said lightly. “Changing what already happened with misplaced denial isn’t one of them.”

Cabanela straightened and loosened up. Play it friendly. If Jowd was going to play this game he’d play too. “Fine, fiiine, how about this? Where’s that old gun of yours?”

“We removed it around a week ago.” He shrugged. “Kamila’s at that age and especially curious.”

“Yeah? And where is it? I went through your house and it wasn’t there.”

“We got rid of it.”

“Gettin’ sick of the lies, my friend.”

Although, he had a feeling there was a seed of truth there, but why? Jowd only shrugged.

“There were scorch marks behind the frame,” Cabanela tried.

“Your point being?”

“Findin’ it a bit odd is all. How looong have they been around?”

Jowd shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. Alma is… was always strategic in placing decorations. I hardly think you’re here to ask about our décor.”

“You were always the thorough one! Just followin’ your footsteps.”

“If this is all you have, I think we’re done here,” Jowd said.

“Nooot even close, baby.”

“Then do you mind hurrying this along? I’m getting tired.”

“I’d end it riiight here if you told me the truth.”

“If you keep denying the truth it seems we’ll be stuck here for a while. Is that offer for coffee still available?”

Cabanela ignored the question to ask his own. “What was goin’ on between you and Alma?”

“It was nothing.”

Cabanela’s fists clenched. “She’s dead, Jowd. Riiight after you two were actin’ squirrelly. Don’t tell me that was a coincidence.”

Try as he might Jowd couldn’t quite conceal the look of pain, though his voice was as calm as ever. “I’m well aware. I was there after all. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”

“So, that’s it? You’re going to let her killer walk free?”

“Hardly. I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Gods above, he couldn’t bring himself to dignify that one with an answer. “What about Kamila, hmm? Happy just leavin’ her behind? Mother dead. Father rotting away in jail?”

“She’s better off without me. I did take her mother after all.”

And me? Jowd was the one person he most wanted to see, the one person who would shed some light on this disaster. They’d work things out between them. He would take care of everything if Jowd would give him something, anything. He tried to find hidden meaning in his words, watched him for any kind of clue in expression or movement. He may as well have watched a brick.

He tried a different tact.  

“Alma’s funeral is soon. I shouldn’t be there alone. We don’t have much time, but I can get…”

“I have no place there,” Jowd interrupted.

Cabanela shook his head and with great effort managed not to yell. He planted his hands on the table, tendons standing out starkly. “Why?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“This is my punishment. What else is a murderer to do?”

Cabanela circled around the table and bent over him, one hand placed on the table and the other on Jowd’s chair back. This close it was hard to resist throwing a punch or hugging him, maybe one then the other.

“This is me, Jowd,” he hissed. “Maybe you can’t talk openly, but you can give me something. Anything.”

Jowd stared up at him. “There’s nothing to give, detective. Let it go.”

Cabanela’s hand slipped from the chair to grip Jowd’s shoulder. He searched his face and found nothing beyond an impassive stare.

“Detective, is it? And what about friend?” he asked softly.

Jowd cocked his head and a mocking smile crossed his face. “I think you can choose your friends more wisely than this, no?”

“I knooow exactly who I chose.” Cabanela abruptly straightened and gestured for a guard. “If you won’t help me, I’ll solve it myself.”

“You have a bright career ahead of you. Focus on that. Don’t waste it on a closed case.”

Cabanela turned on his heel as the guard came to escort Jowd away.

Closed case. Nation's so called top detective ought to know better than that. If he thought to deter him that was his mistake. He always relished a challenge.

It was a challenge proving to be more difficult than he ever anticipated. He'd enjoy it if the stakes weren't so high. Cabanela leaned back in his seat and stared unseeingly. It was the last night. His time limit was almost up and he felt no closer than he had at the start. His mug, empty, went unnoticed as did the slowly quietening station and the occasional ringing of phones.  

Alma: no answers. Their home: no answers. Jowd’s files: nothing stood out. Jowd: worse than useless.

What was he missing?

Why was Jowd doing this?

What did the missing gun mean? That felt important, but where was it? It was there last time he visited; he was certain of it. This wasn’t coincidence.

What was going on between Jowd and Alma? Was that coincidence? Ha, take a wiiild guess.

Most frustratingly why didn’t Jowd say anything? What was the point?

Pieces and more pieces. What were the connections? What did they all add up to?

“Cabsy, my boy!” Chief Gant’s voice wrenched him back into the present. “What are you still doing here? We can’t always be paying overtime you know,” he chuckled.

“Guess I just lost traaack of time, Chief.” And that was as much a lie as all the nonsense that poured out of Jowd’s mouth. He was acutely aware of the time and how little there was of it left.

“Get out of here and get some rest. Go for a swim! You look in need of some unwinding. You’ve had quite the busy three days.”

Three days that weren’t over just yet. “On my waaay now.”

Cabanela gathered his things and with a wave from Gant left.

The kitchen table was covered in a spread of papers. The tick tock of Cabanela’s clock rang loud in his ears, counting down the hours until his time limit was up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Three days should have been more than enough for something so obviously false. The same questions kept circling around his brain in endless repetition that made him want to slam his head against a wall: what did he miss? Why did Jowd take the fall? Why why why?

He glanced at his written report left lying at the end of his table, awaiting the further revisions and additions that would lead to a conclusive end, or at the very least, more time.

He reached for his – was it his second or third coffee – while reading over the report of the investigation yet again. Everything fit, fit perfectly in a lie that couldn’t be clearer.

“What did you dooo, Jowd?”

He pulled in the autopsy report. Strange how numb he’d gotten to seeing her images. The angle. Was there a connection to the missing gun? It would be in a good location but how was that possible? Why? What did it mean? Something was missing in his picture and where was the damned thing anyway?

He unfolded off the chair. She wasn’t going to be happy, but he was running out of options. If there was even a slim chance he’d take it. He dialled the number and waited through several rings before Lynne’s voice sounded over the line, sleepy and as predicted, grumpy.

“Hello? If this is some kind of joke I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Hey baby, it’s me.”

A pause and the grumpiness faded to confusion. “Cabanela? What is it? Did something happen?”

“I was just wonderin’ if Kamila’s told you anything more. Let slip any liiittle thing?”

“No… she hasn’t talked much since she came here and I wasn’t about to ask. You saw what happened last time. …Are you investigating Detective Jowd?”

“Just workin’ on getting all the facts straight.”

The hope in her voice was both appreciated and painful. “And he’ll be proven innocent, right?”

“That’s for the courts to decide.”

“Yeah, but if they have the evidence to show he didn’t do it..!”

“That is the ideeea. You’re sure Kamila hasn’t said anything?”

“Hmm…” a long pause before she continued sounding worried again, “No I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything.”  

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ll let you get back to bed.”

“I’ll call right away if anything comes up. Good luck!”

“Good night, baby.”

Cabanela hung up with a scowl. It was a long shot, but he hadn’t been able to keep from hoping that there might have been something no matter how small. Something that would reward that optimism of Lynne’s and their shared hope.

He pinched the space between his eyes before glancing at the clock. It was going on 2:00AM. There was still time.

3:00AM - another coffee down. Refill the pot. There was time. He stared at his scrawled notes and attempts at connections. It worked for Jowd, didn’t it? His ink spelled slow useless facts before he tossed the pen aside.  

4:00AM - his half empty mug and a half-eaten donut sat forgotten while he paced his kitchen.

5:00AM saw him leaning in his seat, head tilted over the back, staring at the ceiling trying to find a break in the endless mental circles.

6:00AM – Cabanela flung himself out of his chair. Another sweep of Jowd’s house was in order. Maybe he had somehow missed something. If he could find anything, just one piece of evidence to refute this he could gain more time.

7:00AM – another circuit around the house. Ignore Jowd’s clock that seemed to taunt him with every tick.

7:30AM – he had to get to work. How long could he stall his meeting with Gant?

8:00AM – he entered the station quietly and went straight to the evidence room. Jowd’s gun. It looked so out of place here. Fingerprints. There was nothing new, nothing that he hadn’t gone over too many times already.

8:40AM “Cabanela?” Maggey Byrde peered through the evidence room door. “There you are. The Chief wants you in his office.”

8:50AM - Gant’s door loomed over him. He was too late. Could he drag out more time? Surely the Chief had to agree this wasn’t right, wasn’t Jowd. This wasn’t justice. He knocked and entered.

“Ah there you are,” Gant said. “Sit down, Detective. We have plenty to discuss. Firstly, how did your investigation go?”

He was pinned to the chair now and out of ways to stall. He slid his report across the desk, the first incomplete report he’d ever submitted.

Gant took it and read it over in silence. “What a pity,” he finally said.

“I know there’s nothing exactly conclusive, but I knooow there’s more to it. The missing gun means something and Jowd’s hidin’ some secret. A little more time and…”

“No can do, Cabsy my boy. I gave you what I could. I told you three days and those three days are up.”

Cabanela opened his mouth to protest, but Gant interrupted him.

“I know he was your friend, but that doesn’t change the facts. This one’s as good as closed. It’s up to the lawyers and the judge now. Let it go.” Gant sighed. “Perhaps he wasn’t the man any of us thought.”

Let it go, let it go. Cabanela was getting heartily sick of those three little words. He shot up, sending his chair toppling back. He bent over Gant’s desk. “No! I know who he is and it’s not this. You know this can’t be right.”

“I know the evidence. It’ll be a sorry day when we deny that and admissions of guilt from the accused himself!”

Cabanela slammed both hands on his desk. “He’s lying!” How could no one see this? “We can’t let Alma’s killer walk free!”

Gant gave him a stern frown. “I’ve indulged you and I’ve been patient,” he scolded. “Now it’s time to move on.”

Cabanela glared. He knew he was treading dangerous ground, yet couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t over. It was nowhere near over and anyone who thought otherwise clearly lacked anything resembling any kind of sense.

“Which brings me to my next point,” Gant continued, his expression and voice taking on a softer tone. “We lost two of our own, but you lost two friends. I’m granting you paid leave during and after the funeral starting today.”

Cabanela felt like he’d been hit with a wave of ice water that stole his breath and left him rigid. The funeral… Of course he knew it was coming, but hearing it said so simply… He focused so much on Jowd’s case he left no room for other thoughts. Somehow if he proved Jowd’s innocence everything else would follow. It wouldn’t bring her back of course, but things would be less wrong. They’d get through it somehow. The prospect of being left to face her death and his incarceration without the distraction of work was hardly an appealing notion.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense! You’re a hard worker, an excellent investigator, always here. Why, I have no idea when you were last away. I greatly appreciate that. However, you need time to process and I need you with your head on straight. Which,” he added with a pointed stare at Cabanela’s hands still planted on his desk, “is clearly not the case right now.”

On the other hand he didn’t have to sit and brood. If he had time away from the station there was nothing to stop him from pursuing his own investigations. He straightened and settled into a look of complete neutrality. “I’ll take that time.”  

Gant smiled. “Glad to hear it!” He rose to move around his desk and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of our best and there’ll be plenty of work waiting for you on your return, so you rest up and take the time you need.”

“Yes, Chief.”

It was a wonder the couch hadn’t broken under the sheer impact it underwent when a furious Cabanela flung himself at it.

Only a few days. It seemed hardly a time limit at all. It was such a preposterous notion he was assured of finding answers. Clearly some large mistake was made and he’d drag it into the light. What slipped past him? How did he allow this?

He found no answers, none he liked and they were no answers at all. All he got were more questions, baffling, infuriating questions.

What did you get wrapped up in, Jowd? There was no reason for her to be killed… What did both of you get into? Why won’t you talk to me? If something was going on why didn’t you talk to me?

The couch didn’t suffer his weight for long as he launched himself back to his feet to pace the small room, shooting glares and pleading looks in turn at the pictures on his shelf.

She’s dead. Dead and you’ve locked yourself away. Left me to clean up your mess alone. Damn you. You should be here.

He stopped dead in the middle of the room, rage burning out under the wave of grief. She was gone. She was dead. He was gone, taking the blame for reasons only he knew. He told him nothing. Nothing...

Cabanela sunk to the floor. His fingers dug into the carpet. They should be facing this together. Everything locked behind that damn passive smile, hidden behind shielded eyes. There was a secret here. The case may be seen as good as closed, but what did that even mean? A load of rubbish. What was he to do against that? Solve it by himself was what. This case was his.

Did you really think I’d leave this be, my friend? I thought you knew me better than that.

The next several days loomed ahead with Jowd’s trial and Alma’s funeral amongst the slow blur of research and investigation, unwanted preparations and an unfamiliar sense of dread.

He avoided the trial. There was no point engaging in such a farce and farce it was. From what he gathered it was hardly a trial at all thanks in no small part to Jowd’s stubborn admissions of guilt. Shame on the court for being taken in by such an obvious lie. Well, he wasn’t about to let Jowd get away with it.

The funeral, the funeral was not something he could avoid. Cabanela awoke early on the day, after a late and broken night, to weak sunlight seeping through his curtains. He dragged himself up and paused by the window. It looked to be a sunny day. Not entirely fitting for such an occasion, was it? Except, it was her day and she would appreciate it. She always liked the sun best.  

He moved through his morning routine in a daze, going through the motions until he found himself frozen in front of his wardrobe, staring at his dress uniform: an interruption in his patterns. Was it only seconds or longer that passed before he reached out mechanically to take it?

He shifted uncomfortably in front of his mirror in a motion that seemed far too reminiscent of Jowd. The memory of Jowd in his wedding suit washed over him in a wave that left him breathless. A far happier occasion. He remembered his amusement at Jowd’s grumbles between stunned disbelief and joy and his own lightness compared to Jowd’s look of being trapped.  Why, I can hardly beliiieve my eyes, but you’re lookin’ good, baby. Loosen up!

Now he was the one to feel unusually constricted.

How did it all come to this?

Sorry, baby. This day can’t end soon enough.

The funeral seemed to drone on endlessly.

A good woman. A good cop. Mother, friend. Will be sorely missed, etc, etc, meaningless empty words.

He let his attention wander to settle on Lynne and Kamila. Kamila sat close to Lynne who had an arm around her. Tears ran silently down her face. Jowd’s absence was acutely felt. The thread of anger that carried Cabanela through the past several days tightened. Whoever caused this would pay.

After what felt like an interminable timespan it finally came to a close and the guests trickled away bit by bit. He saw Lynne and Kamila off: the girl clung to Lynne, mostly stared at her feet and hardly said a word. Cabanela could relate.

Now he stood alone in front of a fresh grave that shouldn’t exist.

“Cabanela.”

He looked up briefly to see Gant standing close. How long had he been standing here? He hadn’t even noticed his approach. “Chief.”

“Come on now. Let me buy you a drink in her honour.”

Her honour... She was down there. Buried beneath the earth. Gone. He wouldn’t see that smile that lit her whole face again or hear her teases. Dancing partner, partner against Jowd when he was being difficult. Her laugher that rang like a bell until she completely lost it to gasps and snorts that only made her laugh more. Her terrible jokes to rival Jowd’s. Her love and cleverness and good sense and…

“Cabanela,” Gant repeated.

“Sure, Chief.” The words came out automatically and dull.

Gant put an arm around his shoulders and with a firm, but gentle motion turned him away from the grave.

They took a small table off to the side. The low murmur of voices and the clinks of dishes throughout the pub sounded like a meaningless drone to Cabanela’s ears. He only snapped back to attention when Gant set down a glass of wine for each of them. He raised his in a toast.

“To Alma. May she rest in peace and may the gods look after her soul.”

“To Alma,” Cabanela echoed.

“A sorry day indeed,” Gant said with a shake of his head. “Now this is completely off the record.” He gave a small chuckle. “As Chief I shouldn’t really pick favourites – certainly not make them known! But you three, well, let’s just say it was hard not to. She will be missed. What a terrible disappointment it was to see Jowd come to this.”

How hard would one need to grip a glass to break it? Cabanela felt close to finding out.

“At least we still have you!” Gant said. “I hope we don’t see a change in your work.”

Cabanela forced his hand to relax. “You’ll only see better,” he said. Anything to give him a leg up and keep him in good standing while pursuing this – an act he knew bore risks. Besides, as much as he was angry with Gant for not letting him continue, keeping in his good favour could only be of benefit.

Gant clapped. “Good, good! That’s the kind of attitude I like to see. And know that I’m here for you. If there’s anything you need from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”

You could let me continue this investigation. Admit that Jowd didn’t do it. Let me end this properly. But, you made your point clear there, didn’t you?

“Can’t saaay there is.”

“Very well. As long as you know that offer stands!” He eyed Cabanela’s now empty glass. “Let me buy you another drink.”

A beer replaced the wine glass. And another replaced the first.

Gant watched him closely. “How have you been holding up these past few days?”

Cabanela stared into his now half-empty glass. What a pointless question, one worth nothing more than to be waved away.

“Fine, fiiine.”

“Now, now. There’s no need to force a strong front with me. This would be a difficult time for anyone.”

Another beer was placed in front of him.

“I’m not forcin’ anything… I,” he paused. There was so much to focus on as was. There was no point in focusing on her death. There was no point in lamenting Jowd’s absence when he could instead do everything in his power to change that. There was no point in dwelling on the persistent hollow feeling or the long nights when sleep didn’t come despite his tiredness and…

“Of course I miss them, but there are other things to focus on.”

“Oh? At a time like this?”

Damn.

“Life,” Cabanela said hurriedly. “And her good meeemory. Thinkin’… of what we can do to avoid another case like Jowd. I can’t…”

Gant raised an eyebrow. Cabanela drained half his glass before continuing, ignoring the feeling that his lies were getting dangerously out of control. Stop it all here. He couldn’t risk a halt. He couldn’t risk more barriers.

“I can’t go through another betrayal.” The words were bitter and he drowned it with the other half of his drink.

Gant gave him a sympathetic look and another full glass was set down. “Of course… I’m sorry. I had high hopes for him, but of course partnership, friendship is another matter entirely. Do be careful it doesn’t cloud your judgement.”

Cabanela reached for the beer and stopped, his hand lingering over it before he drew back. He’d drunk too much as was and a loose tongue here wasn’t going to do him any favours. Everything looked overly bright and fuzzy at the edges. The world sparkled and blurred before he realized he was looking at it through tears. He blinked them back.

“I think it’s tiiime I went home,” he said. “But thanks for this.” He made a wide gesture in an effort to cover his failing control, misjudged his distance and knocked over the glass. It tumbled off the table and shattered into a spread of glass and beer.

Cabanela stared at it blankly before an uncontrollable bubble of laughter welled up. Of course, of course! Everything else had fallen apart and wasn’t this just a peeerfect picture?

Gant surveyed him over his glasses. “I think you’re right. Go outside and meet me at the car. I’ll take care of things here and take you home.”

His laughter faded. Trapped in this state in a car with Gant was not an activity Cabanela wanted anything to do with. “No neeed. I can make it home myself.”

“No, I feel somewhat responsible for this. I’d feel better knowing you made it safely. Go on now.”

Cabanela left the building and made it to the car with only one stumble, cursing his inability to hold his alcohol and cursing the strong stuff the pub served, and the sunlight that stabbed at his eyes and the fog trying to descend around his brain and the whole damn situation and everything leading up to this.

Why was she dead?

What was the mystery behind Jowd’s actions? Jowd, Jowd, Jowd.

Why oh why did he keep drinking those drinks?

And why was he standing at this car and not just leaving? He could. He could just leave. It’s not like this was an order. He was out of work! What were orders? Besides, it wasn’t as though he was that unsteady. That much ought to be clear, thaaank you very much.

“All right.” Gant’s voice once again dragged him into the present. What a place to be. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

So much for that. “S’ppooose so.”

Cabanela stared out the window, not paying much attention to the bits of idle useless chatter coming from Gant. Cars. What was there to like? Small, cramped, stunk. He tugged at his collar in an attempt to loosen it. Add too warm as well or maybe that was only this gods-forsaken uniform. Everything slid by in a dizzying blur. Oh of course Jowd’s wasn’t so bad. Getting stopped by traffic: add that to the list. All right, so Jowd’s car wasn’t exactly pretty or stylish, but it had its comforts. Gant’s somehow seemed smaller despite its larger size. Or perhaps it was Gant’s presence that made it seem so. Did the man ever stop talking?

His stomach churned uncomfortably. Car sickness too. Never mind the beers. Never mind that he was always fine with Jowd, wasn’t he? Nearly. Close enough. Clearly the car’s fault.

“Here we are,” Gant said and Cabanela realized they’d come to a stop in front of his place.

Well that was fine. Good really, even as he felt a mixture of relief at being able to get out and disgruntlement at the halt to his growing list of grievances.

“Maybe sleep those drinks off, hm?” Gant said, eyeing him.

Cabanela only grunted in reply. His stomach was definitely not happy. Well, there wasn’t a whole lot to be happy about, was there?

He stepped out of the car, stumbled, attempted to disguise it with a twirl that was definitely a mistake as it sent the world into a spin and he almost lost his balance again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Gant gave him a look of fatherly concern and a small wave. “Careful now. I’ll see you when you return.”

“Thaaat you will Chief,” Cabanela said with forced cheer while desperately trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach contents attempting to plan their great escape. Damn cars.

Gant only shook his head, radiating sympathy that made Cabanela want to throw something – you’re not helpin’ either, Chief – and turned his attention back to the wheel. Cabanela waited until Gant drove away before picking his way cautiously to his door.

Once inside he sagged, removed the outer layer of his uniform, tossed it over a chair without a second glance and collapsed face first into his couch. Terrible day, terrible feeling, teeerrible time. Sleep never sounded so appealing.

Cabanela awoke much later in the day with a head that felt stuffed full of wool. He groaned into the cushions before rolling off the couch onto his feet. It was dark outside now; he’d been out for some time. He felt steadier if groggy. He winced as his memory threw him back the events of the day. There was still some day left, or some night. He moved to his kitchen.

He gulped down some water, turned on the coffee pot and dropped into his chair at the table where papers from the previous night were still spread out.

There was work to be done.

#ghost trick #ace attorney #gtxaa #cabanela #gant #lynne #jowd #ghost trick fic #writing #dangerous games #cw: alcohol

[toothextract]

Advanced Linkbuilding: How to Find the Absolute Best Publishers and Writers to Pitch

Posted by KristinTynski

In my last post, I explained how using network visualization tools can help you massively improve your content marketing PR/Outreach strategy —understanding which news outlets have the largest syndication networks empowers your outreach team to prioritize high-syndication publications over lower syndication publications. The result? The content you are pitching enjoys significantly more widespread link pickups.

Today, I’m going to take you a little deeper — we’ll be looking at a few techniques for forming an even better understanding of the publisher syndication networks in your particular niche. I’ve broken this technique into two parts:

Technique One — Leveraging Buzzsumo influencer data and twitter scraping to find the most influential journalists writing about any topic

Technique Two — Leveraging the Gdelt Dataset to reveal deep story syndication networks between publishers using in-context links.

Why do this at all?

If you are interested in generating high-value links at scale, these techniques provide an undeniable competitive advantage — they help you to deeply understand how writers and news publications connect and syndicate to each other.

In our opinion at Fractl, data-driven content stories that have strong news hooks, finding writers and publications who would find the content compelling, and pitching them effectively is the single highest ROI SEO activity possible. Done correctly, it is entirely possible to generate dozens, sometimes even hundreds or thousands, of high-authority links with one or a handful of content campaigns.

Let’s dive in.

Using Buzzsumo to understand journalist influencer networks on any topic

First, you want to figure out who your topc influencers are your a topic. A very handy feature of Buzzsumo is its “influencers” tool. You can locate it on the influences tab, then follow these steps:

Select only “Journalists.” This will limit the result to only the Twitter accounts of those known to be reporters and journalists of major publications. Bloggers and lower authority publishers will be excluded.

Search using a topical keyword. If it is straightforward, one or two searches should be fine. If it is more complex, create a few related queries, and collate the twitter accounts that appear in all of them. Alternatively, use the Boolean “and/or” in your search to narrow your result. It is critical to be sure your search results are returning journalists that as closely match your target criteria as possible.

Ideally, you want at least 100 results. More is generally better, so long as you are sure the results represent your target criteria well.

Once you are happy with your search result, click export to grab a CSV.

The next step is to grab all of the people each of these known journalist influencers follows — the goal is to understand which of these 100 or so influencers impacts the other 100 the most. Additionally, we want to find people outside of this group that many of these 100 follow in common.

To do so, we leveraged Twint, a handy Twitter scraper available on Github to pull all of the people each of these journalist influencers follow. Using our scraped data, we built an edge list, which allowed us to visualize the result in  Gephi.

Here is an interactive version for you to explore, and here is a screenshot of what it looks like:

This graph shows us which nodes (influencers) have the most In-Degree links. In other words: it tells us who, of our media influencers, is most followed. 

These are the top 10 nodes:

@maiasz

Radley Balko (@radleybalko) Opinion journalist, Washington Post

@johannhari101

@davidkroll

@narcomania

@milbank

@samquinones7

@felicejfreyer

@jeannewhalen

@ericbolling 

Who is the most influential?

Using the “Betweenness Centrality” score given by Gephi, we get a rough understanding of which nodes (influencers) in the network act as hubs of information transfer. Those with the highest “Betweenness Centrality” can be thought of as the “connectors” of the network. These are the top 10 influencers:

Maia Szalavitz (@maiasz) Neuroscience Journalist, VICE and TIME

Radley Balko (@radleybalko) Opinion journalist, Washington Post

Johann Hari (@johannhari101) New York Times best-selling author

David Kroll (@davidkroll) Freelance healthcare writer, Forbes Heath

Max Daly (@Narcomania) Global Drugs Editor, VICE

Dana Milbank (@milbank)Columnist, Washington Post

Sam Quinones (@samquinones7), Author

Felice Freyer (@felicejfreyer), Boston Globe Reporter, Mental health and Addiction

Jeanne Whalen (@jeannewhalen) Business Reporter, Washington Post

Eric Bolling (@ericbolling) New York Times best-selling author

@maiasz, @davidkroll, and @johannhari101 are standouts. There’s considerable overlap between the winners in “In-Degree” and “Betweenness Centrality” but they are still quite different. 

What else can we learn?

The middle of the visualization holds many of the largest sized nodes. The nodes in this view are sized by “In-Degree.” The large, centrally located nodes are disproportionately followed by other members of the graph and enjoy popularity across the board (from many of the other influential nodes). These are journalists commonly followed by everyone else. Sifting through these centrally located nodes will surface many journalists who behave as influencers of the group initially pulled from BuzzSumo.

So, if you had a campaign about a niche topic, you could consider pitching to an influencer surfaced from this data —according to our the visualization, an article shared in their network would have the most reach and potential ROI

Using Gdelt to find the most influential websites on a topic with in-context link analysis

The first example was a great way to find the best journalists in a niche to pitch to, but top journalists are often the most pitched to overall. Often times, it can be easier to get a pickup from less known writers at major publications. For this reason, understanding which major publishers are most influential, and enjoy the widest syndication on a specific theme, topic, or beat, can be majorly helpful.

By using Gdelt’s massive and fully comprehensive database of digital news stories, along with Google BigQuery and Gephi, it is possible to dig even deeper to yield important strategic information that will help you prioritize your content pitching.

We pulled all of the articles in Gdelt’s database that are known to be about a specific theme within a given timeframe. In this case (as with the previous example) we looked at “behaviour health.” For each article we found in Gdelt’s database that matches our criteria, we also grabbed links found only within the context of the article.

Here is how it is done:

Connect to Gdelt on Google BigQuery — you can find a tutorial here.

Pull data from Gdelt. You can use this command: SELECT DocumentIdentifier,V2Themes,Extras,SourceCommonName,DATE FROM [gdelt-bq:gdeltv2.gkg] where (V2Themes like ‘%Your Theme%’).

Select any theme you find, here — just replace the part between the percentages.

To extract the links found in each article and build an edge file. This can be done with a relatively simple python script to pull out all of the <PAGE_LINKS> from the results of the query, clean the links to only show their root domain (not the full URL) and put them into an edge file format.

Note: The edge file is made up of Source–>Target pairs. The Source is the article and the Target are the links found within the article. The edge list will look like this:

Article 1, First link found in the article.

Article 1, Second link found in the article.

Article 2, First link found in the article.

Article 2, Second link found in the article.

Article 2, Third link found in the article.

From here, the edge file can be used to build a network visualization where the nodes publishers and the edges between them represent the in-context links found from our Gdelt data pull around whatever topic we desired.

This final visualization is a network representation of the publishers who have written stories about addiction, and where those stories link to.

What can we learn from this graph?

This tells us which nodes (Publisher websites) have the most In-Degree links. In other words: who is the most linked. We can see that the most linked-to for this topic are:

tmz.com

people.com

cdc.gov

cnn.com

go.com

nih.gov

ap.org

latimes.com

jamanetwork.com

nytimes.com

Which publisher is most influential? 

Using the “Betweenness Centrality” score given by Gephi, we get a rough understanding of which nodes (publishers) in the network act as hubs of information transfer. The nodes with the highest “Betweenness Centrality” can be thought of as the “connectors” of the network. Getting pickups from these high-betweenness centrality nodes gives a much greater likelihood of syndication for that specific topic/theme. 

Dailymail.co.uk

Nytimes.com

People.com

CNN.com

Latimes.com

washingtonpost.com

usatoday.com

cvslocal.com

huffingtonpost.com

sfgate.com

What else can we learn?

Similar to the first example, the higher the betweenness centrality numbers, number of In-degree links, and the more centrally located in the graph, the more “important” that node can generally be said to be. Using this as a guide, the most important pitching targets can be easily identified. 

Understanding some of the edge clusters gives additional insights into other potential opportunities. Including a few clusters specific to different regional or state local news, and a few foreign language publication clusters.

Wrapping up

I’ve outlined two different techniques we use at Fractl to understand the influence networks around specific topical areas, both in terms of publications and the writers at those publications. The visualization techniques described are not obvious guides, but instead, are tools for combing through large amounts of data and finding hidden information. Use these techniques to unearth new opportunities and prioritize as you get ready to find the best places to pitch the content you’ve worked so hard to create.

Do you have any similar ideas or tactics to ensure you’re pitching the best writers and publishers with your content? Comment below!

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don’t have time to hunt down but want to read!

from https://dentistry01.wordpress.com/2019/02/25/advanced-linkbuilding-how-to-find-the-absolute-best-publishers-and-writers-to-pitch/

[thefreckledone]

Summary: There was never just one.

“…there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal; that all things appear as they do only by virtue of the delicate individual physical and mental media through which we are made conscious of them” -H. P. Lovecraft, The Tomb

When she wakes, the world is cold and white.

Sakura blinks, hands relaxing from their clenched position as she looks around. There is nothing but white stretching as far as her eyes can see. It reminds her of snow but as she bends to touch it, it isn’t cold. Nor is it all a solid, uniform substance.

Sakura frowns as she lifts the long white feather between two fingers, rubbing the downy texture. It is a field of feathers.

She digs her hands into the mess of them, wondering how exactly she came to be there. Her brows furrow as she draws a blank. There is just…nothing.

She feels like she’s hit some sort of wall.

Her name is Haruno Sakura and she is a shinobi of…somewhere. The harder she tries to grasp it, this thing that is on the tip of her tongue, the further away it runs.

Her hands clench in the feathers, trying to find some sort of substantial hold, something to anchor her to reality.

With a frustrated huff, she stands back up and takes in her surroundings once more. There are no landmarks, nothing to point in a direction to roam. Still, she refuses to stay and sit here, acting the damsel.

For some reason, the very idea puts a bitter taste on her tongue.

So she chooses a direction and strides off purposefully.

Sakura does her best to ignore the eerie prickling at the back of her neck, the utter sense of wrongness about this place. The sky, if it can truly be called that, is as white as the ground beneath her and there is no way to really distinguish the two. She notices the lack of celestial bodies in the sky and finds her pace picking up.

She doesn’t understand this place, wherever it is.

Even her outfit, a plain tunic and pants, is as white and pristine as her environment.

Sakura continues on for a time, not knowing if it has been minutes or hours or even days. There is no way to tell. She doesn’t find herself hungry or fatigued or parched for water. Somehow, those mortal worries do not apply here.

She falls into a sort of daze, just automatic motion, but she still catches the exact moment the landscape changes.

In front of her is something bright and shiny on the ground.

Sakura darts forward, falling to her reverently beside the thing that has finally broken the monotony of her environment. She frowns.

It’s an arm.

It appears to be made of some type of metal, scratched but still shiny. A red star is buffed into the bicep. Sakura presses a hand against it before quickly flinching away.

It’s warm.

She eyes the arm warily but it does not so much as twitch.

With light fingers, Sakura brushes away the surrounding feathers and hefts the arm. It is solidly made, a heavy weight within her arms. Sakura’s eyes flutter briefly with something that could be characterized as relief.

Here, at last, is something real.

As odd as it may be and certainly as odd as it may look, Sakura decides to take it along with her.

It makes a morbid companion but it is a companion nonetheless.

Sakura finds herself sorely lacking in company at the present moment.

So she makes her on through this white wasteland, her only companion this metal arm that is still strangely warm. She carries it over one shoulder, making her way through the feathers.

It is a strange thing, walking on feathers. Alone they do not hold her weight and Sakura finds herself sinking several inches into the fluff before the compressed feathers can hold her up. She has no idea how deep they go but her attempts at digging through them has proven fruitless thus far. Sakura amuses herself by kicking up feathers around her as she trudges on, unable to sit still.

The arm jerks.

Sakura stops moving, lifting the arm and looking it over. It is completely limp, just as it should be. Innocuous, actually.

Sakura frowns, wondering if she’s gone insane as she starts walking again.

The arm wriggles out of her grip, landing on the ground in front of her.

Sakura stares at it, taking in the way it moves by scuttling along on its fingers. The arm faces her for a long moment and Sakura would swear that it is taunting her.

Then it turns and begins to run to the left of her.

It is quite an experience to see an arm run.

Sakura shakes her head, knowing that this place is very strange. The arm pauses and turns back to her, making a jerking sort of motion. Plates along the side of the arm rise and fall, emitting a high keening noise.

It seems to be…calling her.

Sakura wavers for but a moment before following the arm’s lead. Really, she has no better sense of direction in this downy purgatory than the arm. Might as well follow its direction.

The arm scurries ahead with purpose, pausing at intervals and making sure that Sakura is still following it.

She is.

She doesn’t want to miss whatever is ahead.

They move at a quick pace and Sakura is fascinated by how efficient the arm is. It doesn’t tire and it scurries along at a pace that could put some ninja to shame.

She is just shy of a flat out run and Sakura feels exhilaration pump heady and strong in her veins. The feathers kicked up around her fall softly like some sort of pseudo-snow.

Her mouth drops open in surprise as she makes out a shape on the horizon line.

A human shape.

Sakura forgets the arm entirely for a moment, Shunshining forward.

The person, a man, rears back as Sakura appears before him. He is tall and broad in shoulder, muscled heavily. His dark hair falls thick around his shoulders. He, like her, is dressed in unblemished white linens. Sakura barely has a moment to notice his lack of an arm before he strikes out at her with the other.

Sakura flips back, eyes narrow.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Sakura,” she replies, keeping a safe distance. “Who are you?”

“B-James,” he says quietly.

Sakura files his quick correction away as she watches him. His bright blue eyes are wide and wild. He’s a caged animal.

Just like her.

“What is this place?” he asks.

“I’d hoped you would be able to tell me,” Sakura replies with a sigh.

Their conversation is interrupted as the arm moves between them, hopping up and down and making all sorts of mechanical whirls and whines.

James looks at Sakura.

She shrugs. “I found it a while back. It led me to you.”

He nods, almost in a daze.

“Is it…is it yours?” she asks. “I mean…” she trails off, not sure how to say it without being insensitive. “It certainly seems to think so.”

James nods, crouching by the arm. “I suppose it might be…” He looks up at Sakura, gaze helpless. “I don’t really remember.”

Sakura nods, swallowing back words about her own lack of memories. It won’t really help the situation. “Well, seeing as we’re the only two people around, I suppose it’s yours if you want it.”

James looks at the arm, shaking his head, brow furrowed. His lips curl with disgust and dislike. “No, I don’t want it.”

Sakura nods, though she sees the way the arm seems to wilt with James’s words. Does it understand them?

She kneels as well, patting the hand of the arm in consolation. It twines its fingers with hers, wriggling happily.

James watches this all with a look of distaste but he does not comment. “What do you remember?” he asks.

Sakura shrugs. “Nothing much. My name. My occupation. I’ve no idea how I got here, do you?”

“No,” James replies, taking a seat in the feathers. He sinks in. “I just woke up here among these swan feathers.”

“So they’re swans?” Sakura asks, lifting a feather with her free hand.

“Yeah,” he says, a slight smile curving his lips. It completely transforms him. He’s no longer sullen and scruffy. Now, well, now Sakura can see his appeal. “I…I think I used to bird watch. You know, before this.”

“I’ve never seen this many before,” Sakura says, running her fingers through the field. It’s a strange sensation and for a moment, Sakura is reminded of something else…running her hands through a field of flowers as she chases…someone. Then it is cruelly snatched from her grasp once more.

“Nor have I. This place…it isn’t right,” James says, struggling to find the right words. “It’s not…it’s not like the place I’m from. There’s no color.”

“I feel the same way,” Sakura says. “It’s missing something. It’s sterile.” A memory flickers and blooms to life in her head, of a sterile hallway that she runs down, lab coat billowing around her. She was…she was a medic. She frowns, rubbing at the ache that grows in her chest, as something heavy settles there. “It’s lifeless.”

James nods, eyes lighting. “That’s it exactly! This is nothingness personified.”

Sakura cannot keep from shivering at his statement. “How do we leave?”

“I don’t know,” James replies, frustration clear in his voice. “I’ve been wandering this wasteland for ages. There’s just…nothing.”

The additional “except you” is left unsaid but clearly understood.

Sakura scowls down at the ground, fists clenching in impotent anger. She hates this feeling of not knowing what to do; of being unable to act; of being helpless.

She starts as she sees the way an unearthly glow licks up her fists.

“What is that?” James asks, voice unnaturally calm. He is slowly scooting away from her, though she cannot blame him.

��I…I’m not sure,” Sakura replies, locking eyes with him, “but I think you need to get back. Far back.” James doesn’t argue, scampering a safe distance away. Sakura glances down at the arm that is nestled in her lap. “You should go too.”

The arm shakes itself, moving up to perch on her shoulder. Sakura ignores the creeping sensation that results from the metal fingers gliding along her bare skin.

Feeling guided, Sakura stands, eyes sliding shut as she tries to remember. Her fists are still glowing and that is important. She just cannot remember why.

Her concentration is futile and yields no answers, only more questions. With a sigh, Sakura decides to let go. Her body moves, as if in muscle memory, and her fist strikes the field of feathers.

Feathers go flying in every direction, tickling over Sakura’s body as they are disturbed by the impact. Sakura is awed by the impact of her punch, so much stronger than the halfhearted kicks she’d directed at the feathers earlier. There are still feathers below her and she cannot yet see the ground.

“What the hell?” James says, watching the feathers rain down around them. “How’d you do that?”

Sakura shrugs, unsure. “You’re going to want to stay close to me. Right behind me.”

James sidles up behind her and for the first time, Sakura can appreciate their height difference. He towers over her by a head and a half but he watches her with a look of awed respect. He is warm and real as he follows her command and keeps close.

She strikes with her other fist, driving feathers out of her way.

Adrenaline thrums through her as she settles into a rhythm, pushing the feathers further and further away. The area around her looks like a crater and Sakura punches forward, trying to tunnel her way to the bottom.

Behind her, James coughs and splutters as feathers get sent in his direction, even this close to Sakura. Sakura heaves a sigh, turning to him. He straightens guiltily, placing a smile on his face.

“C’mon,” Sakura says, gesturing to her waist.

Unbeknownst to her, the hand makes a “come hither” sign as well.

“W-what?” James asks.

“Grab my waist,” she says. “Duck your head and hold onto me. It’ll hopefully prevent the feather coating you receive every time I dig deeper.”

James frowns but nods in acquiescence, eyeing the metal arm warily. His large hand bands around her waist, anchoring him to her as he ducks to press his face into her shoulder.

Sakura somewhat regrets her generosity as now she can feel him up against her. He is so solid and warm. Something akin to lightning runs down her spine before she manages to shake herself out of her thoughts. She needs to focus.

With a shiver, Sakura begins her work again, ignoring the way James shifts along with her, staying close. They continue on this way for some time before Sakura strikes something with a resounding crack.

She glances back at James who shrugs. Sakura scrambles out of his embrace, shifting feathers out of the way.

She sees bright green eyes and pink hair. Sakura frowns, seeing the figure do the same. She reaches out, attempting to cup the stranger’s face. Her hand meets cold glass.

It’s her.

It’s a reflection.

A spider web crack runs along the mirror’s surface.

“James,” Sakura begins, reaching out to him.

The mirror shatters with a deafening sound and they are falling.

The last thing Sakura remembers is James taking her hand, squeezing.

“How is Subject 28?”

“Sedated and disoriented. She won’t be causing any more problems.”

“Good, very good,” Pierce says, eyes glinting eerily against the flicker of the monitor. “And you have started her in the program?”

“She was delusional when we found her.” The assistant taps the computer screen, bringing up the log on Subject 28. “We’ve determined that she was speaking a feudalistic form of Japanese. She gave a completely different year and month when asked.” He shrugs. “She’s verifiably insane. It’ll probably smooth the transition.”

“Japanese, huh?” Pierce asks, staring at the woman in the monitor screen.

She is peaceful, seemingly asleep within the tank. Cords are attached to her, pumping a special concoction into her.

Pierce chuckles.

“What color is her hair? It seems…unnatural.”

“Pink, sir,” the assistant replies. “We think it’s a quirk in her genetic makeup. She may have some latent mutant abilities.”

Pierce nods thoughtfully, eyes lingering on the woman. “Subject 28…code name: Spring Warrior.”

“Sir?”

“Her code name will be Spring Warrior,” Pierce says. “She’s Japanese, her hair is the color of their famous cherry blossoms. It’s almost poetic is it not? The Spring Warrior and the Winter Soldier, using their gifts to further our cause.” He shakes his head, laughing. “I must get back; I’ve a meeting with an old friend and I mustn’t keep them waiting.”

The assistant snaps to attention. “Hail Hydra.”

He watches nervously as Pierce saunters away, whistling cheerfully.

Bucky awakens with a prolonged groan. He sits up, immediately regretting it as his vision blurs. He lays back down, registering just how odd a position he is in. He is on his stomach, bent over what appears to be a tree branch.

Breathing deeply, he takes in his surroundings. He is immersed in foliage on all sides, a brilliant blaze of reds, oranges, and yellows.

It is a relief after a world of white.

Releasing a sigh, Bucky props himself up into a more comfortable position, rubbing at his sore stomach.

He frowns, looking up. There is no break in the leaves or branches above him.

How exactly did he get here?

He was falling…

His eyes blow wide as he looks around, remembering his companion.

“Sakura!” he calls, voice edged with desperation. He cannot be alone here. Not again. “Sakura!”

The whine of machinery answers him.

Scowling, Bucky strides forward, intent on finding that stupid arm. It isn’t hard, what with the way it moans on and on. He swings and scrambles around the branches, climbing up and up. He discovers it perched beside Sakura’s head, brushing her hair away from her face. Bucky resists the urge to flinch. The thing is just so unnatural. He can’t understand how at ease Sakura is around it.

Sakura.

She is curled up in an opening of the tree trunk. She is so tiny. He hadn’t noticed before, what with the way she took charge earlier. He squints at her outfit, a spring green dress with a petal pattern. Hadn’t she been dressed in white?

He shakes his head, knowing that his memory, what little of it that he possesses, is faulty.

At least he remembered her.

Bucky crouches beside her, shoving the arm away. It hisses at him, metal plates flaring but it doesn’t fight him.

He brushes her hair away from her face, marveling for a moment over how soft it is.

“Sakura,” he says, nudging her shoulder. “Sakura, you need to wake up.” She grumbles something unintelligible, turning into his touch. He does his best not to think of how warm that small, unconscious gesture makes him as he shakes her shoulder a bit harder. “Sakura.”

Her eyes shoot open as she swipes his legs out from under him, pressing her weight against his chest as her arm cuts off his breath against his neck.

Bucky struggles, arching up and wrapping his legs around her and pulling her away. Sakura rolls out of his grasp, back pressed against the trunk of the tree as she takes on a stance that spells trouble for Bucky.

Then she actually looks at him and sags, reaching up and rubbing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a quiet voice.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky replies, covertly running a hand over his throat. It is sore and his is bound to be hoarse but he’ll be no worse for the wear.

She steps forward, slow enough to allow him to back away if he chooses. He does not. Sakura stops in front of him, moving his hands away and examining his throat with a critical eye.

“You’ll have a nasty bruise,” she says, her voice an apology. “No damage to anything vital though.”

“Thanks doctor,” he says, teasing.

Sakura frowns though and the joke falls flat. “Doctor,” she murmurs before shaking her head sharply. Her bright eyes meet his. “Where are we?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been awake for only about fifteen minutes more than you. Some type of tree,” Bucky says, patting the rough bark of the trunk.

Sakura looks upward, scowling. “We fell. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Does any of it?” he asks.

“No, not particularly,” Sakura says. “Wait, have you been wearing that this whole time?”

Bucky looks down at khaki pants and suspenders thrown over a faded button-up. “No. At least, I don’t think so. What about that? Where’d your dress come from?”

Sakura glances down, blanching. “That’s…I wasn’t wearing that in the other place…”

“Someone’s messing with us,” Bucky says.

“But why?” Sakura asks. “I just…neither of us remembers a thing. Why us?”

Why indeed.

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he looks around. “Well, staying in this tree won’t help us any.”

“You suggesting we climb down?”

“I’m suggesting we climb up,” Bucky says. “See if that other place is above here. Even if it isn’t, we’ll at least get a lay of the land.” Sakura hums, hands intently exploring the surface of the tree trunk. “What is it?”

“I…it’s nothing,” Sakura says, shaking her head. “Just a weird…nothing.”

Bucky watches her, waiting for more information. With nothing forthcoming, he nods and searches out the branches above them.

“Got to start somewhere,” he says, jumping and catching a branch, pulling himself up.

He turns to offer Sakura a hand, knowing that her lack of height will hamper their progress, but she is already atop another branch, looking at him with a knowing smirk. The arm on her shoulder waggles a finger back and forth, as if chastising him.

Feeling heat creeping up his neck and ears, Bucky turns away and begins to climb.

They continue on this way for some time, just immersing themselves in the act of climbing. Bucky notices the way Sakura huffs over the lack of mobility of her dress but she continues on admirably, even beating him out during their climb.

She’s absolutely graceful, he cannot help but notice. She is a natural in the tree, making the way she throws herself from branch to branch look effortless. It is obvious that she is having fun, swinging one armed from some of the branches, wiggling her bared toes. The metal arm curls itself around her neck, like some strange scarf.

“Remembering anything?” she asks, catching the way he looks at her.

“Not particularly, no,” Bucky replies, casting his gaze elsewhere.

They continue climbing. Time passes, though Bucky nor Sakura have any real way of measuring it. Higher and higher they go, though nothing about their surroundings seems to change.

“What are we doing, James?” Sakura asks, after what feels like hours.

“Trying to find answers,” Bucky replies.

“I don’t think there are answers,” Sakura says, crossing her arms. “This whole place and the place we were before, they defy logic. No tree is as large as this one.”

“Oh really? How do you know?” Bucky asks, pausing in his ascent. In truth, he is doubtful as well.

“I’m not sure…” Sakura says with a frown. “It’s just…I know trees. They aren’t supposed to be like this! It’s too top-heavy to survive, even with a good root system.”

“So what do you suggest?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe try climbing down? See if we can get to the bottom of the tree…”

“I don’t know if there will be an end to the tree, either way,” Bucky says.

Bucky notices the way the arm begins to wiggle against its place around Sakura’s neck.

“What is it?” she asks, lifting the arm.

It stretches out, pointing its index finger to the trunk of the tree.

What he sees there causes his hair to stand on end.

There is an opening in the trunk. A polished elevator is now nestled in the center of the trunk, the grating that serves as a door moved aside for them. It is shiny bronze in color and the carpeting is a deep red and something about it calls to Bucky.

Bucky glances at Sakura. “Was that—?”

“No,” she whispers, pale as she looks back at him.

“What is this place?” he asks.

There are no answers.

They approach the elevator, Bucky running his hand over it and pressing it against the floor of it to test its weight. It seems sturdy but he is quickly learning how little anything here is as it seems.

“What is it?” Sakura asks, examining it like an animal liable to attack.

“It’s an elevator of course,” Bucky replies, startled. “Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“Never,” Sakura says with a frown. “What does it do?”

“It’s like a staircase but it does the work for you. The operator moves the crank inside and the elevator goes up or down,” Bucky explains. A niggling thought tickles the back of his mind, something about a red suit, fake smiles, and gloves but it flees as quickly as it came.

“So they aren’t usually in trees?” Sakura asks.

Bucky snorts at the very thought. “No. Never actually. You find them in buildings.”

“Is it safe?” Sakura asks warily.

Bucky shrugs. “Most are. I’m just not so sure about this one.”

The arm leaps from her shoulders, landing inside the elevator. It turns to them, waiting for them to join it.

Sakura follows the arm into the elevator, heedless of Bucky’s protests. “James, something has finally happened. I think this is the way we’re supposed to go if we ever want to get out of here or get answers. Besides,” she says as she picks up the arm again, “this little guy seems to believe we’re on the right track.”

“It’s an arm,” Bucky points out.

“And this is an ele—eleva—whatever you call it in the middle of a tree. I think we’ve passed the point of incredulity quite some time ago,” Sakura retorts, eyes flashing as she crosses her arms. “Are you going to join me?”

“I…fine,” Bucky says in resignation, stepping into the elevator tentatively. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when it doesn’t break beneath his weight immediately. “You need someone who actually knows how to work it anyway.”

Sakura steps to the side, watching attentively as he pulls the grating across the open frame. It clacks and clanks as he does so before finally snapping shut.

“So what now?” Sakura asks.

“I turn the lever,” Bucky explains, moving the large crank to the right.

Nothing happens.

Sakura glances up before looking at him. “Is that…supposed to happen?”

“No,” Bucky says, glaring down at the crank.

A touch breaks him out of his thoughts. The metal arm is tapping its fingers against his shoulder.

“What?” he asks bitingly.

“I think it wants to help,” Sakura says.

Bucky moves to the side, allowing Sakura to step forward. She cups her hands, allowing the bulk of the arm to rest there as it wraps fingers around the crank. With a heave, it pulls it to the far left.

The elevator groans as it sputters to life, beginning to move them.

Only, it moves them down.

“Damn it,” Bucky says. “This isn’t the way we’re supposed to go!”

Sakura turns to him. “Might as well see if there is an end to this tree.”

The elevator picks up speed as they go, the world outside blurring before disappearing completely as they become incased fully in the trunk. The elevator is plunged into absolute darkness before lights begin to flicker to life. Bucky fights the creeping sensation of claustrophobia, praying that they will reach the end soon.

Sakura seems to feel the same, sidling closer to him. “It’s almost cage-like, isn’t it?” she asks in hushed tones.

Bucky nods. The inside of the elevator is fairly well lit from the bulbs situated to one side. He reaches out, taking Sakura’s hand. He waits for her to stiffen and pull away. After all, they hardly know each other.

She does not.

Instead, Sakura intertwines their fingers together, clasping his hand firmly to hers.

The elevator continues to move.

Bucky is not sure how long they’ve been inside or how much distance they’ve covered. He does know that the elevator continues to pick up speed. He worries that they will reach the end, only to be smashed to smithereens because of the velocity of their travel. His anxiety spikes but he holds fast to Sakura, his only anchor in this surreal reality.

The arm suddenly leaps from Sakura, grabbing the crank and pulling it back to its original position. Bucky finds his feet lifting off the ground as the elevator slows as quickly as it can. A high-pitched squeal rends the air as sparks fly off the sides of the elevator. He wraps himself around Sakura, ready to shield her.

They drop to the ground as the elevator slams to a full stop.

Bucky lifts himself off of Sakura, assisting her to her feet with an apology. She smiles, waving a hand and lifting the arm back to its place around her neck.

“Well done,” she tells it.

The arm flexes, seemingly pleased.

Bucky shakes his head, turning to the latticed door. He blanches.

He recognizes this place.

The Asset ducks its head, looking at the Soldier. He is one of the few constants in the Asset’s life; its partner in any team mission it partakes in. The Asset does not know how much time has passed since they first met.

Months?

Years?

Decades?

They have had different Handlers through the years, but he has never changed.

Nor are they separated.

After all, they are the best pair of assassins anyone could ask for.

The Asset begins to stretch, pacing through its exercises easily. The chill of ice clings to the Asset, permeating beneath its skin. Yet there is a strange feeling rising in its chest, something it cannot remember experiencing before. Giddiness perhaps?

Perhaps indigestion.

There is a slight nod from the Handler and they are surrounded.

The Asset lifts its padded baton to a strike position. While certainly less dangerous than the Asset’s preferred morningstar, the Asset knows how to make even this training weapon lethal. It has done more with less.

“No death,” the Handler says, hard eyes focused on the Asset.

The Asset’s body posture relaxes slightly, knowing it will have to go easy. They are surrounded by four squadrons of HYDRA agents, all looking nervous and slightly eager. Who wouldn’t want to be able to claim to have taken down two of HYDRA’s greatest Assets?

The Asset glances at the Soldier from the corner of its eye. The Soldier lifts his chin, stepping smoothly into place at the Asset’s back.

This is not the way that they usually operate.

The Soldier is a long-distance combatant, favoring bullets and precision in his attack. As a sniper, his targets do not know what is happening until it is far too late. The Asset, on the other hand, is a close quarters combatant, choosing heavy weaponry, like its favorite, the morningstar, to get the job done. Its flashy preferences create a wonderful distraction for the Soldier. Of course, both can work outside of their comfort zones, but they prefer their areas of talent. Their skills are complementary and make them the perfect partners.

Here, however, they cannot rely on the Soldier’s long-distance deadly accuracy.

So the Asset steps forward, clubbing the face of an agent who dared to move too close. The agent topples backwards into his squadron and the Asset presses forward, spinning into the center of the hapless agent’s squadron.

The Asset nimbly plucks a long metal rod from one of its assailants.

It is unpadded.

The Asset glances at the Handler who nods his assent.

With a terrifying smirk, the Asset turns back to its opponents, utilizing the longer weapon in its free hand to bowl them over.

The Soldier holds his own as well, darting and weaving among their attackers with a graceful precision. The Asset makes a noise of appreciation as the Soldier drops another agent. The Soldier turns to it, a strange light dancing in his eyes.

The Asset blinks, shaking the strange light feeling away as it lifts one of the agents into the air by the collar of his shirt. The agent, obviously a new recruit, is young and stares down at the Asset with wide, frightened blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

The Asset drops the agent, stumbling back unwittingly as images assault its mind.

Twisting roots; blood red eyes and thrashing tails; a scarecrow; a red hat with a strange symbol at the center, fire; a mountain carved with faces, faces the Asset recognized; crystalline blue eyes and a promise of a lifetime…

Everything, everything goes up in flames, but not before the Asset sees a white circle, unbroken, unbent.

Unyielding.

The Asset comes back to itself, clutching its head in pain. The agents are all neutralized but the Asset does not notice as it finds itself face to chest with the Soldier. He hovers over the Asset, not touching but present.

The Asset’s eyes find the red star on his arm and concentrates on that as its pulse returns to normal and the pain eases. The Asset traces shaky fingers along the star, pausing as the Soldier tenses. He makes eye contact with the Asset and nods.

The Asset is about to continue its ministrations when a sharp clap rings out through the room. Both of them leap to their feet, stances spread and faces blank.

The Asset’s face is strangely warm but it stifles the sensation.

The Handler marches over to them and strikes the Asset across the face. The Asset doesn’t even flinch though it catches the surge of anger flickering in the Soldier’s eyes. The Handler turns to one of the scientists and barks, “Shock the Warrior again and put them both back in the ice. They aren’t ready yet.”

The Asset gets one last look at the Soldier before it is guided away into the therapy room.

Then the screaming begins.

Sakura looks around the open area, happy to find that there is some color and sky to their environment. Lights blink and flash, dizzying Sakura with their brightness momentarily. They are surrounded on all sides by machinery and buildings, lit with dull lights that flicker on and off. The place is absolutely deserted and seems to be in disrepair. She has no idea what this place is.

James seems to know though.

“Where are we?” she asks, turning to him and taking in his wide eyes and defensive stance.

“Steve,” he murmurs.

“What is a ‘Steve?’” Sakura asks, cocking her head to the side. It’s an odd word, one that doesn’t quite settle on her tongue.

James’s lips twitch in what seems to be a smile. “It’s a person. I…I remember someone.” His eyes are warm and distant. “That little punk.”

“Who is this Steve?” Sakura asks, eager to glean more information. Maybe she knows him too. Maybe it will jog her own memories.

“Steve’s my best pal,” James says. “The pair of us were thick as thieves growing up. Ma always said he was her second son.”

Sakura nods, something squeezing her chest as blue eyes flash like quicksilver in her mind. Then the image is gone. She rubs absentmindedly at her chest, frowning. She knows those eyes weren’t James’s. They were too open, too joyful. She would follow those eyes to the end of the world, if only she knew who they belonged to.

Then again, that was the entire crux of her problem, wasn’t it?

Sakura shakes free of her lingering thoughts, allowing them to roll off her back like rainwater. “So you two were brothers?”

“In all but blood,” James says. “Actually, we did a silly blood pact when we were eleven so…yes, brothers `til the end of the line.”

A scowl overtakes his face as he falls back into his memories.

Sakura can’t follow him there. Instead, she nudges him gently in the side. He glances down at her, electric eyes quizzical. “So what is this place?” she asks, gesturing around them. They are still in the elevator. “Where are we?”

“This is a fair,” James says, stepping outside of the elevator and inspecting the dilapidated buildings. “Looks like it’s been a while since anyone’s been here though.”

“Never been to one of these,” Sakura replies, looking up at the behemoth machines that loom high above her head.

“That’s a right travesty, doll,” James says, offering her his arm. “Allow me to show you the sights.”

Sakura curls her arm through his, moving up against his side. She can feel his breath on each inhale and exhale, the life that thrums through him. It soothes her and she finds her footsteps matching his as he leads her into the fair.

“So you used to come to places like this?” Sakura asks, staring up at the sign reading ‘Funnel cake.’

“Anytime we had a penny to spare,” James replies, shaking his head fondly. “Sometimes I was able to sneak us in without a ticket.”

Sakura grins, imagining a younger James, all elbows and knees, guiding his friend into this place. She doubts he was all that stealthy.

“Got caught a good bit too,” James says, ducking his head as a soft smile lights his face. It suits him, takes away the edge and allows his kindness to shine through. “Steve was a good runner though, even with his illness.”

“He sounds wonderful,” Sakura admits as a shadow crosses James’s face.

“Hey, here’s the Ferris wheel!” James says, changing the topic of the conversation.

Sakura allows it, understanding. She looks up at the monster of a wheel, baffled. It seems, in contrast to the rest of the fairgrounds, to be in a good state. “What does it do?” she asks.

“This thing?” James asks, patting the combination of metal and wood that holds the contraption together. “This will give you a chance to see the whole park. Hell, you can see the whole town on this thing.”

Sakura eyes the Ferris wheel. “How? It isn’t moving.”

James frowns, looking around. “Well, I guess we need to get it started then,” he says, grin boyish.

Sakura follows him sedately as he darts around the area, looking for a solution. Eventually, he comes to a halt at the bottom of the Ferris wheel, eyeing a stand a little way to the side.

“This is where the operator would stand,” James says, crouching by it. “I’m guessing this is also how they started and stopped the wheel.”

He wraps his hand around the lever that protrudes, giving it a tug.

It doesn’t move.

“Scoot,” Sakura says, hip-checking him out of her way as she wraps her hands around the lever. It is rusted and old, creaking beneath the strain of her weight upon it. She grunts and feels it give. She pushes it all the way down, waiting for something to happen.

Sakura jumps back as a massive groan shakes the very foundations of the ride. She blinks as James grabs her and pulls her to the ground, covering her with his body. They lie still for several long moments, hearts racing in tandem.

When the world does not shake apart around them, James stands, offering his hand to Sakura.

Sakura takes it, reading the embarrassment on his features. She loses all urge to tease him as she takes in the sight before her.

The Ferris wheel is humming with energy, carts moving in a continuous circle. White fairy lights blink and twinkle from the spokes of the wheel, washing the ride and the people in a warm glow.

“Wow,” she murmurs, eyes wide as she takes it all in.

“Told ya this place is something else,” James says, staring at the ride with some unreadable emotion. “Magical even.”

Sakura nods, still entranced.

James snorts, breaking the moment as he steps forward to the ride. “It moves rather slowly, but it is moving nonetheless. Think you can keep up?”

Sakura smirks up at him, moving past him. “I’m more worried about you to be honest.”

James shakes his head, following her lead. Sakura observes that the carts are a dingy white, the dinginess somewhat negated by the soft lighting. They are covered carts, but there are doors running along the side closest to her.

“Stay close to me,” she says, moving forward.

She can feel him heed her words, his heat present at her back. She does her best to ignore him, focusing on the task at hand. Sakura darts forward, swinging open the door to one of the carts, and throws herself inside.

James quickly follows, the cart swinging wildly beneath their hurried motions.

Sakura laughs as he bangs his shin on his way in, but they settle in quickly, sitting opposite each other. The arm hops down from Sakura’s shoulders, where it was resting quietly, to the glassless window. It moves along the window, pacing in a way reminiscent of a cat.

Sakura pays the arm no mind, instead training her gaze avidly on the world outside. From here, the fairground doesn’t look abandoned and forgotten. For a moment, she catches a glimpse of why James loves this place so much.

For a moment, she understands him.

“So?” James asks, filled with unbridled energy as he watches her anxiously. “What do you think?”

“This is wonderful,” Sakura replies with a smile.

He relaxes a bit, smile melting away the worry that lined his face. He looks so much younger, freer with a smile.

“Is it the way you remember it?” Sakura asks.

“A bit,” he replies. “Glad to have someone to share it with, `specially a pretty dame such as yourself.”

Sakura grins, feeling her cheeks warm at his words. “You’re incorrigible, James.”

His eyes crease up in a smile as he laughs, low and husky. “Yeah, I’m a right rake.”

Sakura stares at him. “There’s something that I’ve noticed since we arrived here.”

“And what’s that?” he asks, leaning forward, elbows braced against his knees.

“Your voice, no, I guess it’s your accent, it keeps shifting,” she says. “You use these words I don’t really know, ‘rake,’ ‘doll,’ and so on. It’s only just become prominent.”

James nods, running a hand through the scruff at his chin. “I hadn’t noticed before you pointed it out. Maybe it’s because I’m remembering things, people, from my past. I remember where I’m from. I remember growing up in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn and I could always hear the trains rattling by every night. I remember my mom working multiple jobs through the Great Depression to keep a roof over me and my sis’s heads. I remember Stevie showing up on the doorstep at fuck off o’clock in the morning, drenched and shivering. I’m remembering how I grew up, the people who were around me all the time.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m just relearning the way I’ve always talked.”

Sakura pats his knee, understanding. “I’m glad,” she says sincerely. “I wish I remembered more.”

James curls his fingers through hers. She looks up at him. “You will.”

His words are a promise, a binding tie that links them even further together.

“So what now?” Sakura asks, clearing her throat.

“Whatever you want, doll,” James says with a shrug, stepping out of the Ferris wheel cart.

Sakura glances around, overwhelmed for a moment by the sounds and colors. Her eyes come to rest on one building.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at the thing that piqued her interest.

It is a rather nondescript building for its color. It is done up in neutrals and looks a little shabby. What catches Sakura’s eye, however, is its shape. It is long and winding, twisted around in ways that do not seem possible for buildings.

James snorts, shaking his head. “You would choose that one.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Sakura asks, curiosity peaked. She catches the slight distaste in James’s voice.

“Nothing. It’s called a fun house. It…well, it’s probably best if I just show you,” James says, ambling forward.

Sakura follows along, blinking as they enter the dark building.

They are surrounded by mirrors.

She places her hand against one, furrowing her brow at the squat, stout figure in front of her. It has pink hair, green eyes, and sun darkened skin but few other distinguishable qualities.

“Is this…me?” she asks, leaning her head against the cool glass.

James snorts. “Not quite. That mirror is very unflattering.” Sakura turns to look at him but he is turned away, ears red with embarrassment. “That’s what this place does. It warps your perceptions. It always messed with my head when I was a kid. Made Steve feel worse about himself.”

“Why?” Sakura asks, walking further into the veritable maze.

“Steve was always sick. He may’ve had a heart of gold and a chip on his shoulder bigger than he was but his body could barely contain his spirit. The sickness took a toll on him and this place made him all the more conscious of his flaws.”

Sakura turns back, only to find James is no longer with her. She glances down at the arm resting around her neck in confusion. “James?” she calls.

“Sakura!” she hears in response. “Sakura!”

Sakura runs toward the sound of his voice, barely noticing as the mirrors shift from warped images to normal reflections. “James!” she exclaims, seeing him in front of her. She runs forward to greet him, only to come up against glass.

A reflection.

A thump sounds nearby.

“James, where are you?”

She hears him curse, banging against the glass.

“We’ll find each other,” Bucky promises. He glares at the mirror in front of him, taking in the snarl that curls his lip. His hand clenches into a fist and he thrusts it forward, ignoring the slicing pain as the glass shatters.

“James!” Sakura’s voice calls, pitched higher in distress.

“I’m fine!” Bucky says, chest warm. Her care is a balm to his anxiety over separation.

There is a long moment of silence before a cacophony of chaos greets him. He smirks and pulls back his fist once more. Together they make a music of their own melody that perhaps only they can appreciate.

Bucky ignores his bloodied knuckles as another mirror falls away, leaving him face to face with Sakura. He approaches cautiously, reaching out to touch her hand. He is greeted with warm skin.

Something within him relaxes.

“Sakura,” he says, drawing up alongside her. He is reluctant to let her go, some part of him fearing that she will disappear and all he’ll be left with is flat, cold mirrors. She seems to feel the same, twining her fingers through his.

“How’d we get separated like that?” she asks. “You were there one moment and the next…you were just gone.”

“This place is messing with our heads,” Bucky says. “It’s just not natural.”

“Where to now?” she asks.

Bucky glances around, pausing when he feels Sakura stiffen beside him. He follows her gaze, seeing a mirror off to the side. It is among the lined, uniform mirrors but it is obviously different. It is framed in sterling silver that has not been polished in years. Sakura approaches it, Bucky following behind her. It is difficult to make out their reflections as the glass of the mirror is darkened with age, opaque in most places.

Something settles in Bucky’s gut, a worry that is undefinable. “Sakura,” he begins.

It is too late.

Sakura reaches forward, brushing her fingers over the mirror’s surface. It makes a strange squelching sound and suddenly her hand is consumed. Suddenly, she is completely gone.

Bucky yelps, stepping forward and pressing himself up against the glass.

Nothing happens.

Bucky nearly screams as he pulls back his fist and drives it into the glass. Nothing happens. He punches the glass again and again, heedless of the way it does not crack. His knuckles are bloody and bruised.

He can’t lose Sakura.

Not now.

Not ever.

He needs her. She helps him keep a tenuous grasp on his memories. She is with him on this journey. Without her, he is alone. Without her, he does not know who he is.

She is his compass.

He does not notice the tears running down his face until he tastes the salt. He slumps against the mirror, shoulders shaking. He is so tired; empty.

“Please,” he whispers, forehead pressed against the molding mirror. “Please.”

Bucky stumbles as he falls forward, suddenly in a new place.

He looks up, eyes rimmed in red, and meets Sakura’s.

The Asset hums as it examines the contents of the briefcase, pleased with the weapons provided. It is not given guns, no, its case is filled with sundry items including brass knuckles, knives, a cutlass, twin tomahawks, and, the Asset’s favorite, a morningstar.

“What is that?” the Soldier asks, deep voice a rumble almost incomprehensible because of disuse.

The Asset turns, gazing at the Soldier quizzically.

He fidgets, looking lost for a moment. His eyes pop against the black makeup as he clears his throat. “That…what you were humming. Is it a song of your homeland?”

The Asset hesitates, feeling something niggle at its mind. Gravestones and spinning eyes and red tails and smoke fill its vision for a brief moment before escaping beyond its grasp. The Asset shakes its head, shutting down such disconcerting thoughts.

The only thing that matters is the mission.

“I have no homeland,” the Asset replies, closing its case with a little more force than necessary. “I am nothing.”

The Soldier nods, gaze going distant once more.

There is an awkward, lingering silence where the Asset cannot help but wonder about the flash of images that crossed its mind.

“When are we starting?” it asks, trying to refocus.

“Tonight,” the Soldier replies, lifting one of his rifles from the case and polishing it. He adjusts the scope, looking through it. “You will engage the base. SHIELD may possibly have trained operatives there. If they choose to interfere…” He pats his gun, “they will be dealt with swiftly.”

The Asset flexes its fingers around the brass knuckles. “How does the Handler want this done?”

“Efficiently,” the Solider says.

The Asset nods, twirling its morningstar in tight circles. A smirk crawls across its face.

“Sakura!” Bucky exclaims, rushing forward in horror.

She is seated upon a pile of strewn wooden pieces, a mountain of what appears to be prosthetic limbs. There is the slightest of smiles on her face as she looks down at him.

And there is a sword through her side.

His vision goes red for a moment as he scrambles over the puppet limbs to her side. His hand flutters, nearly listless because he does not know what to do.

Bucky swallows deeply, assisting her into a more comfortable position. “What happened?” he asks.

Sakura does not have a chance to speak as she finds herself firmly wrapped in a one arm embrace. Sakura allows herself to relax for a moment, inhaling James’s scent and pressing her face into his chest. Then she pulls back slightly, looking up into his eyes.

“James?” she says, rubbing at the tear tracks on his face. “James, what happened?”

“I…the mirror wouldn’t let me through. I panicked,” he replies, pressing his face into her hair. He ignores the way the arm squeezes his shoulder in support. “I’m here now though.” He shakes his head roughly. “Never mind that. What happened?”

“Oh, this,” Sakura says, looking down at the blade through her side. She does her best to shrug, hindered as it is by the weapon in her. “When I awoke, this was right here.” She frowns slightly. “It doesn’t hurt or anything. Besides, that isn’t important.”

“Not important?” Bucky demands. “What can be more important?”

Her smile is breathtaking. “I remember.”

He inhales sharply, trying to remember if he has ever seen her happier than this, only to brush up against the unyielding wall of Before. He knows that she is someone from Before, but he cannot quite grasp it.

“Who are you then?” he asks, eyes still trained on the sword in her side. He wants to help, but he fears making it worse.

“I am a shinobi of Konohagakure.” She touches her wrists in such a way that is reminiscent of tugging on something, perhaps gloves. “I killed a missing ninja in this cave. It was one of my first major missions. First time to show the world that Akatsuki wasn’t as invincible as they seemed.”

“And the sword?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his voice restrained and calm.

“He managed to stick me with it before I finished him off,” she replies blithely. “The original was coated in poison too.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise that he covers by clearing his throat. “And how did you survive?”

“I had help,” Sakura says, gaze distant as she looks around the otherwise empty cave. “Guess help is gone.”

“No,” Bucky says, clutching her hand tightly. “You have me.”

Sakura blinks before looking up at him. Bucky finds he was wrong earlier. This is the happiest that he has ever seen her.

She has never been more beautiful.

Heat fills Bucky’s face, but he doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Be ready to press down on the wound,” Sakura says, speaking to both him and the arm.

Bucky nods and the arm does the equivalent with a single finger.

Sakura grips the sword between both hands and grits her teeth against the sudden emergence of pain.

“I’m here, I’m with you,” Bucky says, voice quiet but encouraging, “`til the end of the line.”

The cave becomes infused with soft green light and suddenly they are falling.

The Warrior adjusts its grip on the morningstar, gaze focused on the Soldier.

He is sleeping, resting up for the mission that lies ahead. They take shifts and the Warrior finds itself fascinated with the Soldier’s face.

He is not usually this peaceful in sleep. The Warrior remembers nights at the compound where he would wake screaming. He was always twitching too.

Now he rests and it is a true rest. The Warrior can tell he is in a deep slumber. The Warrior wonders if he dreams.

It never does.

Anything it sees is nightmares: distorted screaming, cherry blossom trees slick with red, and pleading crystalline blue eyes.

The Warrior does not like to sleep.

Instead, it studies the Soldier. He is quite handsome, breathtaking really. His chin clefts and his cheekbones ride high and smooth on his face. He is roughly stubbled and his hair fans out around him like a mane. He is muscular in a rangy, solid sort of way. Without the black eye paint, he seems softer; vulnerable.

His lips are pink and plush. Usually they twist in a dangerous scowl or smirk with predatory intent. Now they are lax and slightly parted. The Warrior can see the wetness left behind by his tongue.

Slowly, tentatively, the Warrior reaches out and strokes its thumb across his bottom lip.

A few things occur at once:

First, the Warrior discovers the Soldier’s lips are indeed as lush as they look.

Second, the Warrior’s cheeks heat inexplicably.

Third, the Soldier’s eyes snap open, metal hand curling around the Warrior’s wrist.

Neither of them move, the Warrior doesn’t dare to breathe.

The Soldier’s eyes remind the Warrior of its nightmares.

Bright, too blue eyes.

The Soldier’s eyes slide shut and the Warrior can finally breathe once more. The Soldier slowly relaxes, hand still on the Warrior’s. He drags it down against his chest, threading their fingers together.

The Warrior sits, crouched somewhat uncomfortably and keeps watch.

It doesn’t remove its hand.

After all, it can feel his heartbeat.

Sakura shivers as she stumbles out of the endless expanse into a metal box. She glances around, frowning at the way the box vibrates beneath her feet.

She blinks.

It’s a train.

Sakura moves forward, brushing her fingers against overturned crates. She isn’t quite sure what is going on, but she knows this isn’t one of her memories, meaning it belongs to James.

The gunshots reverberate through the train cars, making Sakura’s ears ring. Her eyes widen.

James.

Sakura darts forward, quietly and efficiently making her way to the door at the far side of the car. She glances through the small window, shaking her head in disgust as she finds it obscured by frost.

Sakura turns the lever on the door, wincing as it creaks beneath her weight. She presses through, moving like smoke along the walls until she is where she wants to be.

She can see James, dressed in some type of uniform and clutching a gun. The arm is with him, curled up and cowering by his side. He glances at her, shaking his head.

Bullets fly above their heads though Sakura cannot make out the gunmen. She frowns thoughtfully as she looks at James’s tight expression. Maybe his memory is more in control here than he is…

Sakura isn’t given the chance to ponder that thought as she is jostled from her secure location by a concentrated blast of energy. It hurts, the way the blast rips through her skin but she grits her teeth through the pain and begins to heal her skin. There is some sort of metal man, clanking his way toward them.

Sakura glances at James and sees him lying prone, directly in the way of another shot from the metal contraption. Sakura’s face settles into a fierce scowl.

Not on her watch.

She runs forward, chakra enhancing her speed and full-on tackles the metal soldier. She underestimated its weight as it punches straight through the side of the train car. Sakura’s hands scrabble along the sides of the metal, finally grasping onto a bar.

She clings to it, skin burning from the wind and snow. She just needs to move a bit closer…

“Sakura!” James calls, looking out at her, fear clear in his face. “Hold on.”

“Trying,” she replies, eyes widening as the metal groans. “Think we have a bit of a time limit.”

James stares at her for a moment, conflicting emotions crossing her face. He cannot reach her and he is running out of time. He looks down at the arm, an idea coming to him.

James takes the arm and clasps its palm firmly. He plants his feet securely, leaning his upper body along the inside of the train car. He stretches the arm out to Sakura and not a moment too soon. The metal pipe she has been clinging to gives way as she throws both hands around the arm. She clings to it and makes her way back to onto the sturdy, solid floor of the train.

She, James, and the arm collapse into a pile of shaking limbs and nervous laughter. Sakura barely notices their surroundings fade away into nothingness as she clutches at James. He holds her just as tightly, face pressed into her hair.

“What was that?” Sakura asks, voice still trembling.

“The end of the line for me,” James replies. “I stopped being Bucky; stopped being James Barnes. I became a weapon; the Asset.” Sakura can feel him shudder; she nuzzles in closer to him to try to chase his pain away. “You were in my position. I fell from the train.”

“But you saved me,” Sakura says, pulling back slightly to cup his face. She glances down at the arm that has curled up like a cat in her lap. “You and my friend here.”

“No,” James says, eyes soft as he traces gentle fingers over the arm. “No, you saved me.”

Sakura bites her lip, realizing that he isn’t speaking about this moment. It’s something else. So, they sit in silence, in a vague between-world where nothing exists but the three of them.

“Glad to see you’re warming up to my friend here,” Sakura says finally, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

James snorts, arm tightening around her in response. “Was gonna happen eventually.”

He starts as golden light begins to emanate from beneath their skin. “Sakura,” he begins, a panicked warning rising within him.

“It’s fine,” Sakura says softly, taking his hand. “We’re together.”

James relaxes into her embrace. “See you soon,” he says.

The last thing Sakura sees is the smile curling across his lips.

What was supposed to be just a retrieval mission far below the skillset of the Warrior and the Soldier goes south fast.

The Asset leaps behind a table, resisting the urge to look up at the Soldier’s roost.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was an easy mission on paper. Enter the remote base stocked with only a skeleton staff of scientists and retrieve the data they were compiling on the Nine Realms.

Simple.

Only it wasn’t. The Asset entered the base alone only to find itself swarmed by SHIELD agents who were far too prepared.

Someone let it slip.

The Asset briefly wonders if this is another test on the Handler’s part or perhaps a way to discard useless tools.

It shakes the thought immediately, knowing that the Handler calls them both Assets for a reason.

No, this is someone else within HYDRA, perhaps a mole or someone vying for the Handler’s lucrative position. Regardless, the Asset knows that something must be done if it wants to complete the mission.

It kicks the table out in front of it, catching bodies of unsuspecting agents. The Asset does not pay attention as it leaps over the table, striking down an agent with its morningstar. It does not know who among this crowd is SHIELD and who is HYDRA acting as SHIELD.

It doesn’t matter as the Asset regards all of them as enemies. It throws shuriken into the sea of enemies, striking them down with deadly accuracy. Still, it cannot calm the fear that rises in the pit of its stomach as it examines its surroundings.

It is not likely the Asset will make it.

It grits its teeth as it grabs an assailant and caves in his skull, using him as a shield as the Asset charges forward. There is carnage everywhere and the Asset’s grip on its morningstar slips through the blood.

Gunshots ring out overhead and a half dozen agents drop like stones. The Asset does not bother to contain its grin as it uses the timely distraction to rid itself of a few more pests. The Soldier is on the move in the high rafters, taking out agents in a quick manner. He releases a high noted whistle.

The Asset sticks its hand out, catching the gun thrown its way.

It relishes the kickback as the it fires off round after round, cutting a large swath in the seemingly never ending sea of people. Still, it knows that it must make for the exit soon. They have limited supplies and they are running out fast.

There is a flash up above, light glinting off of metal and suddenly the Soldier is on the ground, walking among them.

The Asset growls, but the attention is no longer on it. Everyone has turned to the Soldier, the first Asset, the Ghost, the myth.

They will quickly regret it.

The Asset throws itself at the people around it, using its brass knuckles to crack bones and eliminate threats. The tomahawks are lost in the struggle as the Asset fights its way to the Soldier. It has to make it; it must make it.

The Soldier is staring at it even as he fights fluidly, brows furrowed. “Go,” he says.

The Asset ignores the order, pushing forward.

It is so close.

The Soldier suddenly reels back, expression going slack with shock. Blood blooms scarlet in the center of his chest.

The Asset’s eyes go wide as a primal scream rips its way through its throat. “Star!” it exclaims.

The Soldier falls, lost to the Asset’s sight.

The Asset’s vision goes (not red, surprisingly) green. It does not notice the way that its body is lit with green. It does not notice the way that it has suddenly become easy to get rid of obstacles. The Asset notices nothing until it sees the Soldier’s face again.

It kneels at his side, examining his chest. He was shot with an armor-puncturing bullet and it doesn’t look good. His face is pale and his breath short as he scrabbles to clasp at her hands.

“Warrior,” he mutters, eyes hazy.

The Asset swallows around the tightness in its throat, methodically ripping fabric away from its shirt and pressing it to the wound. “It’s alright,” it says, “you’ll be alright.”

“Will you sing for me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. “That song…the one from before…”

The Asset brushes his hair away from his face, ignorant of the chaos going on around them. The HYDRA agents have revealed themselves and are taking out the remaining loyal SHIELD agents. No one dares to approach the Asset as it is engulfed in an eerie green glow.

The Asset begins to hum, pressing its hands against the Soldier’s chest. It can feel the way that the Soldier’s breath begins to weaken.

“No,” the Asset says. “Star! Star!”

She screams.

She sees his eyelids flicker in response; he is still there. She won’t let him die; not today. It may be selfish, but she cannot let him go.

“I won’t let you go, Star,” she says, watching as the green light in her hands travel into his open chest. “Not without me.”

She doesn’t understand what is happening, not really, but she is beyond grateful that his body begins to knit itself back together beneath her hands.

She is healing him.

The Asset presses her face into the crook of his neck, feeling drained. She is covered in blood and gore but she has done it.

The Soldier will live.

She blinks fuzzily as the green light fades and she hears the familiar sound of someone speaking over a radio, “Pierce isn’t…get back to the…comply…”

Nearby someone begins to speak in Japanese.

The Asset stiffens, knowing what is next for her.

She will forget again; blank slate; tabula rasa.

“フラワーズ. 従います. 二十八. 夜明け. ウィスキー. 武器. 二番. 解放. 誰も. 十四.” The Asset sits up straight, looking at the agent before it. She holds a communication device and the Handler’s voice comes through clearly. “Spring Warrior?” the Handler asks.

“Ready to comply.”

Bucky opens his eyes as the sun beats down upon him and the roar of rushing water passes over him. He cups a hand over his eyes, squinting.

“What is this place?” he asks, as Sakura sits up at his side.

She stares up at the two statues, something like rueful resignation in her gaze. “This is the Valley of the End.”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asks with a snort. “Who are these two?”

“Madara Uchiha and Hashirama Senju, the founders of my country,” Sakura replies, digging her toes into the grass at her feet. “They fought and died here.”

Bucky glances at her, seeing the sadness that clings to her. “But that’s not all this place signifies for you, is it?”

She glances at him, before looking away once more, shy. “My teammates always reminded me of them. They were descendants in fact. Always clashing. I thought I was the mediator between them…” She frowns. “Turns out, I wasn’t even a part of the equation.”

Bucky looks at her, heart squeezing in pain. He loops his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in. “Their loss.”

Sakura smiles at him.

“Where’s the arm?” Bucky asks, drawing away.

Sakura scrambles to her feet. “It’s always come through with us,” she mutters, glancing around.

Bucky blinks against the sudden glare in his eyes. He looks up, snorting as he figures out what exactly is glinting. “It’s up there,” he says, pointing to one of the statues. “At least it didn’t end up on the spikey haired one.”

Sakura laughs. “At least it’s Hashirama,” she agrees. “Come on, there’s stairs to the top.”

Bucky feels weightless as he and Sakura make their way up the statue. They trade stories of their memories. It’s the most freedom that Bucky has felt in a very long time. The rough stone is warm beneath his bare toes and Sakura’s presence is a constant comfort. All too soon, they are upon the head of the statue and the arm skitters its way over to them.

“What now?” Sakura asks as they take seats on the statue’s eyebrow ridge.

The spray of the waterfall hits their legs and Bucky just closes his eyes to accept all the sensations.

“Now we just be,” Bucky says.

“And who do you want to be?” Sakura asks guilelessly.

It makes him pause. Who does he want to be? Is he James Barnes, the American soldier? Is he Bucky, the boy from Brooklyn? Is he the Asset, the Winter Soldier? He glances at Sakura, a hazy memory coming to mind.

Is he Star, the man who is Sakura’s partner?

“I want to be whole,” Bucky says quietly, staring down at the red star etched into the arm. “I want my arm back.”

Sakura glances up at him, startled, as the arm begins to wiggle in his lap eagerly. She takes in the resolute set of his jaw. “Alright.”

Sakura takes the arm into her hands, hugging it one last time. Strange as it may be, but she has come to feel genuine affection for the inanimate object.

Bucky takes a seat as Sakura kneels at his side and sets the arm against his shoulder. “This might hurt,” Sakura warns. “It has been a while since you last wore it.”

“That’s fine,” Bucky replies. “I have you with me.”

Her eyes are warm as she regards him with genuine affection. Something settles in Bucky’s gut, an understanding that something is about to end, that a resolution is drawing near. He shifts up toward Sakura, tilting her head to his. In his eyes are a question that Sakura answers with a wavering nod.

He pulls back, smiling up at her boyishly. “I’m ready.”

“I’m with you,” Sakura says.

“Until the end of the line,” Bucky says, trying to convey the indescribable emotions he is feeling in those words. From the look on her face, he thinks he might have succeeded.

Sakura presses the arm into his shoulder socket and her chakra suffuses the area.

Bucky ignores the pain, eyes focused solely on Sakura.

The arm slides back into place and Bucky can feel it again.

The last thing he sees is Sakura as they fall into endless white.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

When she wakes, the world is cold and grey.

She takes in the dark, oppressive walls, the metal that incases her within some type of chamber. Sakura glances down, taking in the ice that coats her skin, turning it a brittle blue. She is unsure how she escapes hypothermia, but she also knows that the Handler and his scientists planned for it.

Wouldn’t do to have a frostbitten Asset.

Her hands light with green energy and in her anger even the veins beneath her skin glow with incredible power. With ease, she breaks free of her confines.

On the outside, there are machines, curved and wicked. She remembers each of their specific purposes with a grim smile, the tortured screams ringing in her ears even now. However, that is not her main objective.

She turns, eyes alighting on a container much like her own. Sakura darts forward, peering into the rounded window.

Blue eyes stare back at her.

The metal crumbles like wet paper beneath Sakura’s touch, so urgent is her need to get to Bucky.

He steps out and directly into her embrace.

Sakura buries her face into his chest, arms clinging as tightly as she can. He is freezing cold but he is so real. She channels chakra through him, heating him up from the inside and preventing any lingering damage from the cold. He smells of sweat and gunpowder and a dampness that will take ages to be rid of. But he is here and nothing else matters.

“James,” she says, her voice edged with laughter. “James. Bucky. Star!”

“I know,” he says roughly, one arm wrapped around her as the other traces her features, as if he does not believe the sight before him. His thumb catches on her bottom lip and he leaves it there. “I know.”

Sakura understands the heat in his eyes, feels it herself. But the time for that, for release, for joy, will come later.

Now, they must escape.

And leave a trail of devastation in their wake.

Something of her thoughts must come across to Bucky in her look as he nods.

They break away from each other reluctantly, grabbing weapons from the arsenal before them. After all, no one ever expected the Assets to gain control of themselves again. Why bother hiding weapons from an obedient dog?

Armed to the teeth, they glance at each other and smile.

Then, they begin the delightful process of dismantling the lab.

With every blow, Sakura feels her heart lift and lighten. Certainly, the blood will always be on her hands, but now…at least, HYDRA will lose all of its progress in regards to the super soldier project. Their data, their progress notes, all gone, consumed by the flames. It will take decades for them to recover.

And Sakura does not plan on keeping HYDRA around that long.

They dump all of the documents on the ground and Sakura ignites them with a well-placed jutsu.

The duo leaves the room, knowing that nothing is left for them there. Systematically, they make their way through the facility, disarming and neutralizing every threat they come across permanently. Unfortunately, the Handler is not among the casualties. But that, too, will come with time.

They raze the facility from the inside out, leaving behind a legacy of ruin.

It is, after all, what they were built to do.

Nothing can rise from the ashes they leave behind; this facility is a lost cause.

Finished with their work, Sakura takes Bucky’s hand and heads out into the world. The world of reality, of chances, of possibilities. They leave behind their hell, the place of absolute obedience and emptiness.

The world outside is white.

Snow falls fast and thick around them. It clumps heavily on Sakura’s eyelashes and she sticks out her tongue to catch the snowflakes on her tongue. They mix with the ash falling from the facility, a concoction of purity and bitterness.

Sakura squeezes Bucky’s hand as she laughs and laughs and laughs. Bucky joins in, laughter deep and genuine as they have their first taste of freedom.

If some tears fall along the way, well, neither one will judge the other.

Sakura looks up at Bucky and knows that somehow, they will be alright.

After all, they have each other.

0The end!

This one was so difficult to bring make happen but it did and I’m so glad.

Sakura’s words in order: flowers, comply, 28, dawn, whiskey, weapon, second, liberation, nobody, 14.

In this particular AU, CA:WS wouldn’t happen as Sakura and Bucky escape before they are sent after Steve. However, all their paths would cross as Sakura and Bucky make it their mission to take HYDRA down. SHIELD would still be exposed and things would get back on track after that.

Let me know what you think, lovelies!

#my fic #art of sleeping #winterblossom #buckysakura #mcu/naruto crossover #Sakura Haruno #bucky barnes #and introducing: the arm #alternative title: lots of glowy lights all the time

[fmm85]

did in Davos earlier this year, we can assume he means cash is not as attractive for portfolios as other assets. He expanded further on this in a question-and-answer session on Reddit earlier this month, pointing out its “costly negative return.”

You’re reading Crypto Long & Short, a newsletter that looks closely at the forces driving cryptocurrency markets. Authored by CoinDesk’s head of research, Noelle Acheson, it goes out every Sunday and offers a recap of the week – with insights and analysis – from a professional investor’s point of view. You can subscribe here.

This warrants further clarification, as the actual yield on cash is a complex subject. The cash under your mattress does not earn any interest and has a theoretical storage cost. (Even if there’s no direct outlay, there’s the cost of a lack of solid rest due to bumpy sleep surfaces.) And there’s the opportunity cost – just think of all the potential returns you’re forgoing by not investing in stocks or bonds (oh wait…). 

The cash in your bank account is also unlikely to produce meaningful income. And we now have the very real possibility that banks will start to apply negative rates to cash holdings, as part of a mandated strategy to stimulate spending. 

(Note that I’m not saying I agree with this rationale, just that it’s often trotted out. There’s an opportunity cost to not having cash around as well. And many renowned investors are flush with cash, preferring to have “dry powder” for when opportunities arise.)

A bigger-picture way to look at cash returns is the real yield, which incorporates inflation. We are already seeing a dip in inflation as spending plummets due to lockdowns, but once economies re-open and the stimulus checks are used to purchase everyday items made relatively scarce by supply chain constraints, inflation is likely to edge or even surge upwards. 

This will push real yields on cash well into negative territory. Then, cash will indeed be “trash.” But at least its negative territory will be stable. 

Let’s look at the yield outlook for government bonds. Even before the Federal Reserve abruptly cut its benchmark rate to 0 percent last month, U.S. bond yields were heading down across all maturities. Other government debt either carries a negative return or default and currency risk.

Corporate bonds offer higher yields, but a wave of defaults is more likely now than at any time in recent history. They don’t call it a risk premium for nothing.

Stock yields, which have recently been even higher than bonds, are likely to head sharply down as dividends are cut across the board. 

Two assets that aren’t looking at lower yields? Gold and bitcoin.

Both are “real assets” in that they don’t have any income. Which means there’s no income to cut. Their value may go down as well as up but it will do so because of consensus market forces, not political interference or centralized decisions.

This adds a new nuance to the use of the word “real.” Both gold and bitcoin can be influenced by political priorities and economic measures, but their intrinsic value cannot. And both gold and bitcoin are relatively liquid instruments with sophisticated derivatives markets. 

True, both are held in multi-asset portfolios valued in fiat currencies, and both largely depend on fiat currencies for their utility, for now. But of the two, only bitcoin can operate efficiently outside the fiat rails. Only bitcoin can be exchanged for other assets without going through a fiat conversion.

For now, this feature is limited to crypto exchanges that let you buy other crypto assets with bitcoin. It’s a start, and as traditional and crypto capital markets gingerly approach each other it’s likely to spread.

Admittedly, that will take time; meanwhile, the point is this: Unlike cash and securities, bitcoin is not vulnerable to centralized decisions on asset yields, and it can be used in a way similar to cash in asset purchases. It is the only quasi-cash equivalent that is resilient to the likely politicization of finance that results from the current ructions in markets and the broader economy. 

Cash may be dissed by some who believe that yields should be a fundamental investment consideration; but everything in the investment world is relative. We could see attention start to coalesce around a potential alternative – not to cash itself, but to the role it plays in asset allocations. Bitcoin is by no means a cash substitute, at least not yet. It will, however, become an increasingly intriguing alternative for some of cash’s applications. 

Market metrics

Markets were all over the place this week, with bitcoin dropping 8 percent between Monday and Thursday, only to rebound by almost 9 percent by Friday. 

The S&P 500 was also volatile, clocking in a second weekly gain in a row for the first time since February, in spite of yet another staggering jump in unemployment claims, the worst retail sales data since 1992, the worst New York state manufacturing data since WWII and a relentless climb in COVID-19 casualties. Maybe expectations are just so bad that the actual news comes as a relief. Or maybe reality doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t know.

Not to be left out, gold is also doing weird things, with the spread between the spot and futures price widening to its highest level in 40 years. The spot price reached its highest point in seven years, which is confusing given the strong performance of the main equity index. I really need to dig deeper into what the problem is, if any, with physical delivery.

Digital currencies

It was an intense week for significant (albeit unsurprising) developments in global stablecoins. The Facebook-backed Libra Project has pivoted from a multi-currency-backed global token to a wallet and blockchain for single currency stablecoins as well as a multi-currency stablecoin-backed stablecoin (not a typo). 

The idea of a “digital dollar” to facilitate stimulus payments has been reintroduced in the latest stimulus bill. 

And my colleagues Wolfie Zhao and David Pan went deep into the Chinese national blockchain platform with global ambitions that could significantly impact the digital currency plans of central banks around the world. 

Our chief content officer, Michael Casey, has launched a newsletter focused on the impact of these and other developments on our financial system. It’s called “Money Reimagined,” and it comes out on Fridays – you can subscribe here, and read the latest issue here.

(Nothing in this newsletter should be considered investment advice. The author holds a small amount of bitcoin and ether.)

CHAIN LINKS

Renaissance Technologies’ flagship Medallion fund is considering adding cash-settled bitcoin futures to its holdings, according to a recent filing. TAKEAWAY: On the surface this may seem like a big deal: One of the world’s largest and best-known hedge funds (the Medallion fund has nearly $10 billion AUM and is up 24 percent so far this year) believes bitcoin is worthy of investment. But, digging a bit deeper, it’s not that at all. Renaissance is a quant firm, which means it does not pay attention to underlying stories. It cares about correlations. Bitcoin exposure does not mean the managers see bitcoin as a revolutionary idea worth betting on; it’s a number. Still, we should keep an eye on bitcoin futures volumes on the CME.  

Silicon Valley venture firm Andreessen Horowitz is aiming to raise $450 million for a second cryptocurrency fund, according to the Financial Times. Its first crypto fund raised $350 million in 2018. TAKEAWAY: This is a pretty sizable vote of confidence in the sector’s potential, and not just through venture support for promising crypto-related companies. The investment may end up having an impact on the market itself – last year the firm registered all employees as financial advisers, enabling the fund to invest directly in crypto assets.  

(You also might want to check out the company’s explanation of how crypto business models are different from web business models. TL;DR: It’s not just the network effect that gives value, it’s also the ability to reward participation and redistribute economic value to participants in the network, creating a virtuous circle of increasing participation and value.)

Researchers at the Kansas City Federal Reserve published a paper about bitcoin’s correlation with bonds and equities, with some unexpected results. TAKEAWAY: This study is particularly interesting in that it differs from studies that look at overall correlations over time. This one isolates times of financial stress, when you arguably most need a safe haven, and it finds that during these times bitcoin acts more like a risk asset and has positive (yes, positive) correlations with the S&P 500.

Source: Bloomberg, via Kansas City Federal Reserve

Marcel Burger gives us a good overview of the evolution and current state of the crypto derivatives market, and explains why settling in BTC while quoting in USD turns the P&L from linear to non-linear. TAKEAWAY: Yet another peculiarity of trading in the crypto market. Outside of the FX markets, most traders won’t be used to this risk shift. This could be one of the reasons that BitMEX’s liquidation engine gets so much exercise. (For more detail, see also our “Crypto Derivatives” report.) 

TradeStation is now offering crypto trading via an agreement with institutional-grade crypto exchange ErisX. TAKEAWAY: This in itself isn’t really news – TradeStation has been offering crypto trading for almost a year now, through its subsidiary TradeStation Crypto. What is surprising is the legacy financial firm (founded in 1982) is continuing to invest in crypto market infrastructure, even after the disruptions of March. Just being offered on TradeStation is not enough to boost investor interest in crypto assets – many investors will still be wary of the volatility and relative lack of liquidity. But the additional exposure, getting in front of its sizable client base, won’t hurt. The platform is even promoting crypto asset trading on its home page. 

According to analytics firm Glassnode, the amount of bitcoin held on exchanges is at its lowest level since June 2019. TAKEAWAY: This could imply investors are moving their holdings off-exchange into custody, a sign selling pressure might be easing. In theory, you hold your bitcoins on an exchange if you are likely to want to trade them. If you’re planning on holding them for a while, you’ll probably move them to a safer storage.

Source: glassnode.com

Grayscale Investments* released their Q1 figures, revealing over $500 million in new investment, with almost 90 percent coming from institutional investors. TAKEAWAY: The growth is impressive, but it is unclear how much of the increase comes from contributions in kind – a popular trade amongst professional investors is to exchange bitcoin for shares in the Bitcoin Trust and sell after the lockup period, pocketing the premium the trust traditionally commands in the market. The relative reliability of this return means that not all of the inflow growth is from institutional investors excited by the potential of the cryptocurrency market. *Grayscale Investments is a wholly owned subsidiary of CoinDesk’s parent, DCG.

Greenidge Generation, an upstate New York power plant using proprietary facilities to mine bitcoin, has sold up to 30 percent of its computing power to institutional buyers. TAKEAWAY: This came out last week after I had finished the newsletter, but is worth flagging anyway because I am convinced we will see more traditional companies adapting their current installations to generate additional income through cryptocurrency mining. Keep an eye on other electricity generators and also on the oil and gas industry, where a lot of energy currently goes to waste and could be monetized through mining rigs. This would be very good news for the sector, as it would further decentralize the infrastructure and embed cryptocurrency in more mainstream business settings.

Shares of cryptocurrency mining firm Hut 8 Mining Corp. (HUT) rose 32 percent on the Toronto Stock Exchange on Friday, on volume nearly eight times the daily average. TAKEAWAY: I don’t know what’s going on, but for perspective the shares are now back to where they were a month ago. The few listed shares with strong crypto exposure are worth keeping a close eye on not just as investment opportunities but also for what they teach us about sector economics. Mining companies are vulnerable to a sharp drop in revenue post-halving, but also stand to benefit from price upside.

Leah Callon-Butler describes how COVID-19 highlights a potential crypto-shaped lifeline for citizens of the Philippines, and how traditional finance organizations are getting involved. TAKEAWAY: For much of the world, the potential of bitcoin is not as an investment asset – it’s used as a payment method. This duality should produce some intriguing growth patterns over the coming years as both narratives move forward. 

After the spike resulting from the mid-March crash, the volatility of the S&P 500 has stayed high, while that of bitcoin has fallen. TAKEAWAY: This is true of the 30-day volatility, but even so, bitcoin’s volatility is still higher than that of the S&P; longer term, the difference is even more apparent.

Open interest in bitcoin futures on the CME have rebounded since the March crash. TAKEAWAY: The levels are still low, and are not yet accompanied by noticeably higher trading volumes. They do, however, indicate a gentle recovery of investor confidence that the sharp volatility of mid-March is unlikely to return in the short term. 

Source: Skew.com

Google searches for “Bitcoin halving” are shooting up. TAKEAWAY: Not a surprise, but it is indicative of an uptick in mainstream interest in bitcoin and, since we’re still a few weeks away, is likely to trend much higher (going by what happened in the last halving in 2016).

Source: Google Trends

Crypto Long & Short is CoinDesk’s weekly newsletter with insights, news and analysis tailored for the professional investor. Subscribe here.

Disclosure strict set of editorial policies. CoinDesk is an independent operating subsidiary of Digital Currency Group, which invests in cryptocurrencies and blockchain startups.

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